Author's note: This is a continuation of Star Trek: Enterprise that picks up after the second-to-last episode of the series. To me, there is nothing canon about These are the Voyages, a shitty episode where they kill a great character for cheap drama. They already killed a version of him once! Also, I'm ignoring "Dear Doctor" and several other episodes where good characters are viciously abused, and anything hastily tacked on to suggest that Reed is straight.
Star Trek Enterprise, season 5, Episode 1: Guests.
"Captain's log, January 19th, 2156: It has now been two weeks since the refit was completed, and Enterprise left spacedock over Alpha Centauri. We have been sent to carry a team of human and Vulcan diplomats to a planet where a human freighter operating on the far side of Vulcan space has recently made first contact with a highly unusual people known as the Trill…"
Archer finished the log and turned off the recorder. He checked his planner, found nothing scheduled for the next two hours and picked back up his ancient book club edition of Zelazny's Lord of Light.
Predictably, it was a few minutes and a few paragraphs later that the intercom beeped.
"Yes," he said, trying not to grumble.
"Captain," Hoshi said over the speaker, "I've received an encoded message from the Vulcan transport, marked… for your eyes only."
"I'll take it here."
The image of Ambassador Soval appeared on his desk screen. Soval was one of the last of Archer's father's friends left alive, now that Emory had died. Archer had despised the Vulcan for most of his life, calling him slurs almost from infancy, but in recent years had come to trust him, to think of him as a crusty old uncle, even. Soval looked to be a fit and attractive man of fifty to human eyes but moved like a younger man and was in fact much older. He perpetually wore a stoic non-expression that Archer tended to interpret as ennui.
He spoke, faster than Archer had ever heard him speak. "Captain Archer, listen carefully, as this channel is not highly secure and the shorter the message is, the harder it will be to decrypt. The future of relations between our two worlds, as well as my personal fate, rests upon your discretion over the course of the next few days. I wish to defect to Earth."
It's been a long road…
The message went on. "Indeed, Captain, though some of us had anticipated otherwise, you and I included, the discovery of the Kir'Shara has only gone so far in healing the deep schisms of the Vulcan people. A year ago, I called you a divided people; the irony is not lost on me, Captain. While the followers of Syrran now control the upper chamber of the High Council, and while T'Pau still ostensibly leads them, the majority of government offices are still held by the same individuals who have held them for the last decade or more, many of them now considered reactionaries in light of recent events, and there have been several disappearances of prominent pro-Syrran activists. I have reason to believe, as an individual who has chosen to meld openly, and as a new follower of Syrran, that I could be the target of another such disappearance. It is logical to assume that those who have disappeared are dead.
"My coming on this mission to the Trill world is a pretense. When my colleagues depart, I will remain on board with your permission. I ask you to request asylum from your government on my behalf. I ask you, Captain, as an old friend."
Archer thought to himself, and at last he slowly nodded and called up to the bridge to request a secure channel to Earth. He owed the old bastard some common decency, at least.
Like every Sunday afternoon, Reed and Tucker were working out in the ship's gym.
"Well, Trip," Reed said, as he increased the speed setting on his stationary bike, "how are you settling in to the new engine room?"
Tucker grinned. "Malcolm, as big as the engineering spaces in the new hull are, I feel like captain of my own ship."
Reed looked over at Tucker, who had only just started to pedal. "Just don't let the Captain hear you say that, or he might be looking for a mutiny. How many engineering crewmen are being assigned?"
"Eh, he said it before I did. Hey, listen: there's a big room three doors down from the new infirmary—"
"Sickbay, they're calling it now."
"Same think. It was going to be storage for all Phlox's pets, but he's gotten permission to keep them in the old infirmary room. What about having a ship's bar in that…? Malcolm, you seem a little preoccupied."
"Do you… think Vulcans are ever… gay?"
Tucker looked over at Reed. If his face weren't red from exertion already, Tucker could almost imagine that he would have been blushing.
"Malcolm, let's think kinda, scientifically, for a moment: their population is tiny, and yet they tend to have multiple children when they do have them. I reckon the only way their population is so small is if…"
"Lots of Vulcans are gay?"
Trip nodded.
Admiral Gardner's brow furrowed. "He's asking for asylum? From his own people?"
"Yes, Admiral. I recognize that this could be construed as my crew's fault. We did help destabilize their existing government and it was because of our investigation that he revealed he was melder, Admiral." Archer sighed. "I feel responsible for him."
"I can empathize," Gardner said on the screen. "It's going to be a diplomatic nightmare, Jonathan. Couldn't this have happened a year ago, back when we weren't in this damn coalition with them?"
"Yes, Admiral, it could have easily happened last year or the year before that, or whenever he slipped up and revealed his ability. I believe that's the point."
"I take your meaning, Captain. If Earth can't… I'll see what Starfleet can do. We have precedent for taking in disgraced Vulcans. Convey my sympathies and apprise him of our efforts Starfleet Command out."
"I'm sorry, Cap, this is clearly a bad time. Forget I said anything." Commander Tucker was leaning on the doorframe of the Ready Room, looking apologetic to have disturbed the captain's reading.
Archer blinked and put down Lord of Light. "No, it's a very interesting idea. I think we're about to be assigned a long endurance mission… just rumblings from Starfleet Command, nothing concrete."
"You mentioned at breakfast last week, Cap."
Archer nodded. "If our mission to the Expanse is anything to go by, we need more recreational space on this ship."
"I mean, a ship's bar, though… I know it's a pipe dream."
"How much of the mess crew will it take? We can even get more mess workers assigned if we have to."
