A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you for hanging in there. Thank you for writing. Thank you for letting me know you still read it occasionally.

I humbly apologize. In the time I've had "off," I've become a new mom, quit a job, gotten another full-time job and still do all the little things around the house. I'm sure it sounds familiar to many of you.

The viewscreen lit up. Spanning across the hull of the Panama, long spindly legs in blue and green hues appeared. Each of the three ships, the Shenandoah, Constantinople and Panama, headed into the orange middle – the spider's body – until one by one, they vanished into the vapor of clouds, lost to the others in the nebula's thick soup.

Soon Panama itself was engulfed by a swirling orange mass, tickling its sides. Based on previous calculations, each of the ships agreed to head to a different quadrant of the nebula – to increase the chances of survival. Although it would be difficult to wait at specific coordinates, each of the ship captains could get close.

Captain Melanie Vega perched at Panama's center chair and ordered her ship further in. Turning, her long black hair whipping around, she licked her lips waiting for a report of the outages that came with entering the nebula – outages that signaled they would be well-hidden from the Romulans and Orions.

"Scanners are offline," reported Indigo, the woman at the science station.

Systems began to fail as lightning charged and sparked on the viewscreen, flickering with static. The strikes flashed white-hot against the rainbow clouds, lighting them up and exciting particles floating in the gas.

"All stop," Vega ordered. Then she turned to T'Var at Communications. "Open up a ship-wide announcement."

The woman who just yesterday had been assisting Skon in his "delirium" typed her long, Vulcan fingers along the console. With a single flick of her eyebrow, she signaled to Captain Vega the channel was available.

Vega started, "This is the captain. We've entered the Spider Nebula. All systems will begin powering off in the schedule planned on my mark." The captain looked over at Archer who paced in front of the viewscreen, then Ambassador T'Pol who stood nearby the science station and then to Skon who stood in the back as still as a statue. "Mark."

The science station reported systems shutting down until darkness spread over the Bridge, the faint blue light of back-ups barely enough illumination.

"Only life support, medical and navigation remain," the science officer reported. "And they seem stable."

"Thank you," Mel said.

The bridge began to cool quickly as the crew waited. The tension on the bridge was thick. Each member of the bridge crew focused on their position with laser focus … at least until Vega hear a clomping of large shoes against the deck plating. She looked up to find Admiral Archer walking from one end of the bridge to the other. His boots, Starfleet-issued, indeed clanged against the deck plating rhythmically until he turned on his toe to cross to the other side. As he turned around for the twentieth time since Mel started counting, she called up.

"Sir?"

He turned around, spinning on his heels as if eager for action. "Yes?"

"You're pacing," she complained.

"He's always done this," Travis said, a smile playing on his lips. "You sorta get used to it."

"Do you?" T'Pol asked.

Archer threw her a treacherous look to Travis and then T'Pol that led to a chuckle. "Nervous habit," Admiral Archer admitted. His foot began to edge forward until he placed his hands behind his back as if to tame the nervous energy, his hands gripping each other and releasing. "How long has it been now?"

Skon reported, "Twenty minutes and three seconds from the last time you asked." The Vulcan straightened as Archer narrowed his eyes. Skon revised his estimate, "It has now been a total of two hours and sixteen minutes since we entered the nebula."

"Well, that means we only have about two more hours or so until the Vulcans come … at least if they're punctual," Mel said.

"We can usually count on the Vulcan's punctuality," Mayweather said. His smile turned to T'Pol who seemed to agree.

"If they are not waylaid," the Vulcan ambassador said.

Arthur Westing, the Admiral's aide, also stood behind the banister and said, "This waiting is pure torture."

"Torture?" T'Var asked. "On the contrary, the fact we have yet to encounter a Romulan or Orion seems fortunate."

"Indeed. The Spider Nebulae is vast," Skon said. "However, the likelihood of a Romulan or Orion finding us, assuming they have lost a good portion of their navigation, is fifteen point five seven nine to one."

"Only fifteen to one?" the man at tactical asked.

"If you are rounding, crewman, sixteen," Skon replied.

Archer frowned at the Vulcan. "We knew the odds when we came here."

"They may've already encountered the Constantinople or the Shenandoah," Vega said, dismayed.

