When Archer arrived at his desk the next morning, his assistant Lt. Diane Travers greeted him and then poked her glasses down her nose to shoot her piercing eyes at him.
"You didn't get any sleep last night, did you?" she asked.
It was an accusation, but one that held merit and concern. He hadn't. And he guessed, by the tartness of her response, she hadn't gotten much sleep either. Rather than confirm or deny it, he let the comment go.
"Has Richards called yet?" he asked.
"Yes. He said they found the black box."
"Get him on the line."
Archer put his briefcase on one of the blue chairs in his office and dug into it to retrieve a PADD; it was the one he'd been using to look at the faces of Columbia's crew all night. After sitting down at his desk, his assistant called out via the intercom.
"Sir, he's there."
"Thanks," he said. Then punching a few buttons Captain Chris Richards of the Potomac displayed on his viewer. Dark circles hung under his eyes and he looked a little worn.
"Admiral, you'll be pleased to hear we recovered the box."
"Good work, Chris. Sorry it kept you up all night."
"Part of the job." He leaned over. "I started sending the datastream of the recording. Our communications officer says it should take about three hours to reach you."
"What's on it?"
"It's a tough one, sir. Apparently, three ships - an Orion battlecruiser, an Arali fighter and an unidentified craft - waited behind a moon circling Ceti Alpha II and then attacked the Columbia."
Archer's eyes grew wide and his jaw tensed.
"What's wrong?" Chris asked.
"It's what I was afraid of. Columbia walked into a trap."
"Sir?"
Archer sighed. "Columbia's instructions were to wait behind the moon circling Ceti Alpha II and take the N'Gara's, the Orion battlecruiser, weapons offline. No one knew about this order except the Federation Council, Erika and the brass at Starfleet."
Although Richards was a captain, Jon didn't think telling him more was appropriate; for example, he decided not to include they thought they uncovered a traitor yesterday and the two events may be connected.
Richards said, "Admiral, when you hear that recording …. Like I said, it's a tough one."
"Thanks for the warning."
Chris nodded.
Archer said, "I'll keep you posted."
The screen faded and Archer reflected on his upcoming job and the grim details involved.
Black boxes always contained two types of information – data recordings, like heading and speed, and voice recordings. It was part of his job to review both and give a summary to the Council. The data recording was never a problem; it was the voice recordings that was always hard to stomach … and this time would be worse. He'd have to hear Erika's last words. It would be something, he already knew, that would echo in his mind for days and years to come.
Contrary to popular opinion, last words were never – or hardly ever – sweet. They were never tokens of love, promises of everlasting friendship or even courageous silence … at least not on the voice recordings. The black box, he knew, would reveal terrified pleas, curses and gasps as the people on the ship dealt with the last moments of their lives.
Shaking himself from a gruesome trance, he decided to focus his energy on results … something that would help the crew of the Columbia. Leaning over his console, he pushed a few buttons, choosing a secure channel, and placed a call to an old friend – someone who he knew was assigned to review the weapons signature from the unidentified ship that attacked the Columbia.
A smiling man with brown hair and blue eyes appeared.
"Admiral," said Captain Reed with surprise.
Archer gave a warm grin back, noticing the new stripes at the collar of his uniform.
"I never congratulated you on your promotion, Malcolm. No one deserves to wear those bars more."
"Thank you. Just got the pips last night … before Ambassador T'Pol's party." His lips tugged down. "I was sorry to hear about the Columbia. They were a fine crew. Captain Hernandez was one of the best."
Archer nodded. "They were a fine crew, including Rand. How long did he serve under you?"
"Seven years. He was one of the volunteers who signed up before we went into the Expanse." Malcolm bent his head forward, placing it on his chest. "He was a brave fellow. I recommended him for the promotion that got him assigned there."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah. So am I."
Both men were silent for a moment.
"I'm glad to be the one assigned to find out the unidentified weapons signature. It helps to feel I can help out."
