This is another long one. Action ahead!

§ 11 §

They had docked with a small ship. Blake hadn't recognised her configuration; but then again, he was no expert.

V'Sir had wanted to leave him on the Shuttlepod while he himself boarded the vessel, but Blake had followed him moments later, regardless of the man's desires. After all, he wasn't going to take orders either. He only took them from Starfleet, and they had told him to learn as much as he could about this deal. Dilithium was an expensive commodity; you never knew when a good contact might come in useful.

Blake eventually had found the Vulcan and the other person on the Bridge of that one-man vessel; and now, in the surprised silence that had fallen, he looked onto the scene and began to acknowledge some strange vibes. It was the first time he set eyes on an Andorian in the flesh, but it wasn't the blue of his face or the antennae on his head that left him dumbstruck. Vulcans had asked for an Earth vessel just so that their sworn enemies wouldn't get alerted to this mission, and the person V'Sir had come to meet was one of them? Something wasn't adding up, here.

"What does this mean?" Blake demanded. All the – albeit feigned – friendliness was gone from his voice, but he couldn't care less.

If roles had been reversed and V'Sir had butted in unexpectedly on a private business meeting, Blake knew that he'd have told the man off rather brutally; as it was, the Vulcan only gave him a long, unreadable look. He seemed to be weighing his options, which did nothing to dispel Blake's suspicions that something shady was going on.

"Look, I don't have the luxury of being able to stay in one place for longer than strictly necessary," the Andorian spat impatiently when silence, once again, stretched. "They're always on my trail." His eyes shifted between V'Sir and Blake, while his antennae twisted nervously forward as if to sense danger. "Let's get on with it, or else split up and each go on our own way."

Blake frowned, beginning to imagine what this could be about. Things were starting to fall into place; like the presence of that Andorian ship in this stretch of space, for example.

V'Sir shot his contact a silencing look; then turned to Blake. "Admiral," he said, a slightly shrill edge marring his still composed voice. "This does not concern Starfleet. I must ask you to step out of this room and allow me to continue in privacy."

"Continue what, exactly?" Blake insisted. He studied the Andorian: he was tense and fidgety. "Somehow I don't think this man has anything to do with significant stores of dilithium."

The blue man's brow fleetingly creased, unconsciously confirming the words. A surge of hot anger swelled within Blake. Not so much because of what he had discovered, but because they'd been taken advantage of.

"You lied to us," he snarled to V'Sir. "You got Starfleet to help you carry out your deceitful agenda."

The Ambassador seemed unimpressed. "Starfleet should not be concerned with the nature of our business," he calmly replied. "They will get what they were promised, for granting us the use of their ship."

"You treated us like your damn puppets!"

Couldn't this bastard, for all his logic, see the difference?

"Hey," the Andorian shouted, commanding attention. His eyes were flashing daggers. "I don't care about your squabbles." Jerking his chin in Blake's direction, he urged, "Get him out of here and let's get on with it, or the deal is off."


"No trace of the Human pod," the Andorian helmsman said.

Shran's jaw clenched.

"These are the coordinates I was given," T'Pol murmured, in a more hesitant voice than they were accustomed to.

She seemed to have lost her sure footing again, and Malcolm shot a wary glance at Trip. The Engineer seemed uncertain too. This was a totally messed-up situation, and a dangerously volatile one. Malcolm unobtrusively moved into a position where he had his back covered and could keep everyone on the Bridge under watch.

"Why should I believe you?" the Andorian Commander spat out. He turned to Trip. "See what we mean, when we say that Vulcans are liars?"

"I haven't lied," T'Pol said, looking Trip straight in the eye.

Shran banged a hand on the closest console. "If you haven't, then your Ambassador has! He's deceived all of you, even his own kind!" A feral grin that had no mirth in it whatsoever appeared on his face. "Do you believe me now?" he asked T'Pol sarcastically, intentionally echoing her words from before.

"I'm picking up a faint trail," the helmsman suddenly said, attracting everyone's attention. "It's the Human Shuttlepod."

"How far?" Shran demanded, taking a step closer to his man.

Trip and T'Pol joined him; Malcolm remained in his strategic position.

"Not too far. If we speed up a bit, about fifteen minutes away."

Shran narrowed his eyes and the foretaste of victory appeared on his face. "Set a course," he said, gaze locked on the viewscreen.


"I'm not leaving," Blake stated firmly. He wasn't going to be booted out of any place, especially in this uncouth way.

