As the view screen in front of them showed nothing but stars whizzing by, T'Var acknowledged a beep at her station and at Admiral Archer's request showed the image.

An Andorian appeared, dressed in the battle garments of his people—a black leather-looking catsuit. This Andorian was lithe like most of his species and sported a coil, almost like an earring, in his left antennae. He smiled, his teeth having the slightest blue tint against his tongue, as his antennae whirled.

"Admiral Archer," he said. "I'm taking you to the nearest space dock for repairs. There you can rendezvous with the other Earth vessels." Puffing out his chest he boasted, "The Vulcans took your other ships to our station."

T'Pol crossed over to her scanner and then provided additional information. "I believe he is referring to Andoria's Talon Station."

"That's right, Vulcan. Talon Ukrat," Sav replied. "I know it's not exactly an Earth station or a boring Vulcan station." He smiled churlishly. "But it should do."

"I'm sure it will, thank you. I'll let Starfleet know our location," Archer answered.

Skon raised his eyebrows. "Talon Station is fortuitous. It would take us less than a day to reach Vulcan and continue our original mission to discuss Coridan with Minister T'Pau, Ambassador."

"And we should be able to have Panama towed to Starbase McKinley as well as get those in Sickbay help," Archer said, gravely.

Mayweather seemed delighted. "I've always wanted to see Talon Station. I've heard stories about that place."

"Oh yes. Those stories are absolutely true," Sav agreed. "Orion women at every bar, parties every night, nearly anything available from the black market, Andorian ale flowing even in our mess halls, zhen as far as the antennae can feel …."

Archer coughed into his hand. "We'll have to keep a tight duty roster there," he confirmed. "Thank you, Commander Sav, we appreciate your help."

"You owe me one, Admiral," the Andorian said.

Ambassador T'Pol crossed the bridge and said what the admiral was also thinking. "There is something oddly familiar about him," she whispered.

Archer nodded. "Have we met before, Commander Sav?"

"No," he said. "But I believe you know my littermate."

"Littermate?" Archer asked.

"Sibling," Skon said.

"I believe I just said that Vulcan," Sav growled.

"Thy'lek Shran," Archer, T'Pol, Mayweather, and the Commander said simultaneously.

Sav smiled again. "When we get to the station, I'd like to discuss how you can settle your debt to me and my family. Without the Vulcan," he said. His eyes narrowed and he grimaced at T'Pol, Skon, and T'Var. "Join me at Femut at oh-eight-hundred hours tomorrow. And bring some money."

"My wife—" Archer began and then the view screen cut out. The admiral sighed and held the bridge of his nose. "Who would've thought there were two of Shran in this universe?"

Skon offered, "Actually the odds of an Andorian having siblings is approximately eighty five point two nine percent, rounding up of course. Andorians are prolific. Their familial arrangements, sometimes with four parents, provide an ample population. Most likely the only reason an Andorian would not have siblings would be due to an untimely death. Although their species is long-lived, I believe humans would say they 'live hard.'"

Archer furrowed his brow and Skon poked his up in the air in response. "I was answering your question, Admiral."

"It was a rhetorical question," Archer said.

Skon turned his attention to Ambassador T'Pol. "I have yet to understand why humans ask questions they do not mean to have answered."

T'Var agreed, "It is beyond logic."

"Who ever accused the humans of being logical?" T'Pol said, amusement in her eyes.

Archer produced a lopsided smile and then looked at Mayweather. "I think the Vulcans are making a joke."

Mayweather agreed. "Yeah, at our expense." And then he grinned at his admiral. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Archer chuckled. "Agreed. T'Var, send a report of casualties to the ready room and ask Dr. Phlox if he needs any assistance. Mayweather, you have the con." Just as he spoke those words, he immediately lost his merriment, walking into the office directly behind the bridge.

T'Pol followed him, much as she would've more than ten years ago when she was his first officer. However, rather than ring the chime, she took a deep breath, placed her hands behind her back and strolled in as if her bond mate expected her. Although mentally he was trying to let her know he'd rather be alone, she knew him well enough to understand he needed some comfort over the loss of his friend, Captain Vega.

As the door slid open and closed, she spied Archer gazing out the window at the stars speeding by. It was something she'd seen him do countless times before, particularly in the Expanse.

"Captain Vega—" she began.

"Mel was an excellent captain and a good friend," he said. As she walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, he turned. "She saved my life, T'Pol. More than once. If it wasn't for her, I'm not sure we'd be here now. Together."