"No, no, nothing that extreme, sir, just a couple of people to tend bar. I'll even take a shift.
The Vulcan transport carrying Soval and the other ambassadors arrived in the middle of day watch. Archer was surprised to see a small craft like one of the new experimental UESPA long-range shuttle rather than the huge needle-and-ring configuration he was used to when dealing with the Vulcan Science Fleet. Only minutes after dewarping sharply like only Vulcan ships do, it sat in the new shuttlebay in the engineering hull. Archer took the elevator down through the port pylon to welcome the diplomats. He chuckled to himself when he stepped out into the vast shuttlebay, like the owner of a new sports car. He was thoroughly satisfied with the refit.
When he came to the landing zone where the Vulcans and humans were disembarking, he shot what he earnestly believed to be a discrete wink in Soval's direction. The Vulcan made no response. The head of the human contingent approached him and introduced himself as an "R. J. Detmer."
"Captain, it's an honor to come aboard. This is an historic mission, with potential for great ramifications for both our world and theirs. When may my aides and I brief you on the Trill?"
"As soon as you like," Archer said. "I've cleared my schedule for the rest of the afternoon."
"Afternoon?" Detmer said, offhand. "Oh, I see. I've been on Vulcan standard time for a month."
Thirty minutes later, they assembled in the Captain's Mess.
"The Trill," Detmer began, putting on a rather stilted manner of speaking, "are the intelligences of the world in question, a group of related humanoid species that all correspond very roughly to Earth marsupials-"
"Ah," Phlox broke in, with an expression of excited interest on his face. "More common than you might think!"
Detmer went on. "—their intelligence is typically in the upper human-Vulcan range, variable life-span with the longest-lived being on par with Vulcans, or possibly more; I don't know the length of their year… Their politics are complicated, and they have been... reticent to discuss them, but we gather that they are a loose empire ruled by a non-hereditary monarch, usually male, elected by hereditary noblemen from among themselves; rather like the old Holy Roman Emperor, if you recall. We know that one species or subspecies known as the "True Trill" make up almost all of the nobility, and every monarch is from that group as well. So, seen from a distance, the True Trill rule the others in an informal hegemony. We've never met a so-called True Trill.
"While the Vulcans—" and here he glanced across the table at Soval "—are pushing noninterference, as always, we believe our presence may be key for the disadvantaged groups to break free of the dominance of the True Trill government, which has been going on for several hundred years."
"How's that?" Archer asked. He noticed that there was a hard edge on Soval's silence, almost as though a Vulcan were fuming. It would not have been surprising for a human, as Detmer was clearly on the offensive, but for a Vulcan…
"We have asked to meet with representatives of all four species, including the True Trill. We hope to negotiate an alliance with all of the Trill, giving special privileges to none of them."
This struck Archer as keen policy, not unlike Vulcan tactics. "You opposed this, Soval?"
"What Mr. Detmer has failed to mention is the fact that he has been given permission by your government to meet in secret with each of the three disadvantaged species individually, risking a conflict when this is inevitably discovered," Soval said, in a very flat tone.
"You yourselves have done this," Detmer said, looking at Soval. His face was red and his tone was a little harsh. "Your secret treaty with the United States of America which helped bring about the United Earth, for instance?"
"The end result was planetary unity; we took the time to examine your politics before charging in; I doubt you have exercised this level of foresight. Your actions will sow discord without—"
For not the first time in his life, Archer interrupted Soval. "Gentlemen," he snapped.
"My apologies, Captain. My government has sent me to assist and advise Mr. Detmer only. Your first contact, therefore your policy."
Archer was surprised how easily Soval knuckled under. He realized that Soval had little personal stake in events now that his career was functionally over. "Now, what else do we know about the True Trill?"
The Enterprise NCC-0001 approached the Trill Space Platform. She looked far different than the smaller, slower ship that had put out from Earth during the Klingon crisis years before. A secondary hull had been added under the aft pod to house the new Warp Seven core, and her new nacelles were long and cylindrical, with Bussard Scoops glowing at the forward ends. The main hull had lost its deflector dish, replaced with a new one mounted forward on the secondary hull. New phase cannon arrays and deflector screens were in place on both hulls. Today of all days she looked especially graceful, trailing traditional Trill pennants in United Earth colors, blue and white, from the nacelles, to signify that she was a state ship sailing to a solemn occasion.
The Trill station was what Archer recognized as corresponding to a design he'd seen in an old Earth book, a plan for a space colony that had never been built. The name escaped him for a second before he remembered: Island One. It was built around a hollow, rotating central sphere a little over a mile in diameter, which would no doubt contain the main habitat, with the rotation providing centrifugal force to substitute for gravity. Inside it would look like a little inside-out planet, with buildings pointing in towards the center and dangling overhead in a way that would make his head spin. The superstructure consisted of a ring of small pods that rotated with it, which Archer recognized as being for storage and agriculture, and a non-rotating docking complex. Massive tattered fabric solar panels went out from the docking area in four directions, in the shape of the traditional forked pennants, giving the whole thing the look of a Maltese Cross, or more prosaically, a giant ceiling fan. The structure was about twice as large as anything humans had ever built in space, and it demonstrated a great mineral wealth in the Trill worlds.
"Three years ago, I would have said that this was impossible from an engineering standpoint. I'm very impressed," Archer said when it came on the bridge viewer.
Detmer, who was standing next to the Captain's chair, said "you will not find it indicative. They built it a hundred years ago and have done little else on the same scale. They bought warp drive from the Kobheerians a little before then, and they have done little trade with the outside world. They have about six colonies, most of them in this cluster of stars."