Archer was pleased too; if anyone was going to determine exactly who this mystery ship was, it was Malcolm Reed.
"That's why you're calling, isn't it?" Reed asked.
He nodded. "One of the reasons, yes."
"I've asked my team to start running tests. Preliminary data shows that Captain Richards was right; the firing mechanism is exactly like the one we encountered from the marauders about seven years ago."
"Anything else?"
"I have a hunch ….. I'm running the signature against other weapons fire from the Enterprise's database."
"Good."
Reed hunched over. "You placed a call to Harris, didn't you?"
Harris was in charge of Section 31, the group that handled the most clandestine of affairs and knew the dirt on nearly everything in the galaxy. Archer didn't like Harris – the guy enjoyed his job too much, but the admiral knew that kind of expertise is what he needed.
"Not yet," Archer said.
"You're going to, I take it?"
Archer was silent.
Malcolm exhaled slowly. "You think it's wise?"
"No, I'm not sure it is."
"I don't either."
Archer waited for a few seconds and then changed the subject.
"Listen, I'm getting Columbia's black box. I'll send you the data as soon as it comes in. Who knows, it may help."
"Thank you, sir."
The Brit paused and Archer waved two fingers in the air. "Spit it out, Malcolm."
"Ambassador Tamor."
"What about him?"
"Sir, I know what happened."
Archer frowned; if someone leaked the information, they had bigger problems. "How'd you find out?"
"I was in the hallway at Starfleet yesterday when security took him. And by the looks of things, he wasn't just taken for questioning. It seemed as though the Council and Starfleet think he's a spy."
"You have a point, Mister Reed?"
"Are we quite certain Tamor is an Andorian?"
Archer raised his brows.
Malcolm continued, "I've been thinking … what would the Andorians have to gain from this?"
"You think he's not an Andorian?"
"I'm not sure. I think we should have someone from Starfleet medical confirm it. At least, it wouldn't hurt."
"I'll talk with Phlox."
Malcolm nodded. "Thank you."
Archer stared at the monitor. "Captain, I'm going to make a recommendation to Admiral Gardner that you're the lead for Columbia's and Tamor's investigation."
The Brit smiled. "Sir, it would be an honor."
"Would for me, too," Archer said with an equal grin. After a few seconds of mutual appreciation, he added a few words. "I'd like you to keep everything we discussed confidential."
"Of course."
"I know you would."
Archer placed his elbow on his armrest and crossed his legs as the screen faded to black. Immediately, he pressed the button for the intercom and got his assistant.
"Diane, contact Dr. Phlox and then Admiral Gardner. I'd like to talk with them."
Starfleet medical had advanced significantly since the day he saw Klang, a Klingon who was shot in Broken Bow, Oklahoma, spread out on the table with feeding tubes stuffed down his esophagus. Phlox had turned the place into a larger version of the facilities at Sickbay on Enterprise.
Instead of a sickly white covering everything, the room felt somehow homier with beiges. The air didn't wreak of bleach; the odor that clung to the air was like lemons. And there wasn't the quiet drone of various machines chugging to keep the Klingon alive; instead tiny critters of almost every variety were in cages and glass containers, constantly chirping.
Archer walked by one, looking in to see what species it was, when it rattled violently. The admiral jumped.
"Sorry, it's almost feeding time," Phlox said. "This one gets impatient."
A furrow spread across his brow.
"It's good to see you, Admiral. Although, I notice you're looking a little thin. Aren't you following the diet I sent to you."
He'd sent it not only to him, but to his assistant … which made life hell for him.
"I got it. I've been a kinda busy lately."
The doctor's lips fell from his famously oversized grin. "I'm sorry to hear about the Columbia."
"Me, too."
The two were silent for a moment. As if the doctor knew it was best to move on, he continued.
"Your assistant said you needed me for something?"
Archer nodded. "Are we alone?"
"Yes."
Archer checked the room anyway as the Denobulan, puzzled, followed him. After he confirmed the area was clear, he continued.
