Archer arrived on the Thames in the morning to discuss getting to the planet to find the lost diplomats and crew of the Excelsior. His dreams were stranger than usual, which is why, ultimately, his hair was still wet; he woke up late and had to rush in the shower. Although it wasn't necessarily his best protocol, he figured he could let decorum slip in order to be on time. When Captain Vega greeted him at the airlock, a smile sprang onto her face and a snicker left her lips.
"What is it, Captain?" asked Archer.
"Uhm, sir --?" she said. With a pink nail, she pointed to his hair. "It's sticking up."
Running a hand over his hair to smooth it, she tittered aloud; obviously the problem worsened. Shooting his eyes toward his forehead, hoping to see the problem – which was impossible, she eventually offered assistance.
"May I?" she asked.
Her hand reached a little closer to him and then hesitated until he furrowed his brows together and gave a nod.
Carefully, reaching on her very tip toes as he bent his head, she smoothed down one of the many cowlicks he was unfortunate enough to have. He noticed it took a few tries and wondered just how bad it was.
"There," she said. "More respectable."
He gave her a lopsided grin. "I haven't been to the barber this month and the gray ones are wiry."
"Didn't want your image tarnished, Admiral. You're a legend."
"Legend?" Legends are old. "Thanks for the help."
The two beamed at each other and he noticed Melanie blush slightly and then straighten. Nudging two fingers in the air to follow her, she headed down the corridor walking at a quick tempo for a woman who was only 5'1", and he struggled to keep up.
"I figured we'd have breakfast and you could go over the plan, sir," she said.
Talking just as quickly as she spoke, she jumped from topic to topic, effervescently, and Jon realized it would be a chore to get a word in edgewise. The woman, he was starting to figure out, was a tiny bundle of energy.
As they rounded the last corner, the Mess Hall doors opened and she led him to the Captain's Mess where scrambled eggs with salsa, a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee – black – waited for them.
Turning she said, "I hope you don't mind. I decided to order what I typically do. Makes it easier for Cook and I didn't want to bother you for details. If you want something else--"
"I ate this almost every day aboard Enterprise."
"Really? I never figured you for a salsa guy."
Shyly he confessed the truth. "Ex-girlfriend got me hooked. Used to drive Chef crazy; he would say, 'It's like putting ketchup on steak.'"
"Must not have been a big fan of meatloaf."
Archer smiled; meatloaf was his personal favorite.
"You wanted to know who I'd promote, sir?" she asked.
Waiting for her to sit, he eventually grabbed a seat and draped his napkin in his lap.
"I do," he said.
"I looked over Kelby's records. He doesn't have a lot of log time on the Bridge."
Archer reached for his coffee. "He has enough Bridge experience. Starfleet only requires 200 hours in the chair. Kelby has 240."
"Sir, I had 400 when I was promoted to captain. And Admiral Forrest, who gave me the nod, was upset I hadn't spent 500 hours in the chair. He told me he almost didn't promote me."
A twinkle sprang to his eye at the mention of his former mentor. Leaning in, he asked, "Well, who do you recommend?"
"You're not going to like it."
"Try me."
Retrieving a PADD from her unzipped pocket, as if prepared for the question, she typed in a few symbols and the entire command line for the fleet displayed. Then, she scooted in on the table toward him, a grin on her face. He didn't bother checking the name at the top.
"You chose Sub-commander Flagan from the Toltek, didn't you?" he asked.
Knitting her brows together, she picked up her PADD, staring at it in disbelief and then at him. "You knew?"
"It's who I chose. I told him last night he had command. He should be arriving on the Potomac any minute."
"Then why'd --?"
"I wanted to check my assumptions about you. I read in your file that you were an 'out of the box' thinker. And … I wanted to see how a human would react to the obvious skip in the line of command. Morale is important." Shoveling a fork into some of his eggs, he let them hang in mid-air. "You know, Kelby's the most qualified among the Earth vessels for the position."
"Kelby is one of the best engineers in the fleet."
"He's not happy about being passed up for promotion."
"Who is? But, earning the fourth bar isn't about ego, sir. It's about readiness."
There was a time when he wouldn't have agreed with her, before he was captain. Being as an admiral he understood something more important; earning the fourth bar wasn't about readiness either – captains are never really ready.
Pointing with his fork, he let the comment go and told her the game plan.
"I'd like the Thames to orbit the planet long enough for a landing party to transport down. She should travel a safe distance away, back behind the moon."
"Who's in charge of this section of the fleet?" she asked.
"Commander T'Nara."
"She knows the plan?"
"Yes."
"Why you traveling with us, sir?"
"Melanie, the mission we're about to take won't just be difficult; it'll be impossible. I may need to step in."
A faint frown made it to her lips.
He said, "I need to know that if I step in, you won't have an ego that's ready to counteract my orders because they aren't your own."
Her brown eyes batted and then she took her orange juice in her hand. "I don't have an ego, sir. I don't need it. My crew has readiness."
Oh, she has ego. She wouldn't be captain if she didn't. Nodding, he switched the conversation. "I read last night that you grew up in New York?"
"Rochester."
