Chapter One – Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?

There were six pads piled up on the corner of his desk, four more about to slide off of the curved arm of the small sofa, and one clenched in his hand. Captain Jonathan Archer had a lot of work to do, and zero motivation to do it. He looked at his computer screen again, at the message written in terse English – condescendingly, as only a Vulcan could manage.

I will contact you, secure channel, fourteen hundred hours precisely. Soval.

Because there couldn't possibly be anything else important for him to do in the middle of the afternoon on a starship besides wait for a phone call.

Nothing to do except stare at the big giant anomaly spread out before Enterprise like a thirty-thousand square kilometer lavender carpet. It was unlike anything they had encountered in the Expanse; no electromagnetic gremlins randomly arranging the furniture. Anytime they drifted within five-hundred kilometers of the thing, the ship's systems started complaining - loudly. All they could do was hover at relative full stop while T'Pol and her department tried to make sense of the readings they were receiving. Even the probes they had launched at it had immediately started acting wonky (a perfectly good word despite his Science Officer's refusal to acknowledge it), sending back an alphabet soup that defied analysis. Despite the fact that he himself had a Master's in Astrophysics, the theoretical science of it was way over his head, and it had only taken a few pointed glances from his Science Officer, eyebrow raised, before he had gotten the hint: You're in our way. Eventually, he'd retreated to his ready room to read the daily reports.

So he clearly had no other important things to do besides sit around and wait by the phone for Soval's call like a lovesick teenager on a Saturday night.

He glanced at the computer clock. Two more minutes. The padd vibrated in his hand, warning that he was about to be timed out of the report he hadn't been reading. He shut it off.

Two minutes and nine seconds later, Hoshi commed him. "Archer," he said, sounding more brusque than he intended. Honestly, after all these years, he didn't know why he still felt as if he were being called on the carpet for being a bad boy every time the Vulcans contacted him.

"Sir, I have Ambassador Soval on a secure channel for you." Archer could hear the tiny inquisitive note in Hoshi's voice. "Shall I put him through?"

"Thanks, Hoshi." There was a soft murmur in the background, and Archer could clearly picture the exchange of looks between his Communications Officer and his Vulcan First Officer. T'Pol would have one elegant eyebrow raised, this time in inquiry. "Put him through, please." As much as he valued T'Pol's presence when dealing with any Vulcans, he would much prefer to receive his dressing down in private, for whatever it was that he had done wrong this time. She'd have to wait.

The screen came to life, instantly resolving itself into the severe features of Ambassador Soval. Archer took a deep breath. Conversations with Soval always started out politely; this one wouldn't be any different. "Ambassador, hello. How . . . interesting to hear from you."

Soval put some effort into relaxing his face, clearly attempting to observe the social norms he had encountered on Earth during his assignment there. "Captain Archer, it is agreeable to speak with you." Huh, no pause before that adjective, Archer thought. He's downright effusive today. "I am en route to Enterprise and will rendezvous with you in five standard hours," Soval continued, then paused. "Please do not go to warp as I dock with your vessel."

Archer raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I – I'm sorry, Ambassador . . . ?"

"Forgive me," Soval said. "That was intended to approximate a pleasantry." Archer sat back in his chair. "There are matters I wish to discuss with you, Captain Archer, and I believe I may require your assistance. Would it – would it be convenient to arrive at Enterprise's current location at that time?"

Archer blinked several times, perfectly aware that he must look like a dim-wit. "Uh, certainly, Ambassador. Perhaps we could discuss your matter over dinner?"

Soval nearly sighed. "As you wish, Captain."

"I'll have Chef –" The transmission disconnected abruptly, leaving Archer talking to the deep blue Starfleet screensaver. "Fix something appropriate," he finished in a mutter. "Have a nice day." He shook his head hard, as if to clear cobwebs and then tapped his fingers on the desk, considering. Based on past conversations he'd had with the man, Soval had spoken volumes by what he hadn't said. He had not mentioned Starfleet Headquarters or Admiral Gardner, which had to mean that he was acting outside Starfleet's normal chain of command. He had referred to himself in the first person, singular – "I may require your assistance" – so perhaps he was not acting under authority of the Vulcan government, either. And, whatever it was, Soval was not about to discuss it over subspace, even on a secure channel. Maybe it was personal.