"I know," she said. "You should arrange a funeral for her as soon as possible. The crew will also mourn her loss."

Bitter, he huffed as he stared back at space. "It's customary to send a body into space, but … we don't even have that." He paused as several minutes passed by and she heard him whisper, "I get tired of friends and crew dying for no reason."

"No reason? Many have perished in this war. But I believe they died for a good cause — to prevent us from joining the Empire. You read some of the Romulan articles of 'surrender,' you know what is at stake."

Archer slowly nodded his head, but seemed undeterred from brooding. Furrowed brow, he continued to let his eyes roam, unfocused, at space.

"I have to agree with Travis," he said. "I'd rather blow up the ship than let the crew fall to the Romulans. I think death would be preferable." His jaw tightened and he growled. "I can't believe that prisoners would become slaves …." His voice faltered for more words.

She knew his meaning. The crewwomen would be the concubine of Romulan men, military and senate alike to displays like trophies. "Spoils of war. I did not think our ancient brethren could be so barbaric."

Jon nodded. "I can't believe you share DNA with them."

"Nor can I. But this Romulan threat is precisely why Captain Vega gave her life," T'Pol whispered. "To save us and to prevent Earth, Vulcan, Andoria, Tellar, and more from submitting to their will."

"All these deaths." His voice turned hoarse. "It started with Trip."

"It started with Admiral Forrest," she said. "The Romulans orchestrated the destruction of the Vulcan embassy long before the Arali attempted to take the dillithium crystals from Enterprise, killing Trip in the process."

"It didn't end there. Max, Trip, Erika …." He sighed long and low, his shoulders rolled forward.

"All the ambassador we served with. Starfleet personnel. Vulcans, Andorians, Tellarites …" Quietly, she added another death toll. "My mother."

In an instant they shared their emotion — an unending sorrow for fallen comrades, friends, and family. Black, like a shroud, it wrapped around her and threatened to strangle her. She nearly gasped at the intensity as she backed away from him.

"Isn't that why we're here?" she asked, her voice soft.

Although he continued to watch out the portal, his hand nabbed hers and he held it. "Yes."

T'Pol squeezed his hand and he looked over his shoulder, his eyes dark and a frown spreading across his face. The Vulcan said, "Know this, I grieve with thee. Your pain is my own. And my pain is yours."

"I know," he said, facing her.

He closed his eyes and the two stood in silence for several minutes as she felt the waves of grief threaten to overcome them both. Rather than yield, she breathed deeply through each one, examining and suppressing the emotion, as she felt her husband wrestle with them, his throat tightening and his stomach twisting. So she closed her eyes as if to blanket them both in comfort, to relax his neck and help him take deeper breaths. Tapping her fingers between his thumb and index finger, she felt his body ease.

"Sometimes, humans want to feel grief," he whispered to her. His eyes opened and his thumb stroked her cheek.

"I know." And then she stepped away from him as he studied her and blew out a long breath. She was about to say more, when she felt a barrier between them. It told her that he wanted to ruminate in his grief in solitude. He changed the subject quickly with worry in his voice.

"The Pon Farr …?" he asked.

"I am much better than when I first boarded this vessel. I am certain you can feel the urgent need has vanished," she said.

"I still feel the embers occasionally, the remnants," he told her. "I know you do, too."

"They are easily extinguishable," she said.

He licked his lips. "Tonight, perhaps we can share our grief and stoke them instead."

They gazed into each others' eyes, searching and reading each other's thoughts. It was her turn to change the timbre of the conversation and divert to other important matters between them.

"It is fortunate we will return to Vulcan," she said. "We need the assistance of Coridan if we hope to thwart the Romulans."

She could feel him question whether she would attempt Kolinahr. And she narrowed her eyes at her mate.

"No," she said quietly. "I realize that is no longer my path."

Through the bond, she shared that her marriage to Jonathan led her to an epiphany that was more than ten years in the making. She understood emotion and placed value in it, even back in Sausalito before joining Enterprise. After studying the humans, she realized they, like her now husband, showed great compassion even when illogical. She had witnessed this compassion and recognized it to be one of the greatest emotions and often even when illogical was the correct course of action. She attributed emotion to bringing the races together to fight the Romulans, Arali and Orions.

And yet unlike the V'tosh ka'tur, the Vulcans who showed emotions, she understood how vital logic was to those on her planet. It was why she meditated, did not partake of meat, and continued to suppress emotion. Then and only then, could she appreciate emotion and understand it without allowing it to take control.

