A/N: I have not forgotten! And don't worry, I will finish this. We're in the third act without too much to go. I think very possibly another ten chapters or fewer.
Thank you for everyone who has written in encouraging me to continue. I really appreciate the reminders people are waiting and reading. I also really appreciate the kind feedback. It's humbling that you care about these characters and what happens to them. Thank you.
Expect the next release much sooner. I promise!
All the best,
Gammara
Tares drove the shuttle as Thy'lek Shran sat in the back seat, looking down at his old Victorian home—the white shutters, the tiny yard that held Andorian toy battlements that his daughter had used for pretend warfare and Jhamel's shuttle parked in front of the house. When he'd first decided to rent the place, he'd expected to loathe every unnecessary detail that had come with the abode—the frilly curtains and ornate wood-carved fireplace that had never been used. And yet as the vehicle veered into the sky he couldn't help but reminisce how much he'd miss it.
As expected, he saw his blind wife spill out of the house with his children in tow, holding a rifle-blaster as if she knew how to fire it. Cocked into the air, she did fire, but the laser whizzed meters by the shuttle. Silently, he wished he could tell her to put the rifle down before the busy bodies next door called the law on them … again. She stood and fired again, missing by a larger distance, and he chuckled to himself as he saw his daughter take the weapon and get much closer than a child her age should've.
A small smile made it to his lips as he heard his friend in the front seat start to speak.
"You know this wasn't my choice," she said.
Shran frowned, turning his attention to the Andorian behind the wheel. "Tares, I have learned by now that we all have choices. You could, if you wanted, return me at any moment."
Tares sighed as if she'd thought about it many times before. "General Krag would haul my tankra-uhalt back to Andoria if I didn't return you."
"He probably would," Shran agreed.
"He'd go after my family. My mother is in the military, she'd be disgraced."
"That's true," Shran said. "And no doubt your father's fish hatchery would suffer, too."
Tares placed the shuttle on autopilot. "Why did you do this? You knew what the consequences would be." As if she expected him to disagree, she pointed her finger at him as her antennae lurched forward. "And don't pretend you didn't. You knew General Krag would ask me to take you back to Andoria."
Shran looked at the handcuffs Tares had used to ensure he stayed seated. "I did know," he conceded. "I … tried to do the right thing. Telling the Tellarites and Vulcans about the dilithium crystals, trying to regain their trust—the trust of my friends and ambassadors, was the right thing to do."
Tares hissed and shook her head. "You and I both know they would've eventually found out."
"And when they did – what would that do to our council?" he asked. "The Vulcans and Tellarites may have chosen to never trust us again."
"They may never now," she said.
"You're right," Shran agreed. "They may not. But … I think confessing goes a long way to mending any rifts. They are unhappy now. Imagine if they had found out through their own intelligence?"
Tares suggested, "You could've leaked the information to them through third-party sources. Like Kiar."
"I could've. But that wouldn't be right either. Andorians don't slink in back alleys like slalah, we stand up for what we believe in. We look our allies and our foes in the antennae … or eyes. We have integrity. Truth. We act with honor. The moment I started negotiating with the Pink Skin, I broke every code Andoria has. Every code I have."
Tares started to disagree when Shran sat back in his seat. "During the Vulcan-Andorian war, remember what the Queen used to say to motivate all Andorians?"
Tares shrugged and Shran leveled his gaze on her. "She said the Vulcans would lie to our antennae—cheat us and deceive our allies to win the war, but we would prevail because we had right on our side. Right, honor and the truth." An ironic laugh murmured from his mouth. "It's why Archer turned over the Vulcan spy station information to me and how we became … friends. It didn't sit well with him: that the Vulcans were liars."
"Thy'lek—"
"You know what happens next. I go to Andoria for a trial, and after they find me guilty—and they will, I'm sent to Pitak Karon if I'm lucky, where I won't ever see the light of day again or feel the cold, chill on my face. And if I'm unlucky, Rura Penthe."
