Disclaimer: see Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks as always for the reviews. They ease my chapter revisions!

Chapter 17

Alone on Carlotta's flight deck, Malcolm checked their course once more. After the frantic activity on the Klingon ship and their labours to reclaim Baby, he was exhausted. Fortunately, they had found a route out of the plasma cloud that was less taxing to navigate than their journey in. Everything was on track. Carlotta was heading for the boundary of the cloud and soon her systems would be fully functional, unless some stray rock had happened to come too close. She now had a companion - Baby tagging along at the end of the grappling lines, nice and obedient in a secure cocoon.

Once they had figured out how to open the cargo hold on the Klingon ship, it had been plain sailing for Bailey and Malcolm to snag Baby. It was a lot easier than the regular miners' job of jockeying about to sweep up lumps of irregular rock. Added to which, of course, they were already intimately acquainted with the alien ship, and this time around, knew exactly where to place the securing lines. They had been swift and decisive, leaving no room for Archer to object to its retrieval. Another one-up for mining skills! That had given Malcolm quite some satisfaction. Archer would have to revise his opinion of the trade now.

Retrieving Baby meant there could be no arguments - Bailey would be getting his finder's fee once the alien ship was handed back to Starfleet. Malcolm was pleased about that. He might be facing an uncertain and probably unpleasant future, but at least Bailey would soon have his brother free.

Malcolm was a lot less happy about the shambles of his forcefield equipment. The remains of the emitter array lay jumbled in a corner of the flight deck - a sad testament to Klingon investigation techniques - although, Malcolm reflected wryly, Trip had probably caused most of the vandalism. Surely it was no coincidence that the most vital parts were those that had been unobtrusively disabled? Sabotage if ever he saw it. Still, he suspected it would be some time before he did any more research in that technology. There was no way he would allow himself to be compelled into it.

The associated data chips nestled in one of his pockets, and his fingers automatically felt for them as they came to mind. He was far too tired to examine them thoroughly. That would have to wait, but his initial scrutiny had been reassuring - he didn't think they had been tampered with.

A twinge in his calf edged from discomfort to pain. Malcolm listened for anyone approaching. The coast was clear, so he grabbed the hypospray he had appropriated and pushed another dose of analgesic into his system. He could always pretend it was to ease the ache from the bruises he had acquired, courtesy of Bailey's grenade antic. But even the leg injury was an irritation rather than anything major, and now was not the time for distractions. He had some serious thinking to do about the future. His future.

His hand instinctively fell on the pulse rifle lying next to him on the console. It was Bailey's rifle, abandoned in his haste to comfort Gomez and later retrieved by Malcolm. And it still had plenty of usable charge left. Malcolm ran a thoughtful thumb along its potent form.

So - what would they face when Carlotta emerged from the cloud? Would Enterprise already be in place to greet her? Malcolm bit his lip, considering the chances. Probably not. Judging by their last message, Enterprise was likely still at the mining Facility, unless they had found some way to speed repairs of whatever it was that had held them up. That gave him some time.

To do what?

A shiver tracked down his spine. He could seize control of Carlotta and take her to Iolla Four. That was a major trading hub in these parts. He could transfer there to a faster ship, and be away from this sector before Enterprise tracked down the missing transport. If he wrecked Carlotta's comms, it would delay contact. Bailey and Gomez wouldn't stand in his way - he was certain of that. Trip might…

Trip. He was barely conscious and not making much sense as yet. Malcolm stilled the rhythmical stroking of his thumb, recalling how pale Trip had been, how ill. Even if Trip felt he had a duty to stop him, he would be in no fit shape to act on it.

Duty or friendship? What would Trip choose?

Malcolm took a deep breath. Did he have the will to fire on Trip, if it came to it, given his friend's current weak state? Hell, it would be difficult enough if Trip were healthy, but a stun now could be bad news unless Malcolm placed the shot precisely. A frontal shot would be better, low down on the abdomen. He swallowed and dropped his head, the necessary calculations feeling almost obscene.