"We want to trade for their metals?"
"And metallurgical equipment. They process high-tensile-strength alloys at incredible scales, or at least, they used to. We want them to help us build factories on Mars and at the new colony on Barnard's. The cooperation of their engineers would benefit us incredibly."
Within a matter of a few minutes, Enterprise was fully inside the docking bay of the station. Umbilicals were connected at the docking ports on the secondary hull. Archer and the bridge crew met the Trill delegation at the airlock.
First out of the airlock stepped a humanoid in what looked like extremely fine clothes: a kilt-like garment of shimmering fabric around his waist, coming down to a little way above the knee, a silk-like white cloth wrapped many times around his mid-section like the undergarment of a kimono, and a long, scarlet cape that dragged the floor, attached to a kind of shoulder-cup or epaulette on each shoulder. His feet and legs were bare, as was his chest, and he strode with high arching steps and the confidence and pride of a king. He seemed human, even attractive to human eyes, with muscular legs and a finely-formed face. The only thing that possible marked him as an alien was the line of tattoos or dark freckles running down his face and body on either side. When he walked, he swung his arms by his sides, and when he stood, he folded his hands oddly in front of his stomach.
"Captain, allow me to save you some time," he said, ignoring the two head ambassadors standing on either side of Archer. "I'm the one you're here to see. I represent the species known as the Trill Vatesh, the highest culture this planet has produced.
"So I guessed, Mr… uh…?"
"Solim Varell. I have two names; mark that."
And with that the True Trill strode off without so much as glancing at Soval and Detmer.
Next out of the airlock came a humanoid with a triangular ridge on his forehead, simply dressed to Archer's eyes, in what resembled nothing so much as a plain shirt and bib overalls, with the difference that the narrow pant legs disappeared inside high, rough leather boots that had never been polished.
"I am Bosh," the man said, when Detmer looked at him enquiringly. "Of the Southern Continent."
"May I be the first to extend you the diplomatic courtesy of the United Earth government," Detmer said.
"You may…" Bosh said, looking bewildered.
"And on behalf of the Vulcan High Council, welcome," Soval said.
Next, Bosh was joined by two others, also plainly dressed, a female with spots like Varell's and a male with pronounced cartilage ridges around his nose and bushy eyebrows. Archer couldn't help double-taking at the man's bare feet: broad, frog-like appendages that appeared to be adapted for swimming.
"I take it that you are the rest of the delegation?" Archer asked.
"Please, forgive us," Bosh said. "If we'd known there should have been more of us…"
"No, no," Archer said. "We're glad to see you."
Detmer wrinkled his brow. Was this the infamous Archer Approach to diplomacy? Acting very friendly and smiling too much?
"I don't understand," the woman with freckles said. "But I am glad to be here."
In the conference room, Solim Varell paced back and forth, barely deigning to look at any of the other dignitaries around the table. "I insist that this is a waste of time! These people are rabble, chosen by the unwashed workers of our rural areas. I alone speak for my world in your case."
"And yet," Soval intoned, seeming bored in his tone but filling the conference room with his voice, "your King acquiesced quite easily to our request to have them present."
"Your request was laughable, but it was not difficult. His majesty Adim Saxar is famously magnanimous! But why do you insist on acting as though there is some importance to these people?"
"Let me tell you a story," Detmer said, beginning to play the part of a country lawyer. "On my world, long ago there was something called Apartheid…"
Hoshi, sitting next to Detmer at the conference table, raised her head from her hands and immediately buried it again. Detmer was lashing out at random.
"…In which the majority of a smallish country's population were of one ethnic group and the ruling minority were of another. Injustices against the former group abounded and tensions rose until a man named Ste—"
There came sudden darkness and the falling hum of large transformers going offline.
"What's going on?" Varrell demanded.
The lights came back on. Tucker's voice came over the intercom, a Southern twang not unlike Detmer's. "We're having some computer problems and we've just lost main power to the saucer hull. I sent up auxiliary power as soon as I found out."
But no one paid much attention, because they were looking at Detmer's blood pooling under his head on the mahogany of the conference table. Phlox was summoned; he was nearby and arrived in thirty seconds. It was too late. Detmer was dead.
"Calm down, Ambassador," Archer said. "I was just on the line with Mr. Detmer's wife via the Vulcan relay. The man had a small son. The wife doesn't know how or when to break it to him that his father is dead… The momentary inconvenience to you in this situation is frankly no concern of mine. This treaty isn't life-and-death to me, though from what I've heard it might be for some of the species on your planet. If anything, you should be accommodating to us. I need you to cooperate while we investigate this murder.
"Now you will please return with your security escort to where you were waiting before." Archer caught his breath, very conscious of the fact that he had never signed up to be a diplomat, let alone shout at diplomats for a living, as he seemed to do so much lately.
He looked across at Varrell, whose face was flushed. Suddenly, he felt a sort of undefinable pity for the Trill standing there. He thought of a quote that he could not place, about how you only see little things from the mountain peak. The beautiful, wealthy nobleman sitting before him lived in a world where there were mostly little things compared to himself, or to his position, rather, and that made Archer feel sorry for him, if not to any great extreme.
The ambassador regarded Archer for a moment and his expression seemed to soften gradually, perhaps mirroring Archer's own. "Very well. Convey my condolences to his wife. I knew him a short time, and we were not… as it were… on friendly terms, but it grieves me to see him senselessly killed." He turned and followed the MACO out of Archer's office.
Soval entered a few moments later, escorted by another MACO.
