Chapter Twenty-One – Interview With The Red Queen
T'Pol surveyed the controlled chaos of Derrea Ohm's main hospital. Rows of wheeled beds lined every wall in near-military precision, each carefully square with the others, each occupied by an ill or dying Carah Shon victim. Medical personnel navigated quietly between the rows, monitoring patients, administering medication, and, occasionally, placing a small red tag on a bed – a signal to others that the patient had died.
Looking around, T'Pol saw at least a hundred of those red tags distributed across the room. There was no doubt that the anti-virus that Phlox had developed was effective; their real enemy was time. As a new Carah Shon day dawned, inhabitants of the city and its surrounding areas had begun their morning routines: washing, eating – a hundred different normal activities bringing them into contact with the contaminated and deadly water sources flowing through the compromised water processing facilities. The virus had raced through the local population and the Regent's Palace grounds like wildfire, just as Geren and Fenree had intended. Jin Sava's advance warning to Darala's security forces – those who had not been deliberately targeted in the first wave – along with the various contingency plans developed by Reed and Tucker had effected a full water plant shut-down within hours.
It was not soon enough for the twelve thousand, six hundred twenty patients being treated in this massive facility and four others like it, nor the eight thousand Carah Shon who had not been reached in time. With every passing hour, more individuals presented themselves to the designated triage areas, reporting symptoms.
What is is, T'Pol thought to herself, not unsympathetically. Enterprise and her crew had done what they could, as quickly and well as possible. Perhaps millions of lives had been saved. She would not dwell on what could not be changed.
She turned her back on the hushed activity of the main room and ducked behind a heavy grey curtain. Captain Archer was awake, and looking annoyed.
He sat cross-legged with a pillow on his lap on a pallet in the middle of the quarantine cell – a space three meters in diameter and transparent, like a giant test tube – glaring balefully in her direction. He wasn't angry or upset with her, she knew. It was most likely the combination of his inability to get more than twenty minutes of sleep at a time due to the constant monitoring, and his total lack of clothing that irritated him at the moment. He'd asked her, more than once and with varying degrees of politeness, to see if she could score him a pair of pants, a set of pajamas, even something he called a "hospital jonny," but she was going to have to tell him, yet again, that she'd come up empty.
It wasn't that he was physically uncomfortable. The ambient air in the quarantine room was kept at exactly twenty-two degrees, what humans considered "room temperature," a little warmer even than the usual temperature aboard Enterprise. The Carah Shon physicians had also modified the lighting to mimic the exact level of light and UV radiation emitted by Earth's sun on a beach in San Francisco during late spring. This native solar energy, they explained, would assist in the healing process.
If they had asked her, she would have recommended a dim room, some peace and quiet, and a pair of boxer shorts instead. But they hadn't asked her.
She reached up and activated the intercom, hearing the muted ping as the channel opened. "Captain, how are you feeling?"
He made a visible effort to respond pleasantly. "Doing okay, thanks, T'Pol. All things considered."
"No nausea, vomiting, headaches? Dizziness?"
"No," he answered patiently. "I had some mild symptoms a while ago, but they've gone away."
T'Pol scanned the running readout on the wall next to the chamber and keyed the vital signs into her scanner for transmission to Phlox. "Your temperature is normal, but your blood pressure is elevated."
"That's probably because I'm aggravated," Archer replied, a little sharply, taking in her otherwise empty hands. "No luck on the clothing, huh?"
She shot him a look, mildly relieved that he was feeling well enough to worry about unimportant things. "Clothing would interfere with the sensors, Captain." He glanced down at the fifteen or so squares stuck all over his torso and arms. Another six or seven were adhered to his temples and back, all feeding data to the physicians in charge of his care, and to Phlox, who was monitoring the captain's condition remotely. Of all of the opinions, Phlox's was the most important. With his first-hand knowledge of both the virus' characteristics and Archer's personal history, the Denobulan would know immediately if Fenree's final declaration, that there were three additional strains at play, was true. The emptied hypospray had set in motion an endless series of tests on Archer, who was now a potential Patient Zero for a whole new biological threat.