"They won't send you to Rura Penthe. The Klingons hate us."
"Even the Klingons will welcome an enemy for the right price," Shran said.
Tares sighed again. "You brought this on yourself."
Shran was about to answer when Tares' communications device beeped. She reached down and flipped it open. "Gral – why are contacting me?"
She paused and looked back at Shran. "He's with me."
"Oh?" she asked. And then she turned around to look out the window, a chuckle leaving her lips.
Shran followed the movement of her head until he saw something out the window—an old, beat-up Tellarite shuttle-runner. The tiny brown vehicle sputtered and spewed smoke, its engine coughing as if it would stall at any moment. Even Shran could tell the shuttle was having trouble keeping up, the wings dipping and swerving.
Finally, the Tellarite vehicle got close enough that they could see who was in the cockpit. Gral, wearing a helmet and a pair of goggles, waved a long, sinewy finger.
"I'm not turning him over to you," Tares said as she put the device on speaker to continue to fly.
"Well, if you don't turn him over, I'm afraid I have no choice, but to shoot," Gral said with a grunt.
Tares laughed again when a laser shot fired over her bow. Immediately, she took evasive maneuvers and Shran knew the Tellarite-jalopy had been long ditched. Eventually, nearly five minutes later, a clanking noise appeared at starboard and Shran saw Gral again.
"Son of a putak," Shran said, unbelieving.
Gral snorted, "Tares, the Tellarite government would like you to hand over Blue."
Tares countered, "I know he's a friend—trust me, he's mine, too. But if I don't give him over to the Andorian government then-"
This time a shot whizzed close by and Shran for a second wondered if they were hit. Tares must've too as she started to head for Earth, Gral following close behind, and Shran wondered what the female had in mind.
"I don't want to fire on you, Gral," Tares said.
"Good, then don't."
"General Krag is expecting him in two Andorian days."
"I'm sure the general has been disappointed before," Gral said.
"The queen is also expecting him," Tares explained.
"Has she met him before?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Well, then she knows him and has already been disappointed by him," Gral said, gruffly.
Shran narrowed his eyes and shouted, "Hey! Are you rescuing me or insulting me?"
Tares' shuttle hovered above the ground and then eventually landed on a soft field. Before leaving the shuttle, she nabbed Shran's arm and forced him out along side her. Gral's Tellarite shuttle-runner clunked to the ground and then wheezed like an old man before coming to a halt. The little pig exited his vehicle, a laser-pistol aimed at Tares.
"Give me Shran," Gral said.
"Okay, but first you're going to have to shoot me," Tares said.
The pig took aim and then furrowed his snout. "I'm sure I didn't hear you."
"I instructed you to shoot me first," Tares clarified.
"Shoot you?" Gral asked, his weapon lowering.
Tares looked over at Shran and then back at Gral. "Yeah, if you want this to look real, you're going to have to shoot me."
"That's preposterous. No one is going to shoot anyone," he grunted.
"Look, I don't like it any more than you, but really … you're going to have to shoot me."
The ambassador squealed with disagreement. "I didn't say anything about harming you. I do not want to hurt you, I just want Shran."
"You were going to shoot the ship," Tares said.
"I thought I shot it," Gral offered. "I was almost positive."
"Didn't you think you might harm us?" Tares asked.
"Well, I actually had no intention of hitting the ship. My finger slipped," Gral straightened his little pig-like body. "I'm an ambassador. Those actions could start a war, at least intentionally."
Tares' antennae whirled and she sighed looking over at Shran. He shrugged.
"Gral is not a warrior," Shran said. "I believe his aim is so poor he actually hit our ship."
Gral narrowed his eyes and squealed, "I have fired a weapon. Just … not this kind."
"Pull the trigger," Tares said. As if instructing him, she pointed to the notch under the barrel. "Those take really only a little pressure before releasing. I'd just prefer it if you hit my arm or leg."