No, he realised with relief - he didn't need to worry about it. Trip needn't pose a threat, whatever his attitude might be. Malcolm could simply secure him in the cabin - easy enough if he had surprise on his side, coupled with Trip's lethargy. A few days confinement wouldn't be too much hardship. It might even aid his recuperation. And Trip wouldn't even have to make the choice - he'd have no option.

Which left Archer.

Archer would be the one to deal with, no doubts there. And also, no doubt, he was already on full alert for just such a move on Malcolm's part. Malcolm closed his hand over the rifle, its solid assurance cool under his touch. He didn't want to hurt Archer, but if he had to…

God! This was all wrong!

Malcolm snatched his hand from the rifle and clenched it tightly, enfolding it within the other. What was he thinking? He had given his word that he would give himself up, once Trip and Gomez were safe. His word!

But… then again, could he properly be held to that? After all, he had so clearly been put in an unjust position, forced to give his word to return into Starfleet's guilty hands. It was an organisation without honour, which had already compelled his recall under its authority. And if he surrendered, he faced the certainty of years in prison. How many? Three, five… more? They would want to make an example of him, and with Trent's connections and the attitudes running through Starfleet, it would be the maximum.

Malcolm's breath caught at his throat. He was strung as tight as a bowstring. With a conscious effort, he deepened his breathing and relaxed his fingers, massaging his cramped hands.

Who was he? Archer said he had changed. Had he? Perhaps he had. A few short years ago, there would have been no doubt what his course would be. That he was even considering reneging on his word was in itself shocking.

He sighed heavily. If he didn't stand by his word, how was he any better than Trent and the others? And he was better than them. He did have his integrity.

Years were not a lifetime sentence.

And if he ran now, he would always be looking over his shoulder. Any foray into human-dominated space would be a risk for him. Did he really want to spend all his life like that?

Malcolm stared bleakly at the wall, knowing with a sinking heart what his path would be. He choked out a bitter grunt at the unfairness of it all. Then he resolved to gain some consolation from the mess. He would use the court martial to highlight Starfleet's deficiencies, to point out to them where they were lacking. After all, there was his abduction, conscription, even going back to the appalling treatment of the plundered aliens. He would do his damnedest to ensure full publicity. Malcolm gave a soft snort. Archer had stayed to fight the AAP from within, to add weight to those who wanted Starfleet to regain its former character. Maybe instead it would be changed by an ex-armoury officer with too quick a temper!

So, honour, duty and pragmatism all brought him to the same conclusion, it would seem. Malcolm's mind was made up. It didn't bring him any pleasure, but it did ease his roiling thoughts. He was tough. He could deal with whatever they wanted to throw at him for however long it took.

He would have to, wouldn't he?

----------------------

Malcolm's decision had given him a fatalistic, almost carefree, outlook. What was the point in dwelling on what was to come? There would be time enough for that all too soon. Carlotta was set fair, Baby was still attached and the Klingon ship was being left further behind by the second. Even the leg injury was no more than a dull ache, but the most recent hypospray dose probably had something to do with that. Malcolm thought that the hypospray might also have a bearing on his improved spirits, but decided not to knock it.

Archer came onto the flight deck and took the co-pilot's position, wriggling around to get comfortable, another victim of Bailey's grenade stunt. Bailey was the only one of them without any bruising. In fact, Malcolm realised with a start, Bailey was the only one of them to come out of this totally unscathed.

Eventually deciding on the least painful way to sit, Archer said, "On course, Malcolm?"

"Yes. Well, as far as I can tell in this cloud. We'll certainly be in clear space within the next hour or so. How are they both?" Bailey and Archer had been kept busy ministering to the other two.

"Gomez' shoulder is very painful, but we've done what we can for it. He needs proper medical attention. Trip is still not quite with it but otherwise isn't too bad. The detailed scans showed no inflammation or fracture."

Malcolm pursed his mouth. "I wish we had got them out in one piece. And sooner."

"We did it, though, and against the odds." Archer gave a low laugh. "Those Klingons were mad, weren't they!"

"That captain of theirs!" exclaimed Malcolm. "For one moment I thought he might tear down the cell door with his bare hands! At least we know they've given it a thorough testing. They won't get out until my charges blow." He grinned at Archer. "He had some interesting names for you, Captain!"

