Blackened (4): Hero of the Day

by jtm1848

The Enterprise confronts the Xindi for the first time...and it's not what Archer was prepared for.

– HERO OF THE DAY –

August 12

The chasm between them was vast. Far greater than any span that had previously been bridged, reaching out across the great distances of space-time, across parsecs and light-years. Two alien races, from different homeworlds existing under different suns that were merely specks in the skies of the other, held apart for eons by the all-encompassing immensity of deep space, brought together in a unique moment, isolated in the quantum fabric of reality.

Calmly, T'Pol reached her hands forward, placing her fingertips on the temples of Charles "Trip" Tucker. "Is that sufficient pressure?" she asked with muted concern as she applied pressure.

"You could go a little harder," Trip murmured, already surrendering to the relaxant therapy. "That's better." He fell silent, and his eyes drifted shut. Everything in the Vulcan's quarters—from soft-lit aroma candles, to soft carpet pads laid on the deck, and the gentle hum of white noise that masked the sounds of the starship around them—was conducive to the sensation of relaxation. It was, both figuratively and literally, life-giving for the Enterprise's chief engineer as he still struggled to deal with the violent death of his kid sister.

"Try that neck thing," Trip requested, his eyelids still draped closed. "What'd you call it?"

"The Khavorta posture?" T'Pol answered, resorting to the lingua of Old High Vulcan. The techniques of Vulcan massage therapy predated the modern era of her people, and oftentimes a contemporary translation failed to do justice to the esoteric skills of their forebears.

"Yeah, that one," Trip replied, lifting his chin slightly.

T'Pol lowered her hands and applied delicate pressure beneath the human's ears. "Are you certain?" she asked cautiously.

"Don't worry," Trip answered. "I've been practicing my breathing."

With the reassurance, T'Pol strengthened the pressure on the neural nodes, taking care to synchronize the subtle beat of her fingers with the rhythm of Trip's breathing. "Don't speak," she whispered softly. "Relax your jaw. Excellent."

The two crewmates stayed silent in the posture for several minutes as Trip's taut body continued to soften, easing up under the therapy. If all went well, he'd be able to get a full night's sleep; and on a starship that swam in stress and tension, Charles Tucker stood head and shoulders above as the worst case. A full night's sleep was a luxury almost beyond imagination.

T'Pol eased up the pressure and pulled her hands back. "Now, the surah'than."

Trip caught her hands in midair and held them still. "You know, I really need to talk to you about something," he said. His voice was quiet but firm.

T'Pol's brow furrowed. "Is there a problem with the massage therapy?" she asked in confusion.

"No. No. I mean, this feels great, and I really appreciate you taking the time." Trip licked his lips as his nervous quotient shot up. Suddenly, it felt like nothing was right: here he was in the quarters of his superior officer, amid the sensual glow and aroma of candlelight, stripped down to his underwear with a very beautiful woman, lithe and petite, with the most delicate of features and the most intriguing of upswept ears…the two of them, coupled in a position of vulnerability…Trip forced himself to shake off the reverie, and let her hands fall.

"It's just, well," he hedged, "I'm not sure we should be doing this anymore."

T'Pol remained confused. "You said it was helping you sleep."

"It has," Trip replied hurriedly.

"Then why do you want to stop?" T'Pol asked, tilting her head.

"It's just that—" Trip took a deep breath. "People are talking. About us. About me coming your quarters at night."

"Is it your desire to keep the nature of your treatment…clandestine?" T'Pol asked. Vulcans valued their privacy; was Trip's request due to a similar sentiment?

"It's not the nature of the treatment that's the problem," Trip replied wryly. "The problem is, people think there's more going on than massage therapy."

"Ah." Even with her formidable mental acuity, it took T'Pol several seconds to process the comment, identify the understated issue, and formulate a response. Vulcans, as a rule, did not engage in such idle speculation; her comrade's concern was unfamiliar territory for her. "It disturbs you to be the subject of such unscientific theorizing?" she asked in confirmation.

"It shouldn't, I know," Trip answered, slightly bashful. The scrutiny made him absurdly feel like a thirteen-year-old boy caught staring at the attractive girl.

"I see no reason to be concerned with idle gossip," T'Pol stated.

"It's not that easy for me," Trip replied. In point of fact, it had gone beyond idle gossip; just the week before, he and Malcolm Reed had been purging a clogged injector assembly. In the middle of the project, Malcolm turned to Trip and asked the engineer, "Why don't you just massage it with your magic fingers?"

However, it was an anecdote that Trip couldn't share with T'Pol. It was not a matter of embarrassment; the Vulcan officer simply wouldn't understand the idiom. "It doesn't bother you?" he asked instead.

"We're both senior officers." T'Pol's tone continued to reveal her mystification. "If we were pursuing a romantic relationship, it wouldn't be Lieutenant Reed's concern, would it?"

Trip's head whipped around at the odd wording. Did she just—did she mean to imply—did she just open a door? No, he decided. If T'Pol had been human, it might have been a coded implication; but Vulcans were far more direct with their words. Unless she's been around humans too long.

"I suppose not." Trip shook his head. "It really doesn't bother you?"

"Idle speculation is logically irrelevant," T'Pol replied. "As well as impossible to end. You humans have the oddest habit of treating a statement of negation as being proof of a concealed intent."

"I suppose that's true," Trip allowed. The words rolled off his tongue with a southern drawl.

"Shall we continue?" T'Pol asked, still slightly confused by the whole conversation.

"Sure." Trip angled his chin upward, allowing T'Pol's surprisingly-chilled fingers access to his jaw line.

xxx

Jonathan Archer rolled over in his bunk restlessly. Sleep beckoned to him, but it remained a distant mirage: he contorted his body in a dozen poses, seeking comfort, but his body complained no matter what he did, and rest continued to elude him.

His pet beagle, Porthos, lifted his head and gave the captain a blurry-eyed glare. The dog had little problem going to sleep; Porthos had demonstrated an experienced ability to sleep though just about anything, from an alien attack to a spatial anomaly. That was odd, Archer thought as the stray memory drifted through his mind. One random day, Archer had walked into his quarters, only to discover that a gravimetric anomaly had caused the pup to float in midair; and naturally, the dog was snoring away.

Frustrated, the captain finally got up, leaving the twisted, sweat-dampened sheets trailing to the deck. Sleep was hopeless, he decided. One eye caught his chronometer; the numerals 02:45 stared back at him mirthlessly, as if mocking his inability to ride the train to the Land of Nod.

Crossing his quarters necessitated only a couple brief steps, and charged with nervous energy, Archer quickly found himself in the small bathroom closet attached to his living quarters. Flipping on the lights, he looked in the mirror, confronting his own strained visage.

The cause of his restlessness was evident. On his chin, on his forearm, and half a dozen other places on the captain's body were rash marks. They were the souvenir of a planetary landing mission gone awry; and now, as he struggled to resist the urge to scratch, he wondered again how long the marks of the Locque'que would last.

xxx

A planetary system away, Hoshi Sato's head hit her pillow in desperate relief. She wanted to sleep, was ready to sleep, need only to close her eyes; but she dared not drift into dreamland.

A week before, for the good of the mission, Ensign Sato agreed to spend time with the mysterious, telepathic alien who inhabited this world. The being claimed that his skills would allow him to find the archenemy Xindi; but in exchange, he wanted the one thing unavailable in his sumptuous exile—companionship.

Despite the luxuriousness of the surroundings, the week had quickly become a haunting nightmare for the young woman. The being was, in fact, imprisoned on this planet, segregated from the rest of intelligent life due to his blatant misuse of his telepathic powers. Desperate for company, he had done his best to avoid ripping through Hoshi's mind, but the constant tickle had been there the entire time. She could feel him, in her thoughts, sifting through her memories like a filing drawer, exposing her deepest and most private affairs to the limelight.

xxx

"Ensign." Malcolm Reed transmuted his surprise into practiced neutrality as he entered the command center. In the dead of ship's night, he had expected the room to be unoccupied; instead, the Enterprise's senior helmsman, Ensign Travis Mayweather, was present. The young man stood in the center of the room, surrounded by myriad points of light that together formed an astronomical map of the Delphic Expanse.

Malcolm stepped forward, subconsciously evading a patch of light that represented a minor planetary nebula. "I thought I was the only one who lived here during my off hours," he remarked with a friendly manner.

Travis' eyes shone with excitement. "I'm glad you're here, Lieutenant," he exclaimed. "I'd like you to see this!"

Malcolm thought he detected a hint of manic energy in the young ensign; Travis had clearly joined the brigade of insomniacs that had stalked the ship as of late. "What is it?" Reed asked warily.

Travis opened with the background information. "I've been compiling navigational maps of the spatial anomalies." It was a bit of an understatement; the Delphic Expanse was notorious for its vast web of gravimetric disturbances, and as the pilot, Mayweather had been trying to piece together a map for the previous three months. In addition to the Enterprise's own sensor data, they had swapped logs with several other ships along the way, providing a broad—if spotty—outlay of the Expanse.

"Remember that weird Sphere we ran into?" Travis asked next. Malcolm nodded in affirmation; it was hard to forget. Six weeks into the Expanse, in the middle of a distortion field, they had encountered a giant, metallic Sphere. It contained a potent power plant, but seemed to do little else. "With the other logs, I was able to construct an isolinear map of the anomaly."

"Seems pretty random," Malcolm observed. Towards one corner of the room, the holographic star map had zoomed in, and portrayed the distortion field with false-light imagery.

"That's what I thought too," Travis answered. "The answer seemed obvious: the conjunction of the Sphere and the anomaly had to be significant."

"But we've found plenty of anomalies, with no hint of a Sphere nearby," Malcolm commented, trying not to dampen the ensign's enthusiasm.

"Right," Travis replied. "It didn't add up, until I added another wave source."

"A second Sphere?" Malcolm spoke with quiet surprise. If Travis' hypothesis was correct…it could give them the key to the entire Expanse.

"Exactly, sir." Travis added a network of rays to the display. "I ran a vector analysis of the gravimetric waves. The interference pattern led back to a second wave source, right here." A shiny, gray ball materialized in the display. "The simulation suggests that the focal points of the anomalies occur where the waves intersect."

Malcolm stooped to look more closely at the wave patterns. "If you're right, then we should be able to start predicting the locations of other Spheres—and from there, we can predict the locations of the anomalies!"

xxx

Owing to his Denobulan heritage, Dr. Phlox needed little sleep, making him the only member of the crew who did not need a regular circadian rhythm. Instead, once a year, for a few days, he hibernated. It didn't relieve him of his need to pursue a period of rest and relaxation; but it did mean that, on nights like this, he could be reliably found manning main sickbay.

Captain Archer was barely in the doorway before Phlox guessed the reason. "You've been scratching again," he observed.

"The itching kept me up all night," Archer growled.

Phlox crossed the room and guided the captain to a biobed. "Have you been using the ointment I gave you?" he asked.

Archer was already stripped to his underwear, making the diagnosis easy. "I tried," he admitted, "but the smell also kept me up all night." His exposed torso revealed several patches of the rash. "And Porthos kept whining."

Phlox bustled about with his usual eagerness, looking for a handheld mediscanner. "The more you scratch, the longer it will take to heal," he noted, his voice redshifting from the quick hustle. "I understand that Hoshi promised some information?"

"In her last communiqué," Archer confirmed. "Her host claims to know the location of a nearby Xindi colony."

"I hope he's correct." Phlox scurried back to the captain's side. "Any progress on synthesizing the trellium?"

"None yet," Archer replied tiredly. He didn't particularly want to think about it. "Trip's taking another stab at it tomorrow, after we pick up Hoshi."

