The sound of someone screaming woke her up. It took another few seconds before she realized she was the one screaming. She gulped big mouthfuls of air which were instantly yanked from her by the raking of agonizing torture. Her arm was on fire, yellow flames devouring it from the inside, running under her skin in flesh-consuming twirls. Through the green haze obscuring her vision she saw shapes that she remembered having known, but who and when and where were consumed by the flames that were eating her alive. She was tossing incoherently back and forth, trying to escape the pain, unaware of her surroundings, when she felt something grab her head and hold it still.

"She's coming to" Sverig exclaimed.

"Quick, grab her head" someone replied "before she becomes fully conscious." An older Vulcan came to where he was. "Let me help, I am a melder. I will attempt and put blocks in your mind." The older Vulcan knelt next to T'Pol, positioning his fingers on her psionic point. He looked up at Sverig "You have to keep her head still, but she needs to remain conscious." A nerve pinch would be the fastest way to stop the atrocious pain, but then he would not be able to find the neural paths. Photonic wounds were by far the most painful, the chemical burn lasting long after the actual injury and inflicting commensurate damage. She would be lucky if she kept the arm. The elder's face twisted in pain as he finally made contact with her mind.

Big clouds of rain came over the horizon, drenching the fire that was enveloping her. The agony lessened infinitesimally. The clouds kept forming and releasing cooling water over her and the pain lessened with each wave. Soon the fire died down, then went out completely, tendrils of smoke marking its impact from wrist to elbow. She found that she could breathe again. She felt another presence in her, but it was not Trip. All of a sudden she remembered the group of hostages across the desolate landscape, the glare of the photonic bomb, the strange weightlessness of being hit, and Trip running to her.

She opened her eyes and stared straight into the grey eyes of an older Vulcan who had his hand on her psionic points. Sverig was hovering by her side, looking at both of them. The older Vulcan's eyes smiled when he saw she was coming to. "I helped put building blocks against the pain," he explained "but it is temporary. The damage to your arm needs to be seen to. You need medical attention." She nodded weakly, and the older man moved away. She gingerly tested the blocks, but they were holding strong.

She stared at Sverig, then looked around the room, trying not to look at her arm. It was not the storage chamber they had first been held in, there was still a forcefield but none of the twenty or so Vulcans in there were bound or gagged. She recognized some agents, the others were hostages. She made an attempt to sit up and Sverig cautiously helped raise her the rest of the way, carefully moving her back to the wall so she could lean against it. She raised an eyebrow at him. There was obviously much that needed to be shared.

"We are in the operations complex" he explained "on the first floor. There are about as many of us on the second floor. The Andorians are now afraid of us. Putting restraints on us would have required touching us and they fear we all are walking organic explosives."

"How many got out?"

"There are only forty-three hostages left. All the others are on their way back to the ships." And to Vulcan, she thought but didn't voice.

"And the agents?"

"We're all here, except for T'Mara and Tulket who left with the shuttles. Thirteen have died, and of course Stevalk. You're the only one wounded." She knew he meant she was the only one who had been wounded and was still alive. Stevalk was the source of the explosion that started the attack. She frowned as something dawned on her. "You were on the team with Tulket, why didn't you leave?"

He looked down and to the side "When we saw the photonic bomb hit we thought you were dead. But when Tulket and I ran our group to the shuttle I saw you were still alive. I came back to get you."

So he was the one she has mistaken for Trip. The fact that it made sense might be due to her injured state. Sverig, like Trip, was drawn to her. Even if she was drawn to only one of them.

"You put your life in jeopardy on my account" she commented softly.

"There was no logic in doing otherwise." Sverig answered. T'Pol knew very well how to twist logic in support of emotional decisions. She changed the topic "What about a follow-up action?"

He looked downward. "Any further action will have to come from the Sahriv. The guards at the door are the only Andorians we've seen since the battle." There was a dry note of amusement in his voice. "There's always four of them, a team of two and a back-up. They're relieved every two hours." The terrorists were taking many more precautions than warranted, in an overestimation of what the remaining hostages could do. When actually all they could do was wait. This time there was no master plan to put into action, they didn't even know what they were waiting for.

Pain was still shooting up her arm in pangs that made her breath catch in spite of the neural blocks. She had avoided looking at the arm, worried to see the inhumane pain expressed in physical form. The sight was not as bad as she had expected and yet it was a lot worse. She carefully looked away from the carbonized patches that could be thermal suit or skin, she was not keen to find out which. Sverig followed her gaze. "Actually, your chances of surviving beyond a few days are quite low." T'Pol nodded, she was well aware how infection set in untreated photonic wounds.

To keep her mind off the pain, she started mentally reviewing the alternatives that the terrorists might be considering. They would have to adapt their objectives. The shooting range had been destroyed and fear of another explosion would prevent them from killing the hostages. Logically, their next move would be to try and extract their freedom, possibly money. They would demand small ships that were nimble and easy to hide. Caution would require they take hostages with them, but those ships could not hold that many. The rest of the hostages would be released or killed. Probabilities were they would be killed. Once the terrorists were clear of the complex, because of their fear of an explosion. There were not many alternatives. A transporter evasion was not possible. Even if the sensors could penetrate the complex, which the ones on Enterprise couldn't, they wouldn't know their precise elevation. Vulcan command could not mount another attack, the Andorians would kill everyone at the first sign of an invasion. There were too many unkowns leaning on their fate.