"Come in, sit down, Ambassador."
"Captain," Soval said as he sat down, "there is no need to inform me that I am a suspect in the murder of Ambassador Detmer. In fact, to a Vulcan investigator, I might be the prime suspect, having…"
"Because you're a melder, because you were arguing with Detmer beforehand, and so on—Soval!"
"Captain?"
"I know you."
Soval thought for a moment. "Yes."
"In the first place, Soval, you aren't a coldblooded killer—"
The Ambassador raised an eyebrow. "Coldblooded?"
"It's just an expression. Second, if you were, I think a Vulcan of your age and education would pull off a murder far better than this."
"It seems to me that this crime was well-enough executed: a man is dead."
"I mean," Archer said, throwing his hands up, "you wouldn't have multiple witnesses placing you immediately next to the victimbefore and after the lights were out, and I don't think you would have had a public disagreement with him so shortly before killing him."
"Very logical, Captain. I have never considered the practical concerns of murder."
"Of course not, Soval. However, I have appearances to maintain." Archer sighed. "You will be treated as a suspect."
"A year ago, I would have told you that I have no feelings to hurt, but having become a follower of the Kir'Shara, let me merely tell you that I understand and accept your actions, whether they cause me discomfort or not."
It seemed to Archer that the Vulcan smiled slightly. He was too worried about catching the murderer to give this fact the attention it deserved. He filed it away under unusual things that had happened that day, a large mental file to be sure.
"Sergeant," Archer said to the imposing MACO standing by the door, "send Reed in on your way out."
"Aye, sir."
"Soval, I know you're in a terrible position as a diplomat," Archer said as they both rose to their feet. "If negotiations were to fail now, everyone would understand."
"Typical, Captain, another of your attempts at reverse psychology. Your father often did the same when he wished for me or the Vulcan High Command to change our stance on something."
After Soval and his escort had walked out, Archer reflected that he hadn't known that about his father.
Reed strode in with his hands clasped behind his back. He was frowning harder than usual. Oddly, he also seemed to be blushing.
"Something wrong, Malcolm?"
"Murder, sir."
"Malcolm. Malcolm, Malcolm, you're blushing."
"A personal matter, sir. Uninvolved."
"Glad to hear it," Archer said, as he sank into his chair and ran his hand over his wet brow. "Did you find anything in your preliminary search of the crime scene?"
"I found almost nothing of any consequence sir. No finger-prints that shouldn't have been there, no genetic material from anyone who wasn't known to be in the room already—the members of both delegations, Hoshi, who was there in case they needed clarification that the universal translator couldn't give them, and of course everyone who entered the room afterwards—that being you, myself, six MACO's and Phlox."
"Dammit, I was afraid of that. One of the Trill?"
Reed nodded. "Sir, you wouldn't earnestly suspect Ensign Sato or Sov—Ambassador Soval?"
"No, I can't believe that. And Detmer certainly didn't stab himself twice in the carotid artery."
"Certainly not."
"Murder weapon?"
"Unaccounted for. Long and thin and pointed, like a stiletto, or so it seemed to me from the wounds. Phlox is scanning the—"
"'Unaccounted for.' I don't understand. All of them were searched immediately, is that correct?"
"Yes, sir. I scanned them all myself. Nothing even remotely like the weapon, and it could be a lot of things, so we were very thorough."
"I don't understand it. I assume the ship is being searched?"
"Yes, sir. I would appreciate any extra man-power."
"You have it, effective immediately."
Three adjoining staterooms had been placed under guard for the diplomats. Reed mentally thanked the stars that neither Vulcans nor Trill had any concept of diplomatic immunity. He hesitated in the corridor, then, very conscious of the MAKO looking at him, stepped into the first of the three rooms. In it, Varell was sitting alone at a large conference table.
"Mr. Ambassador," Reed said, in a clipped tone.
"Mr. Reed," Varell said, in almost the same tone. The Trill barely looked up.
"You know you're perfectly free to join your delegation in the next room, sir."
"To what end?" Varell was flippant.
"If you… er… wanted to." Reed felt very awkward, especially considering that, to his eyes, the Trill was in a state of comparative undress and… oddly attractive.
"I do not."
"The Captain sent me to ask if your delegation wants food or any reading materials, anything like that."
"I don't know about your species, but mine tend to lose our appetite when a murder has been committed. It is rather a serious crime among us."
"Among us as well. Shortly I'll be back to ask you some questions."
Varell looked down. "As is only natural."
Reed walked through into the adjoining room, feeling greasy in his stomach. It was a similar room with an identical conference table. Around one end, he was quite surprised to find the remaining members of the human delegation playing cards with the other spotted Trill, whom he had perceived as painfully shy. She seemed to be winning, though he could not quite place what game they were playing.
"Poignee," she said, louder than he could have pictured her speaking, as she laid down a handful of unusual looking card from her hand.
One of the human diplomatic aides stood uneasily; he had been nervously toying with his cards. He was a thin, indistinct middle-aged man in a nice suit.
"Is Detmer…?"
"I'm afraid so. He would have lost consciousness before the lights were even back on. There was nothing our doctors could've done."
Tears came to the man's eyes, and the woman sitting next to him drew a sharp breath. For several seconds he said nothing. "My god. I've known him five years. He can't be…"
"These things are hard, Ambassador. You have my condolences."
The man collapsed into his chair.
"May I ask you some questions, or do you need some time?"
"Of course, of course," the man said, wiping his eyes. "I want to help in any way I.." he trailed off.
Reed helped him back up and they walked out into the corridor.