"I hope they find something soon." Phlox's voice became serious. "Crewman Cutler broke her arm yesterday when one of those anomalies passed through the exo-biology lab. The sooner we get the ship insulated, the happier I'll be."

"Me too, Doctor," Archer answered. "Me too."

Phlox held out a jar of ointment. "Have you had any other symptoms?"

The captain's face split into a grimace, but he reached into the jar to withdraw a slab of the goo. "My dreams have been…more vivid. More unsual."

The doctor watched carefully to ensure that Archer did not go short on the ointment. "It'll pass, in time," he reassured the captain. "But you went through quite an experience down there; don't expect to recover overnight."

xxx

Daybreak

"How unstable?" Archer asked directly.

Trip ran a greasy hand through his hair, leaving several strands standing on end. "Enough to do some serious damage if we screw this up," he answered. He and the captain were standing outside engineering, discussing plans for making another attempt to synthesize refined trellium—the only insulator known to be effective against the anomalies.

"And we're supposed to insulate the entire ship with it?" Archer muttered rhetorically. He knew the answer, but it still amazed him.

"The stuff's only volatile in its liquid form," Trip answered regardless. "Once it sets, it's completely safe. The tricky part's cooking it up in the first place."

"Any idea yet if it's safe for T'Pol?"

Trip shook his head. "We won't know until we have a stable batch. Captain—" he glanced around to ensure that there were no eavesdroppers; there was no sense in alarming anyone. "For safety's sake, I'd like to convert the G-deck planetary science lab. I'll also erect the emergency bulkheads first."

"Do it," Archer agreed.

Ensign Mayweather was ten minutes late reporting to the helm, but he had a good reason.

Hoshi Sato returned to the Enterpriseat 0805, ship's time, and was greeted in the launch bay by Malcolm Reed and Travis. "Welcome back," Malcolm said, greeting her with a friendly smile.

"You might be interested in this, Travis," Hoshi replied, tending to business first. She handed a data padd to the pilot. "The coordinates of a Xindi colony. There's a chemical facility there that produces kemocite." It was a relatively rare compound that had been used in the construction of the first Xindi probe.

Travis took the padd eagerly. "Thanks, Hoshi," he said gratefully. "If it's okay, I'll catch up with you later—I should attend to this."

"You're dismissed, Ensign," Malcolm responded formally, and Travis took off for the bridge. Reed turned back to Hoshi. "You look a little wore out."

"It's been—a very long week," she acknowledged.

Malcolm held out a gallant arm. "I'll walk you to sickbay."

xxx

August 15

"What do you make of it?" Archer asked, looking at the display on the screen. On the main monitor of the Enterprise's command center was a preliminary tactical assessment of the upcoming planet, tentatively identified as being home to a Xindi colony and ore refinement facility.

"I'm not sure," Malcolm admitted. His precise, clipped language became even more so, signaling his discomfort with the situation. "We're sure that there are no defensive systems?"

"No active sensor sweeps or artificial satellites," T'Pol confirmed. She alone did not appear phased. "No vessels anywhere in the vicinity."

"We've seen how different Xindi technology is," Archer offered in hope. "They could have defenses we can't detect." Paradoxically, a heavy defensive grid would have been good news: it would have verified the presence of valuable facilities. But what people would leave an important weapons facility unguarded?

"That is possible, but unlikely," T'Pol countered. "An artificial satellite is readily recognizable, no matter who created it."

"It's more likely that what we've been told about this colony just isn't accurate," Malcolm added with a hint of despondency. "We only have the word of Hoshi's friend—and by his own admission, he's a rather brutal criminal."

"Brutal, maybe, but honest," Archer pointed out. "His crimes weren't those of falsehood and deceit."

Malcolm warily pressed his point. "Captain, we don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to inhabitants of the Expanse being honest with us."

Archer grimaced. He knew exactly what Lieutenant Reed was referring to: the slave camp/mining camp foreman they had encountered two weeks previously, who hadn't missed a single opportunity to toy with the Enterprisecrew. His final gift to them had, at least, been technically true: the alien had provided them with the coordinates of the Xindi homeworld, but neglected to mention that the homeworld had been destroyed a century before.

"Lieutenant, do you have to make this look worse?" Archer responded wryly.

"Sir, I—" It took Malcolm a second to catch the mellow jab. "Just doing my job, Captain." Reed answered with a crossed smile of his own.

Growing serious again, Archer pointed to the monitor. "Besides, what about these energy readings?" He highlighted the anomalous markers. "They could be coming from a weapons complex."

"They could also be electrical storms," T'Pol pointed out. "Or deposits of diamagnetic ore. Or an unrelated and legitimate power plant."

Archer couldn't hold back a sigh. "Or they could even be glitches in the sensors. I know."

"It's also possible that we're simply too far out to detect anything," Malcolm offered. The Enterprisewas roughly at the system's heliopause. "Or there could be any number of interference patterns."

"The simple fact is that we won't know until we investigate," Archer stated. He ran a hand over his stubbly chin. "The planet's second moon is reading as being filled with magnetic ores. Once we enter the system, we'll stay on the far side of it." The figures on the screen gave a flight time of two hours.

Archer turned to his officers. "Malcolm, you'll be accompanying me by shuttlepod. Tell Major Hayes that he'll be joining us as well, and to gather a team. T'Pol, you'll have the Enterprise. Can you do me a favor, and keep Trip busy? If that is a Xindi facility, I don't want him anywhere near our weapons."

xxx

The star before them seemed to be too dark and cool to support any life; indeed, it was remarkable that it even had a planetary system at all, but among the billions upon billions of stars that existed, the universe seemed to prefer variety and strangeness. The Vulcan maxim of 'infinite diversity in infinite combinations' was the only rule of thumb that could safely be applied to astrophysics.

At the system's core resided a T-class brown dwarf; too large to be a planet, to small to be a star, it possessed too little mass to trigger thermonuclear fusion. Thus classified as a failed star, it hung in space, glowing a dull violet and magenta. While aesthetically stunning, the dwarf emitted little heat from the thermal interactions within as it gradually cooled. Within several billion years, the gaseous ball would slowly cease warming the surrounding space; its luminosity would drop to the point of being invisible.

A brown dwarf was not a rarity in deep space; but the surrounding planetary system defied standard theory, and would undoubtedly keep the astrophysicists busy for months. In the weak heat and gravity of the low-mass substellar core, the system appeared to be proportionally shrunken. The three planets were all clustered within a radius comparable to that of Venus; beyond that, a vast, sparse disc of dust and rock extended outwards, before tapering off around the perimeter of the gravimetric field.

Clinging to the tenuous warmth of the dwarf, the first was a class-B geomorteus planetoid, a partially-molten metallic rock that orbited so closely as to be tidally locked with the with the system's heart. Further out, swinging in the widest orbit, was a L-class hunk of rock. Frozen water existed deep beneath the barren crust, and the sublimated atmosphere consisted primarily of methane and argon.

The middle planet, however, had caught the attention of Xindi prospectors. Geologically active, and possessing an unusual degree of heavy elements, the planet sustained a thick atmosphere of nitrogen, oxygen, and carbon, enveloped in a layer of clouds that was positively Venusian. When combined with the lack of heat radiating from the brown dwarf, the combined effect was to create a breathable, life-supporting biosphere.

Taking a rare turn at the helm of the shuttle pod, Lieutenant Reed watched the clouds grow before them with anticipation and trepidation. Even in the depths of the Delphic Expanse, there was something exciting about landing on a new, alien world, never before seen by human eyes. This is why I joined Starfleet, Malcolm knew, as the puffy, upper stretches of the massive cumulonimbus structures became evident. The Reed family had a long history in Earth's wet navy, even in its most recent, demilitarized era when the navy's primary purpose was to provide support and emergency aid for the great fleets of merchant vessels and science ships inhabiting the blue oceans. But Malcolm, in a family that took pride in tradition, had bucked the past and taken to the stars instead.

Angling the nose of the shuttlepod downward, Malcolm brought them into the upper-most reaches of the cloud banks, and they were instantly buffeted by the violent convection currents of the towering storm cloud. Wind and rain pummeled the small craft from every side, and in the gray and black darkness, visibility instantly dropped to nothingness, forcing Malcolm to rely on the most sophisticated of sensors. Massive chunks of hail pounded them from every side, and the shuttle leapt about, engines screaming against the furious drafts of wind.

As they dove into the interior of the storm, the sky about them lit up in a thousand brilliant flashes, each lasting less than a second. The powerful electrical bolts shot between charged ions and particles within the storm column, and the staccato-like effect of air-rending light and darkness danced about the shuttle, converting the continuous flow of movement to individual, scatter-shot frames of violent stillness.

"Archer to Enterprise." Seated at one of the shotgun seats behind Malcolm, the captain hit the comm controls, trying to thread a signal through the ferocious electromagnetic disturbances surrounding them. Without speaking, Malcolm checked his sensors carefully, watching for a clearing in the storm; anything to help, he knew. Plus, a clearing would allow him to bring the pod to temporary station-keeping, and scout ahead for a favorable path.

"Go ahead." T'Pol's voice was virtually indistinguishable from the static that ate the channel alive. Malcolm, focused entirely on their flight path, did not even register the words; it was only Captain Archer's response that informed Malcolm that the channel was open.

"Any sign that they've detected us?" Archer asked, hunched over the comm pickup. He was shouting the words into it; seated barely a meter away, Malcolm could scarcely hear the captain over the screaming engines of the shuttlepod, the crackling energy bolts outside, and the thundering claps that threatened to send the pod skidding sideways in death-ensuring spirals.

"Scans are still negative," T'Pol stated twice. Each time a portion made it through the static. "Your signal's breaking up."

"Commander, I—" Archer growled and closed the now-useless channel.

Malcolm knew the danger of detection was slight. Unless Xindi technology was far more advanced than that of Earth—or even their neighbors—the electromagnetic distortion and ghost readings would completely obscure the shuttlepod. At worst, they would look like a free-falling meteor; which we WILL be, if this storm has its way, Malcolm thought.

The ambient temperature of the storm cloud was beginning to rise quickly, signaling their impending arrival at its base. The large chunks of hail transformed into millions of frozen droplets, shattering across the shuttle's hull, creating a din that overwhelmed even the ear-splitting racket of the twin engines, struggling for purchase in the livid turbulence. Amidst the tempest, Malcolm barely had time to shout "INCOMING!" before the shuttle was clipped on the rear by a lightning bolt, sending the pod skating in a sideways spiral as the Lieutenant fought to restore their gimbal lock.

Shooting through the dark, vertical columns of water and ice, the shuttlepod finally emerged beneath the deck of the storm, and the relief was greatly welcomed. Rain still hit the shuttle from above, but the sheer volume had dropped considerably, allowing the navigational sensors to function. The winds, while still present, slowed down into manageable gusts, and the lightning remained confined to the storm above.

"I'm reading a landing site twelve kilometers north of the energy readings!" Archer shouted over the relative calm.

"I see it!" Malcolm shouted back, and he brought the shuttle about on the new bearing. "Any sign of detection?"

"None!" Archer replied at full volume.

The terrain below them, made visible by the twilight glow of the biosphere, was plastered with the tops of trees. According to Malcolm's sensors, the forest floor was over a hundred feet below; he would designate it a rainforest, except that the air temperatures hovered barely above freezing. More like a rainforest in Scotland, he thought, wondering who would ever choose to live in such a wet, chilly environment.

Malcolm brought the shuttlepod down further, skimming the top of the canopy, and dodging the occasional emergent tree limb as he piloted them towards the landing point. Below, underneath the thick, enveloping tree cover, there was a network of energy readings that beckoned to the shuttle crew, tantalizing the humans with the allure of mystery.

xxx

Deep down on the floor of the rainforest, the torrents of rain slowed to an abusive, steady trickle that only accented the chill of the air. Shivering, Malcolm pulled his heavy-weather jacket tightly about him, activating the heating coils contained within. He knew that conditions were perfect for the air to slowly leech his body heat, and with the heavy moisture, any number of respiratory illnesses threatened him.