Gral put the gun at his side. "I'm not going to aim it at any part of you."
Tares shook her head and looked at Shran as she removed his handcuffs. "Is he always like this?"
Thy'lek's mouth turned down, too as he massaged his wrists. "You're right, my friend, I did know the sacrifice when I revealed the information about the dilithium crystals. I do not wish to leave Earth or my family, but I am prepared to face the queen. Gral, let us get back in the ship."
Tares said, "You're getting as sentimental as a Pink Skin," She then looked over at the pig and shook her head. "You give me no choice. I'll shoot myself."
Springing, Tares tackled Gral to the ground, his gun smacking against the ground. The two wrestled as Gral tried to keep his gun away from her, squealing pleas of help to Shran. Only a few seconds later Tares twisted the weapon from his hand as he lay on the ground staring up at the sky, goggles skewed and helmet lying next to him.
Gral, moaned softly, "Andorian females are like riding a wild bu-long. Dangerous."
"Oh, Tares is better than a female, she's zhen." Shran laughed, "Why do you think Andorian males crave them?"
Gral looked confused, but pushed himself up and snorted. "Now what?"
Tares winked at Shran. "Now, I suggest you take my shuttle. I left the keys inside."
"You left the keys inside?" Gral asked. "How did you know-?"
Shran said again, "Tares, you don't have to do this."
"You're right, I have a choice." And just as quickly as the words were said, she took the weapon in her left hand and fired at her right bicep. Immediately the woman hit the ground, blue blood splattering over her shirt and face as well as hitting Gral and Shran.
Gral looked alarmed at the blue liquid dripping from his beard, but Shran knelt down.
"We need a medic," Gral said, quickly.
Through the pain, Tares said, "Just hurry inside the shuttle. I'll call once you're in the air."
Shran touched her white hair and smirked. "Thank you. I owe you one."
"You never have forgotten a debt," Tares said, wincing.
Gral started to pull out his communcations device, when Shran took ripped it from his hand and threw it as far as he could. The Tellarite ambassador was about to head off and grab it, when Shran gathered the man in his grasp and dragged him to the ship.
When they stepped inside, Gral protested as Shran slid into the pilot's seat and fired up the engines for take off.
"She's hurt," Gral explained.
"She is, but it's not life threatening. Besides, Andorians are put to worse when we enter the military." Flipping a few switches and twisting a couple of nozzles, he looked back over his shoulder. "Don't worry. She'll call when we've left."
Gral scurried to the window to look out and groaned. "She is quite brave."
"Andorians usually are," Shran said. After turning a dial and noting the altimeter, he lowered his head as his antennae drooped. "Tares has always been brave, even when we were children together."
The ship lurched as they hit the clouds and Shran sighed as typed a course into the ship's computer.
"Where are we going?" Gral asked.
"To see the President and ask for asylum."
"The President … of Earth?" Gral asked. A snort huffed from his lips. "That's foolish, Blue!"
Shran's antennae leapt forward at the accusation. "Is it?"
"The humans were collaborating with the Tellarites. They will be angry at you for revealing their secrets," Gral said.
Remembering listening in on a conversation between Ambassador Simon and the President, Shran disagreed. "No, it sounded like the President was regretful of the decision to—" He stopped realizing he'd divulged that he's spied on the Earthlings.
Gral asked, "You mean, you talked with Earth's President?"
"Well … not exactly."
"Then how do you know?" Gral asked. Then the pig-like creature snorted as his snout wrinkled. "Blue! Don't tell me you spied on him?"
"Good. I won't mention it." He punched in more numbers and the shuttle veered starboard.
"Spying is against the orders of the council," Gral said, his voice low and gruff.
"These are extraordinary times," Shran said. "I was convinced Simon was gathering intelligence on Archer. It seems I was right, but … not for the reasons I believed." Gral seemed curious, so the Andorian continued. "The President wanted to ensure Archer's loyalty is with Earth and not Vulcan."
