A/N: Wow! Thank you for the strong response leading into my newest story. I always feel a little awkward writing in a language that is not my own. The fact that I'm not a native English speaker comes out in the fact that I write everything like an essay for my exposition and composition courses. Sorry that this chapter is a little long. I didn't want to split it and risk losing momentum.

Next time: Into the Forge we go! Also, the first major Troshi scene of the story.

Bostanai

Chapter Two

As Malcolm appears on the other side on the transporter assembly, he's surprised to feel his knees go out from under him. Luckily, one of the Phlox's assistants was at his side in an instant, taking hold of his arm and murmuring something about shock.

He had no clue how spot on his assessment had been.

On their way to sickbay, it becomes apparent to him that Travis is a lot worse for wear. There's a chemical burn across his shoulder, and he now sports several scrapes and abrasions on his face. He's in fairly good spirits, however, and Malcolm can't say the same for himself.

His scanner is confiscated as soon as he enters the doctor's domain, and he's strapped down to a biobed in preparation for a trip into the imaging chamber. It's the only way to rule out that the shock of yet another near death experience hasn't done damage to his nervous system. All of his protests fall on deaf ears, though; Phlox seems focused on his attempts to identify the genetic samples he'd gathered.

The prophylactic measure only takes a few minutes, but to Malcolm it feels like an eternity. He feels like he should be doing a lot more than laying there. He could be up and about, running through Enterprise's security scans in order to prove his innocence. And while they're not yet sure who the human DNA he'd recovered belongs to, he has a sneaking suspicion of who it might be.

It would make sense for him to have a personal vendetta against Administrator Havek, and by extension of that the entire High Command. And any jury in the quadrant would certainly conclude that he had the means to act on it. He'd known that V'Las and his lot were powerful, but hadn't known they'd resort to this. They'd struck while he was unprepared to react. How many times had he sworn to T'Pol that he'd do some digging around with his contacts in order to look into the Syrrannites and her mother's involvement with it? So many, and yet he hadn't followed through with it, because he'd feared that something like this was going to happen.

His thoughts drifted to the line of code he'd read in the control center of the armory. The Ministry of Security, under the authority of the High Command, almost certainly had the ability to disguise their actions. Somehow, one of their operatives had snuck aboard and crafted an elaborate ruse so as to frame him. They'd wanted him to find a record of them being there. They wanted him to come after him. The manual security override function was a dangling lure for a man like him, and at that moment he decided he was more than prepared to strike.

"According to the Vulcan genome registry, the DNA on the bomb's controls was left by this woman, T'Pau," Phlox informed the assembled crowd, which included the Captain and Investigator Stel.

While the men were distracted, T'Pol strayed to his side. She holds out her index and middle finger, a gesture that he returns. It's a small comfort, but lessens their instinctive need for each other.

"And the human DNA?" The male Vulcan questions, his eyes straying over to Malcolm.

It's clear that Phlox is wrestling with his conscience. He makes a big show of returning to his data and skimming it once more. When he speaks, his voice is so tense that it betrays his dishonesty. "We didn't recover enough material to make an immediate identification. I shall inform you when the results are conclusive."

Malcolm is floored by the fact that the doctor would lie on his behalf. A few feet away, Stel doesn't appear to buy it. "See that you do. Because T'Pau is Vulcan, the Security Directorate will take charge of locating her."

"Of course. We respect your sovereignty," Archer says diplomatically, but decides to see just how far he can push the envelope. "Commander T'Pol and Lieutenant Reed will assist you."

From the way both of his eyebrows raise and he stiffens, they know that Stel has to do a double take when he hears this. "Their assistance is not needed."

"Thirty-one humans died in the blast, Investigator. We want her apprehended as much as you do," he reminds him.

"A human might also be partially responsible," Stel counters. "We'll inform Ambassador Soval of any developments that concern you." Knowing that he had won the battle, the Vulcan seizes the opportunity to make a swift exit.

Once he's gone, Jonathan steps up to the doctor's assembly. After a few seconds, he steps back with his eyes closed. "Lieutenant, are you prepared to tell me how your DNA wound up on the controls of this bomb?"

"It's not just a bomb, Captain," he says, noticing how Phlox disappears behind one of the curtains to attend to Mayweather. The indiscretion he performed here today would not be soon forgotten. "I should know, because I designed it."

The silence in the room at that moment is so devastating that his heart nearly skips a beat. Archer's gaze is so penetrating, so demoralizing, that he can't escape it.