"How much further?" Archer asked softly, stepping forward lightly to peer over Malcolm's shoulder.

The backlit screen of Malcolm's scanner glowed in the near-night darkness. "Eight hundred meters," he whispered. "Just over that rise." As the landing team advanced on the energy readings, their scanners had slowly detected the rest of the colony, fleshing out the details on the skeleton, and now they were zeroing in on their target.

Ahead, two red lights flashed briefly. They were a signal from Sergeant Kemper, who had taken point: he had reached visual range of the colony and was stopping for surveillance.

Carefully stepping over a pile of sodden compost, Malcolm inched forward, choosing his foot placements with caution as he pulled himself up the ridge. Nearing its crest, he dropped to his belly, ignoring the streams of cold water that sought entrance into his jacket; his arm disappeared, up to the elbow, in a deep reservoir of mud, but he withdrew it slowly to avoid any noise.

Kemper was virtually invisible, even though he was less than a meter away. The sergeant was rooted under a protective cover of leaves and debris, his lower body half-submerged in a mud pit to thwart any body-heat readings. The worst part, Malcolm believed, was that the MACO didn't even seem to be chilled; but then again, Kemper had grown up outside Duluth, Minnesota. This was undoubtedly average fall weather for the younger man.

As Archer appeared beside Malcolm, the tactical chief pointed forward. Through the mist and low-level vegetation, signs of humanoid habitation were clearly evident. "That's definitely the source of the energy readings," he whispered.

Before them, Malcolm saw, were a number of single-story buildings, walls slanted as if the lower levels of a pyramid. They were colored a light tan, and each building had a series of vertical, electronic lights embedded in the outer walls, providing an ambient glow over the compound. Farther afield, several tall structures emerged upwards.

Peering through his binoculars, Malcolm focused in on the nearest building. There was movement near its entrance; he watched closely as three beings crossed paths, two entering and one leaving.

"I think they're Xindi," Archer whispered. "Probably the arboreals." The Enterprisecrew had no records of the Xindi-arboreals yet, but the guess was sound; the aliens were humanoid, wearing off-white jumpsuits, and possessed great amounts of hair that seemed to grow from every patch of skin.

"Looks like we came to the right place," Malcolm replied quietly. He put down the binoculars and checked his scanner readings. "I'm picking up readings across the spectrum. Whatever they're doing in there, it's using a lot of power."

Malcolm resisted the urge to jump as Major Hayes materialized behind them. "Corporal Hawkins is standing by with an assault team," Hayes hissed, his eyes locked on the compound. "We only have to send a burst signal."

Archer shook his head. "I'm not ready to send in the troops yet," he said. "I'd like to learn a little more about this colony first. Do you think we can get inside the perimeter without being detected?"

Hayes shifted his glance. "Where's Kemper?"

"Over here, sir." The sergeant's voice was disembodied.

"Scout ahead and check out the perimeter," Hayes ordered, sending the words in the direction of Kemper's voice. "Maintain communications silence, and report back in—half an hour."

"Aye, sir," Kemper answered. Malcolm watched in awe as a slight slither disturbed the leaf-lined forest floor. It was the only visible sign of Kemper's departure.

"What about the rest of us?" Malcolm whispered.

Archer glanced back at the remainder of the team. "Let's break out some e-rations," the captain decided. "We need to keep our strength up."

Reed very willingly slid back down the incline, landing on his feet amid a pile of forest debris. He shook himself, trying to clean his body of the clinging water, mud, and countless varieties of leaves. Pleased that his feet still seemed to be warm and dry, Malcolm accepted a high-energy ration bar from a MACO shoulderpack and tore into it hungrily.

xxx

The first sign that something illicit was taking place: the compound was encircled by a tall fence, gated at two points, with a pair of armed guards walking the perimeter. Further complicating matters, the rainforest had been cleared in the immediate vicinity of the wall, leaving any approach visibly open to prying eyes.

"The good news," Malcolm whispered, hiding within the protective environs of a bush, "is that I'm not picking up any security devices. No electromagnetic current in the fence, no pressure sensors in the ground, no routine surveillance. They went with low-tech security."

"Any bad news?" Archer answered softly, hunched down beside the tactical chief. Malcolm simply pointed to the guards, who were making their way down the line, and the humans crunched down, trying to make themselves scarce.

The guards moved slowly, unperturbed by the rain, but they clearly expected little trouble; the Xindi-arboreals conducted visual surveys of the forest wall as they walked, making little effort to closely inspect the dense underbrush. One of the guards did seem to turn his head and stare directly at the bush concealing the humans, but it lasted only a second. The guards continued past, leisurely fulfilling a standard patrol route.

Archer waited until the guards were long past. "How many people inside?" he whispered.

"I don't know for sure," Malcolm answered. "Approximately eighty. None within a hundred meters, although." If they could get through the fence, they'd have clear room to maneuver within.

"With your permission, sir?" Hayes whispered, and he received an affirmative. With hand signals, he dispatched Kemper forward.

The sergeant leapt to his feet and moved, wraithlike, across the open space, bedecked in a natural cover of mud and leaves until he reached the fence. Once there, he dropped to the dirt, twisting himself about so as to resemble a wind-strewn berm. He stayed still for several moments, waiting to ensure that there was no detection; his movements were so subtle and economical that Malcolm only noticed the flare of a laser torch as it sliced into the metal grill. Within minutes, a tunnel-sized hole had been cut from the fence, and Kemper twisted his way in to secure the ingress.

With Major Hayes leading the way, the remaining five humans fell to their bellies and scuttled across the dirt, following the natural, muddy eddies for additional cover. Malcolm's heart pounded every second of the way, counting out the length of their passage in excruciating detail, but it passed uneventfully.

They were inside.

xxx

In a star system without a true star, "dawn" is a bit of a misnomer, even for a starship clinging to the far side of a small moon. Rather than the brilliant rays of morning light, when the brown dwarf emerged over the rock horizon, it emitted a dull red glow as significant as a solitary light bulb in the darkened skies, barely visible against the background fabric of distant stars and assorted points of true light.

Nonetheless, Phlox thought, it had a certain beauty, the sort inherent anywhere in the universe. Violet and crimson streaks swept over the orb's surface in the intricate dance of gaseous convection, pushed from below by atmospheric currents and molded from above by solar winds. It was mesmerizing, and the Denobulan stood silent in his tracks as he watched the vision, constantly changing, never the same, in a delicate ballet of aura.

Sighing, the doctor averted his gaze from the view; he had not come to the mess hall simply to stand by the viewports. He had come for a reason, and that reason was the slender Vulcan sitting properly behind a data padd.

"Commander T'Pol," Phlox said in greeting as he approached her.

Her gaze did not shift, but she was aware of the doctor's presence. "Dr. Phlox," she answered in greeting. She gestured to an empty chair.

Phlox sat down willingly, and held his warm beverage with both hands. "How are you feeling today?" he asked, eyeing the Vulcan.

She set down the data padd. "Feeling?" she asked with a peaked eyebrow.

Phlox resisted the urge to chuckle—the word had a dual meaning, but trust a Vulcan to focus on the wrong one. Or perhaps the right one, he admitted to himself. T'Pol's recovery from her trellium exposure had been slow; it had taken the doctor a week to purge the toxic neurochemicals from her system, and the Vulcan's mental discipline over her emotions was still re-establishing itself.

"How is your physical health today?" he amended, watching her face carefully. As with the rest of her race, the signs of emotional slippage were subtle; it took a trained eye to detect them at all.

"Within proper parameters." Not wanting to say more, T'Pol took a lengthy sip of her beverage. Phlox wrinkled his nose at the bitter waft; his double mocha latte was far preferable to the Vulcan tea. And none of it goes to my waistline, he thought proudly.

"And…other concerns?" Phlox asked carefully, probing gently. No Vulcan liked talking about such affairs, even when it was logical to do so; but she was his patient, and damnit, she was his friend.

T'Pol gazed at Phlox over the rim of her mug. The steam danced in front of her exotic features, momentarily giving her a mirage-like quality. "It has been…more difficult than usual," she acknowledged softly. "My control has not yet fully returned."

As he sipped his coffee, Phlox took care to avoid getting a puff of cream on his nose. T'Pol's admission fit the other subtle indicators he had noticed.

"I am still in control," T'Pol clarified before Phlox could query. "It is just…more difficult."

"My medical database contains a list of Vulcan training techniques," Phlox offered. "Perhaps a refresher is in order."

"Perhaps." T'Pol tilted her head slightly. "It is not easy." She meant, it is not easy admitting to having a chink in the armor. Vulcan pride was potent, and seldom rational.

"Of course," Phlox answered, understanding. He gave a reassuring smile. "The offer is always open."

They sat in friendly silence, each sipping their beverage, until Phlox noted T'Pol's eyes dart—for the third time—to the planet beside them. "They'll be okay, T'Pol," Phlox said, leaning in. "They know what they're doing."

"It is illogical to believe that they are prepared for every eventuality," T'Pol responded tartly.

Now, Phlox did chuckle. "They're human, Commander," he replied. "Logic has nothing to do with it."

xxx

Scampering between darkened recesses and alcoves, the six-person team made its way into the compound. Kemper, as per now-established tradition, took point; and he unerringly led them through the complex to a particular building, identified by Malcolm's scanner as being a power hog. The odds were good that something important would be inside.

The team clung to a shadow outside, waiting for two Xindi-arboreals to leave the sheltered entryway of the building. The door was positioned between two inclined walls that sloped outward, each of which held a joint lighting/heating unit; at the top, the inclines supported a considerable overhang, which protected the doorway from the ever-present rain. The two arboreals stood in the lee, standing casually as they puffed on their respective pipes. The sight gave Malcolm a twinge of amusement.

Eventually, the two arboreals left, departing across the compound for their homes—or a mess, or anything else, Malcolm mused. What mattered was that they left.

Before the team moved, Major Hayes held up a hand in silent warning, freezing the other five in their tracks. The next stage involved moving in the light to the door, and stealth was far more important than haste on this rainy night. Rainy morning? Rainy afternoon? Whatever.

Malcolm added his own eyes to the search for other Xindi. Hayes let it draw on interminably; logically, any invisible witnesses would eventually move, revealing themselves to the team. But the major finally gave the all-clear sign, and the team moved forward.

Kemper took off first, resembling a dust devil of forest debris as he moved. Lengthy observation had indicated that the door was not locked; and when the sergeant hit the control, it slid open obediently, granting him access to the facility within. Thus encouraged, the other moved, one at a time, while the remnants kept their eyes peeled for potential witnesses.

The complete absence of security measures perplexed Malcolm.

Crossing a short anteroom, the team entered the doorway on the far side, and found themselves in an industrial storage room. Maybe five meters by five meters, random pieces of humming machinery were stationed within, some bearing high-tech monitors, and others as rudimentary as an old-fashioned boiler.

Along one wall stretched a lengthy window; when the captain pulled back the drapes, Malcolm realized that they were in some sort of utility room. The main refining facility was on the other side of the glass. Far larger, easily the size of an old-fashioned football field, the facility floor was burrowed beneath ground level. Vast swathes of machinery populated the industrial area.

"Sir!" Malcolm turned his head to the summons, and saw one of the MACOs standing beside a storage unit. It held a dozen canisters in specially-designed slots; punching the controls, Reed withdrew a canister, and held it up before his scanner.

"Some kind of radiolytic compound, Captain," Malcolm reported. Archer had arrived at the unit almost simultaneously. "My scanner can't narrow it down further, but it appears that there are several hundred kilograms in this room alone."