–

Shran awoke late, having struggled all night with what to do about Simon. It wasn't just Simon's suspicious behavior troubling Shran. He'd been called away to Andoria – to leave a place that didn't quite feel like home, but was filled with memories and friends. Tares would soon take up his duties and work daily with Gral and the Vulcan when she returned. Tallah wouldn't get a chance to even see the Pink Skin again most likely. And Shras would never know what his friends were like.

On top of his worries of leaving Earth and Simon's treachery, he'd thought about his own. He recalled how he'd purposefully hid information from members of the Council. How he'd lied to Gral and to T'Pol so that he and Archer could plan testing the use of dilithium crystals.

Truth be told, Shran figured that Archer didn't think the Andorians would complete a test ship so quickly. General Krag, the military leader of Andoria – an ambitious Thaan who reported to the Queen – seemed determined to make this alternative power his legacy.

Shran had to admit it was enticing – to be able to power a starship with a few crystals, a ship that could go faster than warp five while holding shields and firing weapons. Archer had called this secret between the Pink Skins and Andorians, one that would eventually come out, and Shran still wasn't certain why Archer would want to hide the information from T'Pol, but …. Shran had long ago given up understanding his favorite Pink Skin.

Pounding his fists on the table, as if finalizing his decisions, he pushed back his plate of cold fish and headed to the makeshift council chamber in a location that seemed better suited for what humans called strip malls.

"I don't understand why they call it a strip mall. I see nothing erotic in this area," Shran complained.

When he pushed open the door, Shran saw Neville Simon already sitting at the table with Staron and Gral and let his antennae droop. Immediately, the Tellarite looked over and snorted.

"You're late, Blue," Gral said.

Shran's antennae twisted and he sat down at the far end of the table placing his feet on the table as he'd done so many times before.

"Trouble sleeping," he grumbled.

"Oh?" Gral asked.

"I've wrestled with my conscience," Shran confessed. "And I can't decide who won."

"Conscience? I didn't know you had one," Gral teased.

Shran sighed as he'd heard the humans do so many times. "I'm serious. There have been a few things troubling me – so many that I wondered if I should come today."

"You should send your aide in then," Neville Simon indicated. "Especially since your time on Earth is short."

His mouth twisted. He'd thought about that – it had been a consideration. "She doesn't know some of what I do – what I've come here to tell you today. Besides, I'm not done here."

Simon exposed long teeth into a snarled smile. "That isn't what Gral said. He said you were being replaced by Tares."

Shran's eyes pierced the Tellarite as he looked away.

The pig-like creature said, "Shran, what Simon says make sense. Since you are being replaced, Tares should begin attending our meetings regularly … with or without you." His long spindly fingers touched Shran's leather as if to apologize.

The Andorian said, "No."

"You are being illogical," Staron claimed. "Our main goal is to secure through diplomatic -"

"Oh put a spork in it," Shran complained. "I know one or both of you are spies."

"Not this again," Gral groaned.

"Spies?" Simon asked.

"Don't make that claim here, Blue. It's unwelcome," Gral warned.

Shran, defiant, wiggled his antennae in frustration. "Simon, I think you and Staron are spies. I can't prove it, but -"

"You believe me to be a spy?" Simon asked.

Gral pounded his fist on the table. "Ratnig! I told you not to bring up your comments."

Shran pointed a blue finger at Simon while turning to his Tellarite friend. "Just the other day, you dared me to hit you."

Simon's lips twisted into a frown. "I recall you threatening me."

Shran scoffed, "You know I could easily kill you, Pink Skin. I've been a member of the Imperial Guard."

"You were … before you were kicked out in disgrace," Simon said.

Shran put a hand to his blade as Gral stood. The Tellarite shouted, "Enough!"

"Not enough," Shran complained, his cheeks turning purple with rage. "Tellarite, you say you want a council, but how can we ever achieve unity if there is mistrust. I don't like Neville, and I don't trust him. As the humans say, I trust him as far as I could tow him."

"Throw him," Simon corrected before engaging in a counterattack. "You're right about one thing, Shran, there's mistrust. I don't trust you."

Shran growled as the giant sloth on his planet might before tearing its prey from limb-to-limb. It was then he stood straighter and decided to let loose what had been bothering him all night. "You don't trust me and yet you and your government want to work with me and the Andorians on dilithium crystal technology."