Archer chuckled. "Yeah. He was a sore loser, but I can't say I blame him. I wonder how he's going to explain it to his superiors. At least we know he's not going to kill all his crew because of loss of honour. Not until he's got back at me, anyway."

"Another enemy."

"Yeah. But I don't think the Klingons will ever see me as anything else." There was a hint of sadness to Archer's comment. He turned to the co-pilot's display, bringing up several readouts on his monitor to check out the ship's status. "The alien ship is well-secured," he said, studying the data on Baby. He ran an exploratory finger over the crack in the grappler's display cover - the crack put there by Malcolm on his very first passage on Carlotta and not yet fixed. "This grappler is impressive."

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" said Malcolm, glancing at the damaged display and wincing a little at that reminder of his ineptitude.

Archer worked through the other available readouts, then gave a satisfied nod and sat back. "I'll pilot for a while. You need to sort out that injury."

"I'm fine. We can swap over when we leave the cloud." Malcolm eased his leg. It didn't really bother him now he was stocked up with painkillers, and the longer he could put off extracting bits of uniform fabric from the wound, the better. He wondered if Archer might try to make it an order. That would be interesting. Now they were out of combat, Malcolm wasn't prepared to automatically obey him. It was no reflection on Archer, but on Starfleet - on what Archer represented. The 'sirs' could disappear again, too.

Archer frowned. "I don't know. You look as if you need a break - some time to get cleaned up."

Malcolm took in Archer's grimy face, damp sweaty hair and the ugly abrasion on his cheek. He broke into a grin. "So do you, Captain!"

"Huh! I guess I do. Okay - I'll get cleaned up and be back later. It won't take long." Archer nodded and rose from his seat, waving at the conveniently placed rifle next to Malcolm. "I'll take that, shall I? I'll put it with the other gear."

Malcolm rested a light hand on it. "No. Don't bother," he said coolly, with a lift of his chin. "I'll do it myself later."

Archer met Malcolm's eyes, trying to read him. Malcolm wondered why he didn't just reassure Archer that he was intending to keep his word, but some devilment - a desire to see what Archer would do - held him back. Instead, he remained coldly impassive, still.

Archer took a deep breath. He said, "I have to do my duty, Lieutenant."

"I know."

Archer nodded slowly. "I guess you do. I'll be back when we reach the boundary of the cloud."

Malcolm gave a curt nod and watched Archer leave the flight deck. Was he imagining Archer setting his shoulders against the stun of a rifle bolt? He really should put the weapon out of easy reach - remove temptation - but he couldn't quite bring himself to do that.

----------------------

A revived and freshly-clothed Archer appeared on the flight deck as the plasma cloud density reduced. It was good timing - they were almost in clear space. He dropped into the co-pilot's seat. "Have you sent a message to Enterprise yet, Lieutenant?"

"No. I thought I'd let you do that," Malcolm replied. That indicated his intentions - contact the others in favour of making a break for it.

Archer's expression brightened as he decrypted the implications. "Okay. I'll send a brief burst, giving position and course, and asking for rendezvous co-ordinates. I'll leave it at that. We don't know who else might want to listen in."

"Yes. Other Klingons, perhaps?" Malcolm approved of this caution. It would be ridiculous to risk bringing down a fleet of Klingon ships upon them when they had got this far.

"Yeah, possibly." Archer checked out the transmission attenuation. "It's marginal. We need to get nearer the edge of the cloud before transmitting."

Settling back in his chair, Archer looked at Malcolm. Then he shifted his attention to the view outside the window. He said evenly, "Now is your last chance to make a move, Malcolm. Once that message is sent, Enterprise will know where we are. Carlotta won't have the ability to evade her."

Malcolm's eyes flicked over to Archer. He said quietly, "I'm going back."

"Yeah - I thought you would. I know how you value your honour. I admire that."

Malcolm felt slightly ashamed that he had seriously considered running, but quashed it. It was the final decision that counted in the end, wasn't it? But… "It wasn't an easy decision, Captain," he admitted, fixing his gaze on the display.