Curious.

Archer stood up and ducked through the door to the Bridge. T'Pol looked up from her console immediately, and followed him with her eyes until he took his seat. He kept her hanging for a moment, just because he could, and then said nonchalantly, "T'Pol, we're having Ambassador Soval over for dinner tonight. Can you join us in the Captain's Mess at twenty one hundred hours?"

She masked her expression of surprise almost immediately and responded, "I will give Chef some suitable menu suggestions." She held his gaze for a moment, waiting.

I have no idea, he answered her unspoken question with a shrug of his shoulders, then turned his attention to the padd he still clutched in his hand.

It had to be like having your parents come to visit you at college, Archer thought as he watched T'Pol pick an invisible speck of lint off of Commander Tucker's shoulder. If she were human, he was sure T'Pol would be reminding her crew mates to be on their best behavior, and maybe even begging them not to embarrass her. She'd served with them for more than four years, yet she hadn't quite gotten comfortable being the bridge between her Vulcan and human families.

She also knew by now that Archer and Soval had a fairly complicated relationship; while they warily respected each other, they were, at the best of times, "frenemies." She'd mediated enough spats between them to be on her guard.

He straightened to attention as the docking seal light changed from red to green, and the airlock slid open under Trip's hand. Ambassador Soval stood there alone – unusual, that, since he normally was accompanied by at least one aide. He was dressed in a simple slate-blue tunic and trousers, no heavy elaborate robes for this visit. He held a small black bag in his left hand, and for a horrified moment Archer wondered if the Ambassador were planning on staying overnight.

"Welcome aboard Enterprise, Ambassador," Archer greeted him. He knew better than to hold out his hand to shake. Soval was not V'Lar.

"Captain," Soval nodded. He acknowledged T'Pol and Trip in turn, eyebrow twitching slightly as he took in T'Pol's Starfleet Commander pips, affixed to the collar of her violently purple catsuit. "I am grateful that you acceded to my request."

"I'm interested in hearing what you have to say, Ambassador." He gestured invitingly down the corridor. "But first, T'Pol will show you to our guest quarters so you can settle in before dinner."

"I assure you I have no need to . . . 'freshen up,' Captain," Soval said, having spent more than thirty years in diplomatic service on Earth. "I am prepared to begin our meeting now."

T'Pol stepped in, a diplomat also. "Perhaps you would prefer a chance to assemble your thoughts for a few moments, then. I will inform Chef that he may prepare to serve dinner."

The idea of meditating in advance of dealing with the humans seemed to hold some appeal for Soval, who nodded once and allowed himself to be led off toward his accommodations. Archer let out the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding and glanced at Trip. "I'm dying to know what's up with him," he commented.

The commander smirked. "He does seem to be warming up to you, Cap'n. He was bordering on friendly."

"That's what worries me." He turned and started down the corridor at a stroll. "There's something I just can't put my finger on. What in the world could he want from me? I mean, in four years, Soval has gradually moved from icy contempt to mere suspicion to barely tolerating me – yet here he is wanting a favor? And it looks like he's not even going through Gardner or even T'Pau to ask it."

"Ambassador Soval, going off the grid? This I've gotta see."

Soval seemed impatient, almost anxious, through the first two dinner courses. Chef, always willing to show off his alien cuisine skills, had pulled together a part Vulcan, part human-vegetarian meal designed to please all of the diners. Soval inspected the garden salad carefully before eating it, and murmured a mild praise of the plomeek soup. After that, he moved his fork through the lentil pilaf, pushing it from one side of the plate to the other, as if marking time until he could talk business.

Finally, Archer decided to put the man out of his misery. He set aside his napkin and picked up his glass of iced tea. "So, Ambassador, how can we help you? What is all this about?"

