—NAUKUH—

"If any say [that] he is my disciple, then let him add: he slays no living thing, eats of no flesh, is free from envy, malice, hatred, calumny, and hostile feelings, but has his name inscribed among the race of those who've won their freedom."

-The Hidden Kir'Shara of Surak

...

Before the five members of the High Command, like battlefield maps of old, was a broad tabletop projecting a three-dimensional cartographical representation of the near region of space. On it, the local stars, planetary systems, and navigational phenomena were marked by symbol and color; and now, several additional points of light came on to show the location of Vulcan's warships.

V'Las, using a slender pointer, directed attention to a routine red dwarf star identified on Starfleet's maps as GJ 1061. It was sparsely surrounded by the rubble of a failed planetary disc; it possessed nearly no significance, save for its proximity to the Andorian home system. "The Andorians have deployed most of their fleet in defensive positions around Paan Mokar," he stated as the display changed slightly to show the Andorian fleet.

Soketh, nearly stumbling with shock, recovered his equilibrium with trained speed. It was the first time he had seen this strategic information. "We gave them that system when we signed the treaty," he observed. "We made no claim to it. Why would they move their forces there?"

V'Las' face was grim with pride. "They believe we're planning to take it," he answered. "We've been using unmanned probes to generate false warp signatures in the vicinity of that system."

Soketh looked at his colleague with unconcealed oddity and alarm. "Why weren't we informed of this?" he demanded, his voice wavering with ire. "Such a provocative action could start a war!"

V'Las' gray eyes flashed with steel. "Tactical deployments do not require the notice or consent of the High Command." His bearing stiffened sharply. "And doing so could have compromised operational secrecy."

A third administrator, Sivem, entered the discussion with concerns of his own. "But why are we drawing Andorian forces to Paan Mokar?" he asked. "We're only encouraging them to attack us!"

V'Las glared at the administrator for a moment before returning his attention to the strategic display. On it, he traced a line from GJ 1061 to the Andorian home system; and from there, he jogged off at an angle on the far side of Epsilon Eridani to another red dwarf, this one identified on Earth as being Gatewood's Star. "Because our fleet is stationed here," he answered tersely, as if addressing an ignorant plebe.

"How elegant," Sivem observed dryly. The feint effectively placed the bulk of Andoria's forces on the wrong side of Andor, and twice the distance away. "But this deployment encourages the Andorians to attack us."

"Which is why we must strike first," V'Las countered. "Our fleet is now ready to launch an invasion of Andoria itself. We can rid ourselves of their danger once and for all."

Soketh felt his strength slipping away. "There are members of the High Command who are not convinced an invasion is necessary at this time," he objected weakly. He recognized that V'Las was sending Vulcan careening into war, but could find no way of stopping it.

"We know that they have been working on a doomsday weapon," V'Las retorted. His aura seemed to grow as he pressed his case. "We've all seen the data."

"We've seen the data itself," Sivem interjected. "But you have not shown us how it was obtained. We have no manner with which to authenticate it."

"Revealing that information would undermine sensitive intelligence operations." V'Las was not prepared to allow the High Command to pry into matters that fell under his direct authority. "I have seen the authentication myself; I can personally assure you that the data is accurate."

It provided little reassurance to Soketh. "Do you have evidence to show us?" he insisted. "Or do you expect us to go to war based on little more than your assertions?"

"What more evidence do you need?" V'Las pressed back. "Does Vulcan have to be destroyed? You know that the Andorians hate us—they didn't develop this weaponry because they were curious. They intend to use it against us. It is logical for us to launch a pre-emptive strike!"

…

When the door chimed to the captain's ready room, Trip Tucker set down his data padd with relief. Normally, damage reports and repair estimates didn't drive him crazy; but normally, he was personally overseeing it. Now, with the captain and first officer both gone and Trip in temporary command, the repair work fell to his chief assistant, Lieutenant Ashoka Asgoda. "Ashes," as he was known around the engineering bay, was a fully competent engineer; but Trip was hands-on, and he fretted at not being able to tend to the repairs himself.

On Trip's acknowledgement, the door whooshed open to the somber face of the officially-disgraced Vulcan ex-ambassador to Earth. With surprisingly calm, Soval entered and assumed a formal posture before the acting captain. "You asked for me, Commander?" he asked.

