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

Chapter 12: Mixed Signals

Gathering the SMP members and depositing them in the captain's ready room should have been an easy task, even on a ship whose technical systems were comatose. This was, after all, one of the things Malcolm loved about his job: you could have all the gadgetry and computer assistance you wanted, but good security came down to the people you had providing it. Since Malcolm's team was handpicked and well trained, he had no worries that they would carry out their jobs to the best of their abilities.

Unfortunately neither the ship nor the SMP personnel were cooperating. So far the only member they could locate was Pieter Gundal; it had taken two MACOS and Malcolm over ten minutes to talk him out of his quarters. At least he was being safely escorted to the bridge—Billie Saunders, who was supposed to be in the room next to Gundal, was missing.

It was strange—her room had only been occupied for a few hours but it was already a mess. There were items in it that obviously did not belong to Miss Saunders: a set of silverware and three plates from the mess hall, a pair of brand new Starfleet issue boots, a length of piping, a radiation detector, part of a computer viewscreen, even one of Porthos's collars. Clearly she was conducting her own inexplicable scavenger hunt around the ship, collecting things from every area she could get access to—and from some she should not have access to.

Malcolm was searching the surrounding area room by room for the missing SMP member—as much as he wanted to carry out his orders, he hated invading his fellow crewmembers' privacy to do it. He fervently hoped the other two teams he had deployed were finding the rest of the miners with little trouble.

"Thank you, Crewman Yates," Malcolm told the petite blond swathed in a dressing robe scowling at him. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. He would not apologize for doing his duty, but it was an awkward moment. "Er, yes, well. As you were." Yates threw the door closed as soon as Malcolm stepped clear of her doorstep, the clang of it reverberated through the hallway.

"Malcolm!"

The tactical officer jumped as someone clamped him on the shoulder. "My god, Hoshi, don't do that!" he told her. "I'm armed!" He waved the phase pistol he carried to make the point.

"When aren't you?" Hoshi asked. She looked strange—her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were sparkling brilliantly in the faint emergency lights. "I found something!" she said breathlessly.

"Does the captain know you're here?"

"Yes—he's interrogating Kovar in his ready room, but I told him I needed to find you."

"Well, he'll get to expand his interrogation in a few minutes, Gundal's on his way down. Can't seem to find Saunders, though." He looked forlornly down the hallway—at all the doors he had yet to knock on. "You'd never believe what we found in her room."

Hoshi ignored this completely and brandished a PADD triumphantly. "I was on the bridge—I think—well…"

"Hoshi—did you figure out who sent the distress call?"

She nodded. "I've been sitting there trying to figure out who sent that message and I wasn't really listening to it! None of us were…here—" she pressed a button on the PADD and it played the Shomar distress call.

"…oever is there…whoever can he…is the Shomar Mining Proj…Velat 4. We…an acc… one of our team…been killed and…quipment…malfunctio...Please send help…contact…he Andorian…ulcan High Command, or Starfle…require immediate assistance."

It sounded the same to Malcolm as it had the first time. "Ensign, I don't see what—"

"Don't you hear what the caller is saying?" Hoshi continued over him. She was excited now and there was no stopping her. Malcolm shut up and let her go. "We've been assuming we understand the content of the message and that all we need is the identity of whoever spoke it. When you fill in the blanks created by the static, the computer generates this as the most likely original message…" she pressed the button again and the message played once more, this time with a neutral computerized voice finishing the lost words and phrases.

"Whooever is there, whoever can hear me, this is the Shomar Mining Project on Velat 4. We've had an accident: one of our team members has been killed and our equipment is malfunctioning. Please send help. Contact the Andorian Imperial Guard, the Vulcan High Command, or Starfleet. We require immediate assistance."

"Sounds about right," Malcolm shrugged.

"We've been assuming that whoever sent that message was alerting us to a murder. If that's the original message, then why is that person telling us there's been an accident?"

Malcolm's eyes went wide as he finally grasped what she was telling him. "Because…that's not the original message that was sent."

Hoshi nodded.

"So what is the original message?" He prompted, leaning toward her.