"I can't give you a lot of details, but … I'd like you to determine the species of someone we have in security."
"Who is it?"
"I can't answer that."
"Oh?"
"Classified. In fact, I can't tell you any more about him."
"I see. When would you like me to scan him?"
"Today, if possible."
"I'm giving a medical demonstration in fifteen minutes. I could cancel--"
"Canceling it would raise suspicion," Archer said, shaking his head.
Phlox must've seen his disappointment. "I have an assistant who--"
"No, Doc. I need someone I can trust."
"This young man is--"
"I need you."
Phlox raised both eyebrows and then a small smile started to spread over his lips. "Of course."
Archer couldn't help but smile back. "Thank you."
"1000 hours tomorrow?" Phlox asked.
Archer nodded. "Contact me using a secure channel as soon as you find out."
The Denobulan was about to return to his work, but Archer noticed the doctor waited.
"You have something else?"
"Yes."
Phlox folded his hands together and drew them across his stomach to wait.
"Doc, I'd like you to scan various members of the Council when I ask them questions."
"For what purpose."
Archer hesitated, and the doctor shook his head. "Am I not supposed to ask questions about this either."
The human smiled. "It'd help."
Phlox nodded, looking down at the floor and Archer added a few words. "Thanks. You don't know how much I appreciate it."
Standing on the balls of his feet, he looked at the physician – the guy was just as jolly and he'd always been. The two didn't get to talk often; their visits usually included a review of his health, suggestions about what to eat … and especially what not to and general chitchat. It wasn't like the old days, where the two would worry about the crew together and meanwhile discuss other things.
"Is there something further, Admiral?"
"Yeah, actually. How are the wives and kids?" the man asked.
Phlox's smile overtook his entire face. "Did I tell you my eldest had a girl?"
"Have any pictures?" Archer asked.
The Denobulan waddled to his desk, his grin already overextending his face.
T'Pol spent the morning reviewing notes sent to her, wishing her luck in her new position. Although she thought the sentiments were kind, and somewhat illogical since luck did not exist, after four hours, it grew tiresome; she didn't know the majority of the people who'd contacted her anyway and surmised it was something politicians did to curry favor.
They obviously do not understand Vulcans.
As she was about to relegate the task to her aid, Staron, she spied a note of congratulations from someone she hadn't expected: Mr. and Mrs. Charles Tucker II. Opening it quickly, she stared at it.
T'Pol,
Congratulations on your appointment. Trip would've been real proud.
We know we are.
All the best,
Mayzie and Chuck
She read it once, and then read it thrice more. The words have been written, rather than typed, most likely by Mrs. Tucker mostly because the penmanship had too many curves and frills to be owned by a man. They'd included a picture, along with the note, of the two of them with her – a day before the funeral when they'd insisted taking her to lunch. Despite the tragic events that brought them together, the two smiled, huddling near her; Mr. Tucker draped his arm over her shoulder and Mrs. Tucker's hand was on her waist.
Carefully saving it to a nearby PADD, her eyes and then fingers lingered over it. Right away, she jotted down that this – of her all congratulations – would be the first she'd return.
"Your meeting is in approximately ten minutes, Ambassador," Staron said.
She'd been so engrossed in the letter, she hadn't realized he was there or that another hour had passed.
Nodding, she gathered her cloak and followed Staron down the long hall to the Council room.
Rather than sitting at the large oval table, she noticed everyone milling about discussing the events of last night: Columbia's destruction. Silently she shook her head and came to the conclusion today would be a long day.
It wasn't just the Columbia, the arduousness resulted from: her lack of sleep, her inability to meditate again last night, a day discussing further actions against the Orions and now Arali … and the idea she would have to be silent about the third attacker – the Romulans.
Because T'Pol was never one to participate in idle gossip, she sat down. Her eyes scanned the room. Thirteen members were supposed to be there. All were present, save one: Tamor. Only yesterday she revealed evidence that discovered him as a spy.