"What?" Gral asked.

Shran narrowed his eyes and said, "The Pink Skins and Andorians have been working together, without the Vulcans and Tellarites on dilithium crystal technology."

"Is this true?" Gral squealed.

Staron stood as well. "The Vulcan government would be … displeased to hear such a thing."

Simon narrowed his eyes. "Shran, you are a fool."

"No, I was a fool before." The Andorian looked at his friend Gral before hanging his head in shame. "Now, it seems to be the right thing – to bring this up. Gral, I wanted to tell you. So did the Pink Skin."

"Which one?" Gral asked.

"Archer," Shran said. "We discussed this at our governments request, but …."

"You and the human devised this plan?" Gral asked. "Under my snout?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Without us or … the Vulcans? He would never betray Skinny like that."

Shran disagreed, "Neither of us wanted to betray you or the Vulcan, but it was not up to us."

"He would've divulged this information," Gral said.

Simon said, "I will have to talk with our President about this matter. We may not want to serve on the council with the Andorians at all."

Gral's body shook with rage. "Ambassador, if what the Andorian says is true, the Tellarites may wish to pull out of negotiations completely. And I wouldn't be surprised if the Vulcans follow."

Staron shot an eyebrow up, but seemed in agreement with the Tellarite.

Shran pointed at Simon. "This council has been based on mistrust. I say we put all ships on the table."

Simon said, "Chips. All the chips on the table. The humans would never -"

Shran didn't want to have to do this, but he placed a communications device out and replayed a conversation he'd had with Archer many months ago. He was glad he'd recorded it for posterity – to show how hesitant both he and Archer were and about forging ahead on the plans to use dilithium crystals.

A three-dimensional image appeared floating above the communications device – crude, but effective. Suddenly the picture became clear and the council watched an event that happened more than three months ago.

Shran leaned over and spoke with the Pink Skin at what looked like a bar. Archer's body was still recovering from his injuries and the lines on his face doubled as if worried.

The Andorian leaned over and said his military leader, General Krag, was interested in sharing technology and research, and though Archer didn't seem too thrilled about the request, he seemed to entertain the notion. Both discussed how it could eventually help the alliance, but Archer seemed determined to keep the information from the Vulcans.

Archer said, "Ever since you've shown us that crystal, our scientists have been working on it, but … I'm not sure we're even close to figuring out how to get energy out of it. The Vulcans might be closer to-"

"The General doesn't want to work with the Vulcans. He wants me to work with the humans," Shran replied.

The human bristled a little. "That goes against the treaty our governments signed … that we've signed Shran."

Thy'lek nodded. "I know."

"By telling me this, you know T'Pol might find out." As if the Andorian couldn't figure it out, Archer pointed to his mind, suggesting the link that the he shared with the Vulcan.

"Maybe."

"Did you want her to?"

"I can't help what happens after I've done my duty."

The human crossed his arms and shifted his weight in his seat. "Do you really think it's possible to run a starship using dilithium at warp seven while maintaining shields and firing phase canons?"

"Our scientists have proven it's possible, but converting it into energy has proven more difficult that we could've imagined."

Suddenly, Archer's face went pale. "The Arali wanted that crystal you had and the whereabouts to others like it."

"Yes."

"Do you think the Romulans started war looking for power?" asked Archer. "I mean literal fuel?"

"I would think they would have plasma as Earth or Andoria."

"Plasma only allows a ship to maintain warp seven or raise shields or fire phase canons. Not all at once, at least not with current technology."

"They have been more intent on Andoria," said Shran.

Archer sipped at his drink, wincing only slightly as he swallowed it, and then rested his head on his chest. With a long breath, he spoke quietly. "Maybe having Andoria and Earth collaborate on dilithium-based energy isn't such a bad idea."

"You mean leaving out the Tellarites and Vulcans?"

The light in the Pink Skin's eyes faded, turning dark and his voice went hoarse. "Maybe."

"So you would betray T'Pol and her people?" asked Shran.

"Never T'Pol," he said quickly. "There may be reasons for keeping this from the Vulcans."

Shran's antennae stiffened, but he knew better than ask questions about that; he knew the Pink Skin wouldn't answer. "And the Tellarites? Gral would never forgive me."

"If we shared the technology with them when complete-"

"I don't know if Krag would do it."