Archer bit his lip. "Is there any way to verify if it's kemocite?" he asked hopefully. Kemocite was the refined metal that had brought them to this colony in the first place.

Malcolm shook his head. "Not down here, sir. We'd have to take a sample back up to the Enteprise."

"Someone's coming!" Hayes hissed.

xxx

Gralik knew that he had to resist the temptation to throw his young aides into the wall. But over the years, he had grown weary of the endless litany of problems and complaints that they brought to him. What I would give for an aide who can SOLVE problems, Gralik thought, snarling internally. Instead, it seemed as though he had to personally address even the simplest, most mundane of issues that inevitably bedeviled the refinement facility.

"There were impurities in the last three production cycles!" Gralik growled. His hand balled into a fist, but he held it firmly by his side. "How long does it take you to fix it?"

"We found a ruptured seal in the tertiary processing chamber," Clynell reported. "I determined that airborne pollutants were leaking in through it."

Very good, Gralik thought. He harbored secret dreams of one day retiring, and leaving the facility in the capable hands of someone else; Clynell was the first arboreal to show a knack for running it. If this continues, I just might be able to step aside. Eventually.

"And what have you done about it?" Gralik demanded, fueled more by fatigue than true anger.

"I repaired the ruptured seal," Clynell answered. "We just finished conducting a test run; the final product was clean."

"So where does this leave us on our production schedule?"

Witwer jumped in with the answer. "We'll have to increase the production rate by at least sixty percent to fulfill the order on time." He sounded inordinately pleased to have deduced such a simple mathematical calculation.

Alsted, the second incompetent, spoke up as well. "Degra isn't being realistic," he said. "This facility isn't designed to manufacture such large quantities."

Gralik glared at Alsted until the younger arboreal backed away in caution. "Degra is a very powerful man, and a very important customer," Gralik snarled. "If he wants this order, then we will find a way to supply it!"

"Maybe we can convince him to accept late delivery on a portion of the shipment," Witwer offered hopefully.

Gralik threw his hands on top of his head in exasperation. "Your job is to synthesize kemocite, not excuses! We'll have to run double shifts until the shipment is finished, so I suggest you get back to work!" Witwer backed away from his furious boss.

"Clynell." Gralik sidestepped the two others. "Retest the last batch—see if you can salvage anything, then destroy the rest. Now get out!" Under the force of the bellow, the three aides withdrew.

Heaving a deep breath, Gralik allowed the vehemence to drain from him, and his body was hit with a wave of exhaustion. Just a few more years, he thought, miserably. By the Furies, if I don't have a successor by then, I'm leaving anyway.

He turned to leave, but was stopped short by something anomalous in the corner of his eye. Frowning, Gralik turned.

There was a canister sitting on the table.

Must be the work of Witwer—or Alsted. The two of them were ignorant enough to make such a mistake. Gralik grabbed the canister and slid it back into the empty storage slot.

On his way out, he gave the room another glance. Truth be known, neither of them were that sloppy. But who else could have left it out?

xxx

"Well, I'd say that was a success," Malcolm murmured as he lay down against the earthy berm. It had taken the team another hour to extricate themselves from the compound and return to the safe confines of the rainforest, but arriving at their haven allowed Malcolm to finally relax—even the rain and mud seemed welcoming, following the hair-raising tension of their reconnaissance outing.

"Who do you suppose this 'Degra' person is?" Archer asked, sitting down beside Reed.

Malcolm shifted his legs in front of him, allowing the muscles to slowly relax. He tilted his head backwards, allowing the rain to trickle down his face. The image of a health spa tickled his mind. "He could be anyone," Malcolm observed. "We haven't verified that this facility is the kemocite source for the weapon, and even if it is—Degra could be a completely different customer."

"True," Archer acknowledged. "But given the context—it seems like they're connected."

"I don't know, Captain," Malcolm admitted. The cold rain slowly washed the grim from his face. "With the complete lack of security, I have a hard time believing that this is a weapon's facility."

Archer grunted and sneezed. "That might not be its primary purpose," he countered, sniffling a bit. "This facility could just a supplier."

With a splash of mud, Major Hayes dropped to the ground beside them. "I've completed my assault analysis, sir," he reported, shaking the gooey mess from his arm. "I'd suggest planting two spatial charges around the perimeter of the compound. It's the best way to ensure total destruction."

"Major, we don't even know for sure if this facility is linked to the weapon," Malcolm countered. "And I think it's fairly obvious that the weapon isn't being built here."

"With respect, sir," Hayes replied, "I see this one of two ways. First, this is the source of kemocite for the weapon. Thus, by destroying it, we set them back considerably. Frankly, unless we can confirm that it isn't, I don't think we have much choice. Second, we confirm that it isn't; but it's still a Xindi facility, and we need to let them know that we will fight back."

Malcolm looked at the major with a hint of shock. "If it isn't a weapons facility, we'd be killing innocent people!"

"They're supplying weapons-grade material to the enemy, Lieutenant," Hayes responded, his mud-caked face hard. "That makes them a fair target."

"We don't know for certain that they are!" Malcolm retorted.

"They are Xindi," Hayes pointed out. "Any way you look at it, Lieutenant, they are the enemy."

Malcolm exploded in anger. "That's bullshit, Major!"

Archer had grabbed a leaf to help clear the wet dirt from his face. "We can't lose sight of our main objective here," he said, cutting off the debate. "Destroying the facility will help—but if we can find out where they're shipping the kemocite, it might lead us to the weapon. We need more information before we can make any decisions, and that's what we'll focus on."

xxx

Situated in the nether regions of the Enterprise's lower hull, G-deck was largely an afterthought for the starship's designers; there was room down below, enough to maintain symmetry with the main bridge on A-deck. But beyond simply being there, the lowest deck offered little of importance. Ordinarily, it was a set of empty rooms that were officially designated "mission-compatible."

In the Expanse, this meant that they had become storage closets.

It also meant the G-deck was the ideal place to attempt to synthesize the volatile, liquid form of trellium-D.

Converting one of the rooms to a science lab had taken little time for the crack engineering team. Synthesizing the trellium, however, was taking longer.

"What's the molecular pressure?" Trip asked over his shoulder. He refused to take his eyes off his own monitor; the substance was simply too unstable to look away, even for a second.

"Up to eleven hundred units," Hoshi replied. While the hard sciences were not her specialty, Ensign Sato had volunteered for the duty, claiming that she was doing next to nothing while the starship awaited the return of its captain. "We need to drop it, Commander."

"Okay," Trip said aloud. The scruff on his chin reminded him of just how long he'd been working on this problem. "Damn, this stuff is tricky…decrease the theta bombardment by six percent. No, make that seven." Decreasing the radiation would hopefully lower the pressure, but it would also make it harder to obtain the catalytic reaction needed to convert the mass of raw materials into functioning trellium.

"The pressure's still rising!" Hoshi called out in warning. "Fourteen hundred units! Fourteen-fifty!"

"Damn it!" Trip slammed the countertop in frustration. "Kill the theta radiation altogether, Hoshi." There were only so many forms of radiation, and none of them seemed to be working…

"The pressure's still rising, Commander!" Hoshi shouted. "Passing sixteen hundred!"

We have a reaction, Trip recognized—just not the one we want. "Get out of here, Hoshi!" he barked. The machinery started to whine as it struggled to hold back the building cauldron.

Hoshi was nearly out the door before she realized that Trip hadn't moved. "Are you coming, Commander?" she yelled back at him.

"I'm trying a burst of delta radiation!" Trip replied as his fingers scurried frantically over the controls. "Shit!" With the vocal warning, he turned and dove through the doorway, sending Hoshi scrambling before him.

The door closed behind his boots, and a second later, a sizable whomp resounded from the room, setting off a bevy of alarms and sirens. The automatic sprinklers kicked on in the corridor, spraying a mist of water and fire retardants on the two officers. Their coveralls were drenched and their ears splitting before Trip was able to silence the emergency systems.

Stepping delicately on his right leg, Trip opened the doorway to survey the remnants of the room inside.

The table was utterly destroyed. The surrounding computer equipment was singed, but salvageable. A thin, white goo coated everything.

Trip sighed. "I'll call maintenance," he offered. "They're getting pretty good at this."

xxx

The outer ring of the compound was composed primarily of residences, numerous enough to provide solitary quarters for the upper echelon of the facility's staff; a fact for which Gralik was profoundly grateful as he stepped out of the constant rain. He had to spend all day around the imbeciles, after all. At least…he thought it was the day. The planet did, in scientific terms, have a "day" and a "night." However, between the dim sun and the heavy cloud cover, the distinction meant little.

At least the day wasn't a total loss, Gralik told himself as he grabbed an oblong, metallic object. He tilted it and poured its contents into a glass, thus revealing that the object was a decanter. The production line is operating normally again. If we can keep it going, we should make the deadline for the shipment.

A part of him hoped that it would be the final shipment. He didn't mind Degra so much; the Xindi-primate was a companionable fellow, although undoubtedly under considerable stress. But wherever Degra was…the reptilians are sure to follow, Gralik thought whimsically. The reptilians—he could do without them.

Lapsing into the quiet solitude of his own thoughts, Gralik was caught flatfooted when he heard a voice behind him.

"I have some questions for you."

Gralik whirled about instinctively, his eyes searching for and locking onto the intruder. There, at his table, a humanoid sat, pointing some sort of ray gun at the administrator. "Who are you?" Gralik asked fearfully, his eyes focusing on the weapon. "What do you want from me?"

"For the moment…" The alien gestured to another chair. "I want you to sit down!"

His usual arboreal lethargy vanishing, Gralik grabbed the proffered seat, holding his drink before him as if it were a shield.

Still half-frozen with astonishment, Gralik watched as a second alien appeared in the doorway. "All clear, sir," this one said. "Apparently, he lives alone." The second being took up an obvious guard position behind Gralik.

"What do you want?" Gralik asked again, unable to avert his gaze from the ray gun. In all his years…he snorted at the trite thought, but he couldn't deny its truth. Something like this had never happened to him—and why should it? If someone wanted his products, they need only come to his office and arrange a business deal.

"What's your name?" the first alien asked.

"Gralik Durr. I'm the—I'm the administrator of this facility."

"My name is Jonathan Archer," the alien replied. "I'm from Earth." Archer put a particular emphasis on the place-name, as if it was of significance, but it held no recognition for the arboreal.

Neither of the aliens were moving towards him, and Gralik began to feel a little more at ease. "Is that supposed to explain why you forced your way into my home?" It alternated between a demand and a wavering quiver. "Among my people, at least, burglary is a crime!"

The Earther called Archer flinched visibly at the accusation, but rolled on. "Tell me about kemocite."

Gralik shrugged internally. There's no problem with telling them that. "It's a multiphasic isotope," he answered.

"Used for what?" the Earther pressed.

"It has any number of uses," Gralik answered. "It's mostly used in power generators."

"But that's not its only use?" The ray gun didn't waver.

"No," Gralik admitted. "At a sufficient level of refinement, it can be used in a weapon." Now, vaguely troubling thoughts were stirring in Gralik's mind; the shipment for Degra was highly refined, and if the rumors about the primate were true…

"You're working with someone named Degra," the Earther stated, settling the matter for Gralik. He had somehow landed in the middle of a battle between the Xindi Council and these…Earthers. "Who is he?"

"That's none of your concern," Gralik answered, not bothering to deny that he recognized the name. These aliens didn't know much about his operations, but they knew enough; and Gralik was in no rush to die. The far-distant Council did little to inspire his loyalty.

Archer's ray gun came up. "What's he using the shipment for?" the Earther demanded again.