"No kidding. Me, too. I went to Washington Elementary."
She smiled. "Kennedy."
It was the closest elementary near his. "Huh. Where'd you live?"
"323 Monroe," she said. "You?"
"365 Gladstone."
Monroe was within a mile and in biking distance of his house. Leaning forward, his elbows on the table, he placed his hands together.
"Small world."
"You been back lately?" she asked.
"No, not in years."
"I was there just a few months ago visiting relatives. The farm on 42nd has been replaced by – get this – a mall."
"No!"
"It's true. My niece - she's a teenager - shops there all the time."
He shook his head. "That's a shame. I remember the farmer there, Mr. Jacobs --"
"He'd hand out fresh corn!"
"Now, that's just spooky."
"You didn't know Jeffrey Jacobs, did you?"
He shook his head. "No."
The good humor died down. "It was Mr. Jacobs son and my first boyfriend. My first kiss was in the old white barn there. You know – the one near the road."
A grin lit up his face imaging this woman as a girl with raven pigtails and overalls. Strangely, she kept his gaze for a moment, beaming under it, and he realized his meal was already getting cold and they hadn't discussed the plans.
He sighed. "Listen, Melanie, I should probably--"
"Admiral, my name's not Melanie. Well, technically it's Melanie, but no one ever calls me that, except my mother when I'm in trouble."
Wincing, because he'd been calling her that nearly ever since he met her, he waited.
"Mel," she said.
"Sorry, Mel," he repeated.
"It's all right."
With that behind him, he took out a PADD of his own – handing it to her – and began to describe the mission in more detail with the complex plans they needed to fulfill in order to pull it off successfully.
---
T'Pol awoke, a little bleary eyed and rubbed out the slumber. The dreams she'd had last night were intense and vivid, even though she'd meditated the night before – thoroughly.
Refraining from examining the memory, too disturbed to review it, she put her feet on the floor and grabbed her robe at the end of her bed. When she walked out, she saw Skon meditating quietly in the living room – his legs and arms folded on a mat.
His eyebrow shot up and he opened his eyes slowly. "I believe the humans say, 'Good morning.'"
"They do," she said. "Good morning."
The light in his eye gleamed and he stood, swiftly in one motion – despite the heavy robe that draped around him – graceful as a cat.
She said, "They also ask – did you sleep well?"
He pointed to the floor and the pillows in her living room where he'd stayed that night. "It was comfortable. And you?"
"My sleep was … satisfactory." Nodding at the sunrise breaking – streaming orange across a purple sky and the twinkling lights of the city vanishing, she turned to him. "I must admit dawn and twilight are my favorite moments of the day."
Giving a few bobs of his head, he agreed. "Vulcan does not have sunsets or sunrises quite like Earth."
It was more than that – a stillness that came over the Earth, briefly, for those moments.
After the two gazed out the window for a few minutes, Skon finally spoke. "Ambassador, I do not wish to become burdensome, however, I wanted to discuss a gathering place for the Council."
"Seems futile to have a meeting room without participants."
"There is you, Ambassador Shran, his aide and myself. Gral has access to a video PADD. In addition, you are currently attempting to secure new members."
"Your suggestion?"
"I would like to make that my first task as your assistant."
Crossing to the kitchen, she began brewing tea. "Shouldn't your first task be to obtain an apartment for yourself?"
"I have already attended to that. This morning I contacted your … landlady?"
T'Pol looked at the clock and realized Skon called Mrs. Williams before six a.m. "Yes, landlady is the correct word, but … you shouldn't contact humans before nine in the morning."
An eyebrow wandered up at her statement. "Why?"
"Humans typically sleep on Saturdays."
"I thought it was a myth that humans slept ten hours a day."
"Even if they aren't resting, it's rude."
"I will endeavor not to repeat that mistake."
T'Pol wanted to smile. "Good."
He said, "The woman indicated there was an apartment on this floor available. With your permission, I would like to rent it."
"Of course." She shook her head. "But, you needn't ask my permission."
"Thank you," he said. She noted he stood watching the window for several minutes, as if admiring San Francisco's bay. "They have an abundance of water here. I was not prepared for that."
Pouring two white porcelain cups full of chamomile tea, she headed to him and offered one. After his first sip, he stared down at the contents with confusion.
She said, "It's called chamomile."
"Interesting."
"You said you'd try and keep an open mind."
Taking another sip, he agreed. "I did."
"Are you beginning to regret your decision to come to Earth?"
"No."
Gazing out the window, thinking about the first time she saw the bay, she nearly sighed. "It was difficult for me too when I arrived."
It's been difficult nearly every time, she thought, remembering arriving several months ago to become Vulcan's ambassador. It wasn't an easy transition then, either.
After having failed the Kolinahr, when she couldn't pass the second step of enlightenment because she'd missed - an emotion - Earth and her Enterprise companions, she'd decided to accept a position working with the humans frequently. Whether it had been the trellium or Trip's death that caused her mind's unrest – she couldn't be sure. But, even in hr turmoil she knew she would be able to seek solace with her former captain; they had a close friendship for years. Although she hadn't intended on starting a relationship with him when she arrived, she remembered his arms wrapped tightly around her, his smile and rough cheek rubbing against her face and his purring laughter wandering to her ear.
