Weary to his soul, Jonathan trudged back to his quarters to change. He didn't have time to dry his hair properly. If anyone on the Bridge noticed, they'd just have to wonder.

Phlox had had one additional piece of information to give him during the visit to Sickbay, though it served more to increase the confusion than anything: there had been minute traces of some previously unknown substance in Malcolm's blood. The tests to identify its nature had taken some time, but the doctor was now of the opinion that it would have had very little effect on the lieutenant other than to give him a passing sensation of mild muscular weakness – about on the level with the effects of the common cold.

Another piece of jigsaw that didn't fit anywhere.

Just great.

He was just pulling on a fresh coverall when the comm buzzed. "T'Pol to Captain Archer."

"Archer."

"Sir, we're being hailed from the planet's surface." Her voice was completely expressionless.

"I'll be there in five."

He closed the link and dragged a comb through his damp hair, wondering bitterly who it was who'd finally decided to answer the door he'd been vainly banging on for so long. At a guess, whoever it was wouldn't be calling with kind inquiries after his tactical officer's welfare.

T'Pol was occupying the command chair when he strode from the turbo-lift. She rose with her usual grace and returned to the Science station. He tried not to see her look of grave concern.

Hoshi, at hers, was obviously holding the call. She watched him with troubled eyes, waiting for him to give the order. "Sir, it's a man named Varlahay, claiming to be the new … the word he's using is 'Ichexic'. It wasn't on their database, but Ichexin was the female 'President', so I'm guessing it's the male equivalent."

"Put him on screen."

The Merix who appeared would have been in his mid-forties in human reckoning. He was strongly built for the species in general, but shared the common trait of being slightly elongated by human standards, with a neck that was considerably more flexible. His dark curly hair was long enough to be tied at the back, though three small plaits trailed down across his collarbones on either side. Something about him looked wrong for a moment, and then the captain realized what it was: the six barbels on his cheekbones had been cut short. The stumps were fully healed, and presumably still had some kind of neurological response left, for they twitched continually. He was wearing what appeared to be some kind of green uniform, though it was streaked with soot and what looked like blood; although visibly tired, he also seemed surprisingly sad. If he was calling to brag about his 'victory', he didn't look like it had been gained without cost.

"You are Captain Archer?" he asked without preamble.

"That's right. I'm honored to meet you, Ichexic Varlahay." Jon measured him. He didn't look like some kind of murderous fanatic; more like the sort of guy who'd be happiest tucked away cataloging a library somewhere. But then, organizing a planet-wide takeover that had been so successful so quickly would take remarkable intelligence – along with luck, judgment and enormous support.

"Thank you, Captain, for your offers to mediate. Though we could not accept them, we acknowledged your good intentions. Nevertheless, as I am sure you Humans would do if our positions were reversed, we preferred to deal with our own issues in our own way."

For a rebuke, it was kindly enough given. Nevertheless the captain flushed slightly; the tone reminded him a little too strongly of the sometimes faintly patronizing attitude of Vulcan Ambassador Soval.

"I'd hoped 'your own way' might include some means of sparing thousands of casualties," he replied, with just the barest edge on his formal tone. "But obviously you have the right to do things however you see fit."

Varlahay nodded acceptance. It wasn't an apology, but he didn't seem to expect one.

"However," Jon pursued, before the other man could speak, "there's an issue I'd appreciate your help with, if you can spare the time."

The amber-colored eyes studied him carefully. "You must understand I have many calls on my time, Captain. But in the interest of good relations between our worlds, I'll do what I can."

The rest of the conversation was going to have to be private. The captain retired to his Ready Room and Hoshi patched the transmission through to him.

"I'm sure you're aware that we were in the process of trying to establish friendly relationship with the previous Government of your world." He was quite sure that Varlahay would know that, so there was no point in trying to hide the fact, any more than there was any reason to be ashamed of it. Another slight nod confirmed this, so he pressed on. "I'm anxious to speak to a member of the Council who may be able to shed some light on something that happened to my tactical officer while he was down there. I realize that the chances are she may not even be alive, but she's about the only person who may know what happened to him."

"A tactical officer. I would hazard a guess that the person you wish to speak to is Weapons Master Yathai." The new President was plainly nothing if not shrewd, but his voice held no particular animosity – at least, not yet.

Again, there was no point in attempting to hide the truth. "Exactly. Would you happen to know if she's still alive?"

