When Archer and Mal arrived on the planet, Trip's face was covered with worry. Typically, Archer would grab his friend's shoulder and assure him everything would be okay, but something in his gut told him everything was horribly wrong.

Like the tick of a clock, T'Pol was always punctual. If she'd indicated to Trip she'd be there in two hours, she'd arrive at 1 hour and 59 minutes.

"Sir, I found blood on the ground over here … Vulcan blood," Trip said.

Archer furrowed his brow and walked over to the site. Without waiting for instruction, Malcolm crouched down and waved his scanner in the area. "It trails off over here and ends. She probably got into a vehicle."

Archer frowned. "Commander Tucker, you traveled back to the shuttlepod?"

Trip nodded. "Yes, sir."

"You ask any of the locals if they spotted her?" Archer asked, unholstering his phase pistol.

"A few. None of them saw anything."

"No one?" Archer asked. That seemed impossible.

"That's what they say."

"Malcolm, you're responsible for the MACOs when they arrive. Trip?"

Archer wandered off back into the factory, waving his fingers toward the first building for Trip to follow. The grounds were bustling with people. Hundreds of purple creatures with gleaming eyes all tinkered and toiled over various parts and scurried from one building to another like bees.

As they walked by, Archer could feel their alien eyes on him and as soon as he looked to confirm they were staring, the Salans darted their eyes away. Sauntering up to one – a middle-aged man, he grabbed his arm.

"Have you seen a Vulcan around here?" Archer asked. A smile was forced onto his face, as if he was being friendly … despite the gun on his hip.

"One was with him," the man said, pointing at Trip.

"Did you see her without him?"

"No," he said. His alien eyes landing on the ground.

Archer nodded. "We know that she was less than a meter away. I doubt you could've missed her passing by."

The purple man, stopped. "No, I didn't see her."

The smile faded into a straight line, and Archer's tone became threatening. "Have you been here all day?"

"No … we have our mid-morning break. Everyone in the factory has one at that time."

His eyes met Trip's and the blonde frowned. "If you have a mid-morning break, how 'come Greeg didn't stop working?"

Nervously, the little purple man said, "I don't know. Maybe he wanted to show you around the facility."

"Yeah, seemed real eager to show me everything," Trip said. "Maybe a little too eager."

Archer turned slightly and noticed that the entire factory was watching with remarked interest. Each little pair of beady eyes on the two men.

"You seen Greeg?" Trip asked. "After I went to go look for T'Pol … the Vulcan … he seemed to vanish."

"No, I haven't seen him."

Casually Archer walked closer to the man and then suddenly wrapped his hand around the black collar of the Salan's uniform. "You better not be lying to us. Because if I find out you are …."

Squirming away, his eyes wide with panic, he spoke a few words, his voice shaking. "I'm not lying."

Archer glanced over to Trip, hoping to gauge the engineer's reaction. The blonde shrugged.

"Maybe we should find your friend Greeg?" Archer asked.

Trip nodded, pointing to the building that housed the blueprints.

The next time T'Pol awoke, she blinked into the darkened cave to see Ral smiling.

"You blacked out," he said.

Her stomach lurched and she turned her head to become sick, retching onto the floor as laughter again echoed off the walls. Strangely she felt numb as if she was used to the pains and aches she had been dealt.

"I didn't expect you to pass out," he said. "I heard that Vulcans have incredible stamina."

Focusing on her body, she'd noticed many things were smashed: her elbows, a few ribs, her knees ….

As if reading her mind he smiled. "You tried to get away. We can't have that can we?"

Everything about her was sore as if stretched and battered. Gazing down at her uniform, which still covered her body, it was bloody and ripped. She noticed her eyes were wet, as if she'd been crying.

"I saw a tear trickle out of your eye, Vulcan. Very satisfying."

She didn't remember the incident.

"I don't think we've done our job yet though," he said. Smugly, he walked over to the glittering steel tools on the cart next to the table and picked them up lovingly. There was one with a hook, something that resembled a needle, the hammer he'd used on her earlier and other devices that made her bite her lip to prevent from screaming.