Archer leaned over and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "I don't suppose it was. You can be sure I will speak up on your behalf. Turning yourself over without a fight should count for something, too, not to mention your conduct on this mission."

"Yeah, well…" Malcolm couldn't share Archer's optimism.

Archer checked the transmission conditions. "The density has reduced. Ready to send the transmission?"

Malcolm gulped and gave a quick nod. He met Archer's sympathetic gaze and bit his lip. Wordlessly, Archer tapped in the command and pressed 'send'.

Malcolm felt drained. So, that was it, then. His fate was set. "I'll leave you to pilot, Captain." He stood and picked up the rifle. "I'll take this back to the cargo bay."

He stumbled off, his steps leaden.

----------------------

As Carlotta headed with best speed to meet Enterprise at the rendezvous co-ordinates, Malcolm pottered around in the galley, finally in a fresh uniform and with his leg injury dressed. He was making the most of his last few hours of freedom, not that Carlotta had much to offer in the way of entertainment. But, at least for now, he still had a choice in what he did, and getting a decent meal was high on his list of priorities. Although 'decent' might not be an achievable goal, given the starting ingredients…

"That smells good!"

The southern accent was unmistakable. Malcolm spun about in delight. Propped against the door surround, Trip looked pale but he was smiling. Archer hovered behind him with a concerned expression, his hands wide as if ready to catch him should the doorframe not provide sufficient anchorage.

"Trip! How do you feel?" said Malcolm, taking in the bandage about Trip's head and his drawn features.

Trip said, with a credible attempt at a laugh, "A lot better than I did. I can't wait to get something edible inside me."

"Not a fan of Klingon cuisine, then?" said Malcolm. He was reassured to see Trip in relatively good spirits.

"I did my best - tried to keep my energy levels up - but… yeuch…" Trip's expression was eloquent, making the other two laugh.

Archer said, "I agree with you there, Trip. I can't see Klingon restaurants ever taking off on Earth!"

Malcolm pointed at a chair. "Take a seat. Seems like I don't have much competition, then, but don't expect too much. I'm no expert and I only have various ration packs to work with." He squinted at the contents on a couple more packs as he spoke. With a shrug, he added them to the mix. This was going to be an intriguing experiment! He glanced over his shoulder at the others and admitted, "Umm. It might be a question of quantity rather than quality, I'm afraid."

"That doesn't matter," said Trip, as he settled down at the table. He placed his elbows on the surface and dropped his head into his hands, pressing the palms into his forehead.

Malcolm prodded at his creation and shot Trip a concerned look. "Trip, are you sure you should be eating? Head injuries are nothing to mess about with, you know."

Trip dragged his hands away, pulling an exasperated face. "I feel okay. Just hungry. Anyway, I need to get my strength up to aid my recovery. Just dish it up, Malcolm."

"If you're certain," Malcolm said doubtfully, seeking confirmation from Archer.

Archer nodded. "He's had an anti-nausea shot and, from what I can tell, there's nothing seriously wrong. But then, I'm not a doctor."

Trip said, "Look - if anything does go wrong, I hereby release you both from any liability, responsibility, and whatever other 'bilities' there are. Does that sound legalistic enough for ya?" He put on his most wistful expression. "C'mon. Have a heart. It's been days since I ate anything edible!"

"Okay, Trip. Duly noted," said Archer. "Let's all eat."

Malcolm gave a final stir. The food was as ready as it would ever be. The results looked… intriguing. Especially those lumps. Malcolm thought they were pretending to be potato. Deciding confidence was the best approach, he placed steaming plates before his crewmates and set a place for himself. He handed over the cutlery and said cheerily, "Here you are. Enjoy!"

Trip lost no time in shovelling a forkful into his mouth before Malcolm had even seated himself. "This is great!" Trip said indistinctly with a full mouth. "I don't think I've ever eaten anything as good as this… seriously."

Archer stared at his own plate and hesitantly picked his fork up. "Um, yeah. Thanks for this, Malcolm. Looks… good." He forced a smile.