Among the thirteen was the president – Gral, voted in after Soval's retirement, a Tellarite. The little man was bulky, cranky and stubborn. He was an intriguing, and yet T'Pol believed poor choice, to lead. Although he had leadership qualities – tasking those under him to follow in his direction – he wasn't easily swayed and insisted on his way.
Then again, Soval created a void when he left the Council. It is no wonder we are floundering.
Then there was Neville Simons -- a lanky man with thinning brown hair and a wiry build who represented Earth. She'd yet to hear from him, and found it somewhat surprising he would be the Prime Minister's choice to represent his people; he hadn't spoken up on Earth's behalf since her time in office. He hadn't even introduced himself. In fact, she noticed he sat quietly in the darkest corner of the table fiddling with his glasses for the majority of the two days. It didn't help she knew Jonathan's thoughts on the man: he'd called the ambassador a "mouse with no common sense."
Merah represented the Veral, a people with brown medusa-like hair and skin. Despite their gnarled skin, T'Pol'd learned these people were extremely kind … if not meek and quiet. She'd met the ambassador several years ago … ironically the day that she'd learned of her daughter – Elizabeth. The woman commanded respect at least, and T'Pol discovered that perhaps she was an instant ally.
There was a Denobulan: Xemax. Most of her species was boisterous and outgoing, but she seemed more tempered … possibly the reason she was chosen for this assignment. Her wide blue eyes held the same twinkle as Phlox, something T'Pol had determined was a good sign. And, she kept the same wide smile plastered on her face, even when the grimmest information was discussed – like shooting at the Orions.
Sera, a Xindi primate, was a wise woman. She had brown spiky hair and a warmth that enveloped her. When she spoke, her words were precise and resonated with nearly every member in their beauty and exactness. In many ways this woman reminded T'Pol of Degra – a noble being whose path ahead was long and admirable.
From the S'Ahad, a nomad people who lived on three planets, was a large, stout man named Darag. He had squinting amber eyes and a long white beard that dipped down to his belly. The most social of the members, his deep laugh filled the hall from time-to-time as if he was constantly jolly. Even thought T'Pol was a Vulcan, a species that abhorred emotion, she found this comforting. The only thing that disturbed her was Darag's people and the Tellarites had been allies for years, and when Gral voted a certain way, Darag would vote the same.
The Rigelians had their own ambassador – Bagdol. He was young and new to the Council, which meant he was fearful of speaking up. The man was a light green with a tattoo across the majority of his face – spanning from his forehead to his chin – and long black hair that had been braided into dreads and adorned with elaborate beads. His garments shimmered in iridescent purples that sparkled even under the low lighting of the hall. The impression T'Pol had of him, even though the people of Rigel frequently acted as criminally as the Orions, was that he was a good man who needed more experience before coming here to represent his people. She believed he had to have been royalty to receive such an honor at such an age.
There were many she didn't know or have an impression of including Demvar, a handsome man Coridan, an older man named Kator of the Siryn, a young woman named Trin of the Brillian and Nezfar of the Yalans.
Tamor, a man that Archer seemed to know intimately, would've added to thirteen. And apparently the General was livid at the discovery of his aid for two reasons: first, that his ambassador would've been accused of being a spy and second, the lack of representation from Andoria.
T'Pol's eyes finally looked up when Gral waddled in and stroked his enormous belly; as he climbed into his chair that seemed a size to long, the room quieted.
"The Columbia was destroyed last night."
The uproar in the room was minimal.
"Order!" the little Tellarite shouted at the small hubbub. "We know the Orion and the Arali are behind this treachery."
"Rumor has it that a third weapon signature was found," Sera said. "Do we know who it is?"
Gral grunted. "It's no rumor. Starfleet is investigating it."
T'Pol bent her head and remained silent. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Staron peak his brow in interest at her motion.
"I have a question," Bagdol said. His dreads shook behind him as he lifted his finger, waiting to be called on.
Gral snorted and then nodded.
