A/N: Are we halfway through the episode already? I hadn't realized how much of it was meaningless filler until now. A note to all of my readers who are native speakers of English: if you are reading and find a grammatical error or an incident of poor word choice, please tell me! I won't take any offense, because it's how I'll get better. I speak four languages in total, and English is without a doubt the most difficult. I don't know how you all manage.

Hats off to Belen09 for offering her opinion on the matter of the bomb, putting forth a bit of conventional wisdom that I used here.

Next time: The pilgrims meet Arev, everyone's favorite double crossing desert dweller. Also, something runs afoul with the data Malcolm collected. Just a bit more filler until we meet the Syrrannites!

Bostanai

Chapter Three

"Lieutenant, do be careful not to bend down next to any open flame!"

The sudden reminder startled Malcolm, nearly causing him to nick his brow with a razor. Phlox, who had shouted this order, was surveying his handiwork from a distance.

From their adventures with the Akaali, the crew had discovered the doctor's talent for prostheses. Whether it be false cranial ridges or in this case latex ears, he placed undue flourish into every piece. Several times his expertise had been called into question for plays put on by recreational groups aboard, and he was only too happy to oblige. A hooked nose from the science department's production of Cyrano de Bergerac even stood in a place of honor on a high shelf, the misshapen lump of medical grade silicone remaining a talking point for everyone who entered sickbay.

Presently, Reed was leaning over the sink shaping his eyebrows to a pedigree Vulcan standard. The doctor had pointed out that using a laser would have been more efficient, but he was nervous to bring such a tool so close to his eyes as it was. His old straight razor, manufactured for men who preferred to harken back to a distant time, would have to do.

He felt incredibly out of place in Ambassador Soval's clothing. The last time he had donned a set of Vulcan robes, he had nearly been killed in the kal-if-fee. In fact, there was no guarantee that he'd return from this mission either. If this were to keep up, he might as well purchase some robes for himself.

If there is a weapon, humanity will find some means to use it. That had been a popular saying among the students at his university. In his history courses, they had discussed wars of centuries past, sometimes scoffing at the ridiculous reasons world governments would use to justify the killings of millions of people. He had sworn that he would never turn into the bloodthirsty monsters that he studied, even though he often had to memorize their tactics and validate their actions to a group. It was difficult to admit now that he very nearly had turned into the kind of man he didn't want to be.

Given the chance, at the proper opportunity, aimed at the right species, would he have used the Bostanai? There was no doubt in his mind that he would have. But once he put himself in the position of the people whose lives he would have destroyed, he began to think better.

If there was one thing his time in Section 31 had taught him, it was to see the bigger picture. The High Command wouldn't have gone to the trouble of stealing the schematics for the bomb if they were just going to use it to round up some pacifist dissidents. No, even if they were going to find a way to shift all the blame onto him and get away scot free, this could only be the first step in a long chain of events.

That had been his personal justification for deciding to go undercover. He thanked God that he didn't have to justify it in the end. This decision was risky, dangerous, and not to mention wholly inadvisable, but he couldn't back out now.

The doors to sickbay open and T'Pol enters wearing her desert gear. It consists of a white catsuit and a floor dusting ivory coat, incongruously stylish for the terrain she was about to face. The last time he'd seen her wear it, they'd been defending a deuterium mining colony from a troop of Klingon marauders. He distinctly remembers the sight of her incapacitating two men with little more than a flick of the wrist. At the time, he hadn't known himself to be infatuated with her, but that had been a strong indicator of what was to come.

She hesitates when she sees his transformation. His skin has been colored with a demipermanent makeup, causing her husband to appear infinitely more tan than he actually was. Malcolm even seemed to stand up straighter in the ambassador's robes, as if he knew they suited him well. Clearing her throat, she says, "The Captain and I are preparing to depart. We will have no contact with Enterprise or with you once we are on the ground. Soval has fully falsified the information you'll need to get into the compound. Here is the profile of the identity you will assume."

Malcolm accepted the PADD from her, scanning over the details to make sure they were correct. As far as anyone on the surface knew, he was an independent contractor from a security firm on the southern continent. The name he had requested had even come through.

"You honor my father with your choice," she said, her eyes hovering over the moniker that brought her back to distant memories. Sanet.

He shrugs, as if it had been a spur of the moment decision. "It's a popular name."

