Melanie Vega got ready for work and then wandered the corridors from her room, one after another, heading to the Captain's Mess. With each step, the emotion she felt most keenly was worry. Worry that at 1000 hours, she would receive the scheduled call from Starfleet – one that Admiral Gardner had already arranged – to give orders that would probably send them to Romulus. Worry that after three days at dead stop, her crew was growing lax. Worry that during the call, Admiral Gardner would ask for Admiral Archer and that she would have to explain that Admiral Archer was still ... indisposed. Worry that they'd have to follow Gardner's orders without Archer.
It didn't bode well.
She made a mental check to ask Phlox, after breakfast, to drag the admiral out of the Vulcan mating fever using whatever means possible. They needed him operating at 100 capacity. Although she cared about her friend, Panama's crew was counting on him and so were the allies in the war.
The war is going so poorly – a defeat now might be Earth's doom.
Rounding the final corner, she headed into the Mess Hall and greeted her crew before making her way into her own private dining room. The moment she set foot onto the gray carpet, she stopped in her tracks. Admiral Archer was already seated at the table – a little worse for wear – nibbing on a piece of toast.
"Good morning," he said. "I hope you don't mind I nabbed something to munch on."
Warily, she continued into the room and sat the chair next to him. "Good morning."
He smiled. "This steward heard I liked bread and brought this out."
Under normal circumstances, she would've joined in on his merriment. Now she couldn't.
"I read over many of the reports this morning, trying to catch up and --" he began as if nothing had happened.
"Admiral?" she asked. Although she was relieved he wouldn't be indisposed for Starfleet's call at 1000 hours, she still held onto worry.
"Yes?"
A few days of confusion and frustration finally exploded. She'd given him a lot of leeway – letting him drop bombs about being married (even with Captain Stiles in the room), wander around the halls in a daze with bruises scattered over his skin and hole himself up.
She sighed. "What in the hell is going on? Are you better? Can we count on you?"
Instead of letting the smile drift from his face, Admiral Archer kept it there. Silently, he wiped his napkin across his lips as if to collect any stray crumbs and then slowly tossed it back into his lap.
Before he could answer, she continued. "I mean, T'Var – not that I've seen her in a few days – told me you and Ambassador T'Pol are in some sort of mating fever and Phlox explained it, but ... And then I see you covered in bruises and wonder if you're in any condition to help--"
As if her friend had completely returned, a hand drifted up to stop her. Calmly, almost Vulcanlike, he began.
"I promised T'Pol I wouldn't talk the Vulcan mating cycle."
Vega said, "I'm not interested in that, I want to know--"
"But I want to answer as many of your questions as I can. T'Pol and I are linked and this bond is like a marriage," he said. Mel knitted her brows and he responded, expounding. "By participating in the mating cycle with her and sharing a bond, I now feel her every thought. To Vulcans, this intimacy is marriage. We're just missing the formal ceremony."
He went on to describe the bond – like having someone's thoughts always and immediately available and accessible; no secrets could be hidden. At first, he admitted the idea of them sharing every mind murmur frightened him, but soon he found it comforting. Because T'Pol knew him entirely – his every action and reaction – he said she had context for his feelings. More over, through the bond, he described being able to discern her feelings – something he confessed he sometimes didn't understand. For months, he told Mel, he assumed she didn't want to marry because she did not want him. With their every notion shared, he realized though Vulcan she'd loved him. It had been part of the reason she had nearly sacrificed herself to save him from death when he'd crash landed on the planet many months ago.
Mel didn't quite grasp the details, but she understood the theory.
"Soulmates."
"In a way, yes. It's unification," he finally said. "It's going to sound corny, but we complete each other. We're ... one."
Melanie gaged Jon had been right – that she wouldn't be able to fully understand, but his attempt made her feel better.
"As for how I'm feeling," he said, "I feel as normal as I did before this began." And then he took a sip of his orange juice.
"Panama can count on you?" she asked.
Leaning in, his countenance serious, he nodded. "I'd let you know if I was unfit for command. I know what we're up against."
Cocking her head to the side, she noted he did indeed sound like his old self.
"I'm expecting orders from Gardner at ten hundred hours," she told him.
Jon nodded. "I remember."
Relieved, she decided to address an earlier comment he made. "Are you going to have a formal ceremony?" she asked. "I get the impression you won't have a lot of time."
"Not now. T'Pol needs to get to Vulcan. She wants to establish additional council membership and Ambassadors Gral and Shran are counting on her. And I need to focus on this ship, our fleet and the war."
