Chapter Three

Kil tuvi vlis kaar

Patricia McCabe leaves the cell with the two women, each separating to their own tasks. She goes directly to E deck and to a particular room, pushing the annunciation button beside the door. It slides open, revealing Malcolm Reed already in his own dress uniform. It is identical to his usual attire, just more of a bright sheen to the material. His expression shows he had not been expecting anyone, least of all her. "May I come in, Lieutenant?" Patricia asks; her voice formal for anyone who might pass closely enough to hear.

"Well, I … really wasn't expecting anybody." He replies, a bit uncomfortable. He cannot see up or down the corridor, so he cannot judge how to address his former fiancé. "This is really a bad time."

She glances up and down the corridor. They are alone. She walks into the room past him. "Too bad."

x

She strides inside, and when he closes the door she turns on him. "Malki Reed," she begins, using her old 'pet' name for him, "would you mind explaining what the …" She hunts for a word, and despite having been raised in a Navy port city, she can not think of one strong enough, "devil you're doing?" She would have liked to have started out more gently, but her feelings are running high and a glance at the chronometer shows there is not much time.

"Preparing -."

She cuts him off. "for a Court Martial!"

"A Special Court Martial." He corrects her with a grin that almost sends her temper completely out of control.

She takes a deep, calming breath that utterly fails to accomplish that aim. With no one else on board would she ever let down her professional demeanor – but they had passed the point of masks decades ago. "Would you mind explaining to me just how you can Court Martial a woman like Hoshi Sato?"

"I –."

"I mean, I know I'm new here, but I don't understand any of this." She continues her rush, not letting him break through. "Whenever you've spoken of Hoshi Sato, it was always with admiration. You said she was a good officer, one of the best you've ever known. Why are you participating in this mockery of justice?"

"It's hardly a mockery. You know me better than that. On review of the evidence, a Special Court Martial is the only resolution."

"What evidence? She admits to being 'out of line' on that Survey Mission yesterday. She admits to Insubordination. I understand those are 'disciplinary' problems, not 'criminal' ones. You throw someone in the brig for a definite time, take away their privileges, suspend them, fine them some pay, but this is an entirely different level. What can she possibly have done to warrant this?"

Malcolm turns to a wall panel, touching a few controls. On the screen a large volume of text appears. "See for yourself."

Patricia McCabe steps closer, really wanting to see this 'evidence'. She reads for a few moments in silence and finds herself growing angrier by the second. As her outrage grows, she finds herself clenching her hands in hard fists, struggling to restrain herself. Finally, unable to endure it any longer, she whirls on Malcolm, her eyes burning with such fiery intensity they would sear him where he stands.

"Malki Reed, you are a sick son of a Bitch!"

xxx

Tia opens the door to Trip Tucker's quarters. These are the only quarters on the entire ship she can open with a touch, and when the door slides aside it reveals the surprised Chief Engineer, who is just finishing the final touches to his dress uniform. She strides into the room, speaking even before the door had fully closed. "Shar-les. Kil tuvi vlis kaar. (::This you stop must.::) Qualsia!" He had been looking in a mirror as she entered, and now turns to her in surprise. It was well for him that over the past few months he had picked up a smattering of Auran, for she was so distressed she could not 'keep her English'.

"Stop it? Why would I want to stop it? I'm the one who started it."

"Daai." She agrees. "So vlis - stop it you can." He looks at her, unable to imagine why she would say this to him.

"Why should I stop it?"

"She your friend is. Tuvil miscurai." (::Your friend.::)

"Tia, honey, as far as I'm concerned, this Special Court Martial is long overdue. I'm glad to have arranged it."

She is shocked, backing away from him, horrified.

"Tia?" He cannot understand the look of utter horror on her face. "What's wrong?"

"Li tuvi kir dresnaqu nyasi!" She exclaims. (::I you do know not!::) Opening the door, she bolts out of the room.

x

Tia runs down the corridor, her mind in a whirl. Wrong. It is all wrong. Madness. Everyone is mad. Insane. This cannot be happening in any sane world. Shar-les could not be doing this. It made no sense!

She stops short in her headlong flight. A plan. She needs a plan. She can not help her friend if she does not have a plan. And if Shar-les, a Makvier, a 'Commander', is involved in this madness, there is only one place to turn, only one person aboard who can restore sanity.

xx

Jonathan Archer is just finishing the final touches to his dress uniform when the buzzer sounds at his door. "Come." He turns to the opening door, surprised to see Tia beyond it.