T'Pol is having a difficult time maintaining eye contact with him, knowing that she was going to have to bid Malcolm farewell for such an extended period of time. They had seldom been apart since their marriage. Given that the one exception had been little more than a hostage situation, the loss was still felt. Slowly, she stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

His eyes widened as he processed what it was she had to say. Her attempt to give him something to remember her by had flown by with all the subtlety of a train wreck. But he couldn't pretend that her comment hadn't affected him. Holding her at arm's length, he said, "Be careful, Commander."

That could have meant multiple things, as it somehow managed to betray both Malcolm's anxiety and anticipation about what was to come. As they stepped apart and T'Pol moved to leave, she only had one thing to say: "Always, Lieutenant."

-0-

Upon entering her boyfriend's quarters, Hoshi heard the shower running. She found this unusual, for although they had gotten off shift at the same time, he had raced from the bridge without so much of a word to anyone. Furthermore, he hadn't joined her for dinner. It was looking more and more like he was trying to avoid her, a very difficult thing to do on a starship. Rapping on the bathroom door with her knuckles, she called out, "Do you want to talk about it?"

From inside, Trip didn't miss the unmistakable humor in her voice. Normally, that would have cheered him. But now he was so absorbed in his anger that he didn't want to think about anything else.

The door slid open, revealing the man with a towel wrapped around his waist. As steam billowed out from behind him and he pushed past her into the room, Trip said, "Nope."

She crossed her arms while she thought of what to say next. Typically she was the one to balance him out whenever he got into one of his moods, which hadn't happened for a while. In fact, the last time she had seen him so sullen he had ran away from the vacation home during a tropical storm. She could say as much, but didn't want to risk opening old wounds. "You're in command until they get back. You can't act like this around the crew."

Trip sighed, realizing that he really ought to stop acting like a petulant child. "I know that, Hosh, but I can't believe I'm being asked to be an accomplice to all of this. Just what the hell do I tell the Vulcans if they come around asking to talk to Jon?"

This confused Hoshi, for he already knew what to do. They had both sat in on the same briefing, hadn't they? "He's doing what he thinks is best. I was a little skeptical, but after hearing all the facts, I agree with him. And we can manage without the Captain. We've done it before. Don't you have faith in yourself?"

Poking his head out from the closet where he was getting dressed, Trip replied, "It's not us I'm worried about. We could lose all three of them down there. I'm not even sure we've heard all the facts."

She sits at the end of his bed, tucking her knees up to her chin. "Do you honestly think Malcolm's lying to us?" There was an unsaid question wrapped up in that, and it all depended on whether he believed the docile armory officer was capable of murdering forty-three people.

He emerges dressed in his pajamas, eyebrows climbing into his hairline. "I definitely think it's possible. Did you hear the specs on the goddamn thing? If he can build that, he can definitely think about how to use it."

Sato frowned. He knew Malcolm better than she, but she was hesitant to yield to his knowledge on this particular subject. They had all pledged allegiance to Starfleet, having been indoctrinated with a set of morals that had been ingrained in them since the start of their training. Surely after all he'd been through, all of the races he'd seen pulled back from the brink of destruction, he couldn't bear the thought of the slaughter of innocents. "He doesn't seem like the type to kill, Trip."

"They never do!" He's gesturing wildly with his hands. "Everyone's got a dark side, including him. You'd think he'd put himself in the situation of people who would lose everything, but some just don't have that kind of moral compass."

Were they still speaking of the bombing of the United Earth Embassy, or something else? After all the progress they'd made, she didn't want his thoughts to become fixated on his sister's death once again. "Alright, fine. I understand. But let me ask you, would you kill if you were ordered to? If you felt like you had to?"

He was silent, but Hoshi knew that the answer was yes.

"That's the difference. Malcolm didn't have to do anything. He'd already won the battle. He got the girl and kept his life. He's got his career and reputation and everything else going for him. Why would he put all that on the line to work for the Andorians, or the High Command, or the Syrrannites, or whoever did the deed, just to kill his own people and put his own neck back out on the chopping block?"

Trip sat, exhaling loudly through his mouth. He really shouldn't be making any snap judgments at the time, but there was a part of his mind that hated the mystery of the chase. Archer often wondered in his private moments alone with him what would happen if Enterprise were to return to their original mission of exploration. Could they ever really do so, or would they be trapped in an endless cycle of disaster response as far as the eye could see?

"Why do I feel so conflicted?" He wondered aloud, laying down in his bunk.

His significant other copied his movement, propping herself up on her elbows. "It's because you know I'm right," she responded coyly, and flashed him a kind of smile he could never refuse.

Really, he didn't, but he wanted to humor her. Drawing Hoshi close and depositing a kiss on the bridge of her nose, he said, "I hope you are."