His smile grew. "Besides, she's always with me," he said, pointing to his head. "In here."
"Still," she said.
"Mel, I'm not just being figurative," he said. As his mouth opened to provide more details, a hail came in.
Melanie quickly stood and headed over to the box, punching the button. "Captain Vega."
"Transmission coming in," said the beta shift communications officer. "It's from Admiral Gardner."
"I'll be in my Ready Room in five," she said. "Transfer it there."
"Aye," she heard.
When her hand moved from the button, she looked over at Jon.
"I thought you said Admiral Gardner was contacting us at ten hundred hours?" he asked.
"That's right," she said.
The worry began to creep back into her brain. As if to acknowledge her concern, Jon frowned for the first time during their meeting.
"Can't be good news," he said.
With that, the two ended their breakfast before it started and ran down hallways to get to the Ready Room for further orders.
--
Gral got home near midnight after a night on the town with Shran. As he stumbled into his condo off Union Square in the fashionable part of the city – a place he detested – his snout twitched. His nostrils detected Sixth Meal waiting for him – pork with red sauce dribbled onto it – prepared by Martog.
The Tellar female, his spouse, fluffed the apron around her middle and greeted him at the door. Immediately they rubbed snouts, with passion.
"You didn't have to put yourself out," said Gral.
Sharing in the argument, his wife cooed. "I never put myself out for you."
Then without any more banter between them, they headed to their plates to enjoy the food. Both hunched over their pork eating with their slender fingers, the two remained silent, typical for Tellarites (a species that reveled in the process of eating). Yet, during Sixth Meal instead of finishing his meal, Gral poked at the meat with a grunt.
"I am no fan of farm-raised pig either," said Martog. "But I thought at least preparing it in its own blood would please you."
Gral stroked his beard unwilling to disagree with his wife. "Your style is as good as can be expected for animals not hunted."
"Then something is troubling you," she said, putting down the slab of meat.
Pushing his plate back, Gral folded his long fingers across his belly.
"The Andorian government has recalled Blue ... Shran," he said.
"Is that possible?" asked Martog.
"These days it seems anything is possible." Pausing only to stifle his anger, he eventually continued. "Shran didn't say how long he has left here, but ... I do not think it is long."
"Who would replace him?"
"Tares."
"The tall Andorian female?"
"That's her."
"The one you said he wanted to mount?"
"He did at one point, yes."
She considered the information for a moment and pursed her lips, smeared heavily with human lipstick.
"Maybe you should suggest negotiations begin with Tares then," said Martog.
Gral squealed. "Don't you understand, woman? Shran is a superior diplomat. Ki'ar would never have agreed to take the treaty to his people if it had not been for the Andorian from the Imperial Guard."
"Ki'ar likes women and--"
Gral pounded his fist on the table, nearly making Martog spill the wine she swilled.
"Tares is not like other Andorian woman. Although she is strong physically, she does not have the ragnok of Shran. Ambassador Simon and Aide Staron need a firm grip on their hides. Blue can help me do that."
Martog seemed sympathetic, but shook her head. "You cannot change the general of Andoria's mind. Maybe Shran can talk with him."
"I believe he has tried."
"Then it seems pointless."
"It's never pointless!" Gral scooted away from the table before standing, a snort on his lips. "I can contact Tyr."
"Tyr is a Tellarite, not an Andorian," she said.
"I know," he growled.
"Our people still don't trust the blue demons."
"And yet ... I must try. For Blue." Pointing a skinny finger into the air, he pontificated. "I am an ambassador from Tellar. I have attended the finest schools for argument known to Tellarites."
Martog seemed to wait with baited breath.
Gral shouted, "I will give Tyr the argument of a lifetime!"
Instantly, as if he could not be swayed, he marched into his den and before closing the door yelled to her.
"Bring me water, my pet. I will be in here some time," he said.
--
It was a bleak day in San Francisco, rainy and foggy. Usually the weather like that cheered Shran up because it reminded him of his ice home. Today, it annoyed him. Grumbling from one morning activity to another, he eventually got dressed and headed over to the meeting location the council had been using.
Shran arrived only to find Ambassador Neville Simon, the annoying representative for Earth, loudly sipping a cup of coffee. The skinny bald man peered at his PADD with a crooked smile, thumbing through information. If Shran didn't know any better, he'd guess that stick-in-the-mud ambassador was enjoying himself reading whatever was at his disposal.