On the other side of the room, the communicator mounted to the wall beeps. T'Pol takes the opportunity to remove herself from the situation, and he doesn't blame her. It actually turns out to be for the best, because the message is for her.

"Ambassador Soval awaits you in your quarters, ma'am," Hoshi informs her, her voice lilting with curiosity.

She glances over her shoulder at the two men, one perhaps her closest friend and the other her lover. Finally tearing her eyes away from them, she exits quickly.

"Speak of the devil," Archer mumbles. "Listen. I'll meet you in my quarters in half an hour. I've got a little personal business to attend to. If you're not there at the stroke of 0300, I'll have you locked up in the brig until we can get this sorted out. Is that clear, Lieutenant?"

He nods, releasing his fists. He hadn't realized it until then, but he had great handfuls of the fabric of his trousers balled up in his fingers. He was losing hope quickly. Without the Captain on his side, it seemed that he would be doomed.

-0-

She finds the ambassador exactly where he's said to be. T'Pol finds his appearance, with the greenish bruising around his face and neck, to be a little unsettling. Soval has been a mentor to her for as long as she can remember, so it hurts her heart to see him injured.

"It is agreeable to see you again," he says, sinking down onto her bunk. Seeing his youthful counterpart has caused his age to betray him, and Soval suddenly feels immeasurably weak.

Her eyes lock on a collection of her husband's things taking up space on the armoire. It's out of place among the sparse decor of her quarters. Subconsciously, she moves to stand in front of the incriminating items. "I suppose you're here to tell me that I should have expected retaliation for the kal-if-fee."

"You should have," he agrees. "New security measures have been put into place. Because of my association with you and your mate, I am distrusted among V'Las's administration. For this reason, I am unable to assist with the investigation."

T'Pol blinked slowly. To her knowledge, Soval had been acquainted with her mother long before her birth. If he had known of her involvement with the Syrrannites, surely he could not condone it.

"Why are you here?" She demanded, suspecting it was to merely tell her that she and Malcolm were doomed. She believed him and his claims of innocence—by Surak, she had to—but suspected that few others did.

Soval stands, rummaging around in a pocket of his diaphanous robe. "I have been tasked with investigating an occurrence that has been deemed a lower priority." Finally, he produced a small wooden box and handed it to her.

Whatever she had been expecting, it hadn't been this. Noting a flash of silver even before the lid was fully open, T'Pol found herself gazing upon her family's heirloom kol-ut-shan.

Throughout her childhood, the IDIC had its own place of honor above the hearth. She had been allowed to look at it, but never to touch. Her eyes narrowing to slits, she held it up to the light.

Hanging on a weighty chain of metallic thread, the copper disc was engraved with a saying that was only too familiar to every Vulcan man, woman, and child: infinite diversity in infinite combinations. Purported to represent Surak's enlightenment atop Mount Seleya in the dark times of their history, each family owned a customized medallion. Now, it seemed that it was her time to take care of it.

"This was the only thing found in your mother's cell after her escape," Soval said. "I secured it on my person before the Ministry could catalog it as evidence."

Her eyes widened. Clearly, T'Les had wanted him to find it, but it was unbelievable to her that her mentor would go against the very principles he had built his career on. "I don't understand."

"Neither did I," he admitted, taking the IDIC from her. Placing the device on a flat surface, he pressed the silver key in the center. Instantly, a holographic image appeared. The two studied the interlocking longitudinal lines and reddish terrain in silence for a moment. "Do you recognize these landmarks?"

"The Forge," T'Pol muttered reverently, for she had heard of the immense power of the desert in her years of training at the Academy of Sciences. No electronic devices worked there, nor did particle weapons or any other technology that made use of magnetism. Surak supposedly followed the path of the sands to seek enlightenment, and many a Syrrannite had perished in their attempts to do the same. It was clear to her now that T'Les had modified the IDIC in order to encourage her to come after her.

She needed no further reassurance.

"I should show this to Captain Archer. It might help us find my mother and T'Pau," she said, securing the IDIC back in its box.

"Let it guide you. I guarantee that the answers you seek can only be found on Vulcan. There, the rightful truth shall reveal itself," Soval advised.

An eyebrow was raised at that. "You believe the Syrrannites to be innocent?"

The elder Vulcan stood, bowing his head to her. Moving to the door, he offered one final tidbit of cryptic wisdom: "Don't you?"