Archer raised a hand to rub his temple, but a sensor got in the way. He sighed, aggrieved. "Any idea when I can get out of here?" he asked.
"According to my latest conversation with Doctor Phlox, the modified anti-virus seems to be working. Your blood counts appear to be returning to their normal range." He grimaced impatiently at this medical jargon, so she shot straight to the answer he was waiting for. "If you remain stable for another twenty-four hours, standard, you can return to Enterprise for further, less aggressive, monitoring."
She could tell by his expression that this estimate was twenty-three and half hours too long, but he didn't argue. Instead, he inquired gravely, "How many casualties so far?"
It was illogical, in her opinion, for him to worry about a catastrophe that he could do nothing about, but she knew that he would continue to ask until she updated him. "The rate of new infections has slowed," she said quietly, "but current numbers are approaching thirteen thousand."
"Dead?" Archer asked in horror.
"Infected. I do not know how many have died so far," she lied, "but I am sure it is much lower than our original estimates." She saw something odd flicker in his eyes, but he looked away abruptly.
"How is Darala?"
"Her Serenity is expected to make a complete recovery," T'Pol said, in exactly the tone and cadence of the four different government officials who had given her the information. "Ms Oreevi was able to administer the anti-virus within seconds of the attack, and Darala's physicians stabilized her condition immediately. At the moment, she is transmitting broadcasts by audio and video to assure the general population that the virus threat is being managed and that her government remains in complete control."
Archer snorted. Knowing Darala, this information was probably seventy to eighty percent true, at most. "When I've been cleared out of here, I'd like to see her. Set that up for me, will you?"
T'Pol paused. "If I may ask, Captain, what would be the purpose of such a meeting?"
"Why wouldn't I meet with her?"
"Sir, you have just had several attempts made on your life. Darala has been highly uncooperative during this whole incident. I fail to see the benefit of – "
He cut her off, a little impatiently. "T'Pol, I have a mission to complete. There was a purpose we were sent out here in the first place, remember?"
"And you think that Darala would be receptive to this … mission?" She couldn't keep the doubt out of her voice. "Or that you are in a proper frame of mind to conduct diplomatic negotiations?"
Archer started to rise, as if he felt the need to pace, then, clutching the pillow, thought better of it. He settled back down. "I have a job to do, T'Pol. Starfleet sent us out here to gather allies. If it's in any way possible, I have to salvage this somehow." He leaned forward for emphasis bracing a fist on the floor. "Thirteen thousand of these people are infected with a pathogen developed from a virus I contracted, what, twenty-five years ago? However many more are dead. Because of me. If we hadn't come out here, none of this would have happened. I can't leave it like this. I have to find some way to make it right – or at the very least, I don't want to leave a thread that someone else, Darala's successor maybe, can use to start a war against Earth somewhere down the road."
The short pause telegraphed T'Pol's misgivings. "Captain, after what Lab Tech did to you, do you really think that you are in the right frame of mind to have these discussions?"
"I have a job to do, T'Pol," Archer growled, "and I'll do it. I have never put my personal feelings before a diplomatic mission." The second the words left his mouth, a pained expression crossed his face. She knew that his mind and hers had gone to exactly the same place. Except, perhaps, when it involves Porthos.
"Don't say it," he warned immediately. She had enough of a self-preservation instinct to obey.
After a moment, he went on, his words low and grinding. "If you're afraid I'm going to let my personal feelings about … what happened … get in the way of negotiating in good faith, T'Pol, let me assure you that they won't. My job is to ensure that Earth has allies against the Romulans in whatever conflict we're facing. We know The People have had dealings with the Romulans. This might be our only chance to tip them in our favor." He took a deep breath and clenched his other fist. "Look, this is not the first time I've been kidnapped, or tortured, or lied to, or betrayed. And every single time, I've done my job – no matter what. Because I always do my fucking job, T'Pol."
T'Pol heard the soft complaint of the sensors, registering changes in the captain's heart rate or blood pressure or temperature. He was angry and hurt by her implication, perhaps more so than the situation warranted. That in and of itself told her that he was not ready, emotionally, physically, or mentally, to deal with Darala and her shifting truth, nor had he begun to deal with what had happened to him. But the steely look in his eye made it plain that he was not going to see reason on the issue. She sighed. "It will be necessary for me to note for the record that, given the scope and nature of your ordeal, as your First Officer, I recommend against further diplomatic contact between you and Darala," she said finally.
