xxx

Vulcan

"Minister T'Pau."

The young woman turned towards the man who had just entered the council chambers, gravely nodding her head. "Minister Sphelt."

His hair was jet black, a reminder that it was more often Vulcans of his parents' age that had been seduced by the V'Las chimera.

Sphelt approached in awe, which was logical given what T'Pau had accomplished. He fished a disk out of his front pocket, handed it to her. T'Pol turned the disk over front to back, but there were no markings, just a shiny black circle. She logically deducted that Sphelt would not be handing her a blank file.

"What is this?" She asked.

"It's a file on one individual. We started doing research after Soval's shuttle was found. The discovery of the arsenal two weeks ago led us to additional weapon caches belonging to the underground group, and eventually their electronic files. The information was, deeply encrypted in a novel way. It took our specialists a long time to crack the code. The rebels were using Human encryption as a base, there was no logical progression." Sphelt's ear tips greened slightly. "We are reviewing our encryption methodology to introduce an element of randomness in the combinations."

"Which individual?" T'Pau cut him off before he went into an in-depth explanation of encryption options. They had not needed such artifices on The Forge. The Forge. Her gaze went to the window and the desert beyond. Those had been simple times, if dangerous. There was Syrran, her friend and her mentor, taken by the sandfires. There were all the others, fallen under V'Las claims. T'Les, mother of T'Pol, missing, like Soval. Was there a connection there? Did the same party stand behind the disappearance of one and the other? It logically couldn't be. The differences in time were too broad, the objectives unaligned. It simply could not be the same person. But the same side?

"Which individual?" She repeated at Sphelt, who had gone silent, waiting for her bidding. She was younger than he, did he not realize? How could he justify the awe he held her in? She had done nothing more than walk the one true path shone by Surak. He was the source of all that had propelled her thus far, events bending to her will into favorable outcomes. So many of her companions had died along the way. She had to consider how many more would be sacrificed on the altar of the new Vulcan way.

"Ambassador Soval's principal junior aide, T'Agad." Sphelt was in full security-chief splendor as he summarized what was in the file. "Fifty-six years old. Native of Sij'Kahr. Mother is T'Lus, an exobiologist, father is Volkath, a lirpa maker, deeply devoted to V'Las. Family has no particular societal markers but the entire area is home to many in V'Las inner circle. We believe that her indoctrination started at a young age, deepened when she studied at Kunel'Herir where she came into contact with V'Las loyal agents. Indications are that she started working undercover for the rebels then, with a mission to infiltrate... deviant... groups at the university." Sphelt ear tips greened again slightly, 'deviant' was the V'Las code word for Syrrannites. T'Pau thought it was interesting that her chief of security would be prone to blushing. Perhaps the vasoconstrictor effect would lessen with age.

Sphelt was going on. "She was a brilliant intelligence student and when she graduated she was assigned to the embassy staff on Earth. She has been excelling since, her professional trajectory is following the expected path." Sphelt paused, looked at her directly. "We have confirmation her hatred of the ambassador is profound. If it were up to her, he would have already been killed."

"Do we know where she is?"

Sphelt knew T'Pau meant whether she had been on the transport back to Vulcan, or had absconded to Romulan space. "We believe she is still with Soval. Our agents report no sighting of her on any of the Romulan worlds. Our hypothesis is that she stayed with the ambassador, pretending to be a victim in order to deepen his trust in her. Her psychological profile reveals nothing would please her more than to announce the news of her betrayal as he lays on death's doorstep."

T'Pau fell silent, considering. Soval and T'Agad were the only ones left alive from the shuttle. T'Agad's pretense as a victim would give her more leeway, a broader field of action. It was well done. She was a brilliant intelligence student, though there was something sinister about her.

"What do you suggest we do?" She asked. She would want to warn Soval that the danger was twofold, the one by his side possibly larger than the one ahead. As a Syrrannite, she was not pleased about the trickery of pretending to be what one wasn't. As a friend, she angered that Soval would trust someone not to be trusted, that his faith would be so abused. And yet, there was nothing to be done except wait for what must happen.

The question visibly upset Sphelt, so new in his functions and already faced with having no satisfactory answer. "All our resources are focused on finding the ambassador," was his terse reply. It went without saying that there was nothing else they could do.

xxx

Enterprise

Archer was not happy. This felt like something he had done before, days spent tracking an elusive prey, going more slowly than he wanted, hiding out of sensor range, and now he was looking at Admiral Toussaint anew, the man once again imparting unwelcome news. That was starting to look like the admiral's life goal, ensconced as he was behind a desk at Starfleet Headquarters.