"Kemocite can be used for any number of purposes," Gralik replied. He was pleased to note that the waver was gone from his voice. "I don't make a habit of asking our clients what they plan to do with it." And that's the bare truth, he added silently. Once the kemocite was delivered to the end-user, it was no longer his responsibility.

"Maybe you should!" Gralik stumbled backwards as the Earther jumped up vehemently. "Your kemocite is being used to create a weapon that will exterminate my people!"

"What?" Gralik blinked his eyes in disbelief. Could this Earther be telling the truth? Yes, refined kemocite could be used in a weapon…but a weapon capable of destroying a race? There must be a problem in translation, Gralik decided.

The Earther laid his ray gun on the table and grabbed the fearfully-reclined arboreal with both hands. "I want to know where the weapon is being built, and when it's going to be ready!" Archer snarled.

Gralik, sandwiched between the sudden maniacal lunge of the one called Archer, and the gun still held to his back by the second Earther, took great care to not move. "I don't know what you're talking about!" he hissed. "This is the first I've heard about a weapon!"

"And I don't believe you!" the Earther hissed back, spraying Gralik's face with angry spittle. "Tell me what you know!"

"If you already know about Degra, then that is everything!" Gralik noticed that his quiver had returned. "I produce kemocite, Degra's a customer, and that's it!"

"That's not enough!" Archer retorted. He leaned closely enough for Gralik to smell the decomposing forest debris that coated the Earther. "I'm not leaving here until I get the answers I need!"

xxx

After an hour of cyclical questioning, Malcolm gladly accepted the captain's decision to take a breather. They had gotten nowhere; other than the simple admission that yes, Degra was a customer, and yes, he was purchasing highly-refined kemocite, they had gotten nothing from the arboreal administrator. Gralik continued to deny knowing anything about the weapon. It was enough to convince Malcolm that Gralik might actually be telling the truth.

"Give us ten, Sergeant," Archer said, dispatching Kemper in to watch the prisoner. He, Malcolm, and Major Hayes had ducked around to the dark side of the residence, along the compound's perimeter; it meant that they were in the rain, but would also be hidden from any chance encounters.

"Congratulations, sir," Malcolm offered as he bit into a ration bar. It was thick, chewy, and tasted like cardboard, but it packed a punch. "Three months ago we entered the Expanse with no idea who these Xindi were, or how to find them."

"And now we're about to destroy one of their weapons facilities," Hayes added. "With any luck, it'll set their production back by days, weeks…maybe even months. And it'll let them know that we're fighting back."

The rain streamed down Archer's grim-covered face. Malcolm could tell that something was on the captain's mind. "I thought we were here to stop a war, not start one," Archer said after a moment's reflection.

"The starting point has already been passed, Captain," Malcolm said carefully. He slid the food substitute into a pocket in his cheek. "They've already struck. The only option we have left is to end it—on our terms."

The captain's face twisted into a smile. "And what exactly are our terms, Malcolm? To destroy them, because they tried to destroy us? Do we have nothing higher left?" His face fell slightly. "The people here aren't part of our war, Malcolm. They're nothing more than unknowing pawns."

"Sir, this facility is providing crucial material support for the second weapon," Hayes countered firmly. "With all due respect, it doesn't matter if they know about the weapon, or support its use. They're helping the enemy, and that makes them legitimate targets."

Rivulets of mud worked their way down Archer's visage. "But if we respond by destroying them, then aren't we just validating their fears about humanity?"

"Let's not forget about the seven million humans who were killed," Malcolm answered. The wad was gradually softening up in his cheek.

"Sir, I applaud your instincts, but this isn't the time for idealism," Hayes pressed. "Sometimes, it's a good thing to strike fear in the hearts of your enemies—let them know that we can fight a harder, dirtier scrabble than any of them."

"Maybe it's exactly the time for idealism," Archer replied quietly. "If we do fight dirty, we might simply initiate a self-contained circle of war. The only way to avoid that—is to wipe the Xindi out entirely."

"Captain, I might not go as far as the Major here," Malcolm said, feeling ill at his own words. "But from a tactical assessment, we don't have much choice. If destroying this facility can postpone the weapon's launch…I think we have to do it."

"There's always a choice, gentlemen," Archer answered. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his jacket, leaving himself streaked with mud. "Let's keep working on it. In the meantime, Major, prepare a pattern for blast suppressors. If we have to blow up the processing facility, we can at least preserve the rest of the settlement."

"Captain—" Malcolm felt the hesitation in his own voice; he didn't like second-guessing his superior. "What about Gralik, sir? If we leave him alive, he'll tell them about the Enterprise."

"Isn't that the point?" Hayes responded, and tacked on an apologetic "sir."

"I'll deal with Gralik," Archer replied.

xxx

"What is it, Ensign?" T'Pol said abruptly as she entered the command center. The tone was nothing unusual for her; Travis had grown accustomed to the Vulcan demeanor a long time ago, and was unfazed by it.

With the Enterprisesitting at station-keeping, Ensign Mayweather had turned the helm over to the relief officer and returned to his secondary task, that of creating a navigational map of the Delphic Expanse. The data included not just stars and regular astronomical phenomena: he was also charting the gravimetric distortions that rippled through the abused region of space. In the three-dimensional holographic display, the distortions were painted in with striated blue lines.

"Commander, I've been working on predicting the locations of additional Spheres," Travis said excitedly. T'Pol nodded; she remembered quite well. The Enterprisehad only encountered a single one of the monstrous, artificial Spheres, but continuing analysis of sensor data had indicated a connection between the Sphere and the disturbances—thus, with proper mathematical modeling, they had theorized the existence of additional objects.

The pinpricks of light swirled momentarily as Travis adjusted the view. Now, instead of hundreds of stars, the room was filled with only a half-dozen, brought in at a high level of magnification. "This is where we are," Mayweather said, indicating one system with his right hand. "The disturbance vectors indicate that another Sphere should be here." He pointed with his left hand.

It was less than a light-year away.

"Good work, Ensign," T'Pol replied. "As soon as the captain returns, we'll investigate it."

"Um, Commander?" Encountering no resistance, Travis pressed forward. "With all due respect, sir, the landing party isn't due to return for a number of hours still, and we're not much good to them." Neither communications nor the transporter could pierce the cloud cover. "We have time to go to these coordinates, investigate it, and return, all before the captain leaves the surface."

T'Pol felt an unusual urge tighten in her chest; the Ensign's request was completely logical, but it was as if some buried part of her was resisting.

With a chilled rush, she identified it as rank emotionalism. "Transmit the coordinates to the bridge," she ordered immediately.

xxx

"How long are you planning to keep me here?" Gralik demanded as soon as the Earther leader returned, flanked by two others. During their break, the guard had allowed him to get a drink, and he was feeling a little stronger—and a little more belligerent.

"That's up to Captain Archer," one of the guards responded. Maybe I should start numbering them, Gralik thought.

Gralik started to rise to his feet. "If you don't mind, I'd prefer to do my waiting in my study."

The guard pointed his ray gun directly at Gralik's face. "You're going to have to stay right here."

Gralik rose anyway, but didn't step away. "I have work to do," he answered, wondering if these Earthers even had a plan for him. "One of us might as well get something done."

"Please sit down," the guard growled. Two firm hands came down on Gralik's shoulders from behind, forcing him back into the chair.

"I've told you everything I know," Gralik repeated. It had become clear after the first few minutes that these Earthers did not intend to kill him—at least, not in the near future. They seemed no closer now, and Gralik was growing weary of the impasse.

The Earther leader—a captain, Gralik noted—stepped forward, carrying a wrapped parcel in one hand. "You said you weren't involved in building weapons," Archer stated.

"Yes," Gralik repeated. "That's correct. And if you would survey the facility, you would know that we have no capacity to produce weaponry here." The answer was slightly disingenuous, but this whole affair had become surreal.

Archer held out the package. "Explain this." He unwrapped the parcel.

Gralik stared at it suspiciously. Given the buildup, he had been expecting…something. Almost anything. But this? "I have no idea what that is," he answered truthfully.

"It's a fragment of a probe that murdered seven million people," Archer snarled. He waved the scorched package in front of Gralik's eyes. "The dead pilot was Xindi. The materials were Xindi. And it includes the unmistakable signature of kemocite—the compound that you produce here!"

Gralik felt himself growing faint; as a rule, Xindi-arboreals did not hold up well under stress. Their instinct was to withdraw, preferably up the tallest tree available. "This is not the only facility that produces kemocite, Captain," he answered. He forced his eyes to lock onto the Earther's, thus stabilizing his bout of dizziness. "And the Xindi are a far-flung people. We have little to do with each other."

"We know you're dealing with Degra," the captain growled. Gralik wasn't certain, but he interpreted it as frustration. "So don't try to deny your connections!"

"Yes, I do business with Degra!" Gralik forced his gaze to stay fixed; he could feel the room starting to twirl. "I provide him with kemocite, he pays me, and that's the end of the transaction! I have no idea what he does with it, nor is it any of my concern!"

"But how many of your customers purchase weapons-grade material?" Archer retorted furiously. "What other possible use is there for such a high refinement?"

The room was really starting to spin. "Someone running a high-energy power plant may prefer the higher refinement, to help keep the machinery clean!" Gralik insisted.

"We know that the Xindi are constructing a larger version of the weapon, big enough to destroy a planet!" Archer bellowed in Gralik's face, causing the arboreal to cringe from the foul, alien odor. "I want to know where it's being built!"

Gralik mustered up his last bit of strength. "I don't know who you are," he retorted, "but you're the one who broke into my home. You have shown me a single, twisted piece of metal, and you claim that it somehow proves I'm a mass murderer? Have you lost your mind? I'll tell you one last time: I've never seen your species before. I've never heard of a planet called Earth. And whether you believe me or not, I had nothing to do with killing millions of its inhabitants!"

xxx

Gralik turned the hunk of scorched metal over carefully, laying it on the table before him. With the permission of these Earthers, he had retrieved an assayer's scanner from the other room, and now he studied the results with a growing sense of foreboding.

The debris was burnt to a crisp; the charring patterns fit Archer's claim that this chunk had plummeted through an atmosphere, although several other explanations were also possible. But that was not the critical part for Gralik; instead, he was focused on the molecular signature underlying the crusty burns. Feeling ill, he refined his scan further, down to the sub-molecular level.

"This kemocite is extremely refined," he admitted gruffly, not wanting to face the inescapable conclusion that confronted him. He tossed the scanner on the table, as if it was to blame. "Its sub-molecular pattern matches those from this facility. If you'd allow me to access a computer, I could probably narrow it down to the exact batch."

"And the exact customer?" the one called Archer asked. Gralik thought he heard a hint of sorrow in the Earther's voice; perhaps the captain had, after everything, wanted to believe Gralik's innocence.

"Yes," Gralik confirmed, feeling empty. "We supply many species with kemocite, not just the Xindi. It has countless benign applications." And one not-so-benign application, he added silently. Perhaps he should have been more suspicious; when Degra had requested shipments of such highly refined material, the concerns had crossed Gralik's mind. Degra had offered an explanation, weak though it was; some claptrap about reacting more cleanly to preserve some delicate components, Gralik recalled.

It was a legitimate reason, so far as it went; but if that had been Degra's true concern, there were other, albeit slightly costlier, materials that could fit the requirements. When the time came, Gralik had forced his concerns aside. The shipments were extremely profitable for his colony, and had come at a time when the business was sorely needed. He did, after all, have eighty-three Xindi-arboreals depending on him, and a good customer was a good customer.

"Is Degra a reptilian?" Archer asked, apropos of little.

"No, he's a primate." Gralik's curiosity arose. "Have you met any before?"

"Just one," Archer admitted. "At a…mining complex." The Earther seemed to be holding something back, as if struggling with a regret of his own, but Gralik had little interest in exploring the Earther's remorse.