She'd liked the feel of it even then.
Taking the cup of tea to her lips again, she realized Skon was speaking to her.
"Ambassador?" he asked.
"I was lost in thought." And then at his confused expression, she corrected herself. "Your argument has merit; I'd like you to find a place for the Council to meet temporarily. But, I can think of no better permanent location than across from Starfleet headquarters. If you could pursue that as well--"
"Of course," he said, bowing his head slightly. "May I use your computer?"
"You'll wait to contact humans after nine, won't you?"
A smile lit in his eyes. "I will only investigate until nine."
"Then, it's in the bedroom," she said. "Feel free to make yourself at home."
"Make myself at home?" His eyebrow peaked again, and she realized it was a habit of his.
She said, "An Earth expression. Kelek qual du."
"Intriguing." After he'd wandered off making various calls, T'Pol found her thoughts drifting again. For a moment, she almost envisioned seeing members of her own kind – without the typical Vulcan garments (long flowing robes) and with weapons that looked far superior to those of Vulcan.
The conversation, one held with Minister T'Pau months and months ago, came to the forefront and she focused on it like a laser. Romulans could have physiology that matched a Vulcan, but many of them were in disguise trying to pass themselves off as her own species.
And then, she imagined Archer sitting just a few yards away, wondering what he should do. As if using his vision, she focused in on one of the alien's faces – a single ridge, like those warrior of ancient Vulcan – protruded and she found herself chanting over and over.
Run!
---
0710, Archer, Captain Vega, 3 MACOs, Dr. Collins and Chief Security Officer Fairbanks – leading the MACO team, materialized on a planet; although the time to the crew was morning, the planet's was shrouded in darkness, shadows faded over lush foliage and greenery. Night animals made soft cooing and chirping noises, scrambling under the ferns and tress of this thick jungle. The three moons hung clumped together barely illuminated, shimmering in a blue haze as clouds drifted in front of them. And the air was thick and hot even at night, muggy, reminding him of summer nights in Tahiti.
Vega pulled out her scanner and waved it in the air, maneuvering a phase pistol to the right.
She said, "Several bio-signs at coordinates 21.3.7."
Everyone in the party adjusted their infrared gear; Archer stared out into the landscape using the night-vision as it took on a sickly green hue to light his way. The party fanned out according to the plan discussed in the debriefing that morning. Two MACOs accompanied Archer as they crept behind something that resembled a Banyan tree. Meanwhile, Collins, Vega, Fairbanks and the one MACO sneaked toward the bio-signs they located, using what looked like ferns and vines as cover.
Vega whispered into her communicator. "I'm picking up three human bio-signs, twelve Vulcan, one Andorian, one Tellarite ….."
Twelve Vulcan? thought Archer. He didn't remember that being the compliment of the delegation or the Excelsior … or the two combined.
"Any other alien bio-signs? One we're not familiar with?" he asked. He'd been expecting Romulans, which would come onto their scanners as an unknown type.
"No, sir," she said.
"Hold your position," he said.
His team skulked until they met up with Vega again. Two Vulcan men – hair shorn in the bowl-shaped style with long slender ears and eyebrows – were adorned in various metals as well as a turquoise and sea-green tunics, like chain mail. They conversed softly by the fire, so softly that Archer couldn't pick up exactly what they were saying. Weapons – ones Archer had never seen before – were attached to their hips.
"Vulcans. Thank God," said Vega. She was about to stand up when Archer grabbed her arm.
"They don't look like delegates, aides or Excelsior crewmen," he whispered. "There was only one Vulcan serving on Excelsior and only one aide for Ambassador T'Pol."
"Maybe these are Vulcans who already found them?" she asked.
"Why wouldn't they tell us?" he asked.
"We've been traveling in comm-silence. They may not have gotten the chance."
"We know all the ships assigned to this mission – these don't look like they're assigned to the Vulcan vessels."
"Correction – we're the only ships you know of, sir," she said. "Starfleet may've worked with the Vulcans to send more."
Ignoring the comment, Archer ordered the MACOs and Fairbanks to investigate the tents, remaining in shadows. When they disappeared into the night, Vega turned back to him.
"Sir, I don't understand your hesitation. The Vulcans are our allies."
Like a memory just out of grasp, his stomach churned as he tried to explain why exactly he didn't trust these circumstances. There's a connection between Vulcans and Romulans, he thought; Surak's memories were fuzzy, but he knew that at least. And he believed it despite T'Pol indicating there was no connection.
"It's just … something seems wrong," he said.
"Something seems wrong? Admiral, I agree with Captain Vega," said Dr. Collins. He'd been quiet up until this point. "They may need medical help, sitting around here isn't doing them any favors. And it's not doing us any either."
"Look at their weapons. And, those Vulcans aren't wearing robes or uniforms that are colors of Vulcan; they're wearing ocean colors. Don't you think that's odd?" he asked.
Captain Vega said, "You don't trust them because of their choice of apparel?"