The Blue male then smiled. "You know, I got those crazy kids together."
"I recall I had a firm hand in that," Gral disagreed. And then he sat down, his feet dangling without touching the shuttle's floor. "I suppose loyalty is not such a strange thing to ensure. My government would do the same for me if I were to marry an Andorian."
The two men looked each other up and down before Shran laughed and Gral grunted.
"Never happen," they said in unison.
With the new coordinates in and the shuttle speeding in that direction, quiet broke out. Even the engines barely hummed. In the silence, Shran hummed a laugh. "I can't believe you came to rescue me … especially in that ship."
Gral growled a laugh, too. "It was an antique I had been hoping to continue storing." Then he furrowed his overgrown brow. "Don't get any ideas that you're special. I would've done that for most anyone."
Shran's smirk grew. "Anyone lucky enough to have you around, Shortie."
The Bridge crew was silent, waiting for another volley of Romulan missiles to strike, nuclear warheads to be jettisoned toward the enemy vessels, or their Captain, Melanie Vega, to die. Admiral Jonathan Archer was afraid of, but anticipating, all three.
The only noises that could be heard were the humming of spanners to fix broken equipment at the science, communications, and armory station. The only console that seemed to have any function was navigation, but with engines only able to move at impulse, it did little good.
Jon paced along the bridge and looked at Skon. The Vulcan seemed to spy the man's eyes on him and studied the admiral in return.
As if the Vulcan knew, he announced the amount of time Melanie had already been gone from the bridge. "Three minutes and fifty two seconds."
"Come on, Mel," Jon whispered to himself.
It was a long shot that Captain Vega could get the nuclear weapons out of armory safely, but she seemed like the only person aboard who could do so.
T'Pol, still dressed in her ambassador robes, pushed herself from underneath the scanner at the science station. Although her ceremonial robes seemed untarnished, a black smudge marred her cheek.
"I was able to return some function to the scanners," she said.
Jon's attention turned to his bondmate and his lips slid up into a half-smile as if proud that the ambassador was still the best science officer in Starfleet.
Admiral Archer said aloud, "Nice work. Let's see if we have any visitors."
T'Pol quickly peered into the device, the blue light shining on her face, as she turned the knob. "It is difficult to pinpoint in this nebulae, but I believe I have detected at least one vesssel." She gazed back into the scanner. "I cannot tell the type."
"Perhaps the Vulcans," T'Var surmised.
Mayweather scoffed, "Maybe Romulans or Orions."
Skon suggested, "Captain Stiles and Gupta are also in the nebula. There is a possibility it could be them, remote as it may be."
T'Pol said, "It is impossible to determine."
T'Var's held on to the device in her ear. "Admiral, I have rudimentary communication with Medical. It appears we have fifty two crewmen in Sickbay. Fifteen have perished."
Although he should've expected the high number of casualties, the statement felled Jon to the captain's chair.
Skon this time was the one that announced the inevitable, pointing to the screen. "I see a vessel firing."
Suddenly on the view screen, bombarded with static, a vessel flickered into existence, a green ship that resembled a hawk about to catch prey, as a ray of blue light emerged from it.
"Polarize hull plating," the admiral ordered. "Can you turn this vessel, Travis?"
Mayweather said, "Barely."
Jon then swung his gaze over to T'Pol, and reading her mind announced the new direction. "Starboard by one hundred and eight degrees."
The man at armory pounded his fist into the console. "I have absolutely no responsiveness. Weapons are offline."
"Wouldn't help much anyway," Jon said.
The vessel even in its degraded state, crippled, swung around to take a blow on the starboard hull, the area best able to handle additional damage. This time Panama shook, but remained mostly in tact. T'Var held the device sticking out of her ear again.