"The primates are similar to you. Ape-like, that is," Gralik amended. "I've always had good experiences with them—Degra and his people have always been fair and honest. Perhaps that is why I believed him when he said the shipment was to fuel a power plant." Who am I fooling with that? Gralik definitely wasn't fooling himself. "It's the reptilians who have a reputation for duplicity."

"We've met a couple of them, too," Archer answered. "They were—assertive."

Gralik snorted at the euphemism. "Hyper-aggressive is more accurate. They believe that their destiny is to dominate everything. It makes the reptilians and the insectoids natural allies."

"How so?" Archer asked.

Gralik noted that the Earthers apparently had not yet met a Xindi-insectoid. He momentarily toyed with the notion of misleading the captain, but rejected the thought; he was beginning to feel a degree of kinship with this alien. "The insectoids are extremely paranoid," he explained. "They match the reptilians' need for domination. But for the insectoids, it stems from a sense of insecurity. Fear," he emphasized. "The only way to ensure the survival of their hatcheries is by preemptively controlling any potential foe."

"We've had some people like that, back on my world," Archer replied. "Hell, there's still a couple…the remaining species is aquatic, right? It's hard to imagine five sentient species evolving on the same planet."

Gralik grunted. "Five? I suppose there are, now." The conversation, no longer fueled by adrenaline (at least, the Xindi equivalent), was making him melancholy, and he slowly poured himself a drink from the decanter. This time, the Earthers made no move to stop him. "Would you care for one, Captain?" he asked politely, holding the drink aloft.

"No, thank you," Archer replied.

Gralik took a sip of the tart beverage. "Did you know that there was once a sixth Xindi species? The odds of it…" Gralik shook his head. "They defy math. For eons, the Xindi believed that we were blessed by the Furies; we could only explain our existence by invoking supernatural involvement. Even today, it is only the steadying hand of the Guardians that prevents my peoples from falling back into civil war."

"The sixth species is extinct?" Archer prodded.

Gralik nodded. "They were avian. They used to fill the skies of Xindus. But they were homedwellers; when the cataclysm came, virtually none had left the homeworld. Certainly not enough to propagate their kind."

As if on second thought, the Earther captain poured himself a slug from the decanter. "We found the debris," he noted. "What happened?"

"Our peoples never got along smoothly," Gralik replied, glossing over millennia of warfare in one sentence. As a lad, he had learned the broad strokes of their history; it took specialists to fill in the blanks. "The last war went on for nearly a hundred years. In the end, someone detonated thermonuclear devices under several seismic fissures. It destroyed our homeworld." No one had ever admitted responsibility for the cataclysm; and it doesn't really matter, Gralik mused. Xindus was gone, never to return.

"I've heard of these Guardians before," the Earther noted.

"They saved us," Gralik answered. "Following the cataclysm…only a few million survived from each species, and they were spread out in a vast Diaspora. The Guardians brought them together, negotiated a peace accord, and helped our peoples come together in a grand Xindi Council. Without the assistance of the Guardians…" It was a depressing thought. "Our people would have slowly disappeared."

And now, it appeared likely that the Council was behind the attack on Earth.

"Captain!" One of the Earther guards burst into the room. "Can I see you for a second?" The Earther's eyes drifted to the ray gun that sat, untouched on the table. "Do you need more guards in here, sir?"

"One is fine, Major," Archer answered. "I'll be right back, Gralik."

xxx

The landing party had been on the planet's surface for nearly twelve hours now, and as they rotated standing guard over Gralik's residence, the other team members returned to the rainforest to snatch naps. McKenzie had found an intact leaf from the aerial heights, large enough to shield a human body; converted into a tent, it protected the dozing from the rain from above. It did little to help with the streams below.

Malcolm was pulling sentry duty when Archer returned, creeping through the rain and mist to the ridgeline vantage-point. "What is it, Lieutenant?" Archer asked, easing himself down to a prone position.

"Captain," Malcolm acknowledged formally, before segueing into his report. "I've noticed considerable activity lately; it seemed like something out of the ordinary was taking place." He handed the captain a set of binoculars. "Focus on the doorway of the processing facility."

As Archer did so, Malcolm raised his own viewers; the activity was clearly significant, but he did not know why.

A Xindi-primate had arrived.

The primate stood in front of the facility, flanked by four reptilians, and was confronting one of Gralik's assistants. The arboreal was flailing about, clearly half-panicked in the face of belligerence; Malcolm wished he could hear what was happening, but the directed audio pickups were useless in so much rain.

Lying beside Malcolm, the captain was silent for several moments as he watched the new arrivals. "Recognize anyway?" Archer asked finally, lifting his chin out of the mud to speak.

"No, sir," Malcolm answered regretfully. "Is it possible that the primate is this Degra that Gralik mentioned?" He spat out the name like a curse. The beast Degra was connected to the weapon in some meaningful way; was Degra the arch-murderer himself?

"I'll have to go back in and ask Gralik," Archer replied. "He didn't mention anything about an imminent arrival."

"Given how flustered his assistant is, it may be an unscheduled visit," Malcolm noted. One of the reptilians was spitting in the face of the arboreal. "They do seem rather upset about something."

xxx

When Gralik heard, he felt panic surge up within him. "They're ahead of schedule! We weren't expecting them for another three days. They must suspect your presence here!" He recognized the hyperbolic alarm in his own voice, but could do little to control it. They're here, they're here, he kept thinking, the mantra repeating in his mind. This cannot be good.

"What makes you say that?" the Earther captain asked, showing no similar sign of alarm.

"The final shipment is due in three days! If they're here…they must be concerned about you! They're here to protect it from you!" This is not good. This is not good. This is not good. "You have to let me go, Captain!"

"I'm not going to let you warn them, Gralik!" Archer snapped.

"It's not that, Captain!" Gralik stumbled fearfully over the words. "I'm the primary technician in this facility. They'll want to talk to me before accepting delivery, to make sure…" his hands moved frantically. "They'll want reassurances that all of their technical requirements have been met. If I don't talk to them, they'll know that you're here!"

"How do I know that you won't expose us?" Archer snarled. "You might tell them about the Enterprise!"

Gralik fell backwards at the words; they stung deeply, more than he cared to admit to himself. "I'm proud of my craft, Captain," he answered. The blow had knocked the freneticism from him, and his words became slow and deliberate. "I'm not a murderer. But it appears that I am negligent…I should have chosen my clients more carefully, asked a few questions, demanded better explanations."

Archer waited for Gralik to continue.

"Seven million people…" The number still dwarfed Gralik's thoughts. "I owe them amends, Captain."

The unspoken recognition passed between the two men.

"Captain." Archer's communicator crackled to life a second later. Malcolm was outside, standing watch over Gralik's residence; he would only use the communicator if there was imminent danger.

"Archer here. What is it?"

"Captain, there are two arboreals heading this way, on a straight line for the front door."

As if in cooperation, a loud knock resounded a moment later. "Administrator, are you in there?" A voice carried through; Gralik identified it as Clynell. "Gralik, are you there?"

Gralik felt a little safer; Clynell would not barge into his house, and after a minute, the voice disappeared.

"Captain." Reed's voice crackled through. "They've gone."

Gratefully, Gralik rose back to his feet, his knees cracking loudly. "They'll return," he told the Earther captain, this time with concern. "Probably with armed reptilians."

Archer looked skeptical. "Just because you didn't answer your door?"

Gralik stretched out a kink in his leg. "There are fewer than a hundred people on this planet. We know each other, and we know each other's patterns; Clynell knows that I'm always home at this time of day. My absence won't go unnoticed."

The Earther captain frowned. "How long do you think Degra will stay? Will he hang around until the shipment is ready?"

"That's not the issue," Gralik replied, irritated that the Earther wasn't catching on. "Degra won't leave until he speaks to me. I have to verify the results of the final isotopic analysis for him; no one else can do it. Like it or not, Captain, you're going to have to trust me and let me go."

xxx

Porthos barked loudly at the tennis ball that was stuck to the wall. The game should have been simple; Phlox tossed the ball against the wall, it bounced off, Porthos chased it down…and repeat. But the ball wasn't bouncing off, and that just wasn't right.

Phlox was less perplexed. "Phlox to the bridge," he said, tapping the intercom panel. "I assume we're getting close?"

"Yes, Doctor," T'Pol answered. "You may wish to prepare for injuries."

xxx

"Status report," T'Pol ordered. She gripped the arms of the command chair tightly as the Enterprisestarted to shake.

"I'm getting reports of anomalies on all decks," Hoshi reported, quickly collating the automated damage reports that flowed into her console.

"Incoming!" Rahimi shouted from the tactical post, scarcely a second before a distortion wave hit the bridge. Starting on the starboard side, it swept across, bending and twisting everything in its path; a console exploded under the strain, spraying out strangely-morphed sparks. Beside it, a crewman fell to the floor, clutching his abdomen.

The wave continued rippling through the ship, towards the forward hull, flexing and stretching the tritanium sheeting as it went. The alloy bent and twisted, the hull bulged and contracted violently; around the outer rim of the front saucer, the metal sheeting expanded to its breaking point and shattered, sending hull plating shooting outward and exposing the innards of the ship.

"Breaches on decks B, C, and E!" Hoshi shouted out, scrambling to shut off the shrill hull-breach alarms. "Emergency bulkheads are in place. Three subsections have decompressed!"

"Was anyone in those sections?" T'Pol demanded. Hoshi's answer was cut short by a rumbling quake as another distortion wave rippled through the bridge.

"We're losing structural integrity in the forward hull!" Rahimi called out.

Enough was enough. T'Pol quickly turned to Travis. "All stop!" she ordered.

Travis was mildly surprised when the shudders stopped; it wasn't like the waves were immobile in space, but he would take the stroke of luck. "The anomalies are stronger here, Commander," he said.

T'Pol rose and watched over Travis' shoulder as he pulled up the navigational data. "If there is another Sphere in the region, it's emitting a lot more energy than the first one," she noted.

"Given what we know about the first one, that's entirely possible," Travis responded. "Commander, with these readings, it's not safe to take the Enterprisein any further. There's a good chance the ship would be torn apart."

T'Pol could find no flaw with the ensign's reasoning. "How far to the focal point of the anomalies?"

"It's hard to be certain," Travis admitted. "Seventy-five thousand kilometers, give or take ten thousand."

"It might as well be seventy-five thousand light-years," Hoshi muttered.

T'Pol's sensitive hearing picked it up. "If it was seventy-five thousand light-years, Ensign, we wouldn't be having these problems in the first place."

"Commander, I have an idea." Travis spun around in his chair to address the Vulcan. "We've began outfitting one of the shuttlepods with the synthetic trellium. We haven't had a chance to test it under real conditions, but this seems to be as good as any."

"How long would it take to finish insulating the shuttle?" T'Pol asked, weighing the proposal carefully.

"Three, maybe four hours," Travis answered.

T'Pol nodded. "Very well, Ensign. Report to the launch bay. Let's try to accomplish this as expeditiously as possible." And as for myself, she thought, it appears that I'll be steering clear of the launch bay for a little while.

xxx

Clynell felt the situation slipping away as Degra and his guards settled into the refinery control room. They clearly had little intention of returning to their ship until they spoke with Gralik; and their presence in the confined room was oppressive, particularly for the conflict-adverse arboreal.

And Clynell was simultaneously worried—Gralik was not one to disappear. Sure, the compound's administrator would take off for stretches to explore the rainforests outside; but Gralik always told Clynell in advance, and took along a communications device for emergency summons. To completely disappear…Clynell shook his head, trying to clear the confusion. Too many unexpected things were happening at once.

"More delays?" One of the reptilians growled, irritated with the waiting. He picked up a random test cylinder. "Commander Dolim will not be pleased."