"Earth would."

"It would hurt the alliance."

"Yes, but every planet would be eager to have it; they would forgive our races easily."

Shran waved the bartender over for another drink. "I feel like a cheat. As an Imperial Guardsman-"

"Your general asked you to do it; it wasn't your choice."

"And if T'Pol finds out?" he asked.

"Not if, when." Archer finished the rest of his drink. "I believe she would side with us."

The Andorian seemed surprised by that. Shran asked, "You'll contact your government?"

"I'll let you know," Archer said, as if understanding the weight of the decision.

When the image disappeared, Shran picked up his communications device and placed it back into his black belt. Frowning at Gral, his antennae drooped. "I'm sorry."

Gral appeared to refuse to look at Shran, and the Vulcan spoke up. "It is clear that you and Admiral Archer were aware when you broke existing pacts by discussing this," Staron said.

Shran was about to answer when Gral interrupted, his voice weak. "Where is the technology now?"

Shran said, "The Andorians have a ship now being tested with what the humans have learned. My queen wants it to be ready soon and General Krag believes it can be replicated easily."

"What you're doing is treasonous," Simon snarled.

"Treasonous because I revealed plans you knew about?" Shran asked. "Or treasonous for betraying my friends?"

Simon had no answers, but Staron said, "The Vulcans would like to have your research to date as well as any other recordings between the Andorians and Humans regarding this … deception." He then turned to Simon. "I expect all blueprints by the end of the day."

Gral agreed, "And the Tellarites want this information as well. We'll use this to make our decision about how to proceed."

Shran agreed, "Of course."

Simon was unwilling to make such a commitment. "I'll need to talk with our President-"

Gral snorted as he circled the table, his voice filled with anger. "The Terrans have plotted and planned with the Andorians outside the conditions and treaties between our people. And you knew about it! Ambassador Shran was right, this council has been based on lies. If the Earthlings don't provide us exactly what we want, the Tellarites and Vulcans have no choice but to … withdraw from the alliance."

"We have a common enemy!" Simon shouted. He turned to Staron to appeal to him, as if counting on their friendship. "The Romulans nearly killed you and me. I'm not agreeing that the humans participated in what Shran is suggesting, but -"

Shran agreed with Gral. "The little pig is right. We owe the Vulcans and Tellarites this information. Andoria will willingly provide the information to the Vulcans and Tellarites."

Staron seemed less eager to continue. Folding his hands in his robes, he said, "I will have to discuss this matter with Minister T'Pau." And then he shook his head. "Ambassador Simon, after what has happened to us – our near death together by the hands of the Romulans – it disturbs me that Earth would enter into negotiations with our oldest enemies, the Andorians. Our peace with them is fragile at best." He then blinked as if considering his next words carefully. "Vulcan may have no choice but to leave the alliance."

"You wouldn't!" Simon called out.

"It is entirely possible," Staron replied.

"It would jeopardize our war effort," Simon said.

"Yes. It would," he agreed.

"We have ships near Romulan space now," Simon said.

Staron raised his eyebrow. "I am aware."

Shran butted in. "We need the Vulcans."

"You should have considered that before agreeing to this," Staron said. Without emotion, he went to the closet to withdraw a cloak, and then placed it around his neck. "I will advise you what the Vulcans have decided."

Gral grunted and stuffed his arms into his furry, brown jacket. "We are dismissed." He shot his beady eyes to Shran. "This has been a dark day for us. Very dark."

Shran's antennae dropped further as the Tellarite and Vulcan left. Simon fumed as they vanished. "How could you jeopardize our alliance?"

"Don't you understand, Simon, with this hanging over our heads, we would never achieve real and lasting peace." The blue man sat down with a thud. "I want to affect not just the war, but the lives of Shras as Tallah – my children. I want them to enjoy as lasting alliance. If this information came out afterward-"

"Stupid, ant! Your children may never get that opportunity now. With the Tellarites and Vulcans aware of what we've done, they may leave the Council. Permanently."

Rather than become irritated at the accusation, the blue man shook his head. "I don't believe they will. We've only been researching this a few months. By bringing them in now-"

"And what makes you say that?"

"Because I know them." He then regarded the human with a sneer. "Just like I know you. If you had any brains in that vacuous pink head of yours, you'd know that admitting the betrayal to them is the best way to show your good intentions. But then … I know your intentions – you're a spy."