Antennae drooping at the thought of spending time along with the tarpig, Shran slid into the seat next to the ambassador.
"Gral's wife contacted me. The Tellarite will be late," said Shran.
"Staron had other matters to attend to this morning as well." Neville hesitated. "It appears the Vulcan ambassador had not arrived on Vulcan at her scheduled time."
Immediately the Andorian straightened.
Neville said, "I have heard that she rendezvoused with the Panama – the ship Admiral Archer is on."
One antennae managed to poke into the air as a sly grin slid across the blue man's face.
"Probably looking for another opportunity to get tyla-tora with the Pink Skin."
Ambassador Simon scratched his bald head. "Tyla-tora?"
Shran rolled his eyes, a human habit. "Mate."
Simon raised his eyebrows only slightly and then removed his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt.
"Actually, my sources indicate that was exactly what happened," said the human, nonchalantly. "Admiral Archer and Ambassador T'Pol are putting the war in danger to continue their liaison – one they denied many months ago to everyone at the council."
"Keep your skin on," said Shran – certain he'd gotten the metaphor right. "What happened between the admiral and ambassador is recent. Trust me, I know."
In fact, the blue man believed their union had been only too recent. If Shran had his druthers, the pair would've been tyla-tora the night of his reception.
Shran said, "Besides I know the Pink Skin. He wouldn't sacrifice the war to mate."
"Captain Stiles told he would," he said. "He told me that he and the Vulcan ambassador or married."
Then a baby cannot be far behind, thought Shran with a smile.
"You may find it amusing, but as the Earth ambassador, I find the news disturbing."
"Why?"
"We cannot have the Vulcans know our military secrets."
The Andorian understood that part, but knew T'Pol could be trusted. "T'Pol used to work for Starfleet."
"She changed her allegiance to Vulcan."
"I think if she's married, her allegiance is with Archer," said Shran.
"I'm not convinced," said Neville.
And then a notion occurred to the Andorian. Neville had mentioned a name that sounded familiar, like one of the humans assigned to a ship carrying delegates who wanted to reason with Romulans. It was the ship that was destroyed with few making it back ... including Ambassador Neville Simon.
"Stiles?" he asked to be sure.
Neville nodded. "He's in the fleet with Admiral Archer and a personal friend."
"Sounds like he betrayed Archer to me," said Shran under his breath.
Simon waved off the attack and then sat back, placing the glasses back on his pointy head.
"I'm actually glad I have you alone. I wanted to discuss the dilithium crystals," he said. "Admiral Gardner is ready to partner on your war vessel."
Shran immediately frowned, slumping in his chair. "I think we should end our secret dealings and bring the Vulcans and Tellarites into this. It feels dishonest to continue without them. We're all allies."
Neville shook his head. "The Vulcans and Tellarites would deal with each other behind our backs. We're merely guarding our planet's protection."
"Protecting our planets from our allies?"
"I've heard Klingons have a saying – whoever you sleep with tonight will be fighting you tomorrow," said Simon.
Shran smirked. "That's not exactly how it goes. 'Whichever female is pleasing you in bed tonight will be drawing her blade against you tomorrow.'" The blue man grinned more. "And it's meant as a warning not to sleep with strangers. I believe one of their early civil wars started that way."
Letting his mind drift to Klingon females, he wasn't sure why a Klingon male would want one pleasing him anyway. Female Klingons typically had facial hair, voices deeper than a slar's growl and were as argumentative as Tellarites.
Neville Simon huffed. "No matter. We need to protect our planets. Obviously General Krag agrees and you've already spoken to Admiral Gardner regarding this."
The Andorian grumbled. "Yes."
"We'd like to see the warship completed as soon as possible."
"If we brought the others in--"
"I am not yet prepared to bring the others in." Grabbing his PADD, Neville handed it to Shran. "These are the names of our scientists who can begin working on this. We're making this a top priority."
"I believe the Tellarites know," said Shran.
"You told Gral?"
"No." Quietly, he admitted, "I wanted to."
Simon shook his head. "Gardner also said you might be replaced by Tares. Is this true?"
His antennae squirmed. "It is not decided," he lied.
"I want you to set up a meeting between us as soon as possible."
Narrowing his eyes, his antennae leaned forward. "You can handle your own schedule."
"You are the ambassador for Andoria – you should arrange it."
"Arrange it yourself," said Shran. "I am Andorian. Just because my people are coordinating with you on the dilithium doesn't mean you own me. I'm not in your pants pocket."