"Yep," Trip answered, far more casually. It was bizarre, he knew, to be relying on a Vulcan as his chief advisor—but in the last few days he had come to respect Soval's advice. "I've been thinking about this," he said, his southern drawl extending outward. "Once we get to Andoria, we have to convince them that V'Las is planning to attack, but we have little evidence of it. There's no guarantee the Imperial Guard is going to believe us."

"That is a substantial risk," Soval admitted. "The odds of our success are low."

Trip refused to ask how low. "There is one Andorian who might trust us," Tucker suggested. "At least, he trusts the captain, and the captain trusts me—that oughta count for something, right?"

"I take it that you are referring to Commander Shran?" Soval asked, and received an affirmative. Archer and Shran had a considerable history together—sometimes as friends, sometimes as opponents, but Shran had developed a considerable respect for the human captain.

"Problem is," Trip added, "I have no idea how to find him."

Shran pulled his lips tight before responding. "I may be able to help," he answered. "I believe I know where Shran's ship is."

The Vulcan was unwilling to explain how he knew, but Trip took it in stride. "Good," he answered. "That's one problem down. Now we just gotta take care of the rest." A small yawn broke through.

"If I may, Commander?" Soval asked, waiting to receive permission. "Several members of the crew appear unsettled."

Trip understood; he had seen the same thing. "Some of them are wondering if I'm doing the right thing," he replied. "If I should obey orders and return to Earth, if I should take sides with the High Command…can't say I blame them." The thought made him melancholy. "I'm not sure myself. Hell if I know what the best course of action is; I'm taking shots in the dark here."

Soval quickly placed the metaphor. "Commander," he said carefully, "with respect, you are not taking shots in the dark. You are following the course of action that Captain Archer would pursue. And you have always appeared to trust the captain's judgment."

"Well, when you put it like that…" Trip grinned crookedly. "You think I can convince the court martial board that I was really just following the captain's orders?"

Soval raised a bemused eyebrow. "It may be your best chance for acquittal," the Vulcan rejoined.

…

"Our patrol has returned," Soketh stated without preliminaries as he returned to the underground control room. V'Las, Narvel, and Sivem were still present, along with an assortment of military commanders and Security Directorate commandants, and Soketh's declaration attracted the attention of them all. "They captured eight Syrranites from the sanctuary."

V'Las' expression was almost wolfish. "Was Syrran among them?"

"No." Soketh shook his head in sorrow; unlike some Vulcans, he did not relish the prospect of death, not even the death of his enemies. "The patrol did not find his body, but the prisoners confirmed separately that Syrran is dead."

"And we're supposed to believe them?" Narvel retorted.

"The Syrranites do have a reputation for veracity," Sivem observed without inflection. "And if the security forces are satisfied, then it is logical that we accept their word as well."

"That's not all," Soketh added. His voice grew softer with barbed suspicion. "The prisoners say that three other survivors departed just before the bombardment. Including a human."

"Archer," V'Las snarled. He spun around angrily in an unsuccessful effort to mask his ire. "I suppose we have no idea where he went? Or if he even survived?"

Soketh eyed the chief administrator carefully. "They said that he is seeking the hidden Kir'Shara. That he knows where it is."

Around the room, several others stiffened at the spoken words; the impact was harsh and immediate, casting an instant change in the air. "The Kir'Shara never existed!" V'Las bellowed, pressing back angrily against the current. "These are merely lies from a treasonous sect desperate to undermine the High Command!"

"There are many who believe that it does exist," Sivem countered. His placid expression stood in contrast to the faltering visages around him. "Many of our people are familiar with its story." The danger was understood by all in the room. Vulcans, as a rule, gave little credence to rumor; but the utterance of the Kir'Shara was not thrown around lightly. If the Syrranites' claims were allowed to freely spread, it could destroy the trust that the average Vulcan had for the High Command.

"The Syrranites claim that they are following the true path of Surak," Soketh added. "If the Kir'Shara is real, it could prove them right!"

V'Las wheeled and glared at the other administrator. "Are you an apostate, Soketh?" he barked with surprising fury. "Do you challenge the teachings of the Elders?"