"I'm no spy!" Simon yelled. "Why would you do this before turning responsibility over to Tares?"

Shran remained quiet.

Simon grabbed his coat and headed for the door. The human fumed, "If I were you, I'd get your family packed immediately. I'll make sure you are never seen on Earth again." He slammed the door, the cheap mini blinds swinging behind it.

Shran winced and then let the smallest hint of a smile spread across his face at the notion of the listening device he'd planted on Simon's coat.

"Oh, I'll find out if you're a spy all right." It gave him little solace against betraying his friends. He would've blamed the Pink Skin, but he knew in his ice veins the man had the same good intentions he did. Instead, he sat at the table staring into space wondering what his next move would be.

–

When Gral got home, he cursed under his breath – too tired and weary to start an argument with his wife, Martog. Instead, he poured an ale for himself and plopped down on the couch. He wasn't surprised when his communications device chirped with his leader's face, Tyr, coming to view.

"I had to hear from the Vulcans that the Terrans and Andorians betrayed us! The Vulcans!" Tyr raged.

"I was about to contact you," Gral said.

"Apparently, the Vulcans have known for many Earth minutes. Minister T'Pau asked what I thought about the matter."

"The fact she asked seems to be an improvement in relations," he offered, weakly.

Tyr squealed with anger. "What are you being paid to do on Earth, befriend an Andorian?" He didn't allow interruption. "Just yesterday you argued that Shran was to be trusted. You said Ambassador Shran was an ally. You said I should put my scruff out and talk with the Andorian leaders so that Shran could stay on Earth." He snorted "It seems you've been made to be a fool."

Gral was silent.

Tyr said, "I've brought it to the Tellar Assembly to determine how to react."

"What do you believe our action will be?" Gral asked.

"We are considering leaving the war."

Gral put down his beer. "We cannot do so now – the Romulans will plague Tellar as well. It seems we are committed to ending it with our allies. Perhaps the most advantageous solution would be censure."

"You're joking."

Gral grunted, "No. The Earthlings and Andorians handed us advanced technology – one that they are already perfecting – something that has been beyond our consideration. Our ships, arguably the fastest in the galaxy, will be much faster now."

"Censure?"

"Tellar will benefit greatly from this revelation. We have an abundance of dilithium on our planet that can be easily mined. The Andorians and Humans have so little available to them. They'll need to trade with us now and into the future to continue."

"You're suggesting we merely fine the Terrans and Blue Devils for their betrayal?"

Gral answered, "Yes."

"You're out of your mind."

Gral sipped his beer and thought about it. "I would like to argue in front of my people – explain things to them. You don't understand the Andorians and Terrans like I do. Shran and Archer would never-"

"You won't get to argue your case, but you are being sent home."

"Excuse me?" he asked, sitting up.

"You heard me. The least we can do is withdraw our diplomat."

"You can't just send me home."

Tyr snorted. "In fact, I can. Get your things together. After the Assembly decides the fate of our alliance, they will consider what to do with you."

"You think I have acted as a traitor?"

"That has yet to be decided."

"What if I refuse to leave Earth?" he asked.

"Then I will send our elite squad to collect you." Tyr ended the transmission.

Gral stared at the blank screen for a long time. When he finally put his communications device down he shook his head and whispered, "Shran, this time you have gone too far."

–

Shran's listening device sounded with activity. Simon was muttering under his breath as he obviously walked through a portal of some kind and started speaking to someone. Shran turned up the audio to ensure he heard every word.

The microphone seemed muffled as if the Ambassador Simon was taking off his coat. The audio dropped in again as Neville Simon began to complain to the President about what had happened. Of course, Simon managed to paint a different picture than Shran recalled: to his antennae he sounded more like a villain than someone trying to save the council.

"Military secrets are difficult to keep," the voice said.

Shran recognized the voice and straightened, nearly dropping the device. It was the President of Earth.

"Ambassador Shran was never to be trusted," Simon growled.

"Did he give a reason why he brought this to the attention of the council?" the President asked.

"Stupidity," Simon responded. "Or sabotage."

Shran scowled at the listening device and told it, holding it close as if to scold it, "You're wouldn't know what's good for the long-term health of the council if it bit you on the baflik."

