Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek and all the characters created therein.

A/N: I'm glad to see that people are starting to try to figure out "whodunit"! And don't worry, there will be plenty of TnT before it's over. And have you guessed yet that I'm kinda a R/S shipper too:)

Chapter 6: Ghosts in the Machines

"Strel is definitely in charge," Hoshi told Malcolm over her plate of spaghetti. The two were camped out in the mess hall, eating dinner and waiting for Phlox to contact them. The Denobulan had chased them out of sickbay when they had made it clear that they would be happy to wait while he reviewed Tola's medical data. On the table around them were several data PADDs containing background information for the SMP personnel.

"I noticed," Malcolm said between bites of chicken parmesan.

"But Medec would like to be. Did you notice his body language?"

"Yes. He seems very protective of his wife."

"Not just protective—he's trying to be the dominant one, to assert himself. He wants to be the protector so much that he's almost too aggressive about it. He's defensive to the extreme. I think he views almost any slight or insult as a threat to his masculinity."

Malcolm was impressed. "That's very important in Andorian society, isn't it?"

"Extremely."

"How about V'Ret? What do you get from him?"

"I think he has a major superiority complex. Have you read his file?"

"Several times."

"He's been involved in some very important projects on Vulcan. The High Command asked him to represent their interests here on Velat 4. I don't think he likes it much. I think he resents not only being sent here but also not being in charge."

"It must be difficult to be such a respected Vulcan scholar to take orders from an Andorian," Malcolm agreed. "What about the humans?"

Hoshi shrugged. "I don't really know enough about them yet, but I would guess—"

"Sickbay to Lt. Reed." Phlox's voice came out of the comm. link Malcolm and Hoshi had situated themselves near.

"Reed here."

"I've finished reviewing the data. I've found something I think you'll find most interesting."

"We're on our way."

Sometimes Malcolm hated being right.

"As you can clearly see, Tola's neck was broken and she did suffocate," Phlox told he and Hoshi, "but the timing is off. If she had broken her neck and then ended up on the ground, she would have suffocated relatively quickly. From what I can make out, it took her over twice as long to die as it should have."

"Perhaps she had some mobility left?" Hoshi asked.

"No," the doctor shook his head. "The break occurred between her third and fourth vertebra. In Andorians, this is a very sensitive spot. Her prime motor functions would have ceased immediately. No, I believe it took her longer to suffocate because she was struggling, and at some point during that struggle her neck broke. The markings and bruises that Medec catalogued would be consistent with this."

"He said they were consistent with her fall," Hoshi said.

"Some of them, yes, but not all."

"Doctor, are you sure about this?" Malcolm wanted to know.

"Very nearly. To be absolutely sure, I would need to do an autopsy of the actual body."

As much as Malcolm wanted to get to the bottom of Tola's now apparent murder, he was reluctant to bring Phlox's request to the captain. Exhumation was not something anyone could look forward to, and Archer was going to have to inform Strel and the others that it was going to take place. Reed did not envy his commanding officer his task. For this reason, he and Hoshi were making their way rather slowly to the bridge. If Ensign Sato wondered why Malcolm was taking his time, she did not ask. In fact, she seemed quite content to ponder the details of the case with him.

"But Strel said they all thought it was an accident."

"If that's the case," Malcolm wanted to know, "then why send that transmission? Whoever sent it must have known the reaction it would get. If they all really did agree that it was an accident, why word it like that?"

"The first thing we need to do," Hoshi told him, "is find out who sent it."

"Can you clean it up enough to determine the identity of the speaker?" Malcolm asked.

"I was working on that before Captain Archer assigned me to you," Hoshi smiled. "I haven't got it yet, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

Malcolm had complete faith in her abilities. He was glad she was working with him on this—he felt he could trust her completely. After all, she was the person who handled all transmissions—personal, top secret, and otherwise—for everyone on the ship. She had never breached the confidence entrusted to her, and Malcolm respected that. There weren't many people who wouldn't be tempted to use that information for their own personal gain in one way or another.

If he were honest about it, he would have to say that more than that, he liked her. When she had tried to protect Phlox from his Rigellian kidnappers he had been proud of her (he hoped that she had used one or two of the moves he had taught her in the crew training sessions to give them what-for). Later she had allowed herself to undergo a mind-meld to help locate the doctor. The very thought of someone squishing around in his own brain gave Malcolm the creeps, but Hoshi had submitted to it to help her crewmate. Yes, Hoshi was a damn fine officer—and quite a woman.

In the end, T'Pol decided, Trip was right. She did not like Kovar. She couldn't quite put her finger on why that was, but ever since he had joined them in the processing center he had been too friendly, too helpful…too chatty for a Vulcan.