The room went stone silent as the accusation was uttered; challenging the teachings of the Elders was tantamount to questioning Vulcan itself. There were fewer worse crimes, and many drawn breaths hung on Soketh's response.

"No," Soketh said quietly, backing down from the confrontation. "I am merely concerned about the impact it may have on our people."

"You have no reason to be concerned," V'Las retorted. "The Kir'Shara doesn't exist! You've been falling for Syrranite subterfuge, Minister. Now leave, before you pollute these noble minds with more of that filth!"

Meekly, Soketh turned and left the room, leaving an unsettled gathering in his wake. The legends of the Kir'Shara were well-known, even among the highest ranks of the military and Security Directorate. The mere act of postulating its existence caused suspicion to grow deep within; V'Las' authority was partially based on his claim to represent the only correct teachings of Surak. If the Kir'Shara was found…the ever-logical Vulcan mind realized that V'Las' authority might be based on lies.

V'Las followed the departing minister, his eyes shooting daggers into Soketh's back. For this to come up now, on the eve of war…Soketh was a danger to all of Vulcan.

…

In the stratospheric depths beneath the floor of the Forge, the vast sandstone deposits were riddled with tunnels and passages, some small, some large; some wet, some dry; and all dark. The light of their torches, however, lit up the ancient corridors as the trio passed downward through centuries of habitation and beyond those lower limit, as Archer, T'Pol, and T'Pau threaded their way in pursuit of the hidden Kir'Shara.

Her thoughts elsewhere, T'Pol stumbled along the uneven floor. The scuffling noise drew the attention of "the Vulcan woman" T'Pau. "There are other Syrranites in the mountains," the young woman offered. Her voice carried little sensitivity, but great certitude. "They'll care for the wounded at the sanctuary."

Archer, too, glanced over at his first officer. He knew the wounded were not the cause of her imbalance; even stoic Vulcans had to deal with death, and T'Pol's own emotional control was still shaky following a year in the Delphic Expanse. She was masking her pain well, under the circumstances; but he knew it was eating within her. The ache of her mother's recent death, combined with the friction between the two, had to be slicing away inside.

"How far to the capital?" Archer asked suddenly, hoping to shift T'Pol's focus to something less profound.

"Several days," T'Pau answered flatly. "A strong Vulcan can make the walk in six." The implications were allowed to hang unsaid; T'Pol was far from in peak condition, and the captain's own endurance was still unknown. The katra within him gave him added strength, no doubt; but how much?

"Why the capital?" T'Pol asked in confusion. It made little sense to walk into the lair of their enemies. "We need to get back to the Enterprise."

Archer swung his torch around a shallow curve in the tunnel, illuminating a new passageway. "Once we find the Kir'Shara," he replied, "we need to take it to the capital."

"Captain, isn't our priority to tell Starfleet what we've learned about the Embassy bombing?" T'Pol pressed. Her voice faded for a second, then returned strongly as she rounded the bend.

T'Pau joined in. "The Kir'Shara contains Surak's original writings," she explained with surprising patience. "It's the only surviving record of his true teachings, many of which conflict the modern orthodoxy. Revealing it publicly will have an enormous impact on all of Vulcan…and likely topple the High Command."

…

The trickling sound of water could be heard from a distance away, but the trio was nearly upon it before, at last, realizing that they had found something incredibly rare on the desert planet: in the middle of a cavern, spread over several meters of area while only a couple centimeters deep, lay a pool of fresh water. The torch light revealed a steady drip from the rock ceiling overhead, plummeting downward in fat, wet drops.

By unspoken agreement, the travelers paused in the cavern for a brief rest.

"The Enterprise will be scanning for us at the transport coordinates," T'Pol remarked as she sat down on the stone floor. Perhaps unintentionally, her legs were crossed in perfect lotus technique. "One of us should return there."

Archer had his head turned upward, and was pouring cool water over the dirt and grime of his face. "It's too dangerous," he answered. "I'm the only one here who knows the way through these tunnels. We need to stick together, T'Pol." And, he added silently, he wanted to keep her close, so he could keep an eye on her own emotional balance.

T'Pol tried to arch an eyebrow, but her muscles wouldn't cooperate. "Why is it so urgent that we stop the High Command?" she asked, vocalizing her objection. "If we return to the Enterprise first, at least they won't be able to arrest us."