-0-

Malcolm arrived outside the Captain's quarters a full ten minutes before the appointed time only to hear low voices from the inside. Perhaps a security detail had already been called down, and he was prepared to have him arrested and court martialed. Taking a deep breath, he entered.

He was surprised to see his wife, sitting Indian style on the double bed with the Captain. Between them, two holographic images churned and reflected. One appeared to be a map of some kind, while the other seemed to be a list of coordinates.

He cleared his throat, causing his colleagues to jump. They looked for all the world like children who had just been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Even Porthos, Jonathan's trusty beagle, eyed him from his pallet with suspicion.

"Mr. Reed, thank you for coming," Jon began, a lot more cordially than he had expected. "Take a seat."

Slowly, a bit awkwardly, he mimicked their posture. He couldn't banish the thought from his mind that they probably looked like a bunch of school girls prepared to gossip.

"We've both spoken with Ambassador Soval," T'Pol said, and explained the purpose of the modified IDIC. As she spoke, he marveled over the attention to detail that had been accomplished in the landscape. It was truly a work of holographic art.

Archer indicated the values from the data module. "These are coordinates where there might be gaps in the Ministry of Security's sensor array, straight from the horse's mouth." He went on to tell him that he had encountered the ambassador in the cargo bay that had only a few days ago hosted a basketball tournament, but was now filled with rows of coffins. It seemed that the ordinarily straight laced Soval was now encouraging his friends to engage in some decidedly illegal activities.

Once they were finished, he decided to interject some research of his own. "As you can see, there was a data breach in my department in the early morning hours of the—"

"Lieutenant," Jon cut him off. "What you're telling me, I've already heard from your significant other."

The two men's eyes strayed to the woman in question, who did not react. Malcolm knew that he would forever be in awe of the science officer's resourcefulness. And now, he would be eternally grateful for her faith in him. "How did you know I was innocent, sir?"

"I didn't," he acknowledged, "but she convinced me. You two practically share a residence now. It's not beyond expectation for her to know everything about you."

Malcolm cleared his throat uncomfortably. It still made him tetchy to hear his commanding officer discuss a relationship between two of his subordinates so nonchalantly. He decided to change the subject before things could get more awkward for him. "I suppose one of you is going to suggest an away mission to locate the Syrrannites."

Beside him, T'Pol nodded. "I should hope that there are no arguments that I'll be leading the expedition."

This made sense. It was her mother, her heritage, her homeland. The two men accepted the proposal.

Jumping in before Jon could get a word in, Malcolm said, "I'd like to go with you. You're going to need protection."

Had they been in less tense circumstances, Archer would have laughed aloud at her facial expression. With flared nostrils and narrowed eyes, T'Pol looked like a rhinoceros about to charge. "Need I remind you that I have been on countless missions before joining this crew, and furthermore—"

Not desiring to see a lover's spat of epic proportions unfold in front of him, he cut in, "I believe T'Pol's trying to tell you that she can take care of herself."

He was very clearly indignant of the suggestion of his wife venturing into the desert without him, so he ignored Jon's feeble attempt at peacemaking. "Darling, you were nearly sold into the Orion slave trade only last month!"

Turning off the holographic image with a click, T'Pol decided that she would let the less than professional address slide for the moment. "I understand that you feel as if you have a score to settle with the High Command, but believe me when I say that this is not the way to accomplish it. If you go down there with me, it will be considered a violent invasion, should we be discovered. You have no idea how close you are, my husband, to being accused of the callous murder of over forty people."

The Brit exhaled loudly, knowing full well that she was right. "Fine. Captain, am I to assume that you would like to go down into this Forge?"

"It would be my pleasure," he said.

"Then I'd like for you to entertain my proposal of an undercover mission," Malcolm pursued his train of thought with earnest. "Should an arrest warrant come out bearing my name, it would be inadvisable for me to remain aboard."

"Are you honestly telling me that you want to infiltrate the High Command under a false identity in order to find out who framed you, rather than allow the judicial process to handle things?"

"I think we both know by now that going by the book rarely ends in our favor," he countered. "If I uncover any subterfuge, it may lead to the discovery of a larger conspiracy, most likely involving the Syrrannites."

The two other officers were quiet as they thought this over. As much as they were loath to admit it, each knew that he was right. Quietly, T'Pol rose to her feet. "I'll begin making preparations."