V'Sir opened his mouth to say something, no doubt something irritatingly calm and logical, but a soft beep interrupted him.

"A vessel," the Andorian muttered through a clenched jaw. The words were followed by what was clearly a curse the UT was not able to translate. "Andorian."

That was one time Blake didn't mind their former pursuers making an appearance. A rather delicate situation would surely ensue, but the thought that the Andorians should catch this worm of a defector red-handed gave him a sutbtle pleasure. He had always hated cowardice and duplicity. The smile that was budding on his face, though, fell when the blue alien turned to them with a phase pistol in his hand.

"What is the meaning of this?" V'Sir asked, eyeing the weapon.

"Just shut up and get into that corner," the Andorian barked. "You too," he added, gesturing Blake. "You may just be what will help me get away with all this."

"I seriously doubt you can trade us for your freedom," V'Sir commented, seeming to purposefully tinge the words with soft sarcasm. "Your species certainly doesn't value a Vulcan life – or a Human one, for that matter – enough for us to become exchange goods."

"Shut up," the Andorian spat out. "Our deal is over."


"Surrender, Lieutenant, and face your rightful punishment, or we'll destroy your vessel," Shran snarled.

If looks could kill, the Andorian defector would have been a little pile of ashes by now. Hatred – no, more like despise – wasn't only in Shran's eyes, but exuded from every cell of his body. In a way Malcolm could identify with it; there were few sins in his personal list that could compare to being a traitor.

"Punishment for what, Commander?" was the equally outraged reply. "For capturing an enemy of our race?" The man on the viewscreen grabbed V'Sir by a sleeve and jerked him forward, while he remained with his back safely against a bulkhead and his phaser steadily trained on his prisoners. "I thought the Imperial Guard rewarded good soldiers, not punished them! I have captured none less than a Vulcan Ambassador; I bet there is plenty of information we can get out of him."

"What?"

Shran looked ready to burst.

"Ambassador," T'Pol cut in, taking advantage of the stunned paused that ensued. "I expect you will explain your change of coordinates and this..." – she raised her eyebrows, tilting her head but in a far from amused expression – "peculiar choice of contact for a business interaction."

If he was surprised to see T'Pol on the Andorian ship, V'Sir didn't let it through.

"I respond to the High Command," he replied, politely if a bit tersely. "There is nothing I can tell you."

"He's lied to us, to you," Blake suddenly put in. "And that man," he added, pointing with a straight arm to their captor, "is a traitor. Don't believe a word of---"

He couldn't finish, for the Andorian hit him in the face with the butt of his phaser, and Blake bent over, cradling his nose.

"It's this idiot you must not listen to," the blue Lieutenant spat out. "I fooled the High Command and lured the Ambassador into a trap." He turned to Shran. "My defection was all a trick to serve our cause, Commander. I lost a brother at the hands of Vulcans, and I swore to myself I would make them pay."

The words had been spoken with self-assurance. Another pensive silence followed. Malcolm, who was trying to keep everybody under control, watched as different reactions appeared on people's faces. Shran was obviously weighing the words very carefully in his mind; the hard set of Trip's jaw conveyed his contempt of the man, regardless of what exactly he had done – hell, of the entire situation; as for T'Pol... she was always difficult to read, but Malcolm could sense that she wasn't quite ready to buy the Andorian's story, while it was clear that she was deeply upset by the role of the High Command in this.

"Dock with us; it's easier to talk face to face," Shran challenged, narrowing his eyes.

The alleged defector's antennae tensed. "I'm afraid that's impossible. That fool," – he jerked his chin in the direction of the Admiral, who had a hand over his bloodied nose and mouth and looked stunned – "botched the docking manoeuvre. The Earth Shuttle is stuck to my only docking port."

"I can take a look at it," Trip told Shran on the side. "I take it you have a transporter?"

Sharn's eyes darted to the Engineer, to his left, while his body kept perfectly still. "We'll transport the three of you out," he told the Andorian Lieutenant firmly.

The man swallowed. But that was the only visible sign of possible nervousness; his voice was as confident as ever as he replied, "Looking forward to it, Commander."

The comm. link was cut. Shran turned to give the order, but Trip forestalled him.

"Transport me into our Shuttle. I can tell you right away if that man is tellin' the truth, at least about the docking port. And if he is, I need to do something about it, anyway."

"You're going to miss all the fun, Commander," Shran replied, with a wicked grin.