"I think you mean back pocket."
Shran's antennae stiffened. "Whatever. You contact Tares."
"You have a lot of animosity in you," said Neville. "Maybe Tares will be more amenable."
Feeling dark blue tinge his cheeks, he watched the Earthling. "You hired a spy to work under you – someone in league with the Romulans."
"We were all duped."
"No one's as big of a dupe as you," he said. "You led delegates to their death trying to negotiate a peace treaty with Romulans."
"We had to try."
Shran sneered. "I warned you. Gral warned you. Archer warned you. T'Pol warned you. You just refused to listen. You must have der in your antennae ... uhm, ears!"
"In our short time working together, I've found you extremely uncooperative. In addition, your devotion to Archer, Ambassador T'Pol and Ambassador Gral hinders your ability to do your job. Krag was right to replace you. I'm asking Gardner to recommend you are dismissed as soon as possible."
Knocking his chair over, Shran's hand instinctively went to his blade. "You're about the biggest tarpig any Andorian has ever had to suffer. Earth did themselves a disservice when they instated such a scrawny, know-nothing human like yourself to represent them."
"Coming from a gem thief, I find that particularly rich."
Suddenly, Shran's blade came free – the light shining on it. The Andorian felt the thrill of the fight spark in his blood, like when he donned his black leathers to war against the Vulcans as a commander of an army. Blood thickened in his veins as he thought about those olden times, when led his troops to free the planet Andoria – the queen herself – rightfully claimed. The hint of a smile touched his face.
It had been a long time since he had killed. No pang of guilt would fester in his stomach if he were to end Neville Simon's life here and now – red blood spilling on the floor of the room they used to discuss alliances. Earth would indeed be better off without him.
"Go ahead," said Neville. A glint formed in the bald man's eye and as Shran felt his hand yearn to strike out, he instead holstered his weapon.
"You want to fight," said Shran, suspicious.
"You're out of your blue mind," said Neville.
With that the skinny man left.
When the door closed, Shran sank into the chair he occupied. "Why start a fight?"
I wish Gral were here. The Andorian would discuss the exchange with him, leaving out information about the clandestine agreement over the dilithium, to determine what advantage Simon was looking for.
Shran knew something was amiss.
--
Archer and Vega arrived in the Ready Room quickly, the two of them running down halls. Jon knew what awaited him were orders – information finally on what Starfleet expected after a three-day delay ... even if the information was sooner than they'd expected. Melanie ran to her desk and immediately jabbed the button to display Admiral Matt Gardner's face on the screen before them.
"You're both here," he said. And then he did a double take. "Jon?"
"Long story," he said in response. "I'll explain later."
Matt didn't seem to appreciate that information, but for the time being left it alone. His jaw clenched. "A few minutes ago, the Shirka – a Vulcan ship – indicated a fleet of Orion and Romulan ships were on an intercept course with your fleet."
Melanie stood.
"A fleet?" asked Jon. "How many?"
"We don't know," said Matt. "We've calculated they should reach you by thirteen hundred."
"We could try to outrun them," said Melanie. "From intelligence we have faster ships than the Romulans."
"But not the Orions," said Archer.
"We've sent reinforcements to meet you, but we're not sure if they'll reach you in time," said Gardner, heaping on bad news. "We're anticipating they'll be there at seventeen hundred."
"That'll be too late," said Melanie.
Archer, his voice strained, said, "We have he Vulcan ambassador and her aide aboard."
Gardner nodded. "Minster T'Pau is not pleased with these circumstances, but for some reason hasn't raised the ruckus I expected her to. Panama is ordered to protect the ambassador."
"Of course. Understood," said Melanie. "Is there anything else you can tell us?"
"We have very little data." Matt frowned. "The information that our enemy is headed to you was the last transmission the Shirka ever released. The ship was destroyed."
"We may've lost our element of surprise," said Melanie. "If we were going to be ordered to attack Romulus."
Archer felt his stomach churn – his own reaction to everything Matt said as well as T'Pol's. "Maybe the Romulans anticipated we'd be heading to Romulus and sent a fleet to meet us."
"You mean someone tipped off the Romulans?" asked Melanie.
Matt agreed, "I've already sent a head's up to our President. We'll get to the bottom of things. In the meantime, I expect to hear from you the moment you engage the enemy."
As soon as the screen went black, Melanie ordered tactical alert.