"We have to act before they go to war," Archer answered. He spit out a mouthful of water; his inner Vulcan berated him for the waste, but his inner human relished the rare opportunity.

T'Pol took care not to fidget as the other woman touched T'Pol's neck glands in a quick physical check-up. "What war?" she asked, wondering if her captain had lost what little sense he had left.

Archer sighed and took a long dram of water. "Remember when V'Las suggested that the Syrranites were in league with the Andorians?" he asked.

T'Pol nodded in confirmation; it was only a few days earlier, and her memory was firmly Vulcan. "But we settled our disputes with the Andorians nearly two years ago," she observed.

T'Pau added her companion a newly-filled canteen. "Drink this," she commanded to T'Pol. "Our…friends in Shi'Kahr have told us that V'Las intends to start a new war with Andoria."

T'Pol took a small sip. "Such an action would be quite illogical," she responded, showing her skepticism. "How do you know this information is accurate?"

"I've spoken with them myself," Archer answered. He met T'Pol's gaze with a friendly smile. "Yes, Syrran talked to them personally. Some of his memories were transferred in the meld."

"Captain!" T'Pol objected, trying to jump to her feet. T'Pau's firm hands held the science officer steady as she stumbled.

"You think I've lost my mind, don't you?" Archer answered wryly.

With assistance, T'Pol caught her balance without falling into the pool. "I'm not certain that your mind is the one making these decisions," she rejoined. "You need to return to the ship for medical treatment. Once we find the artifact, T'Pau can return it to Shi'Kahr."

Archer shook his head. A bemused expression of patience and tolerance was written across his face. "I was chosen for this, T'Pol," he answered. "This is my task. It must be this way." The last phrase came out as a murmur.

"Chosen?" T'Pol replied with mock surprise. "An interesting choice of words. You were simply the only person that Syrran could reach."

"If I were in your shoes, I'd be just as skeptical," Archer answered as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. The break was over; it was time for them to continue. "I'm not possessed, and I'm not delusional," he added.

"Then how would you describe it?" T'Pol rejoined. Despite the forcefulness of her objections, however, she moved with the captain, following him to the far exit from the cavern. T'Pau took up her usual position in the middle, and together, the trio re-entered the claustrophobic tunnels.

Archer's torch continued to burn brightly as he waved it back and forth. Several different corridors branched out, and he selected the left-most one without hesitation. "Guided," he decided. "I'd describe it as being guided."

"Guided to what end?" T'Pol retorted, keeping up the debate. She was only a couple paces behind, but the two bodies before her nearly blocked the light.

"There are great forces at work on your world, T'Pol," Archer replied. "Dvatai and e'shua seeking control of Vulcan's soul. The blind seek to rule the faithful. This is not the way that Surak intended."

"So why now?" T'Pol pressed. Following the lead of the other two, she ducked low; the ceiling of the tunnel dropped momentarily.

"Because they are winning," Archer replied. The words drifted back over his shoulder. "And if we fail, Vulcan will be consumed. But this is also the ripe moment—it is the understanding of the Ni'Var."

T'Pol growled softly.

"Archer!" T'Pau said suddenly, shocking the captain to a halt. "Don't move!"

He did as commanded. The torch light reflected off of sparkling deposits on both sides of the passageway. "What are those?" he asked, recognizing the unspecified danger.

"Gallacite deposits," T'Pau answered. "Are you in possession of anything metallic?"

Archer slipped a knife from his belt. "Just this."

T'Pau took the knife and calmly threw it ahead of them; as it crossed the plane of the deposits, a sharp web of electrical discharges shot out, zapping the knife and dropping it to the floor. "There," she stated. "It will take a while for the charge to regenerate. We can pass through safely."

"Thanks for the warning," Archer answered.

…

On the far side of Vulcan, only some ten or so light-years from that planet, resides a miniature collection of gas and dust. Sized far smaller than most known nebulae, and invisible save from close distances, it nonetheless possessed a rogue collection of heavy, rocky objects towards the center. Together, as tens of thousands of years passed, these objects pulled together to form a gravitational sink; it pulled in raw materials from the surrounding cloud, and as it did so, the cloud's center began to rotate.