She closed her eyes. Instead of focusing on the meditation chant she'd been taught as a child, the one that rattled through her brain earlier, she wondered where Captain Archer was … and whether he'd be able to find her. She reasoned that scans of the surface for her bio-signs couldn't penetrate the cave they were in. But, she knew that the crew would come to the surface and look for her. It's what she began to focus on, instead of the glistening steel in Ral's hand.

"I'm going to rob of you of everything it means to be Vulcan," he said. "Like bobbing those pretty little ears of yours."

A vision popped into her brain, one of her captain telling her everything would be all right. It was the softened voice she'd listened to before, one that gave her encouragement and comfort despite her never asking for it.

A sharp slice across her legs and warm blood flowed from them pooling under her; they'd torn open her thighs. Biting her lip until it bled, she heard herself mumble something.

"Please come soon, Jonathan."

"You're telling me no one knows where one Vulcan is, one that I entrusted in your care, Ambassador!" Archer yelled.

A day had already passed without any results. The captain, Reed and Tucker, along with MACOs and security personnel, had set up camp in the city hoping to use even the nighttime hours to search for their comrade. It's why Archer was in his tent on the outskirts of the town screaming at a PADD that held the ambassador's image.

"I warned you --" Kreenal said.

"After … after … she'd already been lost! I don't care what it takes, but I want some answers from your government."

"I have no jurisdiction for the city of J'Lahr."

It was the city where the factories were, the one that had the greatest hatred of the Vulcans.

"How convenient."

"I suggest you talk with Kladeal. He's the mayor of the city and can –"

"I've already spoken with him. I told you already that he said he has no jurisdiction over the factory."

"You've spoken with the factory owner?"

"Unavailable." Archer sneered. "I think he took her. The Salans at the factory weren't very cooperative. I was hoping --"

"I have no jurisdiction over business. I explained that to you."

Archer sighed noisily, showing his frustration. "Well, let me tell you what I have jurisdiction over. I'm going to recommend we never trade steel or other alloys to your people ever again. And because of my rank and experience, and the fact you've kidnapped my first officer, I think it's a recommendation they're going to take!"

It was an idle threat; Starfleet would be interested in the warp technology, but right now he didn't care about that – he wanted T'Pol back.

After staring at each other for a few seconds, the ambassador finally spoke. "I can contact the person in charge of the factory. I'll get back to you tomorrow."

With that the screen faded to black. Restless with anger, he threw open the flap to his tent and headed out. The camp full of MACOs and crewmen turned their eyes on Archer, and he'd guessed by the sheer decibel of the argument with the ambassador everyone – maybe even those in the city – heard what was going on.

Trip was the first to speak up. "Damned Salans."

"Find Greeg?" Archer asked. It'd been six hours since he'd last spoken to his engineer.

"No, sir. It's like he up and disappeared."

Malcolm stepped forward for his report. "She's not in the desert. The MACOs combed every centimeter of it – by foot and by shuttle."

Archer kicked his foot lightly at the ground. "I'm running out of ideas here," he admitted.

The three men were silent, until Trip asked a question. "Anything happen with Starfleet?"

Jon shook his head. "No other ships in the area. Soonest one could reach us is in five days."

"Five days?" Reed asked.

"Humanitarian assistance. The Tellarites had an outbreak of Rigellian flu. All available ships have been reported there. In fact, we've been asked to assist."

Malcolm and Trip threw a glance to each other as Archer finished that thought.

"We have two days until we need to break orbit."

Malcolm blew out a long breath. "Not a lot of time. What about the Vulcans, did you contact them?"

"Yeah." Archer's laugh was sardonic. "Well, it was brief – I'll give them that. No."

"That's it?" Trip asked.

Archer nodded. "That's it." His comm beeped and without hesitation he picked it up.

"Sir, you asked me to report to you on the hour," Hoshi said.

"Go ahead, Ensign."

"We haven't found any Vulcan bio-signs."