Archer narrowed his eyes at the man, letting him know exactly what he thought about this new information. "How did an insurgent group get so close to the ambassador?"

Toussaint shook his head, brow furrowed. "You don't expect Vulcan gave us an answer, do you, Captain Archer?" He shook his head again. "When the V'Las regime was over and T'Pau took over, we thought it was a peaceful transition of power." He glowered at Archer. "I'm not sure how Starfleet would have liked learning back then that one of its commanders had facilitated the overthrow of a major government, but they didn't. Earth may have had its issues with the Vulcan High Command, but we certainly wouldn't have wanted to look like we interfered." He pushed back in his chair. "But we're finding out that you were part of what on Vulcan passes for a revolution." Toussaint chuckled. "Part of… More like you were the entire reason."

"I wasn't myself." Archer drily replied. He hated it when anyone came at him about the events at the Forge. It was true he hadn't been himself. But if he had, he probably would've done the same.

"Anyway," Toussaint brushed his objection with a swipe of his hand, "Things on Vulcan are a lot more unsettled than we ever imagined. Rebels, insurgents, armed groups loyal to V'Las. We're still processing what we're hearing. You can imagine that Starfleet is slightly anxious to land on the right side of history on this one. There's a lot of uncertainty now in the admiralty. Personally my bet is on T'Pau. She's already avoided a coup and is showing to have quite a backbone."

Archer's mind went back to the wild-looking woman who was holed up with the Syrrannites on the Forge. She didn't become the leader of the group because she was soft and agreeable. He remembered how power started emanating from her the moment she stepped in the council chamber and took V'Las out, as if she were the source and bearer of something bigger than herself, bigger than them all. He agreed with Toussaint. Hers was the side he'd bet on.

"So what is this about?" He asked. He didn't believe that Toussaint had reached out just to gab about T'Pau's chances on the throne or to tell him that one of the three people they were looking for was a traitor. That wouldn't have required a face-to-face meeting.

Toussaint was looking at something on his desk. "You remember the Nahr, the ship that was going to meet the Navarre in the Ceplephus quadrant to help search for T'Pol?"

Archer nodded. The question was how could Toussaint ever imagine he'd forget.

"Well, the Vulcans have it in their heads that the disappearances of T'Pol and Soval are somewhat connected." Tousain sighed, straightened an off-screen pile of padds. "Personally, I think they're out in la-la land, but go explain that to a Vulcan. They have a very sensible and logical explanation, as always. Has to do with Soval and T'Pol both being posted on Earth, the rebel groups were possibly active at the time, you get the idea." Toussaint crossed his hands on his desk. "To make a long story short, they're diverting the Nahr to help you track the attacker."

Archer wasn't sure if he liked that or not, but he automatically scowled. The Vulcans were sure to be a real pain in the neck, as always. "I don't need any help," he started to say, and Toussaint raised a palm to stop the outburst. "You Starfleet-captain types never do." He sighed, rubbed his face. "But this is not about whether you can do it all alone, we know you can. This is about helping a present, and let's be clear, I wager future ally. If T'Pau is asking for the Nahr to work with you, whatever her reasons are, I'm fine with it. And so are you."

"Aye, sir. We'll make it work." Archer nodded, seething inwardly. It only served to remind him why he preferred to be deep out in space, far from headquarters.

xxx

Orion Slaver

Makatradr looked at the enormously green aliens on the screen. It was only by chance he had received their hail, already on his way back to Y'Cr'Stea with cartloads from another trading run. His holds were full with Blenajj ink and Carxienthian silk, delicious Pewrnik and even some Schilbleeks with their lethal barbs. And now the alien captain claimed he had a cargo of telepaths to unload.

Makatradr had heard that chance favored the bold and the ambitious and would have liked to believe he was an example of both, but knew that in his case chance had favored the industrious and those predisposed to hard work. He saluted the captain whom he remembered having met previously, careful that saying too much could compromise the best terms of the deal.

That was seven hours before.