Malcolm snorted softly. He knew what had gone into the concoction and adopted a cautious approach, taking a small mouthful first. He raised an eyebrow as he chewed. It wasn't bad, he had to admit, as he tested the results of his efforts, but he thought Trip's glowing assessment was coloured by his recent experiences.

Malcolm grinned at Trip's unabated enthusiasm. Watching another forkful rapidly disappear, he said, "Soon we'll meet up with Enterprise and you'll be able to sample Chef's menu again. I don't think there are many who can compete with him!"

"Darned right," said Trip. "But I still stand by what I say - this is good. More than good!" He closed his eyes in blissful appreciation, to Malcolm's amusement.

With the edge of his hunger satisfied, Trip's frantic pace reduced to a more measured tempo. As he scooped up another load, he said, "I need to talk to you about something. Something important."

Archer said, "You were trying to say something earlier, but it didn't make a lot of sense. You were still confused."

"Yeah, well… this is serious. I may have got it wrong but…" Trip put his fork down and looked at Archer and then Malcolm. "It's Trent. I don't trust him."

Malcolm raised a considering eyebrow and said, "Neither do I, but so what?"

Trip shook his head. "No - this is something concrete. Captain, did Hoshi say anything to you?"

"Hoshi? No… not about anything out of the ordinary. Nothing concerning the Commodore."

"Hoshi was investigating that regulation that got Malcolm hauled back into Starfleet. She was trying to find out if it could be challenged, how he might tender his resignation… That sort of thing."

Malcolm nodded. "Yes - she said she would, but she never came back to me on that."

Archer said, "Yeah, well… she shouldn't have visited you in the brig, Malcolm. It was against orders. When I discovered what she'd done, I had to reprimand her, and she was absolutely forbidden from visiting you again."

"Thanks a lot," Malcolm said grumpily. He stabbed at a lump of potato, his good mood dissipated by the reminder about returning to confinement.

Archer frowned at Malcolm's tone. "There has to be proper discipline on a starship, Malcolm."

Malcolm grunted in annoyance. He scowled across the table at Archer. How many times would he fling those words back at him? He said forcefully, "Hoshi was only trying to help me. She didn't deserve that."

"Well-"

Trip cut through the brewing argument. "Forget about that! What Hoshi found out was that the regulation - as held in our library - might have been tampered with."

"What!" exclaimed Archer.

Malcolm sat bolt upright. "Tampered with?" he breathed. "In what way?"

"She can't be absolutely certain. It could just be an artefact of how the document was archived in the library, but there were indicators that the document had been altered. She said it was well hidden, if that is the case."

"She didn't say anything to me about her suspicions," said Archer.

"She wanted to get proof first. After all, a lieutenant accusing a commodore of falsifying records so as to essentially abduct someone… It's not the sort of thing you want to shout about until you're as sure as you can be." Trip paused and gazed at Archer. "Also, it wasn't clear how much backing you were giving to Trent. From where the crew sat, it seemed like you were with him one hundred per cent."

"I don't understand," said Malcolm, trying to make sense of this unexpected news. "What was that regulation supposed to say?"

Trip said, "We don't know. Hoshi was getting a fresh version sent to her from a friend on Earth in Headquarters Division. We won't know until we see that, but, if it has been altered, I guess it wasn't originally applicable to you, Malcolm - otherwise why go to all the trouble of changing it?"

"I suppose so," said Malcolm. Trent had been absolutely determined to get control over his work and over him. Malcolm had pegged him as the sort of man who always got what he wanted, whatever it took. A spot of forgery would mean nothing to someone like that. Perhaps, incredible as it seemed, Hoshi had indeed uncovered something underhand.

Trip looked at Archer. "We were having a problem getting the definitive wording of the regulation from Earth. Hoshi was worried because she suspected Trent might be monitoring all communications between Enterprise and outside."

"What? That's preposterous!" said Archer. "I can believe - barely - that Trent might be so driven to grab that forcefield technology that he altered the wording of the regulation, but why on earth would he want to monitor all our transmissions? And if he did change the regulation, how did he think he'd get away with it?"