"Sir, I now have a report of another fatality. Most of the engineering staff are now in Sickbay."
Jon's jaw tightened and he walked over to T'Var. "Can you communicate outside this vessel?"
T'Pol stood, intercepting her bondmate's mind. "It is rumored Romulans take no prisoners, only slaves."
Skon seemed to agree, "Captain Vega still has time. We should at least give her the full amount."
Jon nodded. "I'm just trying to give us options. And … buy us a little time."
T'Pol opened her mouth to object again when Jon asked T'Var the question once more. "Can you communicate outside this vessel?"
T'Var checked her readings and watched Skon. "I am uncertain. Communication, even with those aboard the Panama, is difficult."
Jon said, "Open a channel. And give a distress call on all frequencies."
"Not just our allies' communication channels?" T'Var asked.
T'Pol said again, "Jonathan—"
"T'Var, a distress call. All channels."
The Vulcan woman at communications took a shallow breath and hunched over her console, her fingers flying across it. After only a few seconds, her eyes locked with her admiral's.
"I believe I have acknowledgement," she whispered. "The universal translator is having some difficulty though. We have only translated five hundred words."
"Lt. Sato said it was one hell of a language." He gave a timid smile as he thought about Hoshi and the fact she'd been working on the translation for years. "We can't send it to the view screen, can we?"
"No, sir," T'Var said. "I can attempt to repair it; however,-"
"Unnecessary," Jon said. "You fielding comm. reports is more important."
And then the speakers overhead crackled. T'Var gave a single nod to let the admiral know his voice would be broadcast to the Romulans.
"This is Admiral Archer of the Panama."
A metallic voice rang out over the speakers. "Commander Turok." Something that almost sounded like a laugh echoed. "You surrender?"
"I would like to look at the conditions of surrender," Archer said.
The Romulan laughed again. "I have asked my crew to send you the Empire's articles. You are fortunate that you did not offer up yourself to the Orions—they have no surrender conditions."
T'Var sat at her station and Archer perched over her shoulder. "Sir, the data has been received and translated."
The first article caused Jon to gasp. In the first sentence of the first paragraph of the document, it claimed, "All crew become Romulan property."
Jon looked over at T'Pol and could feel her repress a shiver. He dared to read the second article, where it claimed that property was to be dealt with by the commander of the vessel. The only phrase that could come to his mind was "spoils of war."
Archer thumbed the comm again. "I'm not sure we can accept these conditions."
"You have no choice," the metallic voice said again. "A squad has been launched from our bay to board you."
The man at armory immediately moved and began opening the weapons locker.
"No," Archer said to the bridge officer. Then he responded carefully into the comm, "I suppose we don't have a choice. Do I have any assurances my crew won't be harmed."
The armory officer took out a weapon anyway.
"Assurances?" Turok asked.
Jon said again, "Yes, guarantees my crew won't be harmed."
The voice laughed. "Romulans never give such guarantees. Why should we now?"
"Because it's decent," Archer growled.
"Decent. I'm unaware of the meaning," the commander said. Before Jon could explain, using expletives, the commander interrupted. "Power down your vessel."
"I haven't read through all the articles yet," Archer complained. "I'll need at least twenty Earth minutes to comply."
The voice snarled, "You have ten."
Archer leaned over, but T'Var cut him off. "Sir, the communications channel has closed."
Skon provided the latest update. "Captain Vega does not have long."
Archer turned to T'Var, "Get Vega on the line."
T'Var held the device to her ear and then explained that there was more static on the line than in other decks.
Mel's voice sounded tired and out of breath. "I'm in Armory."
"We're running out of time, Mel," he said.
Her voice sounded strained. "Jon, one of the nuclear weapons was damaged. But I think I got here just in time."
T'Pol strode quickly to her scanner and gazed in. "I'm reading higher radiation levels in Armory."
Worried, Jon asked, "The radiation-?"