"If our first attempt at censure was to fire on the Orions in order to cripple their ship, what is our recourse now that they have destroyed a vessel?" he asked.
Murmuring broke out and Gral waved his elongated fingers as if to hush them.
"Admiral Archer should arrive soon to debrief us and consider additional options."
T'Pol spoke up. "The Rigelian Ambassador is correct. Our rush to punish them has significantly jeopardized our position. Hopefully this time we can consider all the options before settling on one."
Gral growled a little. "Hmph! Vulcans spend years making decisions, Skinny!"
T'Pol knew the comment was directed at her. "Weighing all sides of the matter, President Gral, is precisely what our governments have asked us to do. Our response, from this point forward, must be exact. Our attitude must be cautious."
"Caution is what Vulcans excel at," Darag said. He combed his moustache with his fingers as he waited for her response.
"Since we need it now, perhaps you should rely heavily on my opinion."
A few chuckles broke out as Darag gave a hearty laugh.
"Skinny, when the time comes to act, we should always seize it," Gral said.
"Why?" Sera asked, coming to T'Pol's defense.
"Faydor, the temple seeker, has a saying – those who do not act, react," Gral said.
T'Pol rose her brow. "And Surak has a saying as well – those who act irrationally are shackled to their own strife."
Gral stood and then T'Pol, to make her mark, stood as well as she stared down at the little pig.
As if to break the tension, Gral's aid came in. "Sir, I have the admiral here."
"Bah!" Gral said. "Send him in."
Archer walked in and looked around the room. Usually his air was affable and somewhat bemused by the Council, but today – even new to the mood of the room - he seemed a little edgy … as if ready to take each of them to task.
Narrowing his eyes and standing a little straighter, he brought up information on a large screen behind Gral's head – a computer analysis of the events that destroyed the Columbia.
"At approximately 2000 hours GMT, three ships - an Orion battlecruiser, an Arali fighter and an unknown vessel - emerged from behind the moon of Ceti Alpha II. Immediately, they fired on the Columbia. The Starfleet vessel didn't have time to load its weapons; the Bridge and Armory were destroyed in less than ten minutes."
His voice quivered only slightly.
Taking a deep breath, he punched a few buttons. "The Potomac recovered the black box this morning. He's the recording."
He stood still, his head slightly bowed, as the information came over the loudspeaker.
Static rang out and then the voice of Erika Hernandez.
"So far so good, slow to impulse and--"
"Captain, I'm reading three large ships behind this moon," a deep voice said, urgently.
"What?" Erika asked. "Repeat."
"I'm reading three large ships. Orion, Arali and … an unidentified craft at 3 mark 7.2.1."
"Hard to port!" Erika said. "Hull plating--"
"On it!" said a male voice - most likely her tactical officer.
A few explosions rattled, causing a little more static and then subsided.
"Return fire," Erika said.
"Weapons are offline!"
"What?" Erika asked.
"They took out our phasers and torpedoes."
Explosions could be heard in the background and a scream.
"Ma'am, I'm reading damage reports on C, D and …," said a female voice.
Another explosion – this one louder than before.
"All right, if we can't fight, we'll have to flee. Set a course for heading 2.2.1 at warp 3," Erika said.
"Helm's not responding."
"We're sitting ducks!"
More explosions broke out, these even louder, as if panels were blown to smithereens.
"Helmsman? Jim? Crewman Santo!" Erika screamed. "He's dead. Help me move him out of the way."
"Yes, ma'am."
"There's a fire in Engineering," said the same female voice from before.
"Send a distress call, Shannon," Erika said. "I'm--"
This time a series of explosions could be heard with several screams. Beams sounded like they were crashing to the ground.
"Sickbay to the Bridge! We have several wounded here," Erika said. Her voice sounded raspy and she began to cough.
"Captain, the large vessel is coming around again," said the tactical officer. He, too, sounded choked and hoarse.
"Contact the lead ship for surrender protocols," Erika said.
"No response!"
"Send it again!"
"Ma'am - nothing."