"Can you think of any reason someone might have for killing Ambassador Detmer?"
The man rubbed his balding head. "A… few, I guess? Nothing, uh…" he sighed, and looked bewildered. "…compelling. Nothing compelling."
"Yes?"
"The ambassador from the True Trill seems hostile."
"He was reasonable enough a moment ago… but you're right."
"Well, more than that, were you aware there was a very vocal argument between the head of the Vulcan delegation and Mr. Detmer while we were briefing Archer?"
"I was."
"It was just the tip of the iceberg."
Reed sighed and looked at the MAKO standing next to the door, who seemed not to be paying attention. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
"Tensions were high on the Vulcan transport. Listen, it's all very complicated stuff; apparently the Vulcan ambassador is a member of a new Vulcan religion, or rather an old one that's just been revived."
"Something like that. I was there when it was."
"Well, you know about Vulcans, right? They have to suppress their emotions or they become like the eugenic supermen of our world—id-driven and megalomaniacal."
Reed raised an eyebrow. "Something… like that…"
"Well this new religion says not to suppress them, but to learn how to control them and live with them. There were some moments on that ship…"
"Can you be more specific?" Reed said.
"Knowing what I know about Vulcans, there were some alarming moments. When a Vulcan raises his voice, it's rather serious, you know. Well, Soval actually yelled at Detmer when he revealed the Earth policy on the Trill negotiations."
"Soval? Yelled?"
"He said…" here the aide raised his voice somewhat, but certainly not to a full shout. "'This is irritating.'"
"Mr. Ambassador," Reed said. "If we were talking about a human, you realize…"
"How absurd this sounds? No, it was not loud and it was not obscene, but you should have seen the other Vulcans. For about ten seconds after that, you could have heard a molecule hit the deck."
"Well, I'll certainly take this information under consideration. Do you have anything else?"
"We know next to nothing about the other Trills."
"Indeed. Well, that will be all for now. I'm going to question everyone in as short a time as possible, while it's all fresh, you know. Thank you."
Next Reed summoned the Trill woman out into the corridor.
"Your name, please?" he said.
"Ae."
"Aye, what is it?" he said.
"My name is… my name is Ae, sir."
"Forgive my confusion."
She managed to smile. "Of course."
"Just the one name?"
"Mostly only the Vatesh have more than one name, sir. It's a sign of noble status."
"I see. You really don't have to call me 'sir,' Ambassador."
"I get so used to dealing with the Vatesh. You see, I'm the lieutenant governor of the Trill Karam, the second-largest country on our world, where my race originated. We survive only by submitting to the Trill Vatesh in all foreign matters."
"Vatesh. That's 'True,' isn't it?"
"Yes. The True Trill."
"Are they a country or a race?"
"Both."
A chill ran down Reed's spine. He tried to think of the word for that kind of arrangement. "But they look like you."
"They evolved from us. They are superior in lifespan, claim to be superior in intelligence, and have superior immunity to most common diseases."
"Sounds like genetic augmentation."
"Impossible!" Ae said, as if the idea was repulsive. That, at least, Reed thought he understood.
"Do tell."
"Our genetic material is delicate and cannot be altered. Tumors and death are invariably the result."
"It can't be done?"
"The Vatesh have tried several dozen times in the last century. The result is always death. I don't really know what deficiency they have that they could be trying to correct."
"It has been my species experience," Reed said, speaking from personal experience, "that it is always possible to want more in that area."
"Very likely, sir—oh, I'm sorry, I've done it again."
"The other races. Are they also dominated absolutely by the Vatesh?"
"Yes. I mean, the Treelóbja are not officially subjects—those are the ones with the feet, you know—but their government is almost as bad as the Vatesh. They pay tribute of slaves to maintain some independence."
"That's terrible."
"You see why my people are clamoring for some kind of treaty with the outside?"
"Yes, and I'm inclined to think you wouldn't jeopardize that. Who would, of the people at that table?"
The woman sighed. "Even Solim Varell has only to gain by the talks continuing. He wants to make sure only the Vatesh benefit, of course."
"And he is open about it?" Reed said. He raised an eyebrow.
"He doesn't view us of enough of a threat to keep his mouth closed in our presence. We've actually learned a lot about the secret politics of the Vatesh from him. He's the worst liaison officer they've ever had in that regard, Mr. Reed." She laughed harshly.
That didn't sound like the man Reed had spoken with, proud and tight-lipped, but he thought the different power dynamic here might explain it. "Does Detmer stand in his way? Does he see someone else as being easier to manipulate?"
"I do not know. It would be a gamble if he really murdered someone just to have a different negotiator."
"Too much of a gamble?"
"Yes, I think so. He's… actually quite insecure. He runs his mouth when there are underlings to impress, acts all proud like a stage villain when there are peers about, but one-on-one? Almost humble, for a member of the Vatesh nobility."
"Are we talking about the same person?"
She laughed again, hoarsely. "Let me tell you this… he's young by their standards. He's a year younger than me, which is mid-adulthood for us but adolescent for them."
"Impulsive? Hormonal?"
"Perhaps 'adolescent' wasn't the word. Forgive me. He is physically an adult, but with next to no experience, beyond these last three years as liaison officer. He got the job from a powerful relative, I think, a father or an uncle. His own kind don't… you know, respect him yet."
"Do your people think he could be brought around to your side?"
"If any of them could, but I doubt it."
Reed rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Tell me about the other Trill ambassadors."