"Thanks. Keep scanning. Archer out."

"She's gotta be here – no ships have left the planet for the past 48 hours."

Reed barely raised his head. "Unless—"

It was something that Archer had considered: T'Pol was dead. If she were, she wouldn't give off any bio-signs and it may explain why an entire town filled with people hadn't seen her. In fact, one could conclude it was a reasonable or logical explanation.

He sneered. "She's not dead, Lieutenant."

"But –"

Archer's eyes steeled. "I said she's not dead."

The Englishman blew out a small breath. "Yes, sir."

"Tell your men to take both Shuttlepod one and two and divide up the planet into quadrants to search, close-range, for bio-signs."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed," Archer said. Turning on his heel, he went back into his tent to grab his jacket.

Trip followed him in. "Permission to speak freely?"

Jon put his coat on and nodded.

"Cap'n, we're all a little edgy, but –"

Coming toe-to-toe with his officer, he said a few words. "Commander, we're going to find her. Understood?"

Trip swallowed deeply. "Yes, sir."

Jon marched out and headed back to town to start knocking on doors. He didn't care what time of night it was or the repercussions of his demands. It didn't matter if he'd already spoken with them. It didn't matter if they cursed, swore or worse – he needed to know where she was, and any avenue would be ignored. None. He'd do everything … everything … in his power to recover T'Pol.

She's got to be alive.

Two days of excruciating pain. Ral was right about many things, her veneer had faded and she wasn't above crying out and begging either for mercy or for them to put an end to her miserable existence. Cut, bashed, burned, abused -- every muscle in her body ached, nearly every bone was broken and her will to live was nearly gone.

Although she hung on to the idea that her captain would eventually come, in her deliriousness, she imagined herself waiting for Commander Tucker – angry that he was late. The desert was hot – more sweltering than it had been during her entire stay – and she felt perspiration pool under her arms.

The blonde with a beaming smile meandered up to her as if he owned the planet.

"Howdy," she heard.

"Tardy again, Commander," she said.

He shrugged. The gesture created more ire. "Awww, sorry."

"I am forced to report this to the captain. Perhaps a one-day suspension will assist your punctuality."

"If ya gotta." The smile in his eyes, despite his punishment, was disarming.

After she'd filed the warning, she wondered if she had been too strict and stern with Trip. The man was generally amiable; he most likely meant no harm or mal intent by being late.

"I think she needs a little more pain to bring her back to reality," Ral said.

Forcing her off the table and to fall helpless to the ground, he and the guards began to kick at her stomach. With one solid swipe, one of the captors had managed to dislodge a rib and force it into her stomach. Turning pale, she felt her mouth drip a mixture of vomit and blood.

"I don't think she's going to last much longer," said another.

T'Pol decided she would rescind her reprimand of the commander.

"Can't stay mad at me, can ya?" Trip asked. He winked at her.

"No," she agreed.

"I know what'll bring her around," Ral said.

Snipping the scissors into the air, he chuckled. "The only thing left to take the Vulcan out of her is to …"

A hoot came from one of the men; they'd been drinking nearly all day. Torturing her had become more than a game.

"Bob her ears!"

He placed the scissors near her ears. "You hear that sound, Vulcan?"

Nodding, her eyes rolling back into her head, she agreed.

"That's a lock of your hair. I'm going to keep it with me. It'll help me remember you when you're gone. I'll remember all the things I did to you."

And then she felt a stinging – it was shooting pain, the kind that brought tears automatically to her eyes. Snickering, he showed her a tiny bit of flesh that was floating in a pool of green blood.

"That's your ear, Vulcan."

And with deliberateness, he took the shears to her other ear and cut. This time, she let loose a blood curdling cry. Her voice, long since hoarse, ripped through the air hoping to catch someone's attention – someone who would help.

Ral leaned over and kissed her. "We'll let you bleed for a while longer. If that doesn't kill you, would you like us to end it?"

Tears ran down her cheeks and she barely noticed the nodding of her head and mumbled pleas.