Malcolm heaved an inner sigh. Fun! For the first time he wished he was an Engineer and not a Security Officer. He was in a ship full of hot-blooded aliens. Well, at least if Trip transported out that would be one of them out of immediate danger, one life less to protect; though he'd really have to dig deep inside himself to risk anything to protect the Admiral's.

With a sharp nod Shran gave his agreement.

Trip took a step towards Malcolm. "Will you be okay if I leave for a while?" he asked under his breath, with feigned nonchalance.

Malcolm felt T'Pol's eyes on him, and cursed the Vulcan hearing. "I'll be fine," he replied a bit stiffly.

At least he hoped so.


Blake had almost certainly collected a broken nose. It was swollen and already a suspicious colour, and its owner was obviously in pain. But to his credit the Admiral was standing straight and making no fuss about it, oblivious even to his bloodied face and front.

Malcolm met the man's veiled gaze, aware that his own eyes, instead, were as grey as the Atlantic in winter on a cloudy day, and his voice just as cold as he said, "The Admiral could use medical attention, Commander."

Shran – he might have known – wasn't any more concerned or soft-hearted about it. Indeed a broken nose was probably what parents on Andoria gave their children when they brought home a bad mark.

"He'll have to wait," was his terse reply. "I want to hear his version of the facts."

"I'll be fine," Blake mumbled, in a choked and nasal voice, adding for good measure the dismissive wave of one hand.

They had moved to a more private place than the Bridge – something like Shran's equivalent of Archer's ready room; just more spacious and without those annoying low bulkheads the Captain had had to---

Malcolm froze as Archer's ghost flashed in his mind, haunting him once more. Pale. Paler; he was getting paler. They must do something to help him, damnit!

Do something? What in the bloody hell was he thinking? The man was beyond help.

"Lieutenant?"

T'Pol's soft voice was barely a whisper, intended for his ears only; it made him aware of the fact that he had shut his eyes. Malcolm blinked them open and filled his lungs, as if to air a stale room.

"It's nothing," he murmured back. I'm just on the brink of madness, that's all.

Blessedly, Shran and the others remained unaware of their exchange. The Andorian Commander stood facing the 'accused', dark eyes boring into him. Blake and V'Sir were too taken by the circumstances to spare one Malcolm Reed more than the fleeting look they had upon being shown into the room.

"Lieutenant Gorsen Kovas," Shran recited, eyes darting to notes on a padd. in his hands. "Served in the Imperial Guard for eight years. Recently joined the intelligence. In possess of confidential military information. Impeccable record. Did indeed lose a brother, killed in a terrorist attack whose perpetrators were never found; they are thought to have been Vulcans." His gaze lifted again and narrowed, in the effort of piercing through the other man's front as he went on more darkly, "Stole a shuttlepod and disappeared six weeks ago."

There was a beat of silence.

"Vulcans are not terrorists," a composed voice said.

Shran's eyes shifted to V'Sir and filled with contempt. "Really?" he snarled. "You have proven once again how deceitful you Vulcans are. You lied to the Pinkskins and even to your own kind!" He raised a hand to point vaguely in T'Pol's direction. "You have no honour."

With the last words his voice had dropped to a low grumble in which scorn quivered, but V'Sir seemed unimpressed. He raised his eyebrows and replied, the hint of criticism in his voice appearing even fainter in comparison to Shran's vibrant emotion, "You are in no position to pass judgement, Commander. If your species were not so unpredictable and aggressive, the High Command would not need to take steps in order to protect Vulcan's interests and try to anticipate your offensive moves."

It was an indirect admission of guilt; but – logic being the essence of Vulcan nature – Malcolm was sure the Ambassador had been fully aware of it. T'Pol tensed beside him, and he felt sorry for her. As if it weren't difficult enough for her to serve on a ship full of Humans, with – let's face it – their prejudices and suspicions, this was the second time, after P'Jem, she had chanced upon the High Command's far-from crystal-clear methods in keeping an eye on their sworn enemies.

Shran slowly turned to give her a meaningful glare, one that said 'I told you so', which she silently acknowledged. Empathy, in Malcolm's chest, was instantly dispelled by a surge of irritation towards the Andorian. It was despicable he should rub salt in the wound.

"It is clear the Subcommander knew nothing about this deception, Commander," he couldn't refrain from hissing. "She was told the Ambassador was on an entirely different mission; one that had nothing to do with classified military information. I believe you owe her an apology."