"As suspects? I don't suppose they're any different from me in that respect. Of course we all secretly hate the Vatesh, and the Trill Karam and the T'reil Bachtar had the Treelóbja for dealing in slaves, as I explained."
"Amazing; you're really amazing, Ae."
"Is this really appropriate, Mr. Reed?"
"I didn't mean it like that," he said. "You're a natural detective, aren't you?"
"Yes. I was a legal inquisitor for four years before being elected Lieutenant governor. I've done your job numerous times."
"As bad as this?"
"Far worse. Any more questions? You have my full cooperation."
"I want to question everyone while the events are fresh. I'll be back later."
She nodded.
Reed stepped into the Ready Room.
"Well?"
"I've interviewed everyone who was in the room. The Vatesh ambassador was cooperative but not forthcoming, the Karam ambassador was forthcoming but knew very little about the crime, the other ambassadors said less, the humans are clueless and the Vulcans are all trying very hard to get me to focus on Soval."
"Malcolm, can I trust you?"
Reed looked slightly hurt. "Aye, sir, I'd like to think that you can trust me implicitly."
"Malcolm, Soval told me that he would shortly lose his job and be in danger. I think you know why."
"A melder and a Syrranite, aye. I've read reports on political violence on Vulcan in the last six months. 'Logic Extremists,' they're called. Anti-Syrran and strongly anti-melder. It's rather alarming, sir."
"You like the Vulcans, don't you, Malcolm?"
Reed raised an eyebrow. "I find them a little insufferable, of course, but their culture does have its appeal. I rather like the Stoic philosophers in school; imagine a whole world of them."
"Well, that's the core of the problem, I think. Look how serious humans take conflicts of ideology, even ones that have no bearing on their daily lives. Now imagine a race of philosophers. You've known career academics."
"Aye, sir, I have at that."
"I think it's save to say that we'll either see Vulcan tear itself apart soon, or… something wonderful."
"I have hope for the latter, sir."
"So do I, now that it comes to it. T'Pol seems to have come around to Syrran's teaching."
"And Soval. I think about thirty percent of their population have positive feelings about Syrran now, according to surveys, sir."
"I didn't know you were keeping such a close eye on Vulcan, Malcolm. No, no, that's excellent, especially now that it's so relevant."
"Sir."
"What's your next line of attack?"
"Cross-examine the Vulcans, sir?"
"That'll be tough, Malcolm. Cross-examine everyone, but especially them. Do what you have to."
In the new sickbay, Phlox was making a model of the murder weapon. The new 3d printer was layering more and more surgical plastic onto the object which was growing in the claw of the printer's robotic arm.
Reed stared at it, almost slack-jawed. "That's fascinating, Doctor."
"Come now, your species has possessed this technology for some time."
"Yeah, off in factories and things. I've just… never seen it in person."
"Well, Mr. Reed, this is how they make your shirts, the frame and internal components of your pistol, your dishes and virtually everything other solid component of everything you interact with."
"How do you determine what shape the weapon was?"
"The computer did, based on a Denobulan forensics program I had sent here by Starfleet. Bone nicks, muscle contusions, so forth."
"Admissible in court on Denobula?"
"And on Earth. The foundational techniques are yours, dating back to late last century. 'On Forensic Anthropology,' Dr. Temperance J. Brennan, et cetera."
"Huh."
Finally, the machine dinged. Phlox stepped up and took out the long, slightly curving spine it had built. It tapered to a nasty point and had a slightly organic look to it. Reed turned it over and over in his hand.
"Notice the hollow tip, Doctor. Do you have hypodermics this size?"
"I no longer have any needles of any size. They're quite obsolete. Even when I had some, this would dwarf my largest intramuscular needle. A barbaric implement!"
"May I keep this?"
"Of course! Why else would I have it made?"
Meanwhile, in the guarded staterooms, three of the Trill were arguing in hushed tones.
Varell was furious. "And I'm really supposed to believe that you told this man nothing of our biology?"
"Calm down, Solim," Ae said, with no deference whatsoever. "I said that you're an evolution of my race, which could almost be true. Nothing more, and certainly nothing of the specifics."
"If we're finally talking biology," the Treelóbja said, leaning in, "what are the specifics, if I might?"
"You might not," Varell snapped. "Surely your government knows everything."
"Well I do not, and it bothers me th
at you and this Karam bitch would discuss it in front of me."
Varell did not even look over at Ae. "Know your place, frog."
"And what's my place, Solim? In your bed only?"
"I did not design our society, Ae! As for you," he said to the one with webbed feet, cooling down a bit, "Of course there's more to it than you've been told. We're politicians and we follow strict orders for a living. You don't think I would tell you, my closest friend, if I were allowed to, you fat slaver?"
"You told her," the other man said. "And if I am your closest friend I pity you."
"I was allowed and instructed to. If they justified that decision to me, I would now justify it to you. However, they did not! And hear this, Besuki: nothing makes me happier than to speak as peers behind closed doors. But insult Lady Ae again and I will strike you hard enough to burst your membranes."
"Now, who," Besuki said, "is that supposed to impress?"
"I speak not to impress—" he said.
He was interrupted by the lights going out and the sound of the transformers losing power.
When they lights came up, Besuki was gone.
"I—" Varell began, loudly.
"Clearly," Ae muttered. "But you're going to be the humans' suspect number one."
"Unbelievable!" Archer looked back and forth from Phlox to Reed, who were standing in front of his chair on the bridge. Reed regarded him earnestly. Archer could see that the Lieutenant was trying to look collected, but he could see a babe-in-the-woods look in his eyes.