Clynell stiffened at the casual handling of the volatile container.

"Dolim's pleasure is not my concern," Degra retorted. "And we are the ones who showed up early."

"That's no excuse." The reptile slammed the container to the table's surface, causing Clynell's heart to jump. "They should have been ready by now."

"That's ridiculous," Degra snapped. "They should have been ready, before the agreed-upon date for shipment? Or do you think Gralik should have sat in his office, day and night, just in case we arrived early?"

"Gralik took the risk," the reptilian guard snarled. "He knew that we might require earlier delivery. He should have planned for it."

"You could learn something from Gralik," Degra shot back. "Patience, for example. Forbearance, maybe. Or a little less arrogance!"

The hulking reptile bared his teeth at the smaller primate.

"I am a representative of the Xindi Council!" Degra responded vehemently. "That, if nothing else, compels your obedience on this matter!" The reptile snarled, but said nothing. "Why don't you go help search the compound?" Degra added.

"With pleasure," the guard replied, his tone dripping with violent hunger. He eagerly departed, leaving behind Degra and Clynell.

"My…friend does have a point," Degra noted, turning his attention to the administrator's aide. "If Gralik isn't available, he should have left instructions for how to contact him. This sort of negligence is intolerable from any Xindi colonial administrator."

Clynell felt helpless. "We can't find him," the arboreal answered sheepishly. "He usually does leave us instructions, but this time, he took off without notifying anyone. I've checked around, but no one's seen him."

"This complex isn't that large," Degra responded irritably. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to cut off the sinus pains that were stabbing into his head. "It can't be that difficult to find him."

"If he were inside the compound, it wouldn't be difficult," Clynell agreed quickly. "But since we can't find him inside, that means—"

"He must be outside. In the forest."

"Yes," Clynell confirmed. "He doesn't go out there often, but when he does—it's exceedingly hard to track anyone. The ore deposits interfere with scanners, and searching on foot can take days."

"Sounds like a perfect task for the reptilians," Degra replied thoughtfully.

xxx

Malcolm's scanner trilled sharply.

"What is it?" Archer's head rotated in alarm.

"Someone's closing in on our position, sir." Reed, Archer, and Hayes were still bunkered down in Gralik's residence with the Xindi-arboreal. By the time they had noted the concerted search teams sweeping the compound, it was too late to leave—the odds of being seen were too high. Instead, they doused the lights of the building and crouched into darkened corners; unless someone physically entered the house and swept it, they would remain hidden.

The odds were not in their favor.

"Can you tell who it is?" Archer asked. His wrist was connected to their prisoner with a zip-cuff. "Is it the reptilians?"

"I'm not certain," Malcolm admitted a moment later. "Their biosigns aren't strong enough to overcome the distortions. They're at three hundred fifty meters."

"We're practically sitting on a vein of topaline ore," Gralik added from the darkness beside Archer. "I'm impressed that your scanner works at all."

"Major?" Archer couldn't see Hayes, but he knew the MACO commander was somewhere in the dark room.

"I have them, sir," Hayes replied softly. "They're in visual range. I'm counting one reptilian and one arboreal."

"Focus on the reptilian first," Archer ordered. Their reception by Gralik had convinced him that the reptiles were a greater threat.

"Aye, sir," Hayes answered. He focused his phase rifle on the cold-blooded creature. A subtle beep in his ear informed the major that he had a target lock. "On your orders, Captain."

"They're still closing, sir," Malcolm added. "Two hundred meters. Almost a direct bearing."

"Hold your fire, Major." There was still time for the search party to veer off.

"One fifty."

"Captain, how much—"

"Hold, Major."

"One hundred."

Momentary silence.

"They're veering off, sir!" Malcolm spoke in relief. The tension evaporated at his words.

"Confirmed, sir," Hayes added, clicking his rifle's safety back on. "They've turned off. Not much of a search party."

Gralik laughed softly. He understood what had just transpired. "I suspect that my aides are having some fun with the reptilians," he explained. "As you know, my people are not much for direct confrontation—but we are quite good at passive resistance."

"Whatever it is, I'm grateful," Archer replied.

"The reptilians have cleared away," Malcolm confirmed. "I still have a couple readings, but nothing on approach."

"I doubt they'll find us," Gralik said. "If they resort to scanners, the topaline ore will protect us—our sensors are not as advanced as yours, Lieutenant. And my aides seem to be in no hurry."

"Just the same, sir, we should keep moving," Hayes countered. "The longer we stay here—"

"What do you intend to do now, Captain?" Gralik broke in cautiously. "I assume that you plan to destroy our facility? Do you plan to give us sufficient warning to vacate it, or will you dispose of my people with the blast?" The arboreal's voice became barbed.

"I've been considering another option," Archer admitted.

"I'd certainly like to hear it."

Archer raised an unseen hand to scratch his forehead. "The people in this colony didn't intend to assist the attack on my planet. I don't like the idea of killing them, or even taking away their livelihood."

"Captain, may I remind you," Malcolm hissed, "that they did give material support to the enemy? With all due respect, their intentions are meaningless. They trafficked in weapons. Weapons of mass destruction!"

"Destroying this facility would be a considerable tactical coup," Hayes added on. "If we can stop the final shipment of kemocite, we could set back production of the second weapon by—well, I don't know how long; but it would have to help!"

"I'm not going to take unnecessary lives," Archer stated firmly.

"But these people are accessories to genocide!" Malcolm retorted heatedly. "And if we stop them now, we might be able to prevent billions more deaths! The arithmetic is simple, Captain! A handful of murderers, or the entire human race!"

"Enough!" Archer's voice grew sharp. "This is a command decision, and not open for debate! Is that understood?"

Two grumbling "yes, sir's" replied.

"Now, you, Gralik." Archer focused on the arboreal. "You offered to help us. Are you still willing?"

"If you're prepared to trust me," Gralik answered. "My duty to the dead means preserving the living."

"Then we'll give them their kemocite," Archer answered, "but it won't be exactly what they ordered."

xxx

Behind the helm of the shuttlepod, Travis Mayweather let out a low whistle of amazement. "According to the sensors, we're passing right through a gravimetric distortion," he added verbally. "We should be doing back flips by now."

"Yep, that distortion wave has one helluva punch." Trip was riding in the starboard jumpseat, conducting analyses of the raw data. "That damned trellium seems to be doing its job!"

"I can't believe how smooth this is." Travis could barely get over the surprise.

"What's our distance, Travis?"

Travis shook his head to clear it. "We're approaching seventy-nine thousand kilometers, Commander. Still no sign of a cloaking barrier."

"We should be hitting it by now," Trip muttered. The trellium might have been stabilizing the shuttle, but it did little to help the sensors pierce the distortions. "Try adjusting your heading to zero-one-six-mark-two."

"Aye, sir," Travis confirmed, easing the pod slightly to starboard. The shuttle shuddered suddenly, disturbing its occupants with the unexpected force. "What was that, Commander?" Travis asked with concern, hoping it wasn't a problem with the trellium.

"I think that was a good sign," Trip answered laconically. It took a second to compile the sensor readings. "I think we grazed the perimeter of the field—it was too shallow of an angle to penetrate. Try bringing us around in a gradual, starboard curve."

The shuttle steadied again as Travis came about, directing the nose of the pod directly at the field. "I think that's it, Travis!" Trip exclaimed. "Maintain course straight ahead!"

The shuttle began to bounce again as it encountered the turbulence of the cloaking barrier, and the controls flickered momentarily. "Power's fluctuating, sir," Travis reported.

"We'll be through in a second," Trip replied with assurance, and as he spoke, the view before them cleared.

And they saw a massive, metallic Sphere. It stretched before them, nearly filling the forward viewscreen.

"Sweet shit," Travis whispered as his eyes grew wide. "Looks like we were right." There was a Sphere at the heart of the distortion fields.

"Good work, Ensign," Trip said in congratulations. The theory had been Travis' baby. "Let's take care of business first, although. Hull integrity?"

Travis blinked his eyes and looked down. "Some microfractures," he reported. "Nothing we can't handle. Primary power relays are stabilizing."

"Ah, hell," Trip snarled suddenly. "The sensor relays were damaged."

Travis glanced backwards. "Can we repair them out here?"

"No, we'll have to get back to the Enterprise." The engineer re-ran the diagnostics, but the results came out the same. "I need to open up the circuit housings on the undercarriage. No way to get them from the inside."

"I'll plot a return course," Travis replied in frustration. "At least we know that the trellium works now."

"Wait a sec, Travis." Trip's eyes gleamed with sudden enthusiasm. "Are the descent thrusters operational?"

"They should be…you want to land on that thing?"

"Why not, Travis?"

Mayweather smiled in excitement. "At your command, sir."

"Thrusters ready, Travis. Bring us down."

xxx

Gralik did his best to disguise the sense of energy that permeated him as he entered the refinery control room. On the heels of his mysterious absence and the early arrival with Degra, his excitement would only raise suspicions from his aides, and questions that he had no desire to answer; instead, he forced himself to maintain a dour, scowling expression, sharing his staff's anger at the interference of the reptilians in their carefully-calibrated daily schedules.

"They're still looking for you," Clynell greeted his boss as the elder arboreal entered. There were no reptilians present to overhear. "They'll be looking for a while longer, if they stick to the search pattern I laid out."

Gralik couldn't help but smile, and he patted the younger Xindi on the shoulder. "Well done, Clynell," he answered gruffly. "Have you started loading the shipment?"

"Not yet."

"Good!" Gralik felt the absurd urge to cackle evilly, but withheld it. "I need to run another refinement test."

Clynell eyed his superior with perplexed curiosity. "We've completed three already. The impurities were less than six parts per million, well within parameters."

Gralik laid a hand on the younger arboreal's shoulder. "We have to be absolutely certain about it. You know how important this is to all of us. Besides…" he lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I think they can wait a little longer."

"Of course, Administrator." Clynell replied with a grin.

"You two perform the isotopic analysis," Gralik ordered. "I'll start the sub-molecular scans." And make a couple changes while I'm in there.

xxx

The reptilian guards nearly knocked the door from its frame as they bludgeoned their way into the storage room. Despite the ruckus, Gralik made a point of ignoring the brutes; he focused on his work, keeping his back towards the interlopers, until one of the guards grabbed the arboreal administrator by the arm.

"Where were you?" the hulking reptile growled. His tongue spat out towards Gralik's face.

The scientist involuntarily stepped back. "My personal activities are none of your concern!" He had long experience in dealing with the reptilians, but he had never learned to tolerate their dank breath.

"And do your personal activities involve disappearing when representatives of the Xindi Council are looking for you?" the guard demanded, keeping his physical presence in close to the smaller Xindi.

"You're two days early!" Gralik retorted. He was retiring soon, anyway; what did it matter if he refused to cooperate with these brutes?

Degra stepped around, and eyed Gralik suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

"Running some final tests," Gralik stated, using the opportunity to slide out from under the imposing presence of the reptilian guard.

"What kind of tests? We were told that the shipment was ready!" Degra's voice rose in fury. "Have you become incompetent at last, Gralik?"

"The shipment isn't due for delivery until the day after tomorrow, Degra," Gralik retorted. "If I choose to use that time to verify the purity of the entire batch, then I am well within my authority to do so. If you don't like it, then go back to the Council and have them replace me!"

"That would take weeks!" Degra growled angrily.

"Then have your guards take it!" Gralik shot back, feeling extremely liberated. He had spent forty-two years at this facility, making productive and profitable for the greater good of the Xindi Union; he had always toed the line, cooperated with the Council, and acceded to their every need. Now, even the threat of violence from the reptilians no longer deterred him.

"Maybe I will!" The guards came closer.