As it spun, the core's speed and temperature began to increase, concentrating the molecules with increasing pressure and density into a goopy mass. As heat continued to build, the core became tighter, and as unmeasured time passed, it passed the threshold meter of 10,000° C—the ignition point for stellar nuclear fusion. Burning fiercely now, the protostar fused together the nuclei of hydrogen to form helium.

Still in the formative stage, the Agosoria Nebula—the Agosoria protostar—would not become a main sequence star for thousands of additional years. Instead, in the center of the gaseous cloud, it had carved out a bubble thousands of AUs wide, in which the star began to gather a protoplanetary disk about it.

Interestingly, in a phenomena seen in several protostars, Agosoria emitted a colossal burst of energy on a roughly-eleven year cycle, earning it the nomenclature of "The Great Plume of Agosoria."

As the Enterprise arrived on the outskirts of the brilliant red gases, Trip couldn't help but feel an increasing level of concern. They had come a considerable distance out of their way, leaving both Vulcan and Andoria light-years behind; if Shran wasn't located here, they could easily find themselves too far away to rescue to rescue the captain and T'Pol and prevent a war. At the same time, Trip knew that it was a little late to start doubting Soval.

"Any sign of Andorian ships?" Trip asked as the ship slowed to a halt outside the nebula.

Ensign Verena Jordan, handling T'Pol's post at science, fielded the inquiry. "Sensors can't read more than a few kilometers inside the nebula, sir," she reported.

"Open a channel," Soval stated unemotionally. He and Trip stood together in the well of the bridge, contemplating the view before them.

Trip's words caught as he moved to give the order. "Wait…to who?"

Soval turned to look at his new colleague with an expression of obviousness. "To the nebula, of course."

"Of course," Trip responded dryly, and he nodded at Hoshi. "Open a general channel," he ordered.

"This is Ambassador Soval of Vulcan," Soval declared. His words went out in every direction, on every main channel. "I've come on an urgent mission regarding peace and war. I must speak with Commander Shran."

Silence returned. Trip glanced at Hoshi, who shrugged in response; she couldn't tell if anyone was picking up the message.

Soval tried again. "The High Command has decrypted your security protocols," he proclaimed, violating a considerable number of security secrets in the process. "We are well aware that your task force is hiding in this nebula."

The red gas remained silent. "Maybe your information's out of date," Trip whispered.

Soval shook his head slightly. "He's in there."

Trip sighed and stepped closer to the microphone pickup. "This is Commander Tucker of the Enterprise," he announced. "We've got some information you're going to want to hear." He waited a second. "I think a common friend of ours would want us to talk."

"Sir," Lieutenant Mayweather announced suddenly. "I'm detecting some movement."

"I have it," Ensign Jordan added a moment later. With a couple quick commands, she focused the main viewscreen on a small portion of the gas cloud; from within, three dark shadows could be seen.

"Well, well," Trip said softly as the objects emerged, coalescing into three Andorian warships. "Looks like we got them after all."

"We're being hailed," Hoshi announced.

"On screen," Trip ordered. The nebula disappeared. In its place was a single person: blue skin, white hair, and two antennae sticking straight upwards.

"Commander Tucker," Shran answered sardonically. "You have a poor choice of friends."

"An invasion?" Shran barked in disbelief. Following his arrival on the Enterprise, the Andorian commander had been escorted to the main conference room on deck E; but now, as he heard the words from Commander Tucker and Ambassador Soval, he wasn't sure if it was worth it.

"That's correct," Soval answered patiently.

It earned him a snarl from the agitated Andorian. "We keep a very close eye on your fleet," Shran rejoined. "We would know if the High Command were preparing to attack."

"And your leaders believe the Vulcan fleet is near the Paan Mokar system," Trip interjected. His tongue tripped over the unfamiliar words. "Frankly, Commander, they've fooled your surveillance."

"V'Las has been assembling ships here," Soval added. He pointed to the computerized map, indicating the Gatewood system. "Well within striking range of Andoria."

Shran's antennae recoiled. "Your leaders may be fools, but they're not suicidal," he hissed into the Vulcan's face. "They know we will respond!"