Kovar and Trip were getting along very well—too well, in fact. She supposed she should be pleased to finally meet another Vulcan that wanted to work with humans rather than against them, but there was something about the facility engineer that made T'Pol uncomfortable. The two men were having a fine old time discussing every moving part on the station and debating Kovar's saboteur theory and T'Pol was beginning to feel like—what was that human phrase?—a fifth wheel. Or maybe it was a third wheel. She could not recall, but since most transportation vehicles normally had four wheels, fifth wheel was the logical choice. She turned her attention back to the engineers.

"Gundal was the first person to report problems with his equipment," Kovar was saying.

The two men were working side by side in one of the giant earth-moving machines. It was basically a rover-like vehicle carrying a huge shovel-like apparatus with a set of spiked drills along the front. These drills would extend and retract, breaking up the tough rocks and minerals from the crust of Velat 4. The shovel would then raise and dump the debris into a funnel-shaped receptacle, where it would be fed through a series of gears and further broken down. This was where Trip and Kovar currently stood. The whole apparatus was also very dirty, which meant that now both men were filthy as well. Neither really seemed to mind.

"Doesn't seem likely that he'd sabotage his own equipment and then report it," Trip grunted, pulling a metal grill aside and revealing a set of now-silent gears. He shined a light inside the panel and squinted, sweat dripping down his face.

"Unless he was trying to throw off suspicion…but I don't think Gundal would harm his machinery in any way. He seems to have an unnatural attachment to it."

"What about his assistant, Billie?" Trip asked.

"I do not believe that Miss Saunders would have the inclination to commit such an act…or the aptitude."

Trip nodded and began disassembling the gears. According to Gundal's reports, the shovel arm of the mover was one of the first pieces of equipment to stop working. "I got that impression. What about the others—what would they have to gain from shutting down this operation?"

"I do not believe that Strel would do anything to endanger her experimental mining procedure," Kovar took the components the commander handed him, setting them neatly aside. "Her husband, however…"

"Yes?" asked T'Pol. She stood on a catwalk above them, scanning the processing machines.

Kovar looked up at her, then back down at Trip. "I do not think he enjoys it here. I believe he may be jealous of his wife's success."

"So he wanted to take it away from her. Pretty harsh." Trip rolled up the sleeves of his jumpsuit and wished not for the first time that Starfleet would issue a two-piece uniform. He'd be a lot more comfortable in his undershirt right now.

"It is an Andorian trait," Kovar tilted his chin, "but I do not know that the doctor would have the expertise to disrupt the station's systems."

"Who would?"

"V'Ret might—but he is, of course, Vulcan. It is unlikely that someone of V'Ret's standing in our society would take such a course of action. He would be ostracized for such acts of vandalism and violence—whoever sabotaged this station has shown very little emotional restraint. That does not sound like V'Ret to me."

"So we're back at square one," Trip sat back, resting his wrists on his knees. "How are we suppos—"

He was suddenly interrupted when the gears he was working on roared to life. He scrambled to get away from them but the leg of his jumpsuit caught in one of them. Kovar grabbed onto him as the machine tried to pull him inside its crushing jaws.

"Commander!" T'Pol vaulted over the side of the catwalk to the mover's control panel. With more calm than any human would have exhibited she searched for a way to switch it off.

Meanwhile, Trip and Kovar were wrestling against the giant beast, trying to brace themselves against the walls of the funnel to avoid being sucked downward. Unfortunately that was exactly the purpose the mover had been built for, and it rattled and shook in an effort to move these two very stubborn pieces of debris on to their next stage of processing.

"T'Pol!" Trip shouted above the din. "Shut this thing off!"

"I'm trying, Commander," she shouted back, allowing her agitation to show. Finally she located the necessary command keys and the giant machine powered down.

For a moment the only sound were the gears clacking to a halt. T'Pol took a deep breath to pull herself together and climbed the movable stairway attached to the side of the machine. She was met at the top by Trip, who clambered onto the staircase and down to the floor. Kovar followed much more gracefully.

"Trip, are you injured?" Trip noticed the very slight tremor in her voice, but her face belied no emotion whatsoever.

"I'm fine," he assured her, "but I can't say the same for these boots." He showed her his feet, encased in now-shredded Starfleet issued footwear.

T'Pol didn't say anything, simply stared at the boots, then looked Trip over to make sure he was telling the truth about not being injured. The engineer did not protest.

"If you wish, we have several pairs of boots in storage. There may be something that will fit you until you go back to your ship," Kovar offered.

"Yeah, thanks," Trip ran a hand over his face. "What the hell happened? How did that thing kick on?"

T'Pol could not answer him that.

Kovar excused himself to look for a pair of boots, leaving the two of them to investigate how the machine had come to life so unexpectedly.