"Wrenaouq Archer?" She asks apprehensively. Her long golden hair is disarrayed, her breath coming heavily despite her efforts to control it.

"Yes?" She steps in, allowing the door to close behind her. She carefully draws herself up to her full height, forcibly composes herself and speaks in her most formal tones. "Wrenaouq Archer, Li ka -." She bites back the words, growing frustrated. "I the Ambassador Aura of would kislan – would curla - talk – would speak you to." He glances at the chronometer, mildly surprised by her formality. He can tell her words are fractured in the distress she seeks and utterly fails to hide.

Lately, whenever she had spoken to him with any level of distress, it was about the ongoing but fruitless search for the stolen Silurian ship they had learned about weeks ago, bearing other refugees from her world but running silent and lost. He knew she was desperate to find her lost fellow Aurans, but they had not spoken about it in some time. And she usually did not come to him about it in such high emotion. Normally he would have taken the time he needed to decipher her distress, now is not the right moment.

"Any other time, Miss Anlor, I'd be happy to. But I'm a little pressed for time."

She takes a step forward, coming right up to him, saying vigorously. "Nyas. Study I your laws have. When to you an Ambassador comes does, listen you must!" His surprise mounts. Never had she addressed him so forcefully. There had been a time when she was so frightened to speak to him at all that she had fallen to her knees, head and body bowed low, wrists crossed behind her back, reverting to the manner of a slave rather than facing him.

That more than anything else makes him say; "Go ahead."

"This Court Martial you vlis must. You stop must!" His surprise mounts.

"Why?"

"Kaar vas sei!" She exclaims. "Wrong it is!" He shakes his head.

"It's not wrong. In fact, it's long overdue."

x

Was the universe mad? She had feared it, maybe it was so. Maybe the universe itself was going insane. That was the only reason for the behavior of her friends against one of their own. "So does Shar-les say, but kaar vas sei." She bites it back. 'Dalplintu!' (::Translate.::) She thinks. 'Masfalyan ti dalplintu misa nyasi!' (::Forget to translate can not.::) "Wrong it is. Wrong he is!"

"Miss Anlor…"

"Qualsia. Please. Vas vlis tuvi hras." She shook her head. "Kranstat!" She curses in frustration at losing the words. "It stop you must!"

"Why?"

She shakes her head sharply, frustrated beyond endurance. "Why why why? Why all time 'why' you humans ask? Kylranti – 'mercy' reason enough not?"

Archer stares at her in wonder. "Miss Anlor -."

"Qualsia." ::Please.:: She steps closer, directly up to him, having to look up to him, her plan collapsing. She can only fall back upon a desperate plea, trying hard in her distress just to find the right English words. She knows she is out of time; she has only one chance left.

x

She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself, to find the words that would sway him to mercy. "Wrenaouq Archer, powerful you are. Much power you your people among have. Do you what can another not. Overcame you the Silurians did. Make you treaties with worlds I seen have, and your planet they abide must. Conquer you time have. Create you me an Ambassador, to for my people speak to yours. Command you all this ship and those aboard. Speak you and do they.

"Know that I do things have nyas. Nyasura; thing no. These clothes mine are not, from you they come. The food I eat is mine not. Mine is thing no. Yet you me have made a voice for my people among yours. Said you that day months ago 'While I don't object to the occasional salute, a member of my crew will kneel to no one; not even me'."

She took a step back, and he could see on her face that it was a hard step indeed. "Since that day straight have I stood, held I your people before the honor of Aura I tried have. Swore did I that to man or woman would ever I again kneel not.

"But now…"

x

She holds her skirt and has to visibly fight herself as slowly, very slowly and reluctantly, she forces herself to go down to her knees before him. He can see the great effort it takes her in her reluctance to do so, after months of learning not to abase herself, yet she kneels.

"But now," she says, looking up to him, her golden eyes glistening with unshed tears, her voice breaking, "to you I kneel do."

She presses her upraised hands to her chest, flat to her chest above her breasts, her fingers touching her shoulders. "To you who here all powerful are I do …"

It takes her a moment to say the painful word. "I do beg! She my friend is! Kylranti muur – Mercy have." She tries to blink away stinging tears, her breath breaking. "I you beg! Kir kil nyasi. Qualsia! Do this not. Please. Please."

x

Deeply moved, Jonathan Archer slowly comes down on one knee before her, looking into her imploring eyes. He reaches out, drying a tear from her golden cheek. "I only pray, Miss Anlor, that when my day comes, I will have a friend like you."