The voice of the President grew quieter, as if he had moved away. "What's done is done. The best thing to do now is share the information with the others. Our alliance is more important than the information about the dilithium crystals, and what they could do." He paused. "Admiral Archer warned us about involving the Vulcans, but … we have yet to prove that their council has been betrayed."

Simon said, "Giving away the dilithium technology could set us back. We're limited with what plasma can do for a ship. With dilithium crystals? The capability to raise shields, use the transporter, fire weapons all while at warp three – that is technology worth protecting."

The President sighed, "All the more reason to share it with our allies."

Simon scoffed, "Archer was the one who indicated it may be best."

Shran gritted his teeth as he shook the listening device. "Neville Simon, you are a tarpig!"

The President corrected his ambassador, "That's not quite what he said. He voiced some concerns about the spy network – undercover agents like your former aide – getting this information, but said he could trust Shran." His voice grew louder as if closer to the mic. "He also indicated there would no doubt come a time to bring it to the others. I presume that time has come."

Simon responded, his voice filled with disappointment, "The Vulcans indicated they may leave the alliance."

The President asked, "And the Tellarites?"

"Gral would not say. I'm not sure either Gral or Staron wanted to share the information with their governments. Staron is my … friend and Gral seems to have a good relationship with Shran, heaven knows why."

Shran grimaced again and wondered what the video was when he heard Simon speak again. "Shran believes me to be a spy."

"We're all suspicious these days," the President said.

"He knows I've been keeping tabs on Archer through Captain Stiles."

"He doesn't know we've been keeping tabs on him."

Shran nearly dropped his device and looked around panicked, wondering if the President of Earth was also a spy. If that had happened, Shran knew the entire war effort was in serious disarray and doomed for failure. As he was about to contact Gral, he heard the President speak again.

The President said, "His relationship with Ambassador T'Pol …. I don't like it any more than you do, but I want to make sure it doesn't jeopardize his judgment and how he defends Earth."

Simon confessed, "Captain Stiles was badly mistreated. I'm … no fan of Admiral Archer, but I wonder if what happened to Stiles plays into what he tells us. Even when describing what was happening to me, he couldn't help but spew unwelcome and unwanted slurs against the Vulcans."

The President said, his voice steely, "All the more reason to be talking with Stiles. It's good to keep an eye on him as well."

Shran seemed confused as he looked at the device again. "So, Ambassador Simon isn't a spy?"

"And what do we do with Shran?" Simon asked.

The blue man raised his head, scrutinizing the answer.

"We'll … talk about him later. First, I'd like you to stick around to apologize to our allies."

"Sir-"

"You hold weight with Ambassador Staron, and … I'm never quite sure what to do with Minister T'Pau. I always get the impression she's holding back."

Simon agreed, "Staron seems to be the only Vulcan I've really ever understood."

The two immediately started making calls to the leaders of Vulcan and Tellar, Minister T'Pau and General Krag, respectively. Shran listened to the conversations intently – the humans apologizing, the allies indicating after some cajoling they'd consider it and then the hasty halt of the transmission. Despite everything, everything, Shran wondered whether the council would easily weather this storm and move onto serious business. The President and Ambassador Simon didn't seem as convinced, but Shran heard something he'd learned from Archer to listen for: hope. It was there in every response.

"Hope? I'm thinking like the Pink Skin now," he grumbled to himself. And despite the grumbling, he was still smiling.

–

Even in the low lighting T'Pol could see the chattering teeth of the humans; ventilation and heat had been minimized to keep life support online in the Spider Nebula. Eyes closing for a moment, she could feel the cold herself – her people used to basking in the suns warm rays.

For the first time in years she felt what the humans might call homesickness for her planet, Vulcan. As she felt the playful admonishment of Archer enter her conscience she heard Skon.

"Admiral, you asked me to alert you when five Earth hours have passed." He paused when no one responded. "I am alerting you."

Jonathan seemed to grin from ear-to-ear. "Thank you." He chuckled to himself and his eyes caught T'Pol's.

She felt the mirth on the Bridge as the humans seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

Archer chuckled harder, "Skon, we couldn't have done it without you."

"Thanks is unnecessary," Skon replied.