Now, Makatradr was sitting on his stool, thinking. If he had been Human, he would have been stroking his beard, but being an I'Shlin, all he had to finger was the mane on his neck. Securing the aliens had been a breeze, the only complication whether there were enough psi-depressing devices for them all. But he always had an armload on board, even though he had used them only one and two at-a-time before, for hope sprung eternal and a good trader knew to be prepared.

He had meant to buy only one or two of the telepathic aliens, possibly two pairs, but then an idea had sprung in his mind and he had gone for the whole lot. Negotiations had been thorough, each side play-acting its disgust and sorrow, until, in a spontaneous gesture, the hugely green alien had thrown in a new creature, unappetizingly pale and pink but with eyes the color of precious stone. That one would make a special prize.

The new cargo were all endowed with the reviled Sighting, except for the pink one, the one with rounded ears, there was nothing to detect there though the seers on Y'Cr'Stea were more sensitive and would be definitive. Now that the alien ship was gone Makatradr could set his plan in motion, possibly double or triple his income, perhaps even more. A good trader had a book of contacts and knew its customers. Some would be willing to spare with a hefty sum for a private sortie. Makatradr started figuring in his head how large the party and how to price the entry. His fangs were watering at the profits. If he'd had hands to rub, he'd have rubbed them in glee. He turned to his helmsman.

"Exprtlot, send word to Y'Cr'Stea, all my best customers, let them know of a special event, small but exquisite, a one-of-a-kind opportunity, not to be missed, a private hunt of over twenty touch-telepaths. Limited to… hmm… fifteen hunters. The fees will be commensurate with the experience but in light of the lifetime chance won't set them back in any appreciable way." Once he had sold the first fifteen spots, he would keep going, accepting bribes along the way. The true limit was twenty-five. He would easily get there.

xxx

Enterprise

Beep. Beep. Beep. The noise was incessant, finally rousing Archer from a fitless sleep. He groaned, pulled a pillow over his face. Why did everything have to happen in the middle of the night? "Hold on a second" he yelled at the console, which paid him no heed and went on beeping. Archer hit the intercom next to the head of his bed. "Yes?"

"Captain, captain, captain" the Science Specialist voice was high with excitement. "We have a match on the signature!" That was Schuyler holding the delta shift. His need to start in threes was well known across the ship, a source of benign amusement, some teasing. Schuyler bore it all with good grace and went through life unfazed, thrice calling on everyone he met.

Archer sprang up, ran to the door. Then turned back and surveyed the room. To put on his uniform or not to put on his uniform. The hell with it. He stepped into the corridor as he was, barefeet, hair-mussed and all. There was no time to be wasted. Stepped back in, the ship always felt cooler in the middle of the night. Finally he was dressed, stepping onto the bridge. That was when he thought of asking "What signature?"

There was a crowd of sorts around the science station. The graveyard shift only had so many available bodies, a small group in alpha shift became a mob in delta. Archer stepped through, seeing from the corner of his eye a bleary Reed coming onto the bridge. Hoshi was walking to her station, somewhat disheveled. Archer made a sudden connection, those two should have spaced their arrival somewhat, it might be a matter of optics but it begged the thought that there was something more.

"Specialist Schuyler." Archer simply said, letting the weight of his rank prompt the question.

"Sir, whenever we come upon a new ship trace I make a point of logging it. You never know what might happen. I was going over the week's signature logs and it struck me, one of the signatures we had seen before. Look!"

The crewman excitedly pointed to a screen on his console, which Archer could only see upside down and sideways. He took a step back, consciously modulating his tone, the last thing he needed was to scare Schuyler. It reminded him of a favorite childhood line of his, from one of his uncles or possibly his grandfather 'You don't hunt, do you?' a reminder that there were other ways to get to what one wanted.

"Put it on the screen, Specialist, it will be easier for all of us to see."

Schuyler twiddled a couple of controls and the main screen lit up with the graphics of warp engine trails.

"Above is the trail we picked up yesterday," Schuyler explained, enthralled, "and below, one of the two signatures from Qaybos that didn't have matching ships. Look how the signatures align." Schuyler hit a switch and the two graphs merged into one, the same.

Archer and Reed were already talking to each other.

"Lieutenant –

"Captain –… Apologies, Captain, please go ahead."

"Lieutenant Reed," Archer paused, turned to the science specialist, "Specialist Schuyler, what are the chances the same ship is tied to the disappearance of Vulcans on Qaybos and Vulcans on the ambassadorial shuttle?"