-0-

Jonathan could live one hundred years and never experience such oppressive weather conditions as he did on his very first day in the Forge.

The sun beat down relentlessly, bathing him in a dry heat that was anything but welcoming. He was struck by how monotonous the landscape was. With the reddish sky and black outcroppings of rock, the sameness was almost repulsive. It was filthy. It was desolate. It was a gross caricature of everything a desert was supposed to be. He had learned long ago to reserve judgment about a location while on an away mission, but he wasn't feeling optimistic at the moment.

With every step, the ground shifted underneath his feet. As they climbed their first dune, T'Pol told them that the place they were now standing was where Surak was rumored to have begun his journey. The history lesson was lovely, but could they really get moving?

Most of the day's travel was conducted in silence, save for his first officer pointing out inconsequential landmarks along the way. In his mind's eye, he drifted back to his days of survival training in Australia. That was where he had first learned how to survive in the desert. Erika had been on his team, and although he felt like he was going to die with every action he did, her presence had made it worthwhile.

He hadn't indulged his feelings to anyone, but he missed her already. The little camping trip he was currently engaged in would be a little more bearable if he had someone to banter with. Well, he could try and joke around with T'Pol, but he doubted she'd entertain his witticisms.

Just as they were starting to settle down for the night, he heard a low drone overhead. Jon immediately recognized it as that of a hovercraft. "I thought technology didn't work here."

"The dampening field only extends a few hundred meters above the ground. The patrol craft can fly over it, but their sensors can't see us," she replied.

That must be why she'd chosen a narrow ledge on the side of a ridge to set up camp. If they were spotted from overhead, they'd appear like a bunch of fallen rock. "No wonder the Syrrannites like it here."

There was no response as she silently stared out into the distance. After a while, Jon began to rummage in his pack for water. "Can I ask you a question, T'Pol?"

She hesitated, but eventually said, "I don't see why not." They'd be spending the next few days together, after all, so she'd have to get used to the Captain's constant needling once again.

"How are things going with Malcolm?"

At first he thought he'd committed a grave offense, for she had grabbed a hold of his wrist and clenched tightly. But then he saw that she was not looking at him, but turning her ear to the wilderness. "We're being stalked."

The noise that had been almost inaudible before was now ten times louder, an outlandish, piercing shriek. Standing along with her, Jon exclaimed, "What the hell was that?"

"Sehlat," she hissed, the very word sounding treacherous as it rolled off her tongue. "Run!"

Honestly, he didn't need to be told twice.

As the duo made their way to higher ground, he peered over his shoulder at the mysterious animal that was chasing them. It was a ghastly thing, the unholy love child of a grizzly bear and a saber toothed tiger. If they were to survive this predicament, the sight of it would be nightmare fodder for sure.

Once they had arrived at a safer height and it became apparent that the sehlat wasn't going to climb after them, Archer inquired breathlessly, "How long before it loses interest?"

"Days at least. They're very persistent creatures. When I was a child, I had one as a pet."

Watching the animal pace back and forth below them, Jon realized that they really wouldn't be going anywhere. He slung his backpack off his shoulder and lowered it to the ground. Just as he was about to doze off for a bit of fitful rest, he heard his second say, "To answer your question, we are fine. I am content in his presence."

"Glad to hear it," he mumbled into his makeshift pillow. As much hiking as he had done today, he really wasn't in the mood for conversation.

After a while, he heard T'Pol roll out her sleeping bag beside him. Almost instantly, he felt a finger poking him in the ribs.

"Commander Tucker often mentions that you have a female friend of special significance. I have been engaged in relations with a human long enough to know that this often means romantic involvement."

He couldn't believe his ears. His science officer, who would ordinarily be pleased to talk shop until the cows came home, was asking him about his love life? Silently, he cursed Trip to high heaven.

"I can't really tell you anything, T'Pol."

"Why not?"

"I just can't, alright?"

"Is she aboard Enterprise?"

So she was concerned about him dating below himself in the chain of command. This was a little ludicrous, considering she was doing the very same. But the last thing he needed was her reporting back to Tucker and not realizing how this information could fuel the rumor mill.

"No. Haven't you read through the senior staff appointments for the Columbia? It's Captain Hernandez," he finally came out with it.

T'Pol is silent for almost a few moments as she processes this. Finally, he receives her verdict. "I have read her biography. I understand that you have some prior history with her. All things considered, she seems like an honorable choice. Allow me to extend my congratulations, Captain."

Even though his head was covered in the jacket of his desert uniform, T'Pol could hear him groan.

(to be continued)