As if anticipating the question, T'Pol responded. "The radiation has not made it outside Armory."
Archer frowned. "Mel—"
"I vented the radiation into space," she said. Before Jon could ask her anything else, she offered up, "The jettison tube for the nukes was stuck."
Static hit the line and the next thing they heard was "—into space."
The admiral leaned over and shook his head. "Listen, the dosage of radiation you took is probably—"
"Once I blow the door," she said. "I expect you all to get the hell out of here."
Static rang out again.
"Mel—"
"Admiral, my ship and crew are in your hands."
"Mel—"
"You do outrank me," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "So, I suppose I can only hope you follow my orders."
"Mel, I—"
"Admiral … Jon …. It has been a distinct honor serving with you, my friend."
Archer shook his head. "Listen—"
"It's been an honor being the captain of my crew. Best damned crew in the fleet. Couldn't have picked a better team. I'm so proud of each of them."
Jon leaned into the comm more, his voice hoarse. "If you—"
And then the next thing that anyone on the Bridge heard was T'Pol's voice. "She has opened the emergency door to the Armory. I'm reading the nuclear warheads are away."
Mayweather clarified quietly, "The emergency hatch would send everything into space."
"Can we transport her?" Jon asked, his voice panicked.
"Our transporter is offline," T'Pol said.
"Admiral, we have merely nine minutes and fifty six seconds before those warheads detonate," Skon reminded. "Captain Vega provided us additional time we cannot waste."
"There is nothing we can do," T'Pol said, gently.
"Forgive me, Mel." Jon took a deep breath and nodded, turning to T'Var. "Order all personnel to empty their trash."
"Sir?" asked the Vulcan woman.
"You heard me," he said.
T'Var shot an eyebrow up as Skon explained. "I believe the Admiral is attempting to hide the warheads in the debris."
Archer didn't confirm, but instead asked, "Travis, give me all she's got."
"It's not much, sir. Impulse is the best I can do," Mayweather said.
"Do it."
Jon watched the view screen, which flickered in and out, as trash floated by. He couldn't see the warheads, but he also couldn't see the body of Panama's captain float by.
A hail came in and T'Var put it on speakers. The metallic voice rang out with glee.
"I see you are having trouble with your sanitation and engines," Commander Turok laughed. "Earth vessels. So weak."
"Yes, we're adrift," Jon lied. "I still have a few minutes to finish reading the articles."
"You should not bother reading when your ship is falling apart around you," the Romulan voice said. The channel was cut.
Skon walked to the admiral and provided a quiet update. "Seven minutes and fifty one seconds before detonation. We will not have achieved the appropriate distance. We will be caught in the explosion."
"Polarize hull plating on my mark," Jon told Mayweather.
"Yes, sir," Travis replied.
"We may be able to propel ourselves further," T'Pol offered.
Archer commented, hearing his wife's suggestion in his mind, "I didn't realize you'd become so devious, T'Pol."
"You call it devious, I believe it to be resourceful," she countered.
"Coordinate with T'Var," Archer said.
The Vulcan crossed her station to go to communications and the two Vulcan women discussed the plan as Skon intercepted the admiral.
"Do what?" Skon asked.
Jon was about to divulge the plan when Mayweather's voice interrupted them. "Sir, I see the Romulan shuttle."
"Can we send a crew to that part of the ship?" Archer asked.
T'Var held the device in her ear, checking. "Negative, sir."
The armory officer growled. "At least I'll get to see what the bastards look like." The short man held a rifle he'd already taken from the locker aloft.
Archer asked, "Skon, how many minutes until detonation?"
"Six minutes and twenty seven seconds," he said. "Rounding up."
Jon gave a brief smile and then shut his eyes. "Contact the Romulan ship."
Mayweather frowned. "Sir, I'm with Ambassador T'Pol. I think it might be preferable to blow up the ship than give in to the Romulans."
Jon patted the navigations officer on the back and repeated his order. "T'Var, contact the ship."