He held her gaze contemptuously, his jaw moving in rhythm as he clenched his teeth. "Fine," he spat eventually. "Put whatever you feel is necessary in your report, T'Pol. I don't care." He eyed her for a moment more, then added, "Dismissed."
T'Pol closed the intercom and had taken three steps toward the quarantine curtain before she heard the sharp thud against the transparent wall of the room. She forced herself not to miss a step, but her practiced ear recognized the sound as the impact of a fist on a wall.
"I have my doubts that you are physically up to this kind of activity, Captain," Phlox protested for the fifth or sixth time.
Archer concentrated on keeping the unsteady wobble out of his stride, not willing to give the doctor any excuse to pull medical rank and call off this interview. The security officer at the door to Darala's suite took a half second to confirm their identities – no mystery there – and unlocked the door. Archer paused before stepping inside. "This won't take long, Doctor. It's just a conversation. No heavy lifting."
They both knew that wasn't true. Phlox had insisted on accompanying the captain to this final debrief with a level of stubbornness rarely seen. He carried, more as a prop than anything else, a bag of fully loaded hyposprays and vials, on the chance that Archer's condition suddenly deteriorated, or some other attack was made on his life. But none of this fooled the captain. Archer guessed that T'Pol had reported her argument to Phlox, along with her impressions of her commanding officer's mental and emotional state, and that Phlox had agreed with her assessment. Unable to dissuade the captain from going forward with this interview, the doctor had finally giving in after the promised twenty-four hours had expired, and then had simply invited himself along, under a medical pretense.
The Denobulan doctor's other motive wasn't that hard to read, either, Archer thought. In the wake of Egawa's death, Phlox had developed a hyper-vigilance about Archer's vital signs and symptoms. The doctor clearly still carried the guilt of missing the secondary issues that had led to Egawa's cardiac arrest. The moment Archer had been released from the quarantine chamber, Phlox had attached a bio-monitor to his upper arm and had proceeded to run various electronic tests with the regularity of a Swiss watch. He had not let the captain out of his sight: keeping his commanding officer's body and spirit intact had become the primary goal for the remainder of this mission.
In the end, it didn't matter one way or another to Archer. He had to talk to Darala, and he didn't much care whether he was obliged to bring a babysitter with him.
Her Serenity was semi-reclined on a long red couch, similar to the one Archer had seen in one of his erotic, drug-induced dreams during his captivity. He shook off the odd déjà vu feeling and strode inside the nicely appointed receiving room. "Your Serenity," he said levelly, by way of greeting.
Darala's manner was decidedly less effusive than it had been the first time she had received Archer's entourage, several weeks before. She did not rise from her seat, nor did she put out a hand to be kissed. Her expression remained neutral, as did her coloring. Whatever cards she held, she was playing them close to the vest.
"Captain Archer. I am relieved to see that you have recovered from your recent ordeal." Her gaze flicked toward Phlox. "Or perhaps not fully?"
Archer gestured Phlox forward. "This is our ship's doctor, Phlox. He's accompanying me in case you have any remaining questions regarding the pathogen." Show no weakness.
Darala seemed to consider this. "My physicians tell me that all four strains of the Earth virus have now been contained."
"That's true, Serenity," Archer replied, "but I don't think it's at all accurate to call it an 'Earth virus.' This was a plot conceived and carried out by People of The World. We had nothing to do with it."
The monarch moved her eye ridges in mild disbelief. "I hardly think providing a genetically mutated human virus is nothing, Captain."
He wasn't going to win the point, he knew, so he simply raised his eyebrows and continued, "Be that as it may, Serenity, the immediate threat of infection appears to have passed. The anti-virus – Phlox's anti-virus," he emphasized, "is proving to be very effective." Darala said nothing. "We regret that so many lives were lost."