"Yes. Please kill me."

"I hope that's a lesson to your kind. We don't want you on this planet."

She began whispering agreements. "Yes, it's a lesson."

Throwing the remnants of her ears onto her, he said. "You were pretty."

Her eyes closed and as she felt herself slip away, she realized something was being shoved down her throat. Helplessly, she drank it as if it was water.

"You were so pretty."

Dawn came, and Jon found himself in the middle of the square, smelly from wearing the same clothes for three days in a row … and having sweated in them every day. Risking a glance, he saw Reed and Trip. Both men looked beaten and defeated – their three-day beards, hair soaked and plastered to their foreheads, perspiration rings under their armpits and covering their backs and dust covering their skin and uniforms. Shoving a dirty hand through his hair, he made the decision.

Nothing. No Vulcan bio-signs. No traces of T'Pol except for small bloodstains on the ground near the factory. Three days of searching and not a single squinty-eyed, Salan admitted to having seen her. Reed couldn't pinpoint a trace of where she was or where she'd been. More crewmen were expended to broaden the search to other cities – no matter how remote. Communications with ambassador and with politicians in almost every city, promising money, engineering parts and even weapons if they found her. The trade of weapons was strictly against Starfleet protocol. Archer didn't care.

Staring at the serpent-headed fountain in the middle of square that he'd passed 57 times in the past few days, he hung his head.

It was utterly pointless. Deep in his heart he began to accept the unthinkable: she was probably dead. Stumbling onto one knee, without realizing or caring, he crouched to think … or to pray. A hand gripped his shoulder.

"Shall I ask Hoshi to run another scan, sir?" Reed asked.

"No," he said. "Let her know we're coming back up. And tell Travis to break orbit."

He's promised the admiral they'd be en route to help the Tellarites; the epidemic hadn't diminished, and Dr. Phlox was desperately needed.

As quickly as he'd said the order, Malcolm backed off and opened his communicator to deliver the instructions. Archer turned his attention to the detestable fountain and noticed how frightful his visage was when he stared into the water. A single tear disrupted the liquid, rippling it, below him and he cursed at himself.

Shaking his head, he said, "She's dead. That's the only explanation there is. She must be dead."

He forced himself to his feet and was about to walk toward Trip and Malcolm, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Several men walking down a corridor holding a lifeless body in their hands – a body smattered with green blood.

Without thinking, his feet flew to the alley they occupied.

Finally. Death.

She felt a crack at the base of her skull.

Maybe I should reprimand Commander Tucker. Captain Archer is far too lenient. And yet … I don't know if I can.

And as she began to slip into unconsciousness, she heard phaser fire. Yet, she didn't fade into death. In fact, she heard one man, Ral, scream and fall to the ground.

"T'Pol!"

The voice …. Perhaps the captain was angered at her reprimand of Tucker. Though – it sounded both terrified and exuberant at once.

More bursts of phaser fire and two more yelps and thuds. Straining to lift her head, it was impossible to see what happened. She licked her lips, tasting blood -- from where, she had no idea.

She attempted to answer the call, heaving only a grunt.

"T'Pol!"

Again. His voice. She couldn't tell if it was real, or it was imagined, but she felt the need to recognize it and the comfort it brought.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry …. I tried to get here sooner …. I did. I tried. I really … I really didn't think, T'Pol, that you'd … I didn't …."

Is he sick? Is Trip all right?

"But, we're here now. It's okay. Dr. Phlox he'll …."

Suddenly, she felt herself scooped up and shoved into his chest. And at the feeling of her broken limbs and the fire raging in her stomach, she grumbled mildly – barely able to talk.

"I have to finish my scans," she whispered.

"It's okay," said the captain in a broken voice. "You can do them later."

"My God," Trip said.

The two men spoke when other voices joined them. She heard someone unholster his weapon and an English voice.

"Move aside now. Quickly."

She faded out as she heard Archer say, "Shhhh, T'Pol."

"You came," she whispered.

TBC