Once she was gone, Jonathan said, "I want to know more about this weapon."

It was unusual for the Captain to inquire into the technical aspects of his innovations, but he decided to humor him. "Well, it's a multichamber explosive set to detonate upon physical touch or—"

He waved his hand to interrupt him. Thinking that this was his cue, Porthos lept onto the bed and curled up at Archer's feet. "That's not what I mean. Lieutenant, I've always encouraged you to be looking out for the next big thing. When you show me your prototypes, their names are usually a series of numbers and symbols. So why is this one different?"

He couldn't be serious. Of all the questions he could ask about his motives or what he wanted to achieve by going undercover, he had chosen that one?

"It's from a Hebrew legend I read as a youth. My educators at boarding school were very keen on studying the folklore of other cultures," he said. Malcolm was a little hesitant to own up to it, but he had spent a great deal of his teenage years with his nose buried in a book.

Seeing how the Captain had leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed above his head, he knew that there was no hope for him getting away with the ten cent explanation. Sighing, he began, "There once was a very powerful Persian shah named Hormuz, or so the story goes. He wonders why the Jewish people have kept the faith even after being persecuted under his reign, and his advisor responds that it is because they share a common ancestor in the House of David and all of their hope stems from there. The king ordered his soldiers to depart the palace and kill every Hebrew man, woman, and child. He believes that if the Jews were to be exterminated in his kingdom, this would cause the people to be demoralized everywhere else."

"Like the Xindi when they set out to bomb Florida," Jonathan mused, his eyebrows knit together.

Malcolm nodded. The attack had certainly caused a ripple affect across the planet, reaching the external colonies and everyone aboard Enterprise. "The shah dreamed that he was walking in his rose garden, only every bloom around him was red. It was to symbolize the blood that had been shed. For the next year, no prized roses would grow in Persia. Hormuz grows angry and hacks at the bushes. An old man appears and asks him why he was so unsatisfied with the destruction he had already brought down upon the Jewish people that he must kill the last blossom. When it appears that the old man is going to kill the king, he falls to his knees and begs for his life. If only he'll be spared, he'll locate the last flower and cherish it."

Had the Xindi succeeded in their mission to eliminate humanity, only isolated populations that had managed to run and hide could survive. "Unlike the king, they never would have regretted their actions," Jonathan mumbles, and Malcolm is glad that he is beginning to understand.

"He searches far and wide for someone that can interpret his dream. Finally, a wise rabbi tells him that the old man in his dream represents King David, and therefore he has promised to care for the last living descendant of him in the kingdom. The rabbi brought to him a young boy he named Bostanai, in honor of the rose garden. He was raised as a prince and brought much prosperity to the kingdom, proving that he was of truly noble blood time and time again."

The Captain was silent for a moment as he took all of this in. "So you're saying that you developed this weapon in hopes of achieving peace?"

He buried his face in his hands. "I know it seems counterintuitive, but everyone was in a rough spot in the time we thought you were dead. If the Xindi were exterminated in one region, I held onto the foolish hope that the rest would abandon their pursuit of us and things would return to how they were. I know now that war can't be solved with bloodshed alone, although sometimes I dearly wish that it could. It would make things a whole lot simpler."

Jonathan couldn't help but chuckle at that. "You're right. It's a pity you never got to put it to a noble purpose. From the specs that your wife gave me, the Bostanai seems like a hell of a weapon."

"I'm not so sure that there will ever be a noble purpose for a weapon like that, sir, not as long as I'm alive," Malcolm answered. Truthfully, he was tired of blood being spilled on his hands. But it was starting to look like his dirty work was far from over.

"If I were you, I'd go see Doctor Phlox about some prosthetic ears," the Captain said after a few moments in thought. Taking a hint, he stood.

"I suppose I don't have to ask that you watch over T'Pol in my stead, do I?" With one foot already in the hallway, he turned over his shoulder to ask one final question. For the first time in a few hours, he had been able to crack a wry smile.

His superior officer scoffed in good humor. "You've got nothing to worry about. Get some rest, Lieutenant."

"You too, sir," Malcolm said shortly before the door closed behind him.

Archer sighed, allowing Porthos to climb in his lap. If they were to depart the next morning, there was still a lot of work to be done. Activating the data module that Soval had left him, he began to scrutinize the list of coordinates. They'd be needing a plan, and probably several backups.

Hell, with his luck, he might as well list them all the way down to the end of alphabet.

(to be continued)