Unless the Vulcans, the Federation and the Andorians came up with a plan.

xx

Rel was having a hard time coming up with a plan. Kalias and Pashat were with him, going over their options. They had lost so much negotiating ground. Rel was still trying to find ways he could keep the Vulcans' and the Federation's feet to the fire, make them twist and turn under his thumb. But what could they do with fifty hostages? Kalias respected him too much to point out the fallacy in his thinking.

It was Pashat who eventually couldn't keep quiet any longer. "Leader, why don't we just ask for ships in exchange for the hostages?"

Rel eyed him coldly. "And leave?! When we came to Sterth Vega III, it was to die in our mission."

"We were ready to die and we still are, but the mission is no longer what it was. If we die, our lifework ends with us. If we survive, we can regroup for another mission." He paused. "And now the Empress knows we exist, you have official recognition. She'll be more willing to listen next time." Kalias had to give it to the kid. He may be young, but he was savvy in ways that eluded her.

There was a minute hesitation from Rel that informed Pashat he had guessed right. Life was not a path to their Leader's heart, but power was.

Rel turned to Kalias "How's the communication system?"

Her antennae twisted in shame "I'm afraid the explosion permanently damaged the system. Most of the wires are fused together and we don't have the supplies to repair them." Pashat nodded in companionable misery. There was no point mentioning the supplies room had blown up in the explosion.

Rel got up, kicked his stool away from him, started pacing back and forth across the room. "So we have almost no hostages left, no communication system. You tell me to beg for ships and leave!" he bellowed at Pashat "But I can't even beg, can I, if I can't reach anyone?!" He was angrier than they had ever seen him. Pashat swallowed nervously, wondering if perhaps he was at risk.

Rel seemed to regain control, bringing his hands together over his face and taking in a deep breath as he slowly brought them down to his chin. "Let's start again", he told his companions, who had no wish to start again. "What do we have?" As silence lingered in light of his rhetorical question, he set the ball rolling himself. "We have arms and we have hostages. That is what we have. And we have an ideology and a name. Now, how can we mix this all together so that we become more than a passing mention in a history book, I ask you? How?" He looked at them "By having a disproportionate impact to our size, that is how! And how do we achieve this?"

Kalias and Pashat stayed wisely silent. They already had achieved a disproportionate impact for their size, and that had not been enough. Finally Pashat had an idea "If we take the arms with us, we'll become one of the best armed rebel groups."

Rel grinned, nodding his encouragement. This one had promise. "So we keep the arms." He paced briefly around the room "You're right, we need to stay alive and keep the fight going. For that we need ships. We can exchange some of the hostages for ships. Not all of them. Some of them only. They are our wealth and our coinage. And we spend our money wisely." Kalias was too pragmatic not to wonder whether killing one hostage a day as they had done before could be considered spending their money wisely.

Rel's eyes were shining, his antennae afloat. "And with money, we can get a communication system."

"Uh" Kalias was no longer following. Rel seemed to answer her thoughts. "If they want to save the hostages, they have to talk to us. If they want to talk to us, we have to have a communication system. Simple." He seemed to be listening to himself. "Not from the Vulcans, no. We want a communication system from Andoria. Something we know from people we trust. Same with the ships. Andorian ships." He was lost in his own world, antennae quivering with anticipation.

"Leader!" Kalias tried again. "But –" Rel was no longer listening to her, if he had ever been. Pashat stepped in, noticing Kalias' efforts at being heard. "Leader, why would Andoria give us ships? We are not holding Andorian hostages."

Rel eyed him with a mean stare then seemed to understand. "Ah, yes. That could be an issue." Andoria and Vulcan would not want the reciprocal ties that could be created if one helped the other. If Andoria refused to help and he killed the hostages, it would be just another dent in long-dented Vulcan-Andoria relations. Nothing that time wouldn't heal. Which meant he wouldn't get his ships. Rel started spacing again. "I don't want Vulcan ships, I don't want anything from Vulcan." Unspoken was the thought that whatever Vulcan provided might very well blow up in their faces. Kalias and Pashat were in unspoken agreement.

"There's also the Federation" Kalias hazarded.

Rel snorted. "The Federation! They have no ships."

"Starfleet does." Pashat pointed out

"And Starfleet will just hand over enough ships for all of us plus the arsenal? It's the same as Andoria. Not unless they're directly involved." Silence fell again.

Suddenly, Pashat's eyes widened. "Perhaps they are." He looked at an uncomprehending Kalias "I was overseeing security when we did the transfer of the children. There was this one hostage… I wondered why they treated her differently. I didn't think of it at the time but she may be connected to the Federation!"

Rel and Kalias turned to him with a gleam in their eyes.