"Luckily, we do know one thing, sir. I planted sensor boxes in each room. Really, we should have internal sensors of this type in all the bulkheads already, but I couldn't get it in the construction budget."
"I was the one who overruled you. I'm sorry. You found something?"
"Ambassador Besuki was beamed out by a transporter of unknown specifications. Not ours."
"Malcolm, you're telling me we have an assailant who stabs one man in the neck and beams another away…?"
"I would, however, imagine that they might have beamed in to commit the stabbing, sir."
"Ugh… there goes our tight, simple locked-room mystery, Malcolm."
"I hadn't thought of it in those terms, sir."
"Was it," Archer asked, leaning back in the captain's chair, "a cloaked ship? The space station?"
"I don't think so, sir, but anything's possible."
"Explain."
"It was a very-low energy transport. None of our transporters could operate at that energy level."
"Is that why they couldn't see it in the dark?"
"Yes, sir. I don't think they could have transported very far with that little power, but we'll have to ask Commander Tucker."
"Could it be done with human technology?"
"Almost certainly not, sir. It'd be on the same level as a warp five shuttlepod."
"So about a year away?"
Reed raised an eyebrow. "Not unless you know something I don't."
Archer looked at him earnestly. "I do. Could Section 31 possess this technology?"
"That's a good question, sir. Why would they interfere in these negotiations?"
"That's a good question, Malcolm."
"Impossible, Malcolm," Commander Tucker said, putting down his beer and zipping his coveralls back up.
Reed came and sat down on the bed next to him. "Why?"
"You're asking me to break basic rules of sub-quantum physics. Classical mechanics I can break before lunch, and I've violated uncertainty twice this week, but listen, Malcolm, what you're asking for? Godlike engineering. I don't think anyone can do it."
"Assume someone did."
"Gimme a headache, but I'll try."
"Now tell me about that species. What are the precursors, Trip?"
"Malcolm, as a bare minimum, they'd be able to time travel, create vast megastructures and break the Warp 8 barrier."
"To create a portable, low-energy transporter?"
"I mean they would develop all those things before it, and I figure, if you can time travel conveniently, you have potential access to arbitrary levels of technology. You'd be able to go to the future and steal it, or back to see the Great Ones who gave warp technology to the Vulcans, to the same effect. As for developing it independently? It'd be centuries ahead for us, if ever. Thems the breaks."
Reed accepted a lite beer from Tucker, and cracked it open. "Why is it so difficult?"
"So you're gonna get broken down into molecules and get sent through a microscopic forcefield, possibly after being converted into energy, a forcefield long enough for you to get you to wherever you're going and small enough to pass through matter, yet wide enough to let you pass through in a reasonable amount of time, with enough energy left over to funnel you back into your proper shape when you get there. You want this to run on Alkali, or Wein Cell?"
"Are those forms of fission battery?"
"I'm telling you, it wasn't human or Trill."
"Vulcans?"
"A century or more, knowing their tech."
Reed sipped the flavorless beer. "Who are the most advanced race in known space?"
"Advanced how? The Vulcans are in the process of breaking Warp 8, the Denobulans once opened a wormhole for 48 minutes, and the Andorians have good theory on gravity-based time travel. None of them had transporters before us, and it ain't catching on with most of them from what I hear. No one in known space has revealed to us practical sub-quantum computing, that that's really what this comes down to."
"Are you telling me we're dealing with an outside-context problem?"
"Yeah. God, I hated that novel."
"So we wait?"
"I dunno. I guess the Captain will come up with one of his… plans."
"T'Pol might be able to tell us more."
Reed made his way anxiously to T'Pol's quarters. They were off to themselves away from most of the crew, in the science area. Reed felt that, of all the bridge crew, she was the one he knew the least. He had been to her quarters twice and never more than one pace inside the door. He found her very androgynous and was almost attracted—perhaps the only woman he'd ever really found interesting in that way, if only a little. He stood outside and waited for her to come to the door.
She never did. After a minute, Reed wired up to the bridge in a panic. "Reed to Hoshi. Can you locate T'Pol?"
There was a moment's silence. "No!"
"Is she on the Trill station?"
"There've been armed guards at the airlock!"
"She might have been beamed off. Alert the captain and go to Tactical Alert."
"Tactical alert, aye. Hoshi to Captain Archer. T'Pol is missing from the ship."
Reed heard Archer swear hard on the other end of the intercom.
Reed cursed the fact that, try as he might, he hadn't managed to set up a foolproof system for alerting the crew when someone went missing from the ship.
In the main conference room, the remaining senior officers had gathered. It seemed that both Tucker and T'Pol had disappeared between Reed leaving Tucker's quarters and arriving at T'Pol's, an interval of about three minutes.
Colonel Yoshikawa looked solemn and angry in the new dark grey MACO uniform with its high protective collar, while Lieutenant McGee, duty engineer of the night shift, had apparently just been woken up, and she sipper her coffee with dull eyes. Yoshikawa tented his hands in front of his face with his elbows on the table.
"So," Yoshikawa said through his hands. "Would you care to take tea with the suspects again, or shall I question them?"
"I don't like the implication, Colonel," Reed said.
"Enough, both of you," Archer snapped. "Go together; question the remaining Trill again with all this new information in hand. You two are dismissed. McGee, sever all umbilicals and charge the hull plating. I don't want any more beamouts."
Late in their interrogation of Varell, Yoshikawa and Reed were at a loss. "So, tell me about your planet's level of technology, Ambassador." Reed said. He was sitting at a table in the security suite, facing Varell.
Varell raised an eyebrow.