He was about to retort when his communicator whirred quietly. Archer snapped it open immediately, his eyes on the two Vulcans who continued to talk, anxious not to alert them of their presence.
T'Pol would've heard that. "Archer."
"This is Fairbanks. Sir, we found a tent with Ambassador Simons, Commander Stiles and a few others – they've been tied up."
"Tied up?" he asked again.
"Yes, sir."
"Their condition?" he asked, eyes on Dr. Collins.
"I don't know, sir. Some of them look pretty beaten up."
Archer said, "Give Thames the coordinates. We'll start transporting them as soon as possible."
"Yes, sir."
Archer closed his communicator and said, "Mel, contact Thames and let them know we need them to start transporting people. Tell your first officer to ask the Toltek to rendezvous with us."
"Admiral, the Andorians don't have transporters."
"I know." Although Starfleet had given the Andorians the specs, they were still retro-fitting their ships with that feature, just as Starfleet was still trying to figure out how to implement the Andorian's information about shields. "We'll transport them from the Thames to the Toltek. As soon as they have the delegates and crew, they should meet up with Moog and the rest of the fleet."
She nodded and conveyed the orders. When her communicator closed she questioned him again.
"Sir, I don't like what we're doing to the Vulcans."
"Why would they tie them up?" asked Archer.
"I'm sure there's a logical explanation."
"We'll find it out later. Right now, let's just make sure we get those people back safely. Dr. Collins. I'd like you to be on Thames when your patients get there."
The doctor furrowed his brow, but opened his communicator – mumbling under his breath as he did so. His image shimmered under the faint moonlight and Archer felt Mel's disapproval as he did so. Jon was about to address her concerns, as much as he could explain a gut feeling, when Mel's communicator chirped. Keeping his eyes on the Vulcans, he was glad she picked it up right away.
"Vega."
Giving a nod, she turned to Archer. "Transporters are ready when we give the order. Commander Ranol from the Toltek received the orders and should be here shortly."
Archer nodded as Fairbanks contacted him again. "Sir, we have a list of ten total survivors."
"They ready to transport?" he asked.
"Yes, sir." There was a pause. "Should I ask the Vulcans about transporting them?"
"Negative," he said. "Just … get back here as soon as possible."
Vega relayed to Thames they could begin beaming up the personnel and let a frown spread over her lips. In the next breath she ordered Dr. Collins to stand by in the Transporter Room to assist if necessary.
Within a few harried minutes, the transporter room clarified all were aboard and at the same time, one of the Vulcans – who at this point must've overheard something – took off for the tent where Archer was guessing the delegates and Excelsior crew were located.
As he was about to open his communicator and tell Fairbanks and the others to pull back, he heard phase pistol fire. Vega, hand on her weapon unhitched it – grasping it in her hands – when Archer flipped open his communicator again.
"Archer to Fairbanks."
Silence was his answer.
"Archer to Fairbanks."
Quiet.
"Fairbanks?"
A Vulcan ran out of the tent, pointing in all directions, as other Vulcans seem to pour out of another tent and help weapons in their hands. The universal translator couldn't pick up the language from a distance or perhaps the dialect the Vulcans spoke was different than the one Hoshi had programmed.
"How 'come the UT isn't picking them up?" asked Mel.
A voice deep within his mind gave him clear instructions.
Run!
Pointing behind him, back into the thick of the jungle, Archer gave Captain Vega the command and then proceeded to send the same communiqué through his communicator to the others – none of which he could get. As he ducked under tree limbs and stomped over ferns, he ran as fast as he could and was surprised Vega was able to keep up.
"Why are we running!" she shouted, getting angry.
A blue light streamed past them, hitting a leaf and sent it tumbling to the ground. Mel's body swiveled to deliver a blow back, when Archer caught her arm and grabbed at her, throwing her to the ground. Before she could question his move, he spoke into his communicator.
"This is Admiral Archer. Immediate transport!"
Footsteps hastened behind him and just as he looked up to determine the face of the alien attempting to kill him – a face cloaked in darkness – white swirled around him and he ended up in the Transporter Room on top of the captain under his command. A cough, one delicately delivered by Dr. Collins, made him jump up from his pose and throw a hand to Vega.
"Captain, the delegates and crewmen are in Sickbay. All of them are unconscious and have been so for some time. We'll be lucky if any of them pull through."
Ignoring Archer's chivalry, Mel jumped to her feet. "Thanks, Doc." And then with only a small breath, she turned to Jon. "What in the hell are you doing! We could've contacted the Vulcans and …."
Just as Melanie launched into a full-blown tirade, the ship shimmied for a second and Vega's speech faltered as she ran to the intercom.
"What?" she asked, her voice losing patience.
"Ma'am, we're under attack. This area is crawling with Romulans!"
Archer turned to the technician operating the transporter controls. "Crewman, try and transport Fairbanks and the MACOs."
After the young man - frustration gathering in the wrinkles above his forehead - pushed a few buttons and shoved levers one way and then another, he shook his head.
"I can't get their bio-signs. I think they're dead."
"Continue to scan the area," said Archer. "I want them back."