Soval looked pained. "Klingons," he said.

Archer sat up straight. "You've got my attention."

The Ambassador visibly gathered himself and proceeded, like a college professor starting the first lecture of the semester. "There have been, as you know, Captain, some changes within the Vulcan government over the past year, standard, since the rediscovery of the Kir'Shara."

"I'm aware of that, yes."

"One of the first measures taken by Minister T'Pau was to replace certain key members of the High Command, and to re-examine certain of the directives they had put into place during their tenure. It came to light that several of those directives involved particular intelligence gathering methods which had not been fully ratified by the Council. These specific methods were found to be contrary to a number of the principles and philosophies of the Council." He stopped, frowning slightly at the utterly blank faces around the table. "Is there a problem?"

T'Pol spoke first. "Ambassador, if I may be candid. I recognize that some of this information may be confidential, even secret, obtained in the course of your diplomatic duties. However, I can assure you that what you say here will be kept in strictest confidence."

"Say what you need to say," Trip added. "All this beating around the bush isn't helpful."

Soval sighed. "Long before Enterprise's launch, the Vulcan High Command inserted an operative deep inside Klingon territory. Her name was Senn. When Klaang was discovered in Broken Bow, Oklahoma, the High Command reached out to Senn for information. We received two coded transmissions back. One informed us that there were other alien forces involved, and the second warned us that her undercover identity might be compromised if we contacted her again."

"Wait," Archer interrupted, "you already knew about the Suliban way back then?" He could feel the familiar anger and frustration rise.

"No, Captain," Soval replied, "we did not know which species Senn was referring to, only that the matter involved more than simply Klingons. We never got any more information about the Suliban plan to initiate a civil war in Klingon space until your mission was complete." He held Archer's gaze steadily until the captain cleared his throat and gruffly invited him to continue. "Over the next several years, there was silence from Senn – a couple of seemingly anonymous reports about changes in the Klingon government made their way to the High Command, but we could not determine with certainty that they had come from her. Mostly, we lost contact and, until a few weeks ago, we presumed her dead."

Archer leaned forward. "What happened to change your mind?"

"I received a transmission on a personal channel. It was a news feed, fairly common. I subscribe to a service which collects data regarding worlds with which Vulcan has had contact; much of the information is also collected in public databases such as the one we gave you. Inside one of these feeds was an encrypted file. It took me several days to decode it, and when I did, this is what I found." Soval reached into his pocket and retrieved a miniature data padd, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. He touched the screen and entered a command, possibly a personal identification code. A picture appeared, a still photograph or paused video. Soval passed it to T'Pol, who handed it to Archer without comment.

Archer set his glass down very, very carefully. "Kolos," he said quietly.

"Indeed," Soval replied. "The message attached was an urgent request to remove Kolos from Klingon territory."

"Kolos was sentenced to a year on Rura Penthe," Archer murmured. "He was an old man. He couldn't have survived that."

"According to this message, he did. He is still alive, Captain. But if I read this message correctly, he will not be for long."

Rura Penthe. Archer still had nightmares about it: the bone-numbing cold, the mind-numbing physical labor, and the certainty that he would perish underground on a frozen lump of desolation, condemned to die slowly on a trumped-up charge. He had nightmares about Kolos, too, wondering if his reluctant Advocate had succeeded in pissing off enough bad-tempered guards to earn himself a night on the surface, or if he had simply lain down one day next to his pickaxe and died. Regret choked him every time he thought about the elderly Klingon refusing to come with him and Malcolm, refusing to escape certain death, all for a sense of honor Archer hadn't even known Klingons possessed.

Trip stepped into the silence. "Are you saying that this Senn person sent you a message asking you to rescue Kolos? How do you even know it came from her? And, more importantly, what does that have to do with us?"