T'Var did so and Archer heard the comm. line over the speakers. His grin grew. "I have read the articles you sent me."
"Finally," the commander retorted. "It has been some time since we have captured an admiral. You will be paraded in the streets. And the most desirable among your females offered to this ship's crew and our emperor."
Mayweather shook just about to erupt when Archer smiled at the vacant screen. "Actually, I have decided we won't be surrendering at all."
The Romulan laughed. "Oh? What lunacy is this?"
"Not crazy at all," Archer said. "I have sent a counterproposal for you and your government to consider."
"Counterproposal?"
"Yes, your surrender."
The Romulan laughed.
"T'Pol, now might be a good time," Archer said.
Suddenly an explosion erupted from Panama sending nearly everyone on the bridge to the deck plating. Mayweather got to his controls first and noted the new direction and distance.
"What happened?" Travis asked.
T'Pol scrambled to her science station and peered into the blue light as the device whirred. "It appears our nacelles have exploded."
"What?" Mayweather asked.
Archer got to the captain's chair and leaned over, his thumb and forefinger rubbing together. "Good."
Skon got up and righted his robes as if smoothing out the smallest wrinkle. "I believe the idea T'Pol had was to explode the nacelles so we could gather more speed." The Vulcan arched an eyebrow and then commented to the ambassador. "Brilliant."
"Thank you," T'Pol said.
"What about the crew?" Mayweather asked, confused.
"We successfully evacuated all personnel left," T'Var said. "And, Admiral, they appear to be in Sickbay awaiting further instruction."
Mayweather shook his head and looked at the console. "We're gaining speed. Not quiet warp, but … we're hauling it."
"The warheads," T'Pol reminded. "We have less than a minute left and the shockwaves from the nacelles—"
"Polarize hull plating, Travis," Jon said.
T'Var sent the image of space onto the view screen. Fire erupted again from what used to be engineering. The nacelles sputtered and fizzled, further crippled, as coolant leaked from slender tubes. Then the communications officer tapped her fingers across the console again and on-screen was another explosion, one much larger—an inferno that seemed to detonate ships across the nebula in a mushroom cloud. The sound boomed like fireworks and the shockwave sent everyone again onto the floor as the ship lurched sideways.
"We still do not have enough distance," Skon replied.
T'Pol confirmed, "The radiation fallout will reach us in less than five minutes."
The view screen showed instead of the flickering view of the rainbow-colored nebula they were entering black with a star field of white. As the ship continued forward, Travis called out.
"Out here, we're also sitting ducks."
"I'm hoping the Vulcans just got a giant distress call," Archer said.
"If they are within range," Skon said. And as Archer narrowed his eyes at him, he pointed his fingers under his chin. "I understand, it was a calculated risk."
"How much radiation can we take before—" Archer started.
"Not much, possibly—" T'Pol was interrupted by a beep at her console and she left mid-sentence to peer into her scanner. "I am reading a vessel approaching."
"What kind?" Archer asked.
A ship suddenly blinked into existence as if just coming out of warp. It looked like a squid and was a metallic blue. An Andorian captain suddenly appeared on the view screen. His blue antennae twisted and his white hair looked like a mop on his egg-shaped head. He sneered much like Shran did when they'd first interacted with him.
"I'm Commander Sav of the Gol. We're towing you, Captain. And unless you'd like to end up as charred ash, you'll accept our help."
"Admiral Archer of Panama, and I accept," said Jon. "We have two more ships—"
"Admiral Archer?" The blue man smiled. "Fate is tarpig. Yes, yes, the Vulcans have your other ships." The commander then looked down at his console and sported a smile. "Hold onto your pink skins." The Andorian saw the Vulcans and his lips curled. "Or your ears."
Panama lurched under the tractor device from the Andorian ship and as the nebula lit up with green and yellow vapors, the two vessels blinked out of existence.