Soval's stoic expression faltered momentarily, giving him the look of someone who had just eaten a sour kaasa fruit. "They believe it is worth it," he said softly. "Chief Administrator V'Las claims that the Andorian Imperial Guard is building a doomsday weapon."

"And that you plan to use it," Trip added. "It makes a pre-emptive strike downright… logical." He mirrored Soval's puckered expression.

Shran spit fury for several seconds before discrete words came about. "That's absurd!" he shouted. "Our policy towards Vulcan is one of defense, not aggression—and definitely not annihilation!"

Soval shifted his eyes before he replied. "The information reported to the High Command is slightly different."

"You Vulcans," Shran hissed furiously. "You're so used to lying, you don't even tell the truth to each other!" His eyes narrowed suddenly. "How do I know that you weren't sent here as a diversion?"

"You don't," Soval answered flatly.

"Do you have any idea what will happen when the Imperial Guard retaliates?" Shran barked. Trip cringed, waiting for the storm. "It will be a disaster! For both our worlds!"

Whoa, Trip thought. That took a different turn.

Soval recovered his discipline in the face of the Andorian's anger. "Which is why you must convince your leaders to intercept our fleet."

Shran's antennae twisted about, showing his doubt. "You're betraying your own people by telling me this," he hissed.

"Actions taken to support peace are never betrayal," Soval answered calmly. His eyes found Shran's. "And this is the only logical course remaining to support peace."

Shran's throat uttered a tortured noise of disgust. "What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this?" he demanded, looking upward; he was now within arm's-length of the taller Vulcan.

"The High Command's battle plan depends on the element of surprise," Soval answered. "Once they realize that they have lost that element, Administrator V'Las will be forced to postpone the invasion."

Trip stepped back in. "And postponing it gives us a chance to thwart it completely."

Shran's gaze returned to the battle map. "When does this invasion begin?" he asked, somewhat grudgingly.

Soval's answer was short. "Soon."

"That's the best you can give me?" Shran retorted, his head wheeling around. "Soon?"

"Very soon," Soval replied.

Shran snarled again before turning to Trip Tucker. "Do you believe him, pinkskin?"

Trip nodded first. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't," he added. "And the captain left me in command here—he trusts my judgment." It was a convoluted method of vouching, but it did the trick.

Shran's antennae bobbed. "I'll need to consult with my superiors," he admitted finally.

Trip understood. "I suggest you do it fast," he added.

…

Some time later—minutes, hours, days—the trio found themselves temporarily halted in another deep cavern; the captain's human physiology needed to rest, and under the command of his companions, Archer lay slumped against a companionable rock. He dozed off within minutes.

"There's an extensive security grid around the capital," T'Pol said quietly as she sidled up to T'Pau; the captain appeared to be sleeping soundly, but T'Pol did not want to disturb him. "It's unlikely we'll get past it."

T'Pau herself was sitting on a second rock, roughly the size and shape of a footstool. Its striations could be clearly seen; it looked like a hundred sheets of stone, one fastened atop the next. She balanced precisely on the small surface. "We'll find a way," she answered, not opening her eyes. The torch cast lengthy shadows on her face; the light was to her side, propped up against the cavern's wall. "Surak will help us."

T'Pol snorted softly.

T'Pau's eyes opened. "You don't believe in the katra." It was neither question nor accusation; it came out simply as a confirmation of fact.

"It is irrelevant what I believe," T'Pol answered. She felt herself twitching involuntarily; it had been a long time since her last meditation, and her own control was faltering. "The captain could be permanently injured if we don't get him to a doctor soon."

T'Pau glanced over the resting human. "He doesn't need a physician, he needs a priest," she corrected. "One experienced with katras."

T'Pol tried to stifle her rising ire, but found herself unable to stem the wave. "It's illogical that we're following someone in his state of mind!" she retorted, her voice rising. "What if he dies before we can get help?"

The raised eyebrows of the Syrranite leader shamed T'Pol into abashed apology. "I am sorry," she said, looking away. "My mother's death has affected me more than I realized."

T'Pau nodded with understanding. "It was a great loss," she replied kindly. "T'Les and I disagreed frequently, but I valued her counsel. She cared for you quite deeply, T'Pol," she added quietly.