The ship shook again, this time nearly knocking everyone to the floor. Vega sprinted to the turbolift with Archer behind her. When they arrived in the elevator and the doors closed, Vega continued her wrath.
"You asked me about following your orders, sir, but it appears to me that--"
"Mel, I don't expect you to understand, but I'm telling you those Vulcans were not what they appear!"
"Hmmm, pointy ears, green skin, don't speak English … yeah – they were Vulcans."
"Why didn't the UT work?"
"Oh, come on, sir. We both know it's not programmed for every Vulcan dialect out there."
His eyes narrowed. That was a true statement, but there was something else about these Vulcans.
She said, "Whatever hair-brained scheme you constructed, you may've just cost the life of my security chief and some of his staff. Your gut feelings just don't cut it with me." Pointing a finger at his chest, she snarled. "I expect when we hit the Bridge, you'll shut the hell up, sir."
He was about to defend his decision, loudly and with just as much venom, when the doors of the Bridge snapped open. As mad as he was, and he was fuming, he didn't think it was appropriate to dress-down the captain during battle.
"Status?" she asked, making a beeline for her seat.
A female science officer relayed the circumstance, voice full of fear. "Ma'am, we've picked up the warp signature of more than 20 Romulan vessels all within the vicinity."
"There's no way we can--" said Mel.
"What are the coordinates?" asked Archer. He ignored Mel's glare.
The science officer briefly put them onto the screen and for the first time in a long time, Archer felt dread – his heart raced in his chest and the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. The vessels were circling like vultures eyeing prey.
"It's a trap!" he said.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"They knew we would come," said Archer. It's why he didn't want to risk the entire fleet. "Communications, send Commanders Moog and T'Nara instructions to evacuate. Head back to Earth, taking the fleet with them."
"Aye, sir."
"We're not going to fight?" asked Mel.
"You think we can defeat them?" he asked back. "We met our objective; let's get the hell out of here."
She didn't answer, but instead folded her arms across her chest. "Helm, let's try and outrun these bastards."
The pilot nodded as the Science Officer spoke. "The Toltek has arrived."
She brought the visual back online and Archer watched as the Andorian ship fired, engaging the enemy.
"Idiot!" said Mel.
"He may've just bought us some time," said Archer. Running to the nearest intercom, he jammed his finger against the button. "Transporter, I'd like you to be prepared to send people over to the Toltek as quickly as possible."
The ship rocked, targeted for another hit, and Archer found himself scrambling for something to hold onto.
"What are you doing?" asked Mel.
Archer turned, eyes glaring. "We're not going to make it out of here. I want to abandon ship."
The Bridge became quiet as the Transporter Engineer affirmed the order. As Archer was about to stride back over to the science officer, Mel caught his arm.
"I know you're the hero of the Expanse and that you've gotten out of a few tight scrapes, but--?"
The ship, as if to answer her question, buckled and the Comm Officer reported heavy casualties to Engineering. A console next to security blew and another barrage of weapons fire hit their ship.
"We don't have a lot of time, Captain," he said.
On screen, the Toltek was taking some fire, but was able to dodge some of it. Thames was a beautiful ship, but a big hulking one – difficult to maneuver quickly and without enough hull plating to ward off real damage. Toltek was sleek and speedy, like most Andorian ships, but could travel at speed in excess of warp 9.
Another battery hit Thames and her science officer was knocked out of her seat as the Comm Officer continued to report casualties.
"You know it's the right thing to do," he said. "We can't out run them, we can't out fight them and I'd rather blow up this vessel than surrender. I don't want them to have Starfleet technology."
"We could contact the Vulcans below," she said.
"For what purpose? They didn't have a ship with them."
Mel frowned and her chocolate eyes glistened for a second. Voice hardened, she gave the order. "First Officer Dannon, I'd like you to begin coordinating personnel off the Thames. Make a priority for the delegates, Excelsior crew and Dr. Collins."
The man at communications nodded and began typing in information as well as talking into the intercom with various instructions on the order of evacuation. The last name he gave for transport was Captain Vega's.
Archer turned his head. "Captain Vega and I will leave together."
She said, "An admiral isn't supposed to go down on an away team mission, nor is he supposed to go down with a ship."
"You're under my command…."
Realization hit her eyes and despite the trying circumstances and yelling at him only fifteen minutes prior, she grabbed her hand around his bicep.
"Boy Scout."
"What?"
"You asked me which was more true: son-of-a-bitch or Boy Scout. Boy Scout."
"Didn't seem to think so less than thirty minutes ago," he said.
Shaking her head, a smile came over her lips. "Now, let's get my people off this ship."
---
It took only a few hours for Skon to secure something and as soon as nine o'clock arrived, he arranged to rent it out for the next few months, including showing up that day.
In between Skon relaying information that he'd secured a location to meet were images of Archer – having a phase pistol pointed at him and being on a ship that was under constant fire. A woman, around 40-years old, was at his side constantly and for an instant T'Pol could swear she felt a kinship building between them; he thought she was tiny and attractive and she believed that every time this woman turned her eyes to Archer, he smirked.