"But if it doesn't meet your requirements, don't come back here expecting me to produce another hundred kilograms!" Gralik snarled, half-mad with delight. "Or you can let me do my job, and in two days, every single gram of that shipment will be perfectly calibrated!"

Degra's eyes shot daggers at the scientist. "Finish quickly, Gralik. I'm taking delivery today."

xxx

One gloved leg emerged first as Trip emerged from the shuttle's cabin, clad in the bulky EV gear that would protect from the harshness of vacuum. It was followed by half his body, then the other half, in slow movements as he adjusted to the lack of gravity, and seconds later, the engineer found himself on the surface of the Sphere. His magnetic boots clung to the metal, keeping him from bouncing off into space; with studied movements, he shifted each foot, testing the terrain.

"Not exactly my idea of shore leave," Travis commented as his head poked out the shuttle's side door. He crawled out, noticeably quicker than the commander; the ensign had spent nearly his entire life in space, and was just as comfortable in zero-g as he was around the artificial gravity fields of interstellar starships.

It earned him a wry glare from Commander Tucker. "You're making me look old, Travis."

"Sorry, sir," Travis replied grinning.

"Why don't you take a look around?" Trip suggested. "I'm going to take a look at the sensor relays."

"Sure thing, sir." Travis turned to take a stroll across the curved surface of the Sphere.

"One more thing, Travis." Trip took a moment to look at the endless brown metal, arcing away into the horizon. Behind it, the sky was twisted in malevolent auras of brown and gold. "Don't get lost."

xxx

Five human forms lay prone on the earthy berm, half-buried beneath protective coats of mud and forest debris. The wet ground squelched beneath them, causing them to sink further at the slightest movement, and a steady trickle of rain only added to the moist misery.

"There are two of them," Reed whispered, peering through his binoculars. "Around the back side of the Xindi shuttle."

"I got them," Kemper vocalized softly. He was in closer, near the perimeter of the compound. The handheld communicators barely picked up his words. "They're loading containers into the shuttle."

"Damn," Malcolm hissed. "I was hoping that we'd have more time."

"Let's hope it was enough," Archer answered. Feeling the cramp developing in his leg, he stretched it out horizontally, moving as slowly as possible. "It's a lot easier to poison a shipment of kemocite than it is to purify one."

"Captain, what if Gralik didn't have enough time?" Malcolm asked quietly. Following the captain's cue, he also took a moment to stretch his abused legs.

Archer held up a hand scanner to show the blinking signal. It was on the move, approaching the cargo shuttle. "He had enough time to insert the transponder." It was a remarkably delicate piece of machinery; made with nanotechnology, it had to be able to evade any scans, yet still transmit a signal. Archer knew that, in time, Degra's teams would find it; but the kemocite would likely not be subjected to a high-intensity scan until it reached the next stop.

And even that little bit would bring them closer to the weapon, Archer knew. Settling in for a wait, he drew a leaf tent closer around his head in a futile effort to escape the constant rain.

xxx

Almost there, Trip told himself as he maneuvered the delicate circuitry with gloved hands. He was inside an exterior access port, trying to repair the overloaded sensor relays, and thanking the patrons of starship design that the circuits were oversized; some intrepid designer had recognized that engineers would eventually have to conduct repairs while wearing EV gear, and had adjusted the relays to fit.

Just two more relays, and I should have it. He connected one. And two for the show—as the second relay snapped into place, it shot out a shower of sparks. That's not good.

Trip slowly jumped back from the explosion, drifting to a stop a meter away. He saw the gas before he recognized what was happening: the forward port thruster had engaged, and was firing sporadically. The shuttlepod careened over in a soft barrel roll, lifting itself off the surface in the process. "Aw, shit," he muttered, watching the pod rotate away.

"Commander!" Travis came bounding across the Sphere. "What happened?"

"The port thruster ignited!" Trip answered disgustedly.

"I can see that, sir," Travis replied.

"When I was bypassing the last relay, I must've triggered a surge in the propulsion system," Trip added in clarification. "Son of a bitch!"

The two men stood in helpless silence as they watched the pod continue to spin away from the surface. It wasn't moving quickly—a meter per second, at most—but it was too far away for a targeted leap, and neither officer had the equipment to tap into the pod's controls.

"Son of a bitch!" Trip muttered again. The shuttle's spin picked up added velocity, and it tightened into a spiral. It was now a good ten meters above them. "Travis," Trip said thoughtfully, "can you launch without a port thruster?"

"I can sure as hell try, Commander," the pilot answered.

In unison, they drew their phase pistols. "Whoever gets the first clear shot," Trip ordered, and they waited for the port side to rotate back towards them.

xxx

"Administrator Gralik," Degra stated formally, "the Xindi Council recognizes and appreciates your efforts. You have served the Xindi Diaspora with distinction and honor."

With the kemocite transfer complete, the two Xindi—one arboreal, the other primate—met one last time to observe the protocols. Degra undoubtedly intended a certain air of sentiment; but for Gralik, enough was enough. He would be glad to be rid of their guests, glad to be done with the production contract, and glad to get out of the business entirely; and with his surreptitious tasks finished, the weight of fatigue hit him with a crushing blow.

"Perhaps you'll need our services again in the future," Gralik replied politely. "I'll miss the pleasure of your visits." He didn't mean a single word of it, and no longer cared if Degra believed him.

"We must get going, Degra," one of the guards grunted. "We have a schedule to keep to."

"In a moment," Degra retorted irritably. "Gralik, I hope the Furies allow our paths to cross again."

"There's just one more thing," Gralik said, adopting an air of hesitation. "We've invested a lot of time and care to supply so much highly refined ore for you."

"And you've been paid well for it," Degra replied. He was uncertain where the hint was leading.

"Yes, you've been more than generous," Gralik answered. "But this has become such a pet project for us—I'd appreciate it if you could tell me what this shipment is being used for."

"It doesn't concern you," the guard snarled immediately. "You have done your job. Be happy with it."

"Now, now," Degra said, admonishing the reptilian. "It's not an unreasonable request."

"It's classified information!" the guard answered.

"If you're allowed to know," Degra snorted, "then surely a man of Gralik's importance can be told as well. You see, Gralik…the Council has learned of a threat to our people."

"What kind of threat?" Gralik didn't have to manufacture curiosity.

"A ruthless alien species," Degra explained. "If we don't act, they'll destroy us."

"So the kemocite…" Gralik let the words run long. "It is being used to fuel a weapon."

"Yes." Degra's answer was simple. "But it is a weapon that will deliver the Xindi people, and guarantee our security, once and for all. Take pride in what you've done here, Gralik. You have helped protect our future."

xxx

Trip and Travis fired their pistols at the same moment, causing the two men to give each other a sideways glance.

"Careful, sir," Travis offered. "You don't want to hit the O2 recycler."

Trip grunted at the ensign and got off another shot. It struck close, scorching the paint only a couple centimeters away from the thruster. "I need to spend more time in the armory," he growled.

They waited again as the shuttle spun, the port side turning away from them. "If you like, sir, I'll tell people that it was a faulty relay," Travis suggested with a teasing grin.

"You might have something there, Ensign," Trip replied. "Watch your mark!"

The pod was getting too far away; this was their last chance. As the shuttle spun back around, Trip and Travis fired together, striking the vicinity of the malfunctioning thruster.

Neither could actually see the hit, but the aftereffect made clear that they had struck the target. The gaseous thrust ceased, and the added affect of the strike to the pod's angular momentum sent it spiraling downwards on a crash course with the Sphere.

"We might as well get walking," Trip suggested as the shuttle came down beyond the horizon.

xxx

Jonathan Archer couldn't decide which sounded better, and ultimately chose both: a long, hot shower, followed by a hot, arid desert. Far, far away from this rainforest, he thought. After several days of immersion in the mud, muck, and endless rain, he felt outright soggy, like a rag doll in the middle of a typhoon.

He accepted the proffered drink from Gralik, and the two men raised their cups in silent toast. "Thank you," Archer said. The liquid stung, but at least it was warm. "If you don't mind me asking, Gralik…you seem bothered by something."

Gralik looked down at his cup and nodded. "I may have just betrayed my people to a ruthless alien species, Captain," he answered.

"I promise you, you haven't," Archer replied firmly. He set down his own cup. "Back when I was in school, I took a course on international politics," he said, transitioning into a musing tone. "One day, the professor asked us a provocative question. Say your people were at war with another, and somehow, you come to learn that your own military is going to strike a non-combat target. Hundreds of innocent deaths will result." Gralik nodded to indicate that he was following the story.

"You're unable to stop the strike from your side," Archer continued. "Now, you can warn the other side, but it means that your soldiers will likely be caught and killed. Do you do it?"

"There's another step to your story, Captain," Gralik replied gruffly. "By warning your enemy, you take the first step to establish trust; and that trust may eventually yield a treaty. What some might call treason ends up being the highest form of patriotism."

"The ultimate pursuit of peace is always patriotic," Archer agreed gladly. He raised his drink in toast. "To trust."

"To trust," Gralik agreed. They clinked their cups and drink.

After shaking off the sting, Archer spoke again. "Eventually, Degra's going to realize that you sabotaged his kemocite."

Gralik shrugged. "I'll deal with him, when the time comes. Until then…it will delay their progress considerably. If it gives you sufficient time to find that weapon…don't worry about me, Captain Archer. I am at peace with my choices. As for you, Captain…I hope you remember that not all Xindi are your enemy."

xxx

Captain's Log, August 18, 2153. Degra's ship has departed the system, the Enterprisehas returned, and the landing party is back on board. Unfortunately, we were unable to follow the transponder through the Xindi's subspace corridor. We must hope that the sabotaged kemocite buys us enough time.

Five members of the landing party, upon returning to the starship, eschewed the notion of spending the night in their quarters; instead, to a person, they had commandeered Phlox's decon chamber. None had contracted an exotic and deadly alien disease, although the doctor did detect several respiratory infections; instead, it was the warm, soothing radiance of the chamber that they sought.

Archer had one duty to attend to before joining them.

"What have you got?" he asked as he entered the command center. Commander T'Pol and Ensign Mayweather were inside, their faces shadowed by the bank of lights shining from the monitors.

"The data we collected has allowed us to create a nearly accurate map of the anomalies," T'Pol reported. Before her, on the main screen, was the familiar map of gravimetric distortion waves; large symbols were added to show the now-confirmed locations of several Spheres.

Archer caught the qualifier immediately. "Nearly?"

"Take a look at these coordinates, sir," Travis replied. He pulled up the relevant data. "This is just one selection—these coordinates show the mapped locations of the strongest distortion currents."

"The waves aren't intersecting where they're supposed to," Archer noted. "It's subtle, but something's not adding up there, is it?"

"No, Captain." T'Pol added several more vectored waves to the display. "The locations are being influenced by more than two gravimetric sources. A third Sphere would correct some of the error, but not all of it."

Archer stepped backwards, stunned by the news. "Just how many are we talking about, T'Pol?" he whispered. Their mission was quickly getting much, much more dangerous.

"I had the computer run a covariant extrapolation," T'Pol answered. "We'll need to get farther into the Expanse to be certain, but I estimate a minimum of fifty Spheres." As she spoke, the Vulcan added more crossing lines to the display, until it was awash with dots and interconnecting dashes.

"Fifty man-made Spheres, each the size of a small moon," Archer breathed softly.

"And each one generating massive amounts of gravimetric energy," T'Pol noted. "These Spheres seem to responsible for the existence of the Expanse."

"Is it possible that whoever built things may have wanted to create this wasteland?" Archer asked, still staring at the display in shock.

T'Pol cocked her head. "Why would someone want to create a web of crippling anomalies?"

"I don't know, Commander," Archer answered. "But if we crack this, we might just crack the entire Delphic Expanse."