Shran's antennae pointed to him, as if they could penetrate his mind.

"Ah, our gallant Lieutenant Reed," Shran said with a budding smile that held no mirth. "The man who falls off his bed at night." His eyes roamed over Malcolm's still slightly bruised face. "You don't look very healthy these days, Lieutenant."

Malcolm clenched his jaw, holding Shran's scrutiny.

"But you're right," the Andorian gruffly admitted. His eyes shifted reluctantly to T'Pol. "It seems that I was wrong about you. I apologise."

"Thank you," T'Pol said quietly.

It was then that Trip decided to page them. T'Pol's communicator chirped, and she hurried to flick it open, looking relieved that it gave her something to do.

"Yup, the docking port's jammed alright," Trip's voice came through. "The man told the truth. I think I can fix it without too much trouble, though."

"Understood," T'Pol replied. "Keep us informed, Commander."

As soon as the communication was cut, Blake spoke up. "You didn't need to send Commander Tucker over to the Shuttlepod to know that," he muttered. "I could have told you myself." He shot a fiery look at Shran. "But your Lieutenant is still a traitor and an impostor. Arrest him and let us go."

Shran's eyes flashed as well. "Easy, Admiral. You cannot call a member of the Imperial Guard a traitor and an impostor without being certain of your accusations."

"I know what I'm saying," Blake retorted. "I was on that ship, remember? He was nervous and in a hurry; he said he couldn't stay in one place for long because they were always on his trail."

A self-assured laugh rang out. "That's what I wanted you both to believe," Kovas said. "I wouldn't be a very credible defector otherwise, would I?"

He took an aggressive step towards Blake, as if to threaten him into silence, and Malcolm tensed, pushing off the wall he'd been leaning on and unfolding his arms.

Blake stood his ground unflinchingly. "What about when you pointed a pistol at us and said we had just turned into what might help you get away with it, Lieutenant?" he challenged. "Care to explain that to your Commander?"

"I never said those words," Kovas countered; but if one listened carefully his voice had acquired a very slight edge to it.

Malcolm's gaze trailed between Shran's mobile features and the man's. There was a silent battle going on between them, one that might be won or lost over such insignificant things as a minor change of tone. Loyalty or betrayal? He was inclined to think the latter, but if anyone might do such a crazy thing as pretending to defect in order to capture an enemy that would be an Andorian.

"I never said those words," the man roared again.

Yes; the bloke's self-assurance had definitely been chipped. And the angrier he got, the less credible he appeared.

Blake smiled. It was a faint smile – with a broken nose it couldn't be a full one; but it was a smile of victory. "I have a recording of the entire conversation, Commander," he told Shran, reaching to a small pin on the neck of his uniform. "Care to listen?"

What happened next should have been predictable. Still, it took everybody by surprise. With the growl of a wounded animal Kovas pounced forward, a blade suddenly flashing in his hands. Malcolm reacted instinctively; for if he'd had the time to think he would have undoubtedly turned down the unhealthy idea of risking his life – or even another bruise – for someone who 'might as well do without security'. As it was, he found himself grappling with Kovas on the floor, something for which his aching body was not grateful.

When it was over, moments later, Shran and T'Pol had the traitor immobilised, each on one side of him; and Malcolm was cradling a bleeding arm.

"Traitor," Shran said darkly. "You have brought dishonour to the Imperial Guard."

"The Imperial Guard!" Kovas spat on the floor. "They thought it was more important to pursue what they believed were terrorists – people who were simply fleeing in terror – than assist the wounded. Left my brother and six other young men to bleed to death while they went on a wild goose chase!"

Two security men came into the room, and Shran and T'Pol relinquished the defector to them, the Andorian Commander with a hard shove of contempt. "Take him to the brig," he said, turning away from what was obviously a despicable sight.

"Lieutenant, you are bleeding."

T'Pol had immediately come to kneel near Malcolm, trying to assess the cut on his upper left arm, which he was pressing with his right hand.

"It's nothing," Malcolm said. But it was all getting to be a bit too much to handle. He tried to stand up and slipped, dizziness taking over.

He fought to stay with it, but knew it was a lost battle when dark spots began to dance in front of his eyes.

The thing he hated most, as darkness engulfed him, was the idea that he was fainting in front of the bloody Admiral.

TBC

Well, Malcolm had been out of Sickbay for - what - already a week! :-)

Looking forward to your comments! BTW, after the results of my last poll, I have a new one with a selection of Special Months. Go vote!