A/N: Thank you for your continued support. I just keep changing my mind on the number of chapters to expect-right now we're moving towards thirteen. It's not a nice round number, but it'll do. I had a little bit of fun with Hoshi in this chapter...let me know what you think!

Next time: I've been dropping subtle hints as to what's ailing T'Pol, but the ball really gets rolling when RTP reunites in the next chapter. Soval comes through for Jon and T'Pau, while Troshi negotiates yet another dangerous situation.

Bostanai

Chapter Ten

Hoshi was having difficulty sleeping.

This was not unusual for her; insomnia had kept her up most nights before she had found a bedmate. Trip kept her centered, and she was often able to drift off with her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. But he wasn't with her, and wouldn't be for the foreseeable future.

He was going to work himself into an early grave. After his conversation with Shran, they had little to do but wait for the shrewd Imperial Guardsman to consult with his superiors. The threat of a conflict was imminent, so each department head had run the gauntlet with their staff, making sure that every aspect of the ship was in perfect running order. There hadn't been much for her to do, so Hoshi had spent the better part of the last hour slumped over in her station with a forlorn look on her face as she thought about the tragic things that could happen.

It wasn't just the Andorians' lack of cooperation that frustrated her. Malcolm hadn't answered the communicator she knew he had with him, even though she had tried to hail it multiple times. There was a very distinct possibility that his cover had been blown, which could jeopardize the entire mission.

Enterprise's chief of security had been in worse scrapes before. Multiple times, when tormented by his captor, Reed had refused to divulge any information. Hoshi knew this, and so she trusted him. Through the more horrendous aspects of life, she believed that people were still innately good on the inside. But perhaps she was naive for thinking that.

Closing her eyes, she tried to focus on the drone of the ship's background noise. It was a technique that Trip had taught her; that man would sleep atop his engines if given the opportunity. The sameness of it was comforting, something to cling to in her ever-changing world.

Her skin was beginning to tingle, from her nose to the tips of her toes. It was a sensation that few were accustomed to; those who were, were most definitely Starfleet officers. Finally realizing what was happening, Hoshi made a desperate grab for the bed post. What had formerly been her quarters began to fold in on itself in an infinite arrangement of squares.

There was that endless moment of oblivion where she could sense nothing. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but ever since her ordeal in the particle assembly matrix where she had completely disappeared, Hoshi was hypersensitive to transporters.

A pin prick of light appeared on the horizon, growing bigger by the second. It engulfed her person and deposited her on the other side of the matter stream, where three very gruff looking Andorians peered down at her with distaste.

One of them bent down and placed the tip of his plasma rifle to her chest, something she found entirely unnecessary. A majority of the blue-skinned aliens looked the same to her, but when a familiar face stepped into view, she immediately recognized him.

"Commander Shran," she questioned demurely, trying not to betray her unease. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He smiled, a cold and dour gesture. "I understand that you are Commander Tucker's chosen mate, as well as the person that answers all incoming communications aboard the ship."

Behind him, Hoshi could see an upright plane contoured to the shape of a humanoid body. At level with the eyes were two electrodes, from which electricity jumped back and forth. This must be one of the specialized devices often used to interrogate Vulcan operatives and lower their threshold of pain. Apparently, it could also be appropriated for prisoners of other species.

So they were planning on torturing any additional information out of her. Well, that was tough luck, because she did not know anything that would be of interest to them. Hoshi nodded slowly, keeping a close eye on the two guards in her peripheral vision. She'd already let her captors get the best of her once, back during the Xindi conflict. She'd be damned if that would happen again.

"We can go about this the easy way, woman. Tell us what we want to know and we won't have to extract the information out of you," Shran said.

Releasing her muscles and stretching like a drowsy cat, Hoshi feigned disinterest. "I'd help you if I could, Commander, but everything that Tucker's told you has been true to my knowledge."

Shran eyed the Terran woman, taking in her complete disregard for his authority, and suddenly became enraged. "Strap her down," he ordered his assistants.

That's when she sprang into action. The two soldiers had approached her while she was still on the ground, leaving their shoulders and chests vulnerable. She took advantage of their low center of balance and landed a blow each to where she assumed their solar plexuses to be.

In addition to receiving cutting edge training in linguistics back home in Japan, Hoshi had mastered aikido at an early age. Her quick work with her wits and a bowstaff had given her the upper hand in many fights in the past, and this one was no exception.

Grabbing a hold of one of the guard's arms, she twisted backwards and flipped him over her shoulder like a rag doll. His weapon went flying, colliding with the wall and sliding to the floor. The other sentinel foolishly attempted to attack Hoshi from behind, causing him to be thrown backwards onto his flailing companion.

Shocked at how fast his assistants had been incapacitated, Shran was dismayed to discover that he was next. It was no matter; how could a woman, of considerably less strength and stature than he, defeat him in combat? All that was needed was one smooth, fatal blow to settle the score. He should—

Hoshi struck first, placing one arm level with his shoulder and the other across his pectoral muscles. A second later he was sent flying backwards into the center of the room.

Perhaps he had made an error in his choice of prisoner.

-0-

The sun was now high in the sky over the Forge, and T'Pau and Jonathan were faced with the dilemma over their next move.

His primary desire, first and foremost, was to locate his science officer. T'Pol had gone through way too much by his side, had endured so much already, that he knew he couldn't leave her at the hands of the Ministry of Security. She could be tortured or killed.