Darala studied the captain, unblinking. He knew that was not a good sign. Finally, she remarked, in an overly casual tone, "My advisers are recommending that I seek the extradition of your Commander Tucker and his command crew to face charges for his destruction of the shuttle in Carah Shon airspace."
Archer bristled. "He fired on my order. If Geren or Fenree had escaped, we believe they would eventually have traveled to Earth and released this virus there. Trip had no choice."
"So you say." She gave The People's version of a shrug. "But I have declined to seek prosecution of your crew for the murder of several of our citizens, provided that Enterprise leaves orbit of The World as soon as possible. I think it best that The People put this unfortunate and tragic experience behind them."
Turning to Phlox, Archer asked, "How long before the medical crisis is over?"
Phlox twitched. "All of the infected persons have been treated; it will take a few days of managing symptoms before they can be released to their homes. We have also nearly completed a systematic inoculation protocol designed to reach the widest possible population that might have come into contact with the contaminated water or its by-products. There have been no new cases within the past eighteen hours, standard. By this time tomorrow, if no factors have changed, we will be able to consider this pandemic over."
Darala looked like she wanted to argue with the doctor, but his placid, professorial manner forestalled her. "Then I expect Enterprise to leave The World – and the system – by sunset tomorrow," she directed instead.
It was the utterly dismissive tone, the overarching sense that The People were in no way to blame for any of this disaster, that finally got to Archer. He had taken his share of responsibility in any number of failed diplomatic missions, and it stuck in his craw that The People's warped history would record a version of events that would lay the deaths of more than ten thousand people at his feet. He started to turn toward the door, then halted. "Serenity, if I may ask one question..."
Behind him, he felt Phlox tense and straighten. The doctor clearly recognized his blandly dangerous tone of voice.
Darala had no such experience. "You may."
"Why did you perform the Sayn to yish-vaha with me, that night at the banquet?"
The question dropped like a lead weight in the middle of the room. Darala's complexion was a study in colors, as they changed more rapidly and subtly than Archer could follow. She opened her mouth several times in quick succession, then pressed her lips together and looked away. All of the imperiousness of her bearing seemed to slip away, grain by grain, as she came face to face with her own behaviour and part in all of this.
Archer was just petty enough to enjoy the show, even if he never got an honest answer to his query.
It took several minutes before Darala could meet his eye. She glanced at him once, then rose to glide across the room, toward the lush, intricate tapestry covering the far wall. Archer watched her, but didn't move from his spot. He shifted his weight from side to side to relieve the ache of fatigue radiating down his legs.
"Humans are very free with their touches," she said finally. "I have read some of your literature, watched your entertainments. Your intimacies are generous and varied. Parents, children, lovers, friends, there is no shame in it. Even your Vulcan permits it. Your greeting, Captain, the pressing of your mouth to my hand, that was the first time I had been touched in public since I became The One Who Is. Have you any idea how long that has been?"
"No," Archer said quietly.
"I have reigned for your entire life," she said looking over her shoulder toward him with a wistful smile. "I am older than you might think." She turned back to the wall and ran her fingers lightly over the fabric of the tapestry. From this distance, Archer couldn't tell what the splash of bright embroidery against dark cloth depicted; it looked like something being destroyed, or perhaps created. "The law turns a blind eye to the occasional dalliances of The One, as long as they are conducted in private. Arat knew this, and for a while, he was satisfied with it. But he wanted more, he wanted public acknowledgment, and that was not … it could not be done. So he betrayed me." She closed her hand into a fist. "How much of this could have been prevented if I had been able to give him the one thing he asked.
"And then you kissed my hand, and I remembered what it was like, before I was the One Who Is, She Who Cannot Be Touched. And I wanted more." She spun to face him, giving The People's version of a bitter laugh. "In the end, the Sayn to yish-vaha does not even require touching, yet it is the most intimate of expressions. Perhaps if I had been in full control of my faculties, and not, as I have been informed, drugged, perhaps a clearer mind may have prevailed. But I was not, and it did not, and those who sought to remove me had all the reason they needed."
"You used me," Archer said.
Darala blinked slowly. "In a fashion, yes." She shrugged again. "There was a convenience in it. Arat would get the message, you would be gone the next day, and I could, just for a moment … feel."