More of the Bridge crew, caught up in the gaiety of seeming to have cheated death, laughed and hugged. Vega stood up as if her legs had been cramped and stretched from waiting. Walking stiffly over to Travis' station, she ordered the man to exit the nebulae. He confessed it would be a while longer on impulse, but smiling, put in the information.

Panama's power flickered as more stations came to life – only enough to enable the ship to be propelled forward. The main viewscreen showed static, the rainbow-colored clouds swirling together. Archer walked up to T'Pol and beamed.

"Looks like your idea worked," he said to her.

It was then T'Pol saw a giant, green bird-like ship appear from nowhere and then disappear. Before she could open her mouth to warn them, a single missile floated in the air streaming for the Panama. Pointing she whispered to her mate.

"They've fired," she said.

He whirled around and shouted to polarize hull plating when she heard screams as structures buckled under the barrage and electrical systems sparked. A surge and what looked like a bolt of lightning sent Indigo, the crew woman at the science station, across the deck, her dead body still convulsing. In the static of the viewscreen, T'Pol noticed the ship leaked what looked like plasma coolant.

Skon immediately went to the science officer and then announced what needed no clarification.

"She is deceased," he said. With that, he headed behind the science station and called back. "This system appears to be offline."

"The nukes," Jonathan said to no one in particular.

T'Pol asked, "You believe they are active?"

Yes, she heard reverberate in her ears.

Her mate headed to the armory station to ask for confirmation as Captain Vega scrambled to the captain's chair reeling off a list of commands that seemed futile. Each time she asked for something, her crew responded that command was impossible to fulfill because nearly every system was offline.

T'Pol went to the science station and asked Skon, "Is it possible to repair?"

"Perhaps. Mechanical engineering has never been my strong suit."

"I know a little of it," she said, lowering herself underneath the station. She took off the panel. It was dark, but she could make out the exact issue: scanner cables needed repair and possible replacement. She pointed her finger to the back of the Bridge.

"There is a toolkit there, behind the Admiral's station," she said.

He took off for the area when Captain Vega asked the helsman, recovering, "How long until we reach space?"

"About seventeen minutes," he said.

T'Pol saw the marks of bird on the wings of a green ship flicker again into view. It was beautiful and terrifying – the wingspan of a Vulcan a bird of prey – the ra'tuok. The creature was five meters tall with red feathers and black eyes. From the legends before logic and reason, the bird was said to be able to carry off Vulcan children in its talons or peck the eyes of a sehlat. A shudder almost overcame her as she noticed another bolt of light.

"They are firing again," she said.

"Hang on everyone," Vega said.

Archer looked down at the console next to the armory officer. "We can't polarize the hull."

Skon, the toolkit in his hand, offered up his thoughts. "That is … unfortunate."

T'Pol heard the creak and moan of Panama starting to crumple as they were hit again. As before, the systems that were on sputtered as if halting before coming back to life. The sizzle of electrical current again snapped and crackled. This time the Vulcan knew to warn the Bridge crew.

"Stand away from your instruments," she called out.

The surge in electricity was unable to find an outlet. A beep chimed at the armory console and Jonathan looked up at her, his face drained of color.

"We have confirmation. They're armed."

"Are the nukes set to detonate?" asked Vega.

"In fifteen minutes," he said. His eyes lost their hue. "We're going to need to send someone down there to disarm them."

"Armory?" Vega asked.

T'Var spoke up to answer, "I cannot communicate with anyone outside of the Bridge – all systems are down." Diagnosing the issue, she added, "The problem is with Engineering. They may be making priority decisions based on the challenges they face."

T'Pol knew what would happen next, though she couldn't disagree with the logic. There was only one individual on the Bridge who had enough knowledge of the ship to know which passages might be open and had a plethora of armory experience.

"I'll go," Vega said. "I know this ship and I came up through tactical."

Archer said, "I should go. You're the captain, you're needed on the Bridge."

"I don't have a lot of time to argue, Admiral. My crew is exceptional, we have Ambassador T'Pol here, one of the best science officers Starfleet has ever had and you." Vega already started heading off to the back of the Bridge to open one of the Jeffries tubes. "If I haven't contacted you in ten minutes, jettison them."

"How are you going to contact us – communications are down?" Jonathan replied.

T'Pol suggested, "Perhaps we can jettison the nuclear weapons now."