After telling herself, several times, that such a thought was preposterous, she rubbed at her temples and joined Skon.
"I already contacted Ambassador Shran and asked him to accompany us with his aide."
"Very well," she said.
"He should be meeting us within the hour."
"Then allow me to gather my robes." As she slipped then on, sticking the IDIC pin to her wardrobe, she couldn't help but feel uneasy. It wasn't the meetings, they were vital and happened on a daily basis – even inside Gral's hospital room. This was more worrisome, and she couldn't pinpoint the source of her apprehension. Rather than bring it up to her aide, mostly because she wasn't sure how she could combat it, she furrowed her brow and attempted to reign in her thoughts.
The time came when they gathered in the lobby of her hotel, leading to a back room, which Skon indicated met the basic security protocol Captain Reed had given him. As T'Pol took her seat in the small, dark chamber, she waited for Shran to arrive. Instead of being patient, she could feel her foot tap as if anxious about the arrival and what would happen. Late, as usual, the Andorian showed up with Tares.
As the tall, blue woman entered the facility, T'Pol couldn't help but think how much like Talas she looked. When the Vulcan struggled for speech, Shran took it as an opportunity to introduce his aide.
"This is Tares."
"Greetings," said T'Pol.
Skon held his hand up in the shape of a "V" and welcomed her. "Greetings, Tares. My name is Skon."
Ambassador Shran stuck out his hand. "I'm Thy'lek Shran of Andoria. You're helping a great woman … even if she's a Vulcan."
Skon raised an eyebrow at the blue forearm and stared back at the Andorian.
"That's alright, Skull. I understand your idiosyncrasies about touching. I've known T'Pol long enough to at least accept it."
T'Pol remained quiet.
"My name is not Skull, it's--"
Shran interrupted. "Tares, why don't you tell T'Pol about your conversation."
The woman, her chest squashed into a tight-fitting leather vest, leaned over in front of the Andorian – blue flesh pushing out – as his antennae poked forward. Putting her elbows on the table, she spoke.
"I talked with the Coridans. I have an acquaintance who used to be part of the rebellion; his name is Kazar. Although he didn't sound enthusiastic, the conversation was promising. He agreed to meet with us next week."
T'Pol nodded. "It's progress."
Shran's smile beamed on his aide. "It sure is."
"And what about the Ithanites?" asked Skon.
"No word," said T'Pol. "Gral indicated he would try contacting them again today."
"Ambassador T'Pol asked me to put together a list of species Enterprise favorably encountered during their ten-year mission. The list is short, however--"
Shran said, "Get on with it, Scorn."
"Skon."
Waving, the Andorian male gestured for him to hurry as Skon held the PADD in front of him and began reading from it. A screen full of names were read, including the Vissians, whom T'Pol wasn't certain had a good experience with Enterprise. After every species either Shran or T'Pol dismissed them summarily, indicating they wouldn't help (either because they were a pacifist or hated one of the allies) or couldn't help (like the Akaali civilization). In the end they were left with the same names which they'd tried desperately contacting.
Tares smiled. "What about Andorians' allies?"
Shran narrowed his eyes. "You aren't suggesting the Cardassians?"
T'Pol's eyebrow quipped; they were the most violent race the Vulcans had ever witnessed.
Tares shook her head. "No, the Deltan."
Shran's face illuminated into a smile. "They do have lovely women."
Skon said, "Ambassador Shran, surely we need more than aesthetics to win the war."
"Scab, the Deltans also have technology on their side."
"That is Skon, Ambassador. And I realize their technology, however--"
T'Pol shook her head and stood to pace, something that was unlike her. After walking ten steps ahead she turned and headed in he opposite direction.
She said, "The Denobulans …. We know one who is in good stead with his people. Perhaps Phlox can speak for his race--"
"It was Xemax who turned out to be a spy. I would think the Denobulans are cleaning house at this very moment," said Shran.
"Ambassador T'Pol has a point," said Tares. "It makes sense to exhaust our contacts first."
Skon agreed. "Ambassador T'Pol's hypothesis seems correct."
Shran nodded his head, his antennae bobbing along. "Then T'Pol should speak with Phlox. None of us have sway with the doctor like she does."
T'Pol agreed. "I would be honored. I think he has--"
Suddenly, the room spun – images blurring and coming into focus intermittently and she grabbed her head. Screaming, loud and drowning out all other noise, rang through her ears deafening her and sinking her to her knees. Images of ships crashing into solid rock, trees and earth captured her mind. Gasping for breath, she realized there was none to take – her lungs choked with smoke – fire was everywhere and crept closer to her every second. Heat, like fire, licked at her limbs and almost as if her head crashed against a metal object she felt herself black out as she reached out to a ghost-like figure.
"T'Pol!" shouted Shran. The last thing T'Pol remembered was the Andorian and Skon rushing to her side.
---
Archer watched the helm, giving Captain Vega status reports, as systems across the Thames failed. Lights, life support, hull plating, nearly every system was gone. Even the comm rang with static, barely operational. Vega had given the order to abandon ship and luckily, the two watched as every crew member and ship fleeing the broken Thames fled to the Toltek – a ship that had taken heavy damage, but was about to outrun the Romulans.