"I'm not sure." The Tactical Officer sighed and leaned back against the wall. "But," Hoshi continued, "what if the message wasn't about someone being killed, but about something being killed?"

Lt. Reed mulled this over in his mind. "Something…"been killed" is what the message said. What's something you would say had "been killed"? A piece of equipment?"

"They were having problems with their machinery…but it doesn't sound quite right, does it?"

"No," Malcolm agreed. They thought for a moment in silence.

"Oh!" Hoshi's eyes went wide and her mouth formed a perfect "O". "I say that all the time! When a transmission ends suddenly we say it's "gone dead" or "been killed"!"

"Hoshi—you're a genius!" Malcolm told her. She beamed with pleasure. "Play it again."

She did. Both of them bent close to the PADD, trying to pick up any extra nuances or clues.

"The part where the speaker talks about one of their team members…I wonder if they're referring to the saboteur?" Hoshi wondered. "They definitely knew something was wrong with the equipment."

"It's a good bet. I think it's time we took this to the Captain and the Commanders." He started to rise but Hoshi grabbed his arm and held him still for a moment.

"Wait—there's one more thing. If this message isn't about a murder, then I think I know who sent it."

It was not exactly lying, T'Pol told herself. She was, after all, going to check her theory on the machinery in Cargo Bay 2…eventually. She had an important stop to make first, though—if Lt. Reed or the MACOs had not beat her to it.

She located the correct door and knocked, wondering if this was futile.

"Who is there?" a muffled voice called from within.

"Commander T'Pol," she answered patiently.

V'Ret slid the door open with little effort, allowing her access to his quarters.

"Commander, this is a surprise. I had imagined that sooner or later the tactical officer would come to escort me to the bridge…or the brig."

"Why should he take you to the brig?" she asked. "You've done nothing wrong…other than conceal evidence."

The older Vulcan's face was well-schooled as he carefully answered her. "You sound…" he crossed the room and seated himself on his bed, arranging his voluminous robes about himself, "…very sure of yourself. In many ways you are not what I expected you would be."

"We are not here to discuss me," T'Pol crossed her arms and faced V'Ret. "I am here to ascertain your involvement in the events at the mining facility."

"You sound as though you've already done that. You think I concealed evidence. Of what? Of a murder? A saboteur?"

"Of the truth."

"And what is that?" V'Ret turned his impassive face to disdainfully to her—but T'Pol saw something else, something Vulcans tried very hard to cover up—fear.

"When Commander Tucker and I were on the surface, Kovar told us that you could not possibly have committed any crimes or caused any damage because the acts were too emotional, too impulsive. You are Vulcan, therefore you would be incapable of such actions. Of course, this would exclude Kovar from suspicion as well—he is Vulcan as well and at the time we did not know of his past at P'Jem."

This time it was unmistakable. V'Ret's jaw flexed ever so slightly—a flinch.

"Now he is a suspect—"

"Kovar did nothing!" V'Ret was adamant. "He is still a Vulcan."

"Even a Vulcan…" T'Pol leaned close to V'Ret's ear, "can lose control."

V'Ret's head craned to look at her. "What are you talking about?"

"There are certain…substances…that can affect Vulcan emotional control."

"Trellium?" V'Ret asked, the disgust in his eyes clear. Anyone who thought Vulcans incapable of expression had clearly never spent time with one.

"Among other things." She straightened up again.

"That's ridiculous—Kovar has never been under the affect of any such substance. It's not possible."

"An engineer on a geological mission on an isolated planet…only one other Vulcan to keep watch over him…a known spy…It seems very possible." She looked out the window at the motionless stars. "A simple blood test once the ships systems are back online should tell us everything we need to know."

V'Ret jutted his chin. "Kovar has never done any such thing. He's never had interests in any kind of…emotional experimentation. His control has never been compromised!"

T'Pol turned slowly back to V'Ret. "Spoken like a true father." V'Ret opened his mouth to say something but no sound came out. "Like a father forced to listen too long to his son's detractors. I suspect Kovar did not abuse any substances because I searched for evidence at the facility and found none. You know with much more certainty…because you are bonded through blood."

"How did you know?"

"Once I deduced the cause of the damage on the station, it was the only solution that made sense."