"Can they hear us? Have you transmitted it on all frequencies? Double check!" Erika shouted.
"I have …. They're not responding. They can hear us surrender and they're not responding."
"Oh God," Erika whispered.
Another series of explosions occurred and this time the static began to get louder until the end of the transmission completed.
Horrified ambassadors glanced at each other and then pointed their gaze toward the admiral. T'Pol saw pain mar his features, but he remained straight and tall, his eyes trained ahead.
Archer said, "I've asked Commanders Kobyashi and Maru, from our Strategy department to look into this. But, it seems they were trapped."
"Of course it was. This was in cold blood!" Gral shouted, pounding his fist on the table. "There must be a traitorous dog in our midst!"
"The three ships knew of the coordinates of Columbia behind that moon … as if they knew of our plans," Archer added.
Gral grunted. "Tamor?"
T'Pol contradicted the man. "He couldn't have, although he knew we may attack, he was unaware of the plans we'd agreed to."
"He could've guessed," Merah said. "They may've anticipated our response."
All eyes turned to each other suspiciously.
Gral spoke up. "It could be anyone."
"It could even be someone at Starfleet," Bagdol suggested nervously.
Although Archer didn't like the implication, he didn't disagree. "I've recommend we investigate this matter."
"What will this investigation entail?" Merah asked. "Will we be questioned?"
Archer agreed. "I'd recommend so, yes."
"We have diplomatic immunity!" Gral shouted. "Starfleet doesn't have the jurisdiction to question us, much less confine us for more than forty-eight hours. Your protocols do not oversee this Council."
Jon stared him down. "If that were true, we would release Tamor."
The little pig snarled as if enjoying a battle of wills.
T'Pol spoke up. "Although I agree Starfleet does not have the jurisdiction, I think it would be in our best interest to allow the investigation to continue."
There was silence.
"President, perhaps we can vote on this?" T'Pol asked.
Gral nodded with some dissatisfaction and bellowed for a vote. The Vulcan silently blew a sigh of relief as the investigation was allowed to continue by two votes. Looking around the room, the vote of the Earth ambassador was cautious – he agreed with Earth, but only when it seemed almost too close to call. As T'Pol expected Sera was on her side, giving her additional confidence.
"I trust your judgment," Sera said to Archer. "However, if the traitor is part of this group--"
"I suggest we suspend military options until the admiral has provided additional information," T'Pol said.
Gral snorted an agreement. "We have other business to conduct – like making a recommendation to who will replace Tamor."
"I believe that's the General's decision," T'Pol said. "It's not our right to make a suggestions to the Andorian government."
The admiral looked at the Earth ambassador, who was silent as usual, with disgust. T'Pol then noted he decided to speak up on Earth's behalf.
Archer said, "I think Ambassador Simons would tell you that Earth supports Shran."
To the Vulcan's bewilderment, a few heads nodded.
Gral smiled. "Thank you, Admiral." When Jon made his way to the doorway, the pig spoke.
"Yes, sir."
After Archer left the room, a hot debate ensued – mostly T'Pol against the majority of the room. Though she attempted to appeal to everyone's logic, she failed to sway their minds and votes. More than a few people knew Shran, and his reputation had proceeded him as someone who was fair.
I wonder if this is the same Shran, she thought as even Sera defended him.
In the end, despite her arguments, the majority of the room came to the conclusion that they would ask General Krag to appoint Shran as the ambassador. When the decision was made, Gral gave a happy snort.
"I've missed seeing that blue devil."
T'Pol was tempted to do what human's often did when hearing something ridiculous: roll her eyes.
The Tellarite scanned the room with his eyes and called an adjournment. "I'll ask my aid to talk with you about schedules for the interviews Admiral Archer will conduct. Thank you for coming."
Everyone filed out of the room, and for the first time her assistant spoke.
"You do not think Shran is a wise appointment?" Staron asked.
She held her tongue.
"Soval indicated he is sage."