"I can see how, if that is what he's done," said Malcolm grimly. "I imagine he'd think that, once I was supposedly back in Starfleet, I wouldn't look for alternative off-ship versions of the regulation, and just assume the one held in the library was correct. And you know - I probably would have done. After all, who would suspect forgery from a commodore? From anyone?" Malcolm rubbed his hand over his forehead. This was astonishing. But he didn't have to stretch his credulity too far to believe it might be true. Not coming from Trent. He looked at Archer. "Could Admiral Payne be involved? That order was signed by him. Was that genuine or also possibly a forgery?"

Archer said, shaking his head, "I don't know. I guess we've got to investigate."

"It could mean no court martial," Trip said significantly, looking at Malcolm.

Malcolm stared at Trip in wide-eyed sudden hope. "God! Yes! If I'm not in Starfleet, then I'm not subject to its regulations." Then common sense prevailed, and he added bleakly, "Of course, Trent could still pursue the matter via the civilian authorities."

Undaunted, Trip shrugged. "But who are they? The Mining Facility? You have friends there, don't you, unless you've managed to bug them all! San Francisco Police Department? Out here? I don't think so. And Trent would need witnesses - that might be difficult to achieve once his plan has been blown."

Malcolm ran a nervous tongue across his lips, trying to sort through the repercussions. "I couldn't ask the Captain or Waters to perjure themselves."

"Memory does funny things," Trip said, tapping the uninjured side of his head. He grinned at Archer, who still looked dazed.

Malcolm damped down his optimism. "Look - we're jumping the gun here. We still don't know what Hoshi has found out. Let's not get too carried away. It might be something to do with the archiving function after all." And probably would be, given his luck!

Archer nodded. "Good idea. I'll order an investigation as soon as we're back on Enterprise."

Picking up his fork again, Trip said, "There's more! I told you that part first because I wanted Malcolm to know about it as soon as possible." He paused to eat another mouthful, and then said, "I was on the Klingon ship, pretending to work on the forcefield apparatus. I tried refusing altogether, but that turned out to be a painful experience. So, there I was, messing about under the watchful gaze of the Klingon captain, when some underling came in with a report.

"They moved away, but what they didn't realise was that the UT they'd left with me had excellent gain and noise filtering. It cleaned up and amplified the speech as well as translating it." Trip made steady inroads into his meal as he spoke. "There's no way I could've heard what they were saying on my own, but with the UT I heard every word." He paused to take a drink, the other two paying him rapt attention.

Trip continued, "So, the underling says, 'We've received a transmission from Enterprise and-'"

"What!" exclaimed Malcolm and Archer together.

"That's what he said. The transmission said that a small vessel was in pursuit and on board was the enemy of the Klingon Empire - Archer! - and the guy who designed the forcefield, and to slow down to allow it to catch up. Then the underling said, 'Our contact is demanding his payment'. And-"

"What!" This duet was even more explosive.

"That's right. Unmistakable. Seems we have a traitor. The Klingon captain said, 'Tell him, we've already made the first payment. We'll make the rest when we have Archer, and we've also started to pull our soldiers back from the disputed sector. Tell him his principal should be ready to act on that.'"

Trip paused for another response from his friends, but this time there was only flabbergasted, disbelieving silence. Malcolm stared at Trip. Suddenly, things started to fall into place. This could explain the Klingon's change of course, their reduction in speed. And in that case, perhaps the other things Trip had overheard were true. It was shocking.

Trip continued, "Fortunately, I didn't have to speak to the captain after that 'cause I was in no fit state to keep my words straight. I just kept fiddling about with those field emitters. Um, I think they're all fried now, Malcolm. Sorry about that."

"That's okay, Trip," said Malcolm vaguely. He knew who his main suspect was, but fought to keep an open mind. There was a whole crewful of possibilities, wasn't there? And Trent had gone to such lengths to keep the forcefield equipment out of Klingon hands, even if he hadn't actually modified that damned regulation. Much as Malcolm wanted to believe it, that was quite a strong indication that it wasn't Trent. There had to be something they could do to narrow down the list of suspects. He asked Trip, "Was there any clue about who it might be? Anything else at all? Anything technical, perhaps?"

Trip shook his head. "No. And that was all I heard. I reckon it's Trent."