T'Pol bit her lower lip, unable to respond. "I could allow you to experience what she shared with me," T'Pau suggested.

T'Pol stepped away in shock. "You melded with her?" she answered demandingly. The very idea repulsed her—entering into another's mind, prying away the deepest boundaries and unveiling the darkest secrets, possibly losing a part of yourself beneath the force of the other… She felt the resistance draining within her, and resorted to her final rationalization. "I cannot meld," T'Pol stated.

T'Pau arose and stepped towards her new companion. "I would initiate it," she offered.

T'Pol shook her head; that wasn't the point. She sat down on the stool with her elbows on her knees, hiding her face in her hands. "That's not what I mean," she replied. The embarrassment and shame was strong inside of her. "I was…forced to participate in a meld several years ago." Her memories of the rape almost overpowered her.

"And you are still haunted by it," T'Pau acknowledged with understanding.

"I was infected with a neural disease," T'Pol added crossly. "If I meld again, I will pass it along."

"Pa'nar Syndrome?" T'Pau asked. "Do you still suffer from it?"

The healer's frankness caught T'Pol by surprise. "There's no cure," she answered forcefully.

"That's not entirely true," T'Pau replied. "The High Command disavows the cure—and the disease—but it has been known to us since Surak's time. It is not a disease; it is a mental disruption, caused by melders who have been improperly trained."

T'Pol's eyes widened involuntarily. "Is there something you can do?" she whispered. She could scarcely believe it—she wouldn't believe it, unless she saw the proof.

"Yes," T'Pau answered. "I know how to correct the neurological imbalance."

"Please," T'Pol whispered. Please, she begged; relieve me of this suffering!

T'Pau came before the suffering woman and lowered herself to her knees. "Relax," she said calmly, allowing her voice to assume a soothing resonance. The healer reached out with her hands, gently laying her fingertips on T'Pol's face.

"My mind to your mind," T'Pau said softly. The energy charges flowed back and forth, sparking the connection between them. "My thoughts to your thoughts." Their breathing fell into syncopated rhythm. "Our minds are merging." Gently, refusing to press, T'Pau reached out into T'Pol's mind.

"Our minds are one," T'Pol whispered.

…

Trip Tucker was sitting back in the captain's desk chair, his feet up and reclined; snoozing softly, his subconscious mind was playing in happier moments of years far gone. As kids, he and his kid sister Lizzie spent little time at home; they only had their mother, and she was an abusive drunk. Consequently, the two kids skipped out every chance they had, and lived their own version of an idyllic childhood running free in the open air of Florida. Together, they became best friends, relying on each other for support and escape.

Trip shivered slightly as the dreams progressed. He grew up, and departed for Starfleet; Lizzie went to the university, and became an architect. They saw each other less and less, but nonetheless drew strength from their sibling bond. And Lizzie finally found her romantic match, and was preparing to settle into a new life.

Then the Xindi came—the aliens from far-distant regions of the sky, driven by stoked fear to destroy Earth. Their first attack—little more than a trial run—annihilated swathes of Florida, including Trip's childhood home. And his sister.

Consequently, the Enterprise embarked on a blind pursuit into the Delphic Expanse, hoping to prevent the impending second attack—the one that would destroy his homeworld. It was a brutal voyage in every manner possible, and bottling his grief did Trip few favors. It took the prolonged assistance of T'Pol to allow the grief to emerge slowly, and work his way through it. He owed the Vulcan woman more than he could enunciate; she had become his lifeline in very dark days.

His dream shifted to the Vulcan homeworld, months earlier. Following their return from the Expanse, the crew was given several months of downtime to recover; and chasing the ghosts of his mind, Trip had followed T'Pol back to Vulcan, hoping to gain an understanding of the relationship between the two of them.

Then he met her fiancée. Shortly thereafter, T'Pol and Koss were married. Trip was sucker-punched.

As Trip stood there, watching the wedding, he couldn't figure out why Malcolm Reed was trying to hail him.

"Damnit!" Trip exclaimed as he nearly fell out of the desk chair. The intercom beeped again. "Tucker here!" he called out, slapping the panel. "What is it?"

Malcolm's voice was terse. "We have a problem, Commander," he answered.

…

Quote from Apollonius of Tyana