Silence answered him and Archer wished T'Pol was there. "Let me put it another way. If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, what are the chances it's not a duck." Everyone's eyes lit up in comprehension, and Archer was relieved T'Pol wasn't there. He would have had to spend a lot of time explaining that one.

"Perhaps they're not related." Reed reminded him softly.

Archer turned to him. "You're the Security Chief. What is your take on it?" Seeing Malcolm hesitate, Archer called out louder. "Anyone from the bridge crew, meet me in the command center in five."

When he walked in, they were all there. Malcolm, Hoshi, Hess, Schuyler, and someone had gotten Travis out of bed. He was grateful for that. He would have liked Phlox, too, he didn't know why. Perhaps simply because it made him feel better, he'd spent weeks without his commanders, running his crew into the ground, and eventually he would have to open the file of recommendations from Starfleet and think about replacing them. Thankfully, this was not the day's topic.

"I know we're tired and stressed, and we've been looking for our crewmates for weeks on end. I need everybody's best thinking on this one. To go over the facts, we've found one of the two ships from Qaybos. Now we have to decide whether we veer off and go after the Qyabos ship. It could be that their presence around is a complete fluke, but it seems too much of a coincidence."

"You think this ship is the one that took T'Pol?" Travis asked softly.

"One chance out of two it is," Archer replied, "though I'm starting to think it's more like 80/20."

"Perhaps we could split from the Nahr, let them go after one while we follow the other." Hoshi proposed.

Next to her, Reed nodded. "That's a thought, Captain. It's definitely a good way to clone ourselves."

"I like the thought. We can tell the Nahr to follow the Qaybos ship." Archer was still looking at the screen.

"The Vulcans are better matched for the Orion ship," pointed Schuyler. Archer absent-mindedly nodded, then stopped and turned, staring at the table, blood slowly draining from his cheeks. Around him, faces went from the perplexed to the appalled.

"What did you just say, Schuyler?" Archer was done trying not to spook the crewman. Schuyler nervously took a step back, swallowed three times. Archer used the silence to press his point. "You said Orion ship. Why? What makes you think it's an Orion ship?"

Having to explain his methodology put the Specialist back in his comfort zone. "Of course, Captain. During off-hours I have been compared the warp signature of the ship we're trailing with the Starfleet database. It's a lot of work, but I have come to the conclusion that it is an Orion craft. Ninety percent probability." Now he was quoting probabilities. Schuyler had always been socially challenged. Next to him, Reed was scowling. That meant it was something Schuyler should have told every and anyone.

Archer closed his eyes, seized the bridge of his nose, breathed out slowly, once, twice, three times. "When did you find this out, Schuyler?"

"Oh, a few days back. It didn't seem pertinent."

Archer looked meaningfully at Reed. "How about you let Lieutenant Reed or I decide what is pertinent, Schuyler, hmm?" His attention went back to Malcolm. "Does that change your analysis?"

Reed was staring at the screen in the center of the command console. "If the attacker was Orion, they grabbed everyone aboard the transport for slave-trading. They're very far from Orion space or any processing station." Reed looked at Archer. "How would you feel if you were a slaver with over twenty Vulcans aboard?"

"Not very safe. I'd probably lock myself in my cabin and throw away the key." Archer wrily commented.

"So you'd try and get rid of them as soon as you can. Hence you'd look for a buyer."

"And the ships that go to Qaybos for market week are mostly trader ships. Traders buy things. Sometimes they steal them." It all was starting to make eminent sense.

"Like T'Pol." The two men looked at each other in understanding.

"Why do you think this trader wants Vulcans?" Hoshi brought up.

Archer looked at her. "That, we don't know. Hopefully once we find the trader it will lead us to all the Vulcans that were taken from Qaybos." Everyone understood the unspoken message, if they were still alive.

"And T'Pol. And Soval, And Trip." Schuyler blurted out, needing a set of three.

Archer was a man of action, and now he had a mission. "Ensign Sato, send a communiqué to the Nahr, all due speed, encrypted. Explain what we think, tell them we're going after the Qaybos ship. Travis will provide the coordinates of the Orion ship and projected flight path. Tell them we think they're headed back to Orion, possibly with Vulcans to be sold as slaves, we don't know. But we have to split, in case they sold any to the second ship."

He looked around the room. "Everyone, to your stations." They got work to do.