"There wouldn't be enough distance between us and those nukes before they detonate," the armory officer said.

"And what if the Romulans take the weapons aboard?" Vega replied.

Jonathan cracked a smile and then said, "Brilliant!" He turned to Vega, "That's exactly what she's hoping will happen."

T'Pol added, "Since they are unfamiliar with English it may take them considerable time to decipher how to disarm them, and by that time – the devices will have already exploded."

"They could explode them," the armory officer wondered aloud.

"That will still achieve the desired result – they will be unable to follow us," T'Pol said.

Vega nodded. "But that still doesn't give us enough time to get away."

T'Pol agreed, "It may not. It is a calculated risk."

"Evasive maneuvers," Vega said pointing to the flickering viewscreen. And before Travis could reply, she said, "Just give me your best, Mayweather."

The ship was grazed by fire, nearly sending the Bridge staff to the floor. The low blue lighting flickered on the Bridge sending them into near darkness.

"But perhaps we don't have a choice," Mel said to the ship itself.

Skon put down the toolkit and folded his arms across his chest as if deep in thought. "What if we used the act of jettisoning them to propel us forward?" he suggested.

"How are we going to do that without contacting Engineering?" Mayweather asked.

Archer said, "We could send someone down to Armory to do so manually. We could launch them through the torpedoes, but at a slower pace to buy us some time."

"It could set them off," Vega said.

Archer agreed, "Yeah, it could. But that's starting to sound like our best option."

Vega said, "It would likely be a suicide mission. Whoever went down there would have to launch them and get the hell back here in less than ten minutes."

T'Pol agreed, "Yes, ten minutes would be the recommended window of time."

Skon chimed in, "Ten point one second would provide precisely enough time to launch the nuclear weapons assuming it propels us forward by at least -"

"Right," Vega said. "I think we're already covered that I know the ins and outs of Panama and that I have the most armory experience. I'm going."

"Mel-" Archer warned.

Without further discussion, she climbed into the Jeffries tube and was gone. Archer went to the tube and called her name without response. Turning on his boot, he looked back to T'Pol, his face marred with concern.

T'Pol thought to him, "She acted logically and heroically. I understand she is a friend of yours, but she is also the captain of this vessel."

"Doesn't make it feel any better," Archer thought. Aloud the Admiral said, "Travis, continue evasive maneuvers"

Silently, he hoped for a miracle and T'Pol couldn't help but hang her head and do the same.

It will likely take one, she thought to him.

Shran wasn't surprised to get a call from General Krag at home. What did shock him was that the Andorian was smiling at him. Shran scratched an antennae and waited for what his superior would say.

"The Queen today signed an order that you will be returned to Andoria as soon as possible," Krag said.

Shran hesitated and then watched Jhamel walk in the front door with their two children. In her blind hands were groceries and strapped to her chest – Shras – their infant. Tallah came through the front door, louder than usual, as Thy'lek finally determined what to say.

"I am to return anyway. I mean, I was scheduled to depart here soon."

"That schedule has been moved up …."

Shran furrowed his brow as he'd seen the Pink Skin do a hundred times over. "I told the Council so that we may truly begin to trust each other. It was the honorable thing to do, and you know it."

"Honorable?" Krag didn't stop smiling. "That's not what the Queen said."

"I've served her, stolen for her. I've already proved my loyalty – that I would never betray her or Andoria."

Krag didn't have a response, other than to continue grinning with menace.

"And if I don't return?" Shran asked.

Almost as if on cue Tares entered the abode and pointed an Andorian weapon at him. Krag chuckled and then said, "You don't really have a choice."

"My family?" Shran asked.

"They're staying behind." Then Krag gave his first frown. "I wouldn't invoke the Andorian Article of Revenge. We'd consider the matter closed with you."

Shran scrutinized his general. He hadn't considered the Andorian law that allowed both monetary and physical vengeance when justice couldn't be served to satisfaction, but now that the man brought it up – it scared him. He worried suddenly for his entire family.

Tares seemed unhappy to be holding a blaster, her antennae drooped. "I'm sorry, Thy'lek."

Then the two left the old Victorian home that Shran had considered home for nearly the year he'd been on Earth. As he entered the shuttle, he looked out the window and hoped that Jhamel and his offspring would be okay as he made his way with Tares to the space transfer station.