Soon the ship's alarm sounded and Archer felt T'Pol in his mind. Out of habit, he spoke the words aloud. "Stay in my room. Gardner believes we're going to come under attack." And as much as he hated thinking about Skon, he knew the aide was also under Panama's protection. This time he projected a message to his bondmate. "Ask Skon into the room, too."
Melanie looked back at him. "What?"
He shook his head, concentrating on T'Pol.
"Be careful," Jon heard in his mind and then turned his attention to Melanie.
"Captain Vega, inform the other ships to man long-range sensors around the clock. Maybe someone will slip up on one of their ships and decloak long enough for us to pinpoint them."
Mel agreed. "Yes, sir."
Before she headed off to follow his order, Archer stopped her. "You know if one of the ships is destroyed the nuclear arsenal its carrying ignites."
The captain's face turned long. "I know."
"If we're going to protect Ambassador T'Pol and her aide, we need to be as far away as possible from that explosion."
"What do you suggest?" she asked. "We send the other ships in to fight without us?"
He sighed. "I don't like it any better than you, but I'm not sure we have a choice. If the ambassador to Vulcan dies--"
"I think you have a conflict of interest," she said. The word were said softly, as if reminding him of his duty, but with sympathy.
Narrowing his eyes, he watched her. "You heard Admiral Gardner."
"Jon, if T'Pol does die, Minister T'Pau will find someone else – just like our president managed to get someone to replace you as ambassador."
"Gardner said she's needs to be protected."
"I'm taking Panama in," she said. "I'll ask our helm to have the foot on the gas to get the hell out of there in case things get dire."
The admiral realized he'd already walked up to her to stand over her, looming. "We've argued about orders before and every time I've been right. I'm telling you, to follow--"
Quietly, she interrupted. "You know it's not right to let them face the Romulans and Orions alone. Think about it."
As Jon was about to answer, a response formed deep within his mind and then echoed in his heart.
She's right. Putting a hand to his forehead, he nodded. "I'm glad Travis is at the wheel. We'll need him to act with catlike reflexes to get everyone on Panama out alive."
Melanie nodded and then left to relay orders to her crew as Jon made his way to the command center. When the door closed, Archer thought about everything over the past few weeks. Their journey, long and arduous, all boiled down to dying in a nuclear reaction caused from their own weapons.
Archer didn't mind his own demise. When he was assigned to this mission, and every mission before it, he assumed it was an eventuality that his end would come to pass. What seemed wrong was that T'Pol was shackled to his fate. The Vulcan was younger than middle age and had nearly a lifetime before her. More over, she was desperately needed by the council; Gral and Shran weren't as level-headed or logical.
It angered him that she had to share his doomed destiny.
Suddenly his mind rang out. I will share your destiny. By your side.
"No," he said. "You'll be safer nestled in the bulkheads."
The words were futile. In his mind's eye, T'Pol contacted Skon telling him to enter the safety of his room and then made her way through the maze of hallways. With nearly every step, Archer warned, asked, told and then begged her not to join him. Just as he bowed his head, pleading with her one last time to listen to him, he heard the door swish open.
"Despite my vestiges of diplomacy, I'm not helpless. In fact, I used to be your first officer," she said.
"T'Pol--"
"Used to be your first officer. Fortunately, I don't take orders from you now, Admiral."
"You still have the remnants of your fever," he told her.
Ignoring his words, she looked over at a map and contemplated it.
"You're not listening to me," he said. "You're not entirely well and you're the ambassador of your people. If something happens to you, Staron will probably take over for you. You don't want that. It's not what's in Vulcans best interests."
Closing in behind her as she continued to study the map, he said more. "I want you to be safe. It would help me better concentrate on the job at-hand, T'Pol."
Still she remained riveted to the map in front of her.
"T'Pol?"
Pointing to an area on the starchart, she turned back to him. "If we hide in this nebulae, it might provide us the element of surprise."
"Our sensors will be down," he said.
"And so will theirs, but in the meantime, we'll be ..."
He produced the hint of a smile. "We'll be cloaked."
"Yes," she said. A gleam in her eye, she gazed at her bondmate. "You were fortunate to have me as your first officer."
A chuckle left his lips. "Never doubted it."
"You are more fortunate to have me as a bondmate."
"I've always been damned lucky."
An eyebrow raised. "We'll need that for the approaching battle."
Losing his mirth he nodded. "Yes we will."
Leaning over the communications device, he relayed the new plan to Captain Vega. Soon after, the three discussed the details of what would need to happen before thirteen hundred when the Romulans and Orions approached.
TBC