Soval folded his hands on the table, prepared to be more stubborn than the most stubborn human. "There are certain codes embedded in the transmission that are unique to Senn. No other operative, then or since, has used them. The messages themselves include prison records, disciplinary actions against Kolos. He was finally released from Rura Penthe, but only after several additional infractions lengthened his sentence by five point two additional months. The final report indicates that he has now been accused of treason."

Archer's head snapped up. "That's absurd. The only thing Kolos had left was his honor. He wouldn't even escape if it meant living out his life as a fugitive. There's no way he would commit treason."

"Captain," T'Pol put in quietly, "a mere accusation of treason against the Klingon Empire is tantamount to a conviction. And the penalty is always death."

"Kolos signed his own death warrant the moment he decided to publicly criticize the Tribunal and certain individuals highly placed in the Empire," Soval said. "From what I gather, Kolos has become somewhat of a dissident."

Archer spent a moment studying his hands, pressed flat on the table. "What is it you want us to do, Soval?" he asked, in the voice he used whenever he was being pulled into a situation against his will.

Soval paused, then answered, "I want you to convince Kolos to defect."

Trip stared at the Vulcan Ambassador, his mouth slightly open in shock. "Are you kidding me?"

Archer simply nodded his head twice, as if confirming something for himself. Without looking at Soval, he said flatly, "I assume that Advocate Kolos is still somewhere inside Klingon territory."

"Yes," Soval answered.

"And you already know that there is a pretty hefty bounty on my head, right?"

"I am aware of that."

"Then why would you ask me to do this?" Because you think I'm impulsive and careless and silly. Because you are trying to use my emotions against me. Because you know if I refuse, the guilt will haunt me for the rest of my life. Because you are a manipulative bastard.

"Because, Captain, I trust you." Soval didn't flinch as Archer pushed himself away from the table and strode the two paces that left him physically as far away from the Ambassador as he could get. "Captain, I fully understand what I am asking you to do, the risk I am asking you to take. I know Senn. I worked with her and trained her before she was chosen for this mission. I believe she is telling me, through this message, that Advocate Kolos has information that can help Vulcan – and Earth – avoid conflict with the Klingon Empire. And I believe you are the only person who can convince Kolos to leave Klingon territory and cooperate with us."

"Who is 'us,' Ambassador?" Trip asked suspiciously. "Why is this so important to you? Why are you doing all of this off-line, and not through official channels?"

Soval was obviously not used to explaining himself to anyone, not to subordinates, and certainly not to humans. He pressed his lips together in apparent annoyance, then sighed deeply. "Neither your government nor mine is willing or able to read the writing on the wall. The Vulcan Council is occupied with its own . . . internal house cleaning, with endless debates about how to move Vulcan forward. Most of the former High Command have been replaced by learned, well-meaning philosophers who spend their days studying and deciphering the Kir'Shara and the extant writings of Surak.

"But there are those of us who have been in the diplomatic corps for fifty, even a hundred, years, who have seen the steady expansion of the Klingon Empire over the years. We see that this expansion has accelerated, encompassing not just worlds, but whole systems. There is now a powerful faction, not based on Qo'noS, that is bent on acquiring territories for the Empire, even to the extent of slaughtering and subjugating countless species and civilizations. A few years ago, Vulcan would have sent diplomats and arbitrators to mediate. But the current Vulcan regime has decided, in its wisdom, on a non-interference policy." Soval lowered his voice. "I find that immoral in the extreme."

Even from across the room, Archer could see that Soval was practically shaking with suppressed emotion.

"What about Starfleet?" T'Pol asked.

"Humans, it seems, do not have the . . . galactic perspective to appreciate the danger. Admiral Gardner spoke of establishing a "neutral" zone as a buffer between the space claimed by the Coalition of Planets and that annexed by the Klingons. It is a fine idea in theory, but hopelessly naïve in practice." Soval paused to take a drink of cold water. "Of all the things that I have learned about you, Captain, one is that you are not naïve."

Archer thought back to the last time he had seen Kolos, disappearing into the maze of the dilithium mine, ready to serve out his sentence, however unjustly imposed. "Don't Klingons look forward to dying with honor? We've seen them actively resist rescue just for the chance to have status in the afterlife. I would imagine he'd consider escape, rather than dying bravely, an act of cowardice, right?"