Archer waited, unmoving. It took all of his considerable control not to let loose on her. Do you know what that one indulgent act has cost us? Can you possibly fathom the price we all have paid for your selfishness? He could feel himself shaking with the stress of keeping silent.
From behind him, he heard Phlox gently murmur, "Captain," and knew that his bio-monitor was sending out warning signals.
His voice sounded tight as he said, "I lost a crew member because of your whole … situation. His name was James Egawa, and he was twenty-seven years old. That's very young for a human; too young to die. He had been aboard for a little over a year, and he was … he was a part of our family. He didn't do anything to deserve what happened to him. So I hope your little experiment was worth it to you, at least."
This time, Darala held his angry gaze. "The One does not apologize," she said finally.
"Why am I not surprised," Archer replied, his voice caustic.
Darala raised a hand. "The One … cannot … apologize," she said deliberately, and Archer suddenly understood. She was as trapped by her office, by generations of tradition, as she had been when he had first set foot on The World. But this time, she was reluctant to step outside the tightly controlled box that was her life, lest she unleash another catastrophic whirlwind. "It is not done."
The captain nodded once. This interview was over. At least she hadn't gone all Red Queen on him, demanding his head for imaginary crimes. "Very well," he said, and turned to go.
"I, too, have lost family," Darala added softly. "I understand that the criminals who perpetrated this plot targeted and used the Heirs of the First House. I have no Vya left. My line will die with me."
Archer felt bad for her, he really did, but by now, his store of energy was nearly exhausted and all he wanted to do was to go back to his ship, find his quarters, and sleep. Phlox had other ideas.
"Er, if I may, Captain?" The doctor moved forward into the room from where he had been observing silently in the shadows. "Serenity, you have surviving Vya."
The shock on Darala's face lasted quite a few seconds. "How can that be? All of the Heirs of the One were taken from the nursery. I was told that they were destroyed."
"That is not entirely accurate," Phlox answered, diplomatically. "The Vya were used to cultivate the original virus. That virus was specifically engineered to be deadly to humans, because that was the origin of the pathogen, and to The People. More specifically, it was designed to be most effective against you. This was an assassination attempt, and the general pandemic would have been used to cover it up. Most of the Vya were destroyed in the course of the development of the virus." Phlox paused. "But not all. The Explorer researcher, Niyiik, had three remaining Vya in its possession, which we took custody of and studied in our effort to find an antidote. They are still viable."
"How can this be?" Darala asked wonderingly, in a hushed tone, as if she were afraid to believe his words.
Phlox shot a look at Archer. The captain shook his head, almost imperceptibly. "With your permission, Serenity, I will arrange for the Vya to be transferred back to the nursery of the First House. You may want to increase the security before I do that, though."
Darala was still stunned at this turn of events. "Of course, doctor." As if forgetting herself, she added absently, "Thank you."
The doctor didn't need to glance at his scanner to notice that fatigue was rapidly catching up to Archer. "If there is nothing else, Serenity, I believe it is time for us to return to the ship." He gave a slight, almost courtly bow, graceful despite his bulk, and ushered the exhausted captain from the room.
Archer's steps grew slower and slower as the two of them made their way to the main area of the Regent's Palace. Phlox had opted to use Enterprise's transporter (he did not possess the same apprehension about the device that his shipmates did), in order to get Archer to Sickbay as quickly as possible.
As they waited for clearance to transport, Archer said, "It's pretty lucky that those Vya survived all that experimentation."
Phlox smiled. "I believe you have a better word for it in your language, Captain: ironic." At Archer's look, he explained, "As I understand it, the whole reason for this plot was to preserve the purity of The People, to cause Darala, or rather her successor, to return to a more isolationist policy, hmmm? To convince The World that cultural openness and further expansion into the interstellar community would be detrimental to The People? And in the process, lay the blame for this crime on the human race?" The smile turned a bit sly. "Ironic, then, that, because of this virus plot, the next One Who Is will be genetically ... part human."
Archer was spared having to reply by the familiar and welcome shimmer of Enterprise's transporter.