Malcolm looked at him contemplatively, racking up the evidence. No. There wasn't enough to reach even a tentative conclusion.

"Trent? Why him?" said Archer, eventually finding his voice. "You might not like him, but all we know is that it's a male."

Trip said, sounding a little embarrassed, "I dunno. I'd been… um, taking my time in switching off Malcolm's forcefield on the Facility, to give Hoshi longer to investigate the regulation." Archer's expression of annoyance at that admission was met by a rueful face from Trip, who followed it up with a quick grin at Malcolm.

Forestalling anything Archer might have to say, Trip quickly continued, "The only reason I did shut it down when the Klingons arrived and told me to, was because Trent gave me an order. He said Enterprise was in danger."

"She probably was," said Archer. "I can't fault him for that."

"There was that mention of a principal," Malcolm said, puzzling through what Trip had overheard. "What did that mean? He - or she - is going to be taking advantage of this troop pullout the Klingon captain mentioned? Take the credit for it somehow? That's got to be someone high up, in Starfleet or government, to take advantage of any large-scale Klingon manoeuvres."

Trip said, "Yeah. I couldn't figure that out. Why would the Klingons agree to do that if they're already going to get you and the Captain? They made a payment, he said - untraceable, I bet. Why go this extra distance?"

Archer let out a long breath. He said, "I can see one way it might make sense. The 'principal' gets some sort of credit, so his power base increases. The Klingons… it gives them power over the principal."

"Blackmail," said Malcolm quietly.

"Yeah. Very smart," said Archer. "The Klingons have all the ammunition there, ready for when it suits them to use it."

"We should have known there was a traitor," said Malcolm. "Remember - the Klingons knew that it was my equipment. Took me from the mess hall." He replayed the scenario in his mind - who was where and when. He said meaningfully to Archer, "Trent had the opportunity to tell them. He was outside in the corridor with the Klingon captain just before they pulled me out."

"He was alone with them," agreed Archer. "But the Klingons could have known about you before they even attacked. The traitor could have told them before then."

"True. And we don't know how good their intelligence gathering is." Malcolm returned to the mention of a principal. That was very worrying, and daunting. "If the traitor is Trent, the principal could be Admiral Payne. Chief of Starfleet Operations - that's pretty influential. And very difficult to fight, if so."

Trip said, "Although my gut says Trent, the thing against it is that he hates aliens - 'specially Klingons. I bet that reflects Payne's attitude, too."

"Yes. It does," Archer said. "It would be an unlikely alliance."

Malcolm said thoughtfully, "A man can put up with a lot for personal gain. Trent and Payne might see it as merely using the Klingons for their own benefit. Or perhaps Trent is even more devious than I think he is and he's been on the Klingons' side all along, and been feigning his hostility to them." He lifted a hand in dismissal. "Or perhaps it isn't Trent."

Archer chewed at his lower lip. "We need to find a way to flush out the traitor, whoever he is. We'll be rendezvousing with Enterprise soon. We have to decide what to do."

"Hoshi might be able to discover the source of that transmission from Enterprise to the Klingon ship," suggested Trip. "It would be a start."

Archer shook his head. "Not good enough. That could be disguised. We can ask her, but I wouldn't regard it as infallible evidence if she does find anything." He paused and then gravely regarded the other two. "We should proceed on the basis that it's Trent, at least initially."

Malcolm tapped at the tabletop with a contemplative finger. "Why? I mean, I think he's a likely candidate, but isn't that tunnel-vision?"

"Yeah. It is. But we don't have time to come up with some fancy plan to test every male on board Enterprise. And if it is Trent, he outranks everybody. He'll be the most difficult to counter. If we satisfy ourselves he isn't the traitor, we keep looking with his backing. If he is the traitor - well, we can't afford to give him time to make his move against us once he realises we suspect. So - how do we deal with Trent?"

"We have one advantage," said Malcolm. "No one on Enterprise knows what happened out here - only that Carlotta is returning. There must be something we can do with that."

The three men waited for inspiration to strike. Malcolm considered what they had to work with - surprise, perhaps and… He gave a soft exhalation as an idea started to take shape.