Vega turned to her Science Officer, Sarah Reynolds, who was also acting as Comm. "You got the last of the personnel off this vessel?"
"Dannon indicated they are aboard the Toltek," she said.
"I'm sorry you're dying with us, Sarah," said Vega. "Admiral, with your permission, I'd like to start destruction sequence Charlie-Tango-1."
Archer gave a nod, a grimace on his face, as he entered the information into the control in front of him. As the last digit was typed, an alarm sounded – a noise that reminded him of old submarine movies – echoing through an empty ship.
"Self destruction in thirty minutes," said an omnipotent voice – the computer, counting down the time needed to destroy itself.
The science officer looked up. "Ma'am, I'm getting a hail from the Toltek, they're having engine trouble."
Archer and Vega stared at each other, and then Jon's voice rang over the comm. "Commander Ranol, I don't care what you have to do – get your people out of here!"
Garbled, Ranol spoke back. "Sir, the last blast took out our engines. I have men working on it, but--"
"Dump everything except the kitchen sink to get that ship going!"
"Wish … could, Admiral, but … engineers estimate … fifteen minutes to repair."
Although the comm link was weakening, Archer got the point. Turning to Vega, Archer put his hand on the throttle. "Maybe the last effort we have is to drive into the heart of their attack pattern."
The captain sat in her chair. "Admiral--"
He sighed. "Submit a surrender notice to the Romulans. When they come aboard, as we approach their ships, let's destroy her."
"We'd have to set the destruction timer for just a few seconds."
Archer agreed. "Sarah, can you get started?"
"Yes, sir."
He nodded. "Good."
When the science officer left to talk with the only engineer left on the ship, Vega turned to him as he calculated exactly what needed to happen for most of the ships to be destroyed.
"We could try and transport off the ship onto the planet as the Romulans arrive here."
"It'd take someone at the transporter controls."
"I am the captain," she said. "I have five years serving in security, which means a lot of training on them."
"You may have five years, but the man who created the transporter was a family friend."
She sighed. "Sir, you don't always have to play the hero."
"No, meant, I think I know a way we can leave together. We can jury-rig the transporter controls so that we can beam down at the same time." He smiled. "The creator showed me how to do it when I was a kid. It's how he was able to send himself through the device."
Vega smiled. "Then let's see what we can do, Admiral."
He nodded and then took off for the Transporter Room to make last minute tweaks. After bragging about Emory showing him how to create a remote transporting option, he wasn't sure he could remember. Unable almost to focus, he kept thinking about T'Pol, especially since he felt the end was near; making it off Thames was a long shot.
It was wonderful while it lasted.
A smile came to his lips as he unscrewed a metal plate from the transporter control and began to work. Kissing her mouth, tasting it, was warmer than he ever could've imagined; her lips were the flavor of the desert itself – hot, refreshing like a breeze and spicy like cinnamon, vanilla and nutmeg, unique to her planet. Her eyes, copper-colored, watched him almost wide and innocent any time he held her to him, including their last night together….
"Admiral, how's it coming?" asked Vega.
Coughing, trying to shoo the memories away, he set her at ease with a small fib. "Fine. Only three more minutes." It was more like five, but he figured he'd scramble faster.
"I sent our possible surrender to the Romulans minute ago. I didn't receive a confirmation."
"Did you tell them an admiral and a captain was aboard?" he asked.
"I did."
"Then we have a chance."
"I set the coordinates to drive our ship into the heart of their fleet, sir."
The smile forming on his lips was faint. "Any news from the Toltek."
"They still don't have engines."
"We're going to be cutting it close," he said. The comment was to no one in particular, but Vega answered.
"Yes, we are."
"When I get this rigged, let's send your science office and engineer to the Toltek."
"You're concerned something will go wrong?" she asked.
Always am. "I want to make sure they get out of here."
After both shut off the comm, he frantically worked to cross wires as he'd seen Emory do so often before. And with the precision of a scientist, he was able to adjust everything within his time estimate, testing a stray spanner before leaving his work. Once he got the Bridge, Vega ordered the two remaining crewmen off the ship and within an instant the Toltek vanished into space.
A transmission came over the audio and Archer patched it to be heard overhead. The words were said in Terran.
"Prepare to be boarded."
Archer transmitted the protocols to the Romulans and waited. Vega crossed to the helm to start the destruction sequence and moaned as it sputtered unable to comply with her request. After entering it four times, and running a diagnostic, she gave an exasperated shout.
"We just lost central control," she said. "It'll take a while to get it back."
Archer left the comm station and went directly to the science station. "We did lose central control."
"We could go to Engineering and blow this vessel up," she said.
The procedure would take twenty minutes; too much time. An alarm rang overhead and an automated response of a flashing red signal appeared over the Bridge door.
Archer scowled. "Intruders."
"The Romulans," she said.
"Seal off the Bridge," he said.
With determination, she got to the turbolift and began fiddling with the door lock to keep the Bridge under their control while Archer ensured that Engineering was shut out of the main power supply. Just as Vega completed her task, she heard pounding on the other side. Fear bubbled in her eyes and Archer decided to make a command decision.
