Pathetic.
He wasn't even a medical practitioner and even he knew the prosecution's witness was pathetic. Plump, blond and massively dignified at first, T'Kuri looked and sounded like an intellectual whose acquaintance with practising medicine was limited to studying medical treatises in dusty old libraries. He had no facts and figures of his own; the ill-fated Vaankara's crew had probably also attempted to protect themselves from the Expanse's spatial anomalies by using trellium, but neither of the afflicted ships' personnel had retained enough logical thought to try to transmit any data. The Vaankara's only communication had been that dreadful video burst of the crew killing each other; the Seleya's crew had only managed to activate the automatic distress signal.
So that left the unfortunate doctor – with no data except Phlox's, and not even any historical evidence of the effects of trellium on the Vulcan nervous system to draw upon – trying to discredit the testimony of an extremely skilled medical practitioner, highly respected in the Interspecies Medical Exchange, who'd not only been on the spot and done all the analysis, but had recorded his findings and conclusions in the minutest detail like the meticulous scientist he was.
Having been instructed to do so, he'd tried. But as the extremely well-prepared Commander Sinclair sent shot after shot through his field experience (effectively none), testimony, conclusions and opinions under cross-examination, even the doctor's Vulcan composure had started to shred. Finally he'd stammered, equivocated and contradicted himself, and by the time Sinclair subsided like a sated alligator and left his respected colleague to finish the job with a few pointed questions that had the unfortunate doctor squirming, even Judge Augustine was scowling.
"No further questions, your Honor." Hicks resumed his seat.
"Does Prosecuting Counsel have any other witnesses to testify?" she demanded.
"No, your Honor." Although S'Hella had maintained his impassive expression during the cross-questioning, he sounded almost relieved that he hadn't got anyone else to throw to the lions.
"Counsel S'Hella, any redirect?"
"No, your Honor."
"Does Prosecuting Counsel have any other witnesses to testify?"
"No, your Honor."
"Then does the prosecution rest?"
"Yes, your Honor."
The judge nodded and turned to the other table. "Does Defense Counsel have any witnesses?"
Sinclair rose again. "Yes, your Honor. Two."
"Then you may call your first witness."
As the unfortunate T'Kuri left the courtroom, clearly trying to drag the tattered remnants of his dignity around him like a shredded robe, Malcolm turned to watch Phlox. The news of the doctor's apparently miraculous reappearance just as the trial had been about to start had rolled a weight of worry off his shoulders, even if it wasn't quite as 'miraculous' to him as to everyone else – he'd been quietly hopeful it might happen ever since Holly had mentioned that phone call.
His first worry, that the doctor would show injuries sustained during his kidnapping or even his rescue, was largely unfounded. The doctor appeared to be walking without any apparent difficulty, and despite his preference for loose coats it did not seem as if he was bandaged anywhere – at least not enough for it to be visible. His face didn't appear to be damaged, though on closer inspection there was a faint mark on one cheek that might well be a fading bruise.
The Denobulan might have a distressing preference for unorthodox medical treatments (Malcolm and the osmotic eel were far too well acquainted for the former's liking), and appear positively jovial about ethics having nothing to say to his causing his patients as much pain as he liked, but when the chips were down he could totally look the part. He took the witness stand and made the affirmation with an air of calm, professional confidence.
Even the judge seemed to relax in her chair, as if anticipating something better worth listening to than the previous occupant of the stand had proven to be.
But even as he listened to Commander Sinclair leading the doctor into his opening statements, Malcolm found his attention wandering.
So far at least, Hicks' confidence had been well-founded. The prosecution's witnesses had been shot to ribbons and even if the defence's suffered the same fate (unlikely, but never say impossible), there remained the unalterable truth that Enterprise had effectively been on a war footing. The captain would not, could not, have left a ship as powerful and technologically advanced as the Seleya to be claimed and reverse-engineered. Even if the Xindi themselves had not found it, the Enterprise crew had experienced for themselves the piracy that thrived in the Expanse. What might have ensued if the Osaarians had come across the drifting hulk when all the crew had massacred one another? Even if they weren't all that interested in exploiting the technology for themselves (and with a ship like that, how much more effective pirates they might become!) who knows what unfriendly forces they might have sold it to? At some point in the future, Starfleet and even the Vulcans themselves might have been badly startled by the result.
No; even given his entrenched (and often completely justified) pessimism, it was hard to see any other outcome to this farce of a hearing than the judge dismissing it – and preferably sending the Vulcan delegation away with a well-earned flea in the ear.
So. Given that the hearing never had a chance of actually succeeding, it therefore couldn't be the point of the action.
So what was?
Without being unduly modest about his importance in the scheme of things, he was reasonably sure that he himself was, as he had said to Holly, merely collateral damage. If the captain was going to be charged over his conduct aboard the Seleya, then his junior officers had likewise trespassed on Vulcan sovereign territory – if that was what they insisted it was, in defiance of the generally-accepted rules of salvage. It would be implausible to prosecute the captain for giving an unlawful order without prosecuting the junior officer for obeying an unlawful order. So as appalling as the event was for him personally, he doubted whether he was here in any other capacity than as a herring that had been caught in a tuna net.
If he wasn't important enough to matter, that definitely couldn't be said of Captain Archer. Fresh from the victory in the Xindi Mission, Starfleet's 'poster boy' (however much he himself would despise that description) was definitely important enough to target – but why?
And Section 31 was involved. The moment Holly described the phone call, he'd been absolutely certain who it was from.
He asked himself, as he had continually since hearing about it, what, if any, their involvement had been in Phlox's kidnapping.
They might, if Harris had felt it imperative, have kidnapped him themselves. For sure he would be safer in the Section's hands than he clearly had been in Starfleet's own. But it was unlikely they would have been quite so cavalier about shooting his guards. With the tentacles they had in the system, it was not only wasteful, it was unnecessary. Nothing was more certain that if the spymaster had decided the guards were an insurmountable barrier they would have been got rid of, but on Jupiter Station there were ample opportunities for Phlox to have been quietly spirited away, leaving no clues but a few neatly stunned personnel.
So why were they involved?
For his benefit? Unlikely, he decided cynically. It was hardly likely Harris would have authorised any phone calls, but a Section 31 Black Ops team was not deployed unless it served Starfleet's needs.
Would Captain Archer's disgrace represent such a risk, if it happened?
Possibly. At the very least it would be a huge embarrassment for Starfleet. But surely Harris was as able as any man to sum up the danger of it happening, and once again we were back to where we started: it almost certainly wasn't going to happen.
Malcolm was more relieved than ever that he'd sent Holly to Admiral Forrest with his suspicions. At a guess, she'd also tell him about the phone call. That might tip him off that the Section might be active, if he didn't already know. And that – if that secretive Section bastard felt like spilling the beans – might actually start to wash away even a fraction of the mud of mystery in which all of this whole business was currently submerged.
If Phlox had been kidnapped, by whom and why?
And if it had been the Section who'd rescued him, how did they find him?
If it wasn't even that important to retrieve him (after all, his testimony from the Starfleet investigation was admissible as evidence in the hearing), why did they bother?
Out of the goodness of Harris's heart? Don't make me laugh.
So if the hearing wasn't the danger, what was Harris protecting?
...The Enterprise?
...or was it Starfleet itself?