"Malcolm?" Archer had picked up on it.

Malcolm gave a small half-smile. "It might not work, but you know what they say: the old ones are the best ones." His smile widened as a few more pieces dropped into place. "I think I have an idea."

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It was uncomfortably cramped in their 'Trojan Horse'. Malcolm sat on the floor in the middle of the alien craft, near the door. Gomez had taken up residence where the stasis device had been, before the Enterprise crew had removed it, with Trip sprawled next to him. Archer had the luxury of the pilot's seat as that was nearest the control functions. The one-man ship had become a four-man transporter.

"Right," said Archer, spinning away from the control panel. "I've got the outer sensors and video stream straight. Communicator's ready." He held it up. "Now all we have to do is wait. Might as well get comfortable. It could be some time."

Gomez shrugged around, cradling his right arm with his left, not trusting to the sling alone to support it. "I hope they're gentle with us. I don't want to be thrown around when they grab hold of Baby."

Malcolm didn't blame Gomez for being a little apprehensive. Of the four of them, Gomez had found the transfer over to Baby the most difficult. Getting in and out of an EV suit had been painful for him, although he had tried to make light of it. Malcolm had tried to persuade him to stay suited, but, unsurprisingly, Gomez had wanted to follow the others' example. No one wore an EV suit for long periods of time unless it was necessary.

Hoping to give some reassurance, Malcolm said, "We shouldn't have a problem when Enterprise grapples us. The gravity seems to be set, as far as I could see when I examined this vessel. We probably won't even notice it."

"As far as you could see, huh? That's… encouraging," said Gomez, shifting about again so he was snug in the corner.

"Put it like this, Red," said Malcolm, with a grin. "We're getting a beautifully smooth ride now, and that's with Mot at the helm!"

"Ha!" said Gomez. "Very funny! I'll tell him you said that!" He started to laugh and then flinched. He relinquished his supporting hold on the injured shoulder and groped for the hypospray stuck in his pocket.

"Here - let me," offered Trip, helping to retrieve the hypospray. He checked the dosage and applied it to Gomez' neck. "Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks," said Gomez. "I can wait. It'll soon be seen to, right?"

"Yeah," agreed Trip, with confidence, as he replaced the hypospray. "And the Doc knows what she is doing."

Malcolm felt a pang of guilt as he watched Gomez. "I'm sorry about bringing you over here, Red. Carlotta would be more comfortable, but I couldn't see how this would work otherwise."

"Don't worry about it. I would be feeling just the same there. Hey - what happens if they don't bring us into the cargo bay? Or if the door ends up underneath us?"

Malcolm said, "I'm not certain about the door, but I think we'll be okay. On the Facility, everything was upright, remember? And I'm told it was the same when it was on Enterprise. I bet there's an adjustment made… somehow. I hope so, anyway, otherwise we're sunk."

"Enterprise will bring this ship on board," said Archer. "It's the only way to transport it back to Earth. And if we're wrong about the door and we do end up trapped, Bailey will just have to reveal all. I hope that doesn't happen because that will tip off the traitor."

Malcolm thought about the task ahead of him and sighed. He flexed his bad leg in an attempt to counteract the numbness produced by the painkillers. "I hope I don't tip him off either, whoever it is."

Archer said, "You'll do great, Malcolm. Just remember - it's got to come from Trent, one way or the other."

"I know. We don't want him to claim he was trying to trap me into a confession." Malcolm tried to run through all the different directions that vital conversation might take. This was going to be tricky. He became aware of Archer watching him. He appealed to him. "Captain - you would be better at doing this."

"No, Malcolm - you are just as capable. But in any case, I very much doubt Trent - if it is Trent - would open up to me at all, even if he believed the tale one hundred per cent."

"Yeah. The Captain is too high up," said Trip. "And Trent wouldn't believe him anyway."

Malcolm grunted. "But he would believe me? I suppose he would."

Trip laughed. "Put it like this - you guys have history. Might as well make the most of that."

Malcolm smiled thinly. History! Considering how short a time he had known of Trent's existence, Malcolm certainly had managed to build up some history with him, history he would have been quite happy to do without.

TBC