"Certain of our observers reported – modifications in Bai's defenses, the night before the assault began. The sort of changes that made our advance needlessly difficult. Yathai would have had her plans laid for a long time. It was significant, to our mind, that these 'modifications' were put into place very late. Almost as though she'd had – expert advice."

"Lieutenant Reed is an expert. And he was operating under my orders. You'll have noticed that these changes were purely defensive. Things could have been very different. But they weren't."

"Nevertheless, Captain, these changes cost lives – lives that might not have been lost if you and your officer had not interfered."

It was on the tip of Jon's tongue to snap that losing lives was an inevitable corollary of deciding to fight rather than talk, but he controlled it. "As I already said, my lieutenant was operating under orders – my orders. I don't know what happened to him, and he's in no state to tell us. But if this Yathai is, by any chance, still alive – if she might have been captured – she may be able to give us more information."

"You may spare yourself the effort, Captain. I am quite sure I already know what happened."

"You do?" The captain straightened in his chair, startled and warily hopeful.

"I'm assuming that if it was a straightforward medical problem, a starship as advanced as yours would have a solution for it. So I'll hazard a guess that on his return, your officer attempted to use your ship's weaponry against us. Since we weren't attacked, he obviously didn't succeed. But ever since, he's been irrational. Insane, even."

Painful as the admission was, there was no point in denial. "Exactly. So what caused it? And how can we cure it?"

Varlahay seemed to sigh. "What happened to your officer is that he was turned into a remotely controlled device." He pointed to the stumps along his cheekbones. "There is only one way for a male of our species to make sure they are utterly immune to temptation by a woman. It is a cost, and a high cost, but for me it was worth it. But for most Merixa, the touching, the joining together, of the obisteh is … most intimate. Most pleasurable. Unfortunately, it carries its own dangers. Of which any Merixan male is well aware, and which he will be prepared to counter."

Jon's mouth was dry. "And if this … touching … happened between a Merixan female and a Human?"

"I have not yet had time to study the database you supplied to the Council, Captain, so I cannot say for certain. But it would appear that your species' physiology has very little resistance capability, maybe because you have no obisteh of your own. That would be my informed guess." A look of some pity crossed the disfigured face. "Do not blame your officer, Captain. Once Yathai was close to him, he would have had very little choice, if any."

The possibilities these revelations were opening up were appalling. Guilty. The captain forced himself to think past them. "A cure…. Is there some kind of treatment?"

"Certainly." A wry smile. "Your lieutenant has been turned into a receiver, unable to disconnect from the source. The only 'cure' is for the transmitter to disconnect from him."

"So she's still alive?" The captain seized on that fact. "If she'd been killed in the fighting, that would have ended the control? He'd be okay?"

"If she had been killed, we would not be talking of a cure. He would be a vegetable for the rest of his life."

"Right. So we have to find her–"

"Captain." Varlahay interrupted, his tone perceptibly colder. "This is a world at war, and it is not yours. You no longer have permission to visit. I can appreciate that your initial intentions were good, and that is why I will not be contacting your Starfleet to complain of your interference. But that is the limit of my tolerance."

Jonathan paused for a moment, controlling his shock and anger. "May I ask what your plans are for Weapons Master Yathai?" he asked at last.

"She is a wanted criminal. Furthermore, she now has access to your Starfleet technology, via her link with your officer, and that in itself makes her a serious threat to the peace I intend to make. Her actions against him will be taken into account if she is taken alive, but in all honesty it will make no difference. We will find her eventually, and when we do she will pay the penalty."

"So what you're saying is, I've just got to keep my tactical officer under control awhile and one day he'll just stop functioning and that'll be it!"

"Your tactical officer has committed crimes against the new Government of Javna. Although I accept that his intentions, like yours, may have been good, that does not excuse the nature of his offense. It was a risk he took when he became involved."

"He became involved because I ordered him to! To try to protect civilians!"

"Then, Captain, the responsibility for his fate is on your head – not mine. I am sorry." And the link was terminated abruptly.

"Son of a–!" An expression that was more often heard from Trip than from the captain of Earth's first Warp 5-capable starship tore itself from his lips. He instinctively reached out to order Hoshi to try to re-establish the link again, but stopped himself, frowning.

If Varlahay was in earnest, protest would be useless. It would also put him more on his guard.

First he'd go back down to Sickbay again, speak to Phlox and bring him up to speed on the information he'd just obtained. It might well have a bearing on the treatment Malcolm would require.

Then he was going to put the rest of the bridge officers in the picture. He'd had enough of Enterprise sitting back and meekly doing nothing.

It was time to call a council of war.

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