T'Pau pointed out, much to his chagrin, that this had most likely already happened. The High Command was nothing but efficient, and they would have no choice but to do the same. Their original mission remained to deliver the Kir'Shara to the capital and set the new era of reform on Vulcan into high gear. Frankly, Jon was tired of listening to these grandiose plans and drivel about how the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. He already got enough of that bullshit from the philosopher in his head.

Not for the first time since this entire ordeal had begun, he found himself wishing that he could talk to Erika. She would know what to do; she always did. Even in the midst of training exercises out in the desert, she always kept her head about her. She had even brought him out of the worst depression of his life only a month earlier. If and when he returned to Enterprise, he made a mental note to contact her and thank her for all that she had done for him and more.

In the meantime, however, Archer had to admit that T'Pau was right. If they hurried, they might be able to reach Shi'Kahr before nightfall. He doubted that the High Command would kill T'Pol before V'Las had the chance to interrogate her; that pompous bastard would just have to have the last laugh.

As they walked, he took a moment to say a silent prayer for every one of his officers, wherever in the universe they happened to be. Jon had never been a religious man, and he sure as hell didn't know how one would pray to Surak. So he just still his thoughts and imagined a simpler time, one where they had been explorers of a noble path, and everything of worth had been perfect.

-0-

Back on the bridge, Trip was drumming his fingers on the armrest. They had yet to hear back from the Andorian fleet. It was a complex issue, but one that required immediate action. For all they knew, V'Las and his cruisers could be en route to the nebula at that very moment. The wait was agonizing, especially because he could do nothing about it in the meantime.

Only an hour ago, he had nearly had to order his girlfriend to get some rest. It was going to be a long night, and she wasn't going to help matters by brooding at her station and waiting for a transmission to come in. At least one of them needed to be well rested for combat, and he preferred that it be her.

Over at the science station, Novakovich had just received the results of the biomolecular scan of the ship's complement. Ever since his discovery of the intruder in the armory, he had become the unofficial master of the diagnostic test. He wore the badge with undue pride, examining the records down to the minute for inconsistencies. After all, it had certainly been to their benefit before.

"Commander, we're missing Ensign Sato's biosign. She's not in her quarters or anywhere else on the ship," he said nervously.

What the hell?

He felt a surge of panic, but gave the order that he hoped would give them some answers. "Scan the Andorian ships."

A moment later came the report that he had expected. "She's aboard the Kumari."

Trip's fear was replaced with rage. Apparently Shran believed that kidnapping his girlfriend would cause him to break down and admit the real truth, as if what he'd been telling him all along had been a falsehood. Really, he was tiring of these ridiculous games. And he wasn't going to put up with them any longer. "Go to tactical alert!"

No sooner than the lights were dimmed and the klaxon blared, the crewman at the communications station reported that they were being hailed. Irately, Trip ordered for the caller to be put on screen.

He wouldn't have been so surprised than if he had woken up that morning with his head sewn to the deck plating. His significant other, clad in the athletic shorts and tank top that she normally wore to bed, held an Andorian phase rifle in front of her chest. Before her, two members of the Imperial Guard knelt, hands on the back of their heads as if they had just finished begging for mercy. At the forefront of this scene was none other than Shran, his face bruised up and a little bloody, but present nonetheless.

"The attack you're about to commit to won't be necessary, Commander. Your mate will be returned to your ship expediently. I'm also pleased to tell you that we'll be prepared to dispatch the fleet to rendezvous with the Vulcans within the hour."

So his girl had literally beaten the most stubborn Andorian in the quadrant into submission. If the situation were not so dire, he would have laughed. He would have laughed hysterically, but it was not the correct time to do so. Nodding gravely, he replied, "Acknowledged. Stand by for transport."

-0-

Only an hour later, the word of Minister Kuvak's sudden disappearance had reached the chambers of the High Command. The assembled men didn't give it much thought—with the sudden appearance of a former charge, they had much bigger matters to deal with.

T'Pol's legs were weak; every step felt like a marathon. Her formerly starched white desert uniform was irreparably stained with the grime of the Forge. In addition, she was covered in splotches of her own blood from the waist down. The sticky green substance had begun to flow shortly after she had been attacked, and had not stopped until she was faint with blood loss. Her abdomen repeatedly spasmed as it started to reject the thing that had only recently began to grow within her. It was as if a portion of her had been lost over the course of the past few days, including a part that did not belong to her anymore.

The heavy doors leading into the main chamber come apart slowly, revealing half a dozen ministers crowded around a holographic imaging console. As she approached, she could see that they were delegating the movements of warships at the edge of their territory.

V'Las met her halfway into the room, coming much closer than was comfortable. Peering over her shoulder, he asked the nearest operative: "Is that thing gone?"

"Yes, your Excellency. The medication is beginning the anticipated purge."

He nodded his approval and then turned back to her. T'Pol avoided eye contact with the administrator; at the moment, she found the idea supremely distasteful. When he addressed her by her old rank and welcomed her back to her former stomping grounds, she couldn't help but correct him.

"Treason remains one of the few crimes punishable by death. Imagine the scandal," V'Las says, "A member of the Ministry of Security going rogue and assisting her mother's dissident faction in the murder of her own people."

"I was under the impression that you'd framed my mate and T'Pau for the bombing of the embassy. Is this not the case?"

He's offended by her insolence and her mere presence in the chamber. Gesturing to the guard posted outside the door, he orders, "Take her to the holding cells. We will deal with her and the others after we decimate the Andorian fleet."

Her ears perked up at the possibility of seeing her husband or mother, while the other half of her mind worked frantically to connect the actions of the Andorians to the present situation. To her dismay, she came up empty.

With an armed guard at either side, T'Pol descended into the underground of the Ministry of Security for the final time.

(to be continued)