T'Pol had heard that her predecessor had been tortured by him and wondered, albeit briefly, why Soval had such trust in the man.
"I'm not certain," she said, coolly.
The two made their way back to her office when T'Pol saw the admiral waiting outside for her.
"Do you have a second?" Archer asked.
"Of course."
When Staron walked away the two headed into her office and she closed the door.
"I believe you've successfully lobbied; Gral will ask the General to appoint Shran."
There was a hint of irritation in her voice.
Archer smiled. "Well, I'm sure in time you'll see it was for the best. No one can stand up to Gral better than you and Shran, and you can't do it alone. I think the President needs to be challenged; otherwise, he'll continue to run roughshod over everyone."
"You're able to stand up to him," she commented.
"I'm not part of the Council."
After taking off her outer cloak, she noticed her friend watched her. "Something troubling you?"
"I appreciate your support today."
"I happen to agree, even if I disagree that Starfleet has jurisdiction."
"I was hoping I could count on your support again."
"Oh?"
He tapped his fingers along her desk. "I'd like to question you first. I think it would encourage the others."
"I see. When do you propose?"
"Tomorrow. Captain Reed can come and get you around 1300."
She nodded. "Very well."
"Thanks."
As he was about to turn around and leave a notion alighted. "Jonathan, I'm sure you've considered that some of the Council will attempt to deceive you."
"Phlox will be helping us. He'll be scanning brainwaves for--"
Immediately she thought of the secret T'Pau asked her to keep: the Romulans were the unidentified vessel. During the questioning it was likely – highly likely- that Malcolm or the admiral would ask her if she knew anything about the craft that fired on the Columbia. No doubt, they would learn she did.
He must've noticed her concern, because suddenly he stopped and began to explain the procedure.
"It's harmless, T'Pol; you won't even feel a thing." When that didn't placate her, he continued. "It's been used on Earth for decades as a way to determine truth."
"I'm a scientist, I understand the procedure. My concern is: that is a drastic step. The Council should not be subjected to this level of scrutiny."
"You're the one who said we'd have no way of knowing whether someone is lying."
She didn't refute that.
"Listen, it may be drastic, but we have to; we have no choice."
"Perhaps there are other ways to--"
"You uncovered one spy on the Council. What if there are more?"
She didn't respond.
"If they can blow up the Columbia, what else is in store? What if they decide to terrorize other members of the Council? Blow up the Council building? What if they do something like what the Xindi did?"
The two exchanged a glance before her eyes dodged away from his.
"A means does not always justify an ends."
"This time it does. And Gardner approved it."
"You're going to ask Phlox to determine whether I'm telling the truth?"
He folded his arms across his chest.
"I thought you trusted me," she said.
"I do."
The two stared at each other until he finally broke the silence.
"T'Pol, is there something I should know?"
"No."
He ducked his head toward hers attempting to catch her eye. "T'Pol?"
She narrowed her eyes and finally met his gaze. "No. I simply find the invasion of my thoughts … unsettling. My thoughts are private. All Vulcans feel this way."
She noticed her previous commander considered the information and then reluctantly nodded his head.
"Okay."
She raised her brows and internally nearly sighed in relief.
"But, I'd like to keep the fact you're getting special treatment between us."
"Very well."
He produced a reassuring smile. "I have a few things to do at my desk. Can I take you to eat later?"
"I'd like that," she asked.
With that, he left her office. As soon as the door closed, T'Pol sunk into the seat behind her desk. It bothered her that she'd lied to her friend and former commander, but reminded herself – with little comfort – that this would protect her homeworld.
And yet, she wasn't surprised she received his blessing to avoid Phlox's scan. She didn't lie when she said that Vulcans abhorred the practice. She also didn't fib when she indicated that she didn't think the Council members should have to undergo it. However, deep down, she agreed with him; they had no other choice.
Quietly she finished her work until 2000 when the admiral stopped by again to take her to dinner. Swallowing all guilt, she gathered her cloak and followed him.
TBC