Soval studied the captain with a level gaze. "The corruption in the Empire runs deep and strong, Captain Archer. If convicted of these false charges, it would not only mean Kolos' execution. Any living relative would bear the burden of the shame - his sons would lose their positions, which would bring down the House of Mogh."

"The House of . . . ?"

Now Soval betrayed a glimmer of impatience. "Captain, believe me when I tell you that it would take more time than we have - weeks, even - to adequately explain the history of the Great Houses in the Klingon Empire to you. Let it be enough to say that if the House of Mogh falls, or is compromised, one of the strongest voices in the Empire for peaceful coexistence will be silenced."

"If this Kolos is that important, how did he get sent to Rura Penthe in the first place?" Trip wanted to know.

"Kolos publicly defied the Council, and he knew what the punishment would be when he did it," Soval said, beginning to look a little weary. "But these charges are wholly without merit, designed to dishonor the House and destroy its influence. And that would spell disaster."

"Even if – even if I agreed to consider what you're asking, Ambassador, I have no way to get into Klingon territory. There's no way I'm taking Enterprise in."

"I would not ask you to do so, Captain," Soval assured him. "I do have some thoughts about how this can be done. Perhaps if we could access a computer . . . ?"

Archer wasn't used to this Soval. The Ambassador he knew and mainly disliked was authoritarian and arch, dictating orders and expecting to be obeyed. That Soval, like the Vulcan High Command he'd represented, had had no problem sending Enterprise into danger – sometimes blindly and with her defenses down – in order to achieve his own goals.

This Soval was asking for his help.

Trip rose and opened a wall panel, revealing a screen. Soval handed his padd to T'Pol, who used her security clearance code to send the information to the ship's computer. The display came to life.

For the next two hours and ten minutes, Soval laid out his plan.

When the Ambassador was finished, he sat back, folded his hands across his middle, and waited. Archer had known, before Soval's presentation was half-concluded, what his answer would be. No point in insulting the man by pretending to think it over. He simply nodded his agreement. "Questions?" he asked his officers.

They wasted no time voicing their many and various objections, in their own characteristic ways: T'Pol, with her calm logic, Trip standing firm in his hell, no position, and Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, Tactical Officer, who had joined them in the crowded dining room by invitation, playing devil's advocate against any side that appeared to be winning.

Finally, Trip gave Archer one of his patented You're crazy looks and said, "There are a thousand and one things that could go wrong with this mission, Cap'n."

"I'll be careful," Archer assured him.

Trip just threw up his hands in exasperation. He turned to T'Pol for support, but the Vulcan didn't say a word. "You can't possibly think this a good idea, T'Pol," he accused. "Tell him this is nuts."

T'Pol kept her face neutral. "It is not a course of action I would have chosen," she said quietly, "but the Ambassador seems to have made provision for many of the more troubling issues."

"Now there's a ringing endorsement," Trip scoffed. "If that's the sum total of your enthusiasm, T'Pol, you might as well just admit right now that you think it's a suicide mission."

Archer cut in before she could respond. "I understand the risks, Trip, and your objections are noted. I've made my decision. I'm going. Now I need you to work with Malcolm on some of the finer points."

Trip held the captain's gaze for a long moment. He knew the captain well enough to recognize when an argument was over. "Aye, sir," he said finally, and just like that, the combined focus of the senior officers became trained on getting the captain into and out of Klingon space alive and in one piece. They all stood as one and slowly left the room, each already thinking, planning, evaluating.

Soval sat at the far end of the table. He'd observed the remainder of the briefing meeting quietly, staying out of the debate among the humans. Now he commented, "It is astonishing that humankind achieved interstellar flight at all, if decisions are generally made in the midst of such emotionalism and chaos."

Archer chuckled softly, for once not offended by the Ambassador's comment. "That chaos? Is why it only took us a hundred years."