"We're taking Thames to the planet," he said.
"What?"
"We're going to crash her." It was the only way to destroy her now.
When she was about to go to the helm and follow out her last orders, she heard him come up behind her.
"Why don't I take the wheel, Captain. This is your ship. You should give the final command."
Twinkling, her gaze held his. "All right. Give me your best speed, Admiral Archer."
"My name is Jon."
She smiled broader. "All right, Jon."
She asked for speed, but there was none to give; the engines were dead in the water – not even impulse existed, but in leaving the atmosphere, they needed no additional speed; gravity would suck them to the planet quickly, hurling them through space. Chances were good that the impact alone would destroy the ship. And with that, he gripped the steering column and let the ship fall from its orbit to stream down to a planet – the one that rescued the diplomats.
The captain crossed, putting their descent on view screen and Archer marveled at how fast they were beginning to plummet. As the altimeter spun – whizzing numbers by, one after another – he held consciousness and he was pleased to see Mel did the same; during the Academy half the class usually passed out during rapid descent like this.
When the ship reached the atmosphere, the heat rose significantly – as they saw flames ignite transforming them into a fireball. The few sensors that remained functional whined and complained under the extraordinary heat, and the ship groaned, buckling under the temperature. Sweat dripped down Archer's temple and he could feel perspiration pooling under his arms and at his upper and lower back.
"Impact in ten point five minutes."
He turned to see that she was covered in sweat as well – long, damp hair clinging to her face.
"If we don't make it out," said Archer, "well … it's been a pleasure knowing you."
They could see the ground from the view screen - trees morphed from nothingness to specks and mountains rose quickly into the foreground. Trickles of blue became rivers vast and wide. Time sped and quickly the specks of trees became objects as Thames was about to smack against them.
"Thanks for staying with the ship," she said.
And then suddenly they hit the earth – hard. The ship stuttered from the force and then plowed into the planet again, kicking up dust, dirt and debris in their wake. After the force smashed his head against the panel in front of him, it hurled him from helm– legs over head – smashing him against the ground and causing a warm trickle to cascade down his face. He saw Mel also jolted from her seat, but the force of the chair in front, the one at helm that he used to occupy, stopped her. She wheezed from the force against her breadbasket.
A bang claimed the lower deck, sending ripples through the ship; Archer guessed Engineering was being engulfed by flame. Metal snapped and equipment exploded around the Bridge until fire began to consume consoles, wire and metal, crackling as it ate the fuel. Another more ominous boom ripped through the ship and the concussion of the sound blew the door from the turbolift zooming toward the view screen as Archer ducked just in time. The crash of the metal sent sparks flying in all directions. One burned his cheek.
Any second now, Archer thought, the reactor will blow.
Steel and wires dangled and then tumbled down around him, grazing his temple. As he struggled to sit, Mel shot to her feet and typed in a few commands on the board behind him. A mechanical voice, garbled, sounded overhead.
"Destruct sequence in ten minutes."
"Admiral, stay with me," said Mel. "Jon!"
He gave a nod, but doing so made his head throb with pain and the blood flowing down his face grow thicker. Wiping a hand across his mouth, he noticed blood and wondered whether he'd bit his lip. And then he recognized a feeling: pain. Blazing across his temples and smashing into his arm, the pain ripped him of his thoughts. It loosened a moan.
Mel, took the phase pistol from her belt and walked over to Archer to cover him with her body before shooting at the ceiling. A few shards fell around them, one struck her cheek and he noticed one larger piece tore into his leg. A hole peered into the nighttime sky – one just on the verge of dawn.
"Jon, I need you to stand."
Attempting to gather at his feet, he felt dizzy and nearly lost consciousness. "I don't think I can," he slurred. Beginning to numb to the pain, he felt his thoughts drift to the first time he stepped on Enterprise.
Is this Enterprise? "I have to get the crew off this ship," he said.
"Get up!" she said. When he struggled without result, he felt her tower over him. "Don't you back down on me."
And before he knew it, the 5'1" woman dragged his form up and somehow he made it onto his feet.
"Stand on this console," she said.
She pointed to the helm, her hand holding a small box, and his stomach turned that there was blood covering the station. It must be Mayweather's.
"Where's Travis?" he asked. "Is he hurt?"
Although Mel frowned, she nodded. "Your crew needs you to get out of here."
He pushed his weary body to the board and staggered as he tried to hoist himself on it. When he'd managed to barely make it to his feet, Mel got next to him – the fire raging around them – and climbed on him to reach the ceiling. Grabbing the dome – she lifted herself up with a yell as if to demand her muscles to bring her up. Immediately on escape, she turned to Archer.
"Give me your hand."
"Did we clear everyone out of Engineering? Is Trip okay?"
"Jon, give me your hand."
Suddenly, his thoughts clearing he shook his head, tasting blood. "I don't think you're strong enough to--"
"Damnit, give me your hand!"
Barely able to lift his arm, he felt himself black out – pain encompassing him from the heat of the Bridge and the head wound.
TBC