Yoshikawa, standing with his arms behind him near the wall, said "So, tell me about your planet's level of technology, Ambassador." His tone was icy.
"What do you want to know?"
"Transporter technology. How advanced is yours?" Reed asked.
"We have cargo translation matrices that are fatal or damaging to life, nothing more. Honestly, Mr. Reed, we were shocked to discover that not only did you invent the technology yourselves so early in your development, you have also quickly and uncritically accepted it as part of your lifestyles."
"I wonder myself," Yoshikawa said.
"I had my doubts, but after the first ten or twenty times… I'm still here, at any rate."
"So," Yoshikawa said. "Your species' possessing a low-energy, silent and invisible transporter…"
"Is absurd. Do you have such a thing?"
"I ask the questions, Ambassador," Yoshikawa said.
Reed craned his neck to look at the Colonel. "No, we don't."
Yoshikawa looked at Reed as if to say "come on." "Do you trade with any species who would?"
Varell shrugged. "The Kobheerians?"
Reed shook his head.
"No, I didn't think so."
Soval was more informative, once the right questions were finally being asked.
"The technology you speak of," he said at last, "is not known to us specifically, but the Vulcan Science Directorate recognizes at least three Type 6 civilizations, any of which could plausibly possess it."
"Type 6?" Yoshikawa asked.
"We classify civilizations according to the V'Katis scale," Soval said.
"Is that like our Kardaschev scale?" Yoshikawa asked.
"Similar, but more nuanced and focusing less strictly on energy consumption. I imagine they scale to each other linearly, however. On this scale, your individual civilization is a high type 4, the Andorians are a low type 5, ours is a middling 5, and several species we have had intermittent contact with in Beta quadrant are high type 5's. Are you aware of the Romulan Star Empire? They're a belligerent race who have perfected the warp 8 engine, according to our agents."
"And type 6?"
"A usable definition is that a type 6 civilization would present an existential threat to multiple type 5 civilizations at once."
"In war?"
"Yes, but eventually, by existing, unless they controlled their population to prevent the need for expansion."
Yoshikawa appeared to consider this for several seconds. "So a species that could colonize you."
"We hope to forestall this by continuing to advance to a higher ourselves."
"And where does that leave us, Mr. Ambassador? Obsolete?" Yoshikawa said, harshly.
Reed buried his face in his hands.
"You misunderstand," Soval said, with an intake of breath that sounded almost like a sigh. "When I say 'civilization,' it is not at all what is suggested by your word, from the Latin 'civitas, civitatis,' meaning 'city.' It is 'V'Boris,' from the same ancient root as our word for ecosystem. It refers to a connected system of peoples or cities or star systems, connected by interdependency. A civilization needn't be one culture, one species, even one political body. Understand me, Colonel, when I said 'our civilization,' I used the inclusive 'we;' the civilization of Vulcans, humans, and all our dependents and close allies. As reckless as I find you, I must admit that neither of us are self-contained peoples any longer. When I called you a type 4 civilization, it was shorthand for 'you, if you were suddenly without the rest of us.' Let us hope that never happens."
"For our sake?" Yoshikawa said.
"For the sake of Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations."
"Wait just a damn minute," Yoshikawa said. He was clearly still processing what Soval had said.
"No, I understand," Reed said, the first time he had spoken in the interview. "You mean that without each other, our peoples would each be less." For the first time that day, he made eye contact with Soval. His fingers were intertwined.
Soval nodded, almost seemed to smile. "This is axiomatic."
Yoshikawa rolled his eyes. "So you were telling us," he said, pointedly, "about the type 6 civilizations you had contacted?"
"When I said 'we' it was the inclusive 'we' in that instance as well, Colonel. You yourself have contacted the most advanced technological species known to the Vulcan Science Directorate."
Reed looked once again into the wide-set, dark eyes of the Vulcan opposite him. "What?"
"The cybernetic beings that attempted to take over your ship with their technology."
Reed had to repeat his question. "What?"
"They had access to the most powerful technology we have conceived of, the total conversion of matter to energy at the nano-scale."
Reed touched his hair, which was like shellac. He had put too much gel in it this morning. "Well, yes, I suppose that tracks. Yoshikawa, do you…" He trailed off. "My God, I know what's going on."
Yoshikawa smirked. "I doubt it."
Reed glared at him, then ran out of the room.
He arrived at sickbay after an agonizing turbolift ride and another sustained sprint down the corridors of the secondary hull. He was panting when he walked through the new automatic double doors, which got out of his way before he reached them.
He found Phlox with his back turned, trimming a monstrous, orchid-like plant he had recently acquired. Reed was seeing black, in an absolute state of panic. If he was wrong…
He whipped out his phase pistol, set it instantly to stun, and said "sorry, doctor," as he fired.
Reed could not believe his eyes when a small shield appeared to block his beam. Phlox wheeled around. There was a blank look in his eyes and an odd, inhuman will to his movements. As Reed watched, something burst through the skin of the doctor's face, then split open. It was metallic, flower like and appeared razor-sharp.
Reed felt his hands move in trained patterns without his conscious intervention, even without his full consent. One hand flew to brace the other's wrist, as the first set the phase pistol to kill. Again, the beam died on the shield, though it appeared to increase the energy required to block it. Phlox moved towards him like a shambling zombie. Reed's thumb set the gun to its top setting: total disintegration. He fired.
There was a flash, as of a ship's shields being overwhelmed in a haze of torpedoes. Phlox's arms flung out from him like a man being crucified. He slowly fell backwards and hit the ground with a sick, quiet thud.
TO BE CONTINUED.