Loss of control and its consequences, thanks to trellium use — it was a difficult lesson she learned in the Expanse.

"Logic and emotion can exist together, but it is a delicate balance. By suppressing emotions, I remained balanced unlike the V'tosh katur. I cannot and will not turn my back on logic, nor can I completely spurn emotion. After all, you are a human and emotional. And I value you and the emotions you bring to our marriage."

He produced a lopsided smile. "We are one."

"Yes," she replied.

Again their fingers touched as a married Vulcan couple. The sensation buzzed along her hand and she asked what he could hear in his mind.

"Will you be able to join me on Vulcan?" she asked, a modicum of fear in her voice as if she knew his answer.

"Possibly, but it may be a few weeks. I'll most likely stay on the station until the entire crew is reassigned. I don't know what Starfleet has in store for me after that."

"It seems we continue to be rejoined only to part," she said.

"Parted from me, and never parted," he whispered to her.

Her hand cupped his face. "Yes."

He kissed her and when they finally broke apart, he sighed in contentment.

"If possible I'll see if I can have at least a brief shore leave on Vulcan. After all, the priest has a ceremony to perform," he said. "A wedding."

T'Pol watched him. "We are already married. We do not need a priest to join us further. And I do not need the approval of my government to recognize we are one."

"That's true." His lips sloped up. "So, are you going to start introducing yourself as Mrs. T'Pol Archer?"

"I believe my title is Ambassador."

He grinned. "Okay, Ambassador T'Pol Archer."

"It is customary on my planet to join last names," she said.

He furrowed his brow almost embarrassed at the new information. "T'Pol, I didn't realize you had a last name."

"You would not be able to pronounce it. It is the concatenation of the last names of generations of ancestors as well as the city of my birth and theirs." She paused and put her hands behind her back. "It is why even Vulcans prefer to use first names."

Through the bond, she revealed it to him, and even in her mind it took nearly five minutes to pronounce.

"That's one hell of a last name," he said. "Uh, maybe we can stick with just Archer? If the Vulcans don't have the patience to say Vulcan last names, no one else in this universe will."

Amused, her eyes twinkled. "You have a point."

"Still, I'd like to learn how to say your last name."

"I will teach you; however, it may help to learn the most rudimentary Vulcan first. Otherwise you might sprain your tongue."

He scoffed, "Thanks to Surak's memories, I know a few Vulcan words."

"Yes, but you pronounce the majority of them poorly. Some training would help."

He narrowed his eyes, as the grin on his face widened. "Ha, tal-kam."

She perched an eyebrow at his terrible pronunciation of 'yes dear' and walked toward the door. "As you would say, 'I rest my case.'" The woman put her hands behind her back and then paused at the door, turning. "I will give using Archer as my last name some consideration."

He purred a laugh. "I'm fond of it. I'm sure it'll grow on you."

More serious, she said, "In the meantime, I will lend my services to Dr. Phlox. He undoubtedly needs my help with the injured. Perhaps Skon can assist."

"Thanks." Jon nodded. "I'll come down to Sickbay as soon as I speak with Starfleet."

With that, she turned to leave and noticed he pointed his gaze back at the stars. She crossed the threshold of the captain's ready room knowing he would contact them soon, but needed a few more minutes to mourn the loss of his friend and the other Panama crew members who'd given their lives. She couldn't help but bow her head as well.

As Shran piloted the vehicle, flying above Earth's clouds, Gral continued to work to convince the Andorian to listen to reason. The ship started to descend at twilight, and Gral could see the arc of the Golden Gate Bridge fast approaching. Grunting, he thought it looked similar to the Bridge of Gorgos over the river Rak where the giant Krul swam.

Shran seemed to be waxing philosophic, mumbling to himself about honor and talking with the president. His antennae were nearly twisted in the commotion.

Finally Gral snorted. "We cannot go to the Prime Minister for sanctuary. It's a fool's journey," the pig said. "It would mean an intergalactic incident if they took you in when the Andorians want your skinny Blue hide. I don't think even the Earthlings are naïve enough to do that."

"President, Prime Minister," Shran waved his hand. "It's all the same to me. I think they call it demography."

Gral grunted a laugh. He knew it was called democracy, but couldn't help chuckle at the Earthling's expense. Unlike his senate where representatives argued for years about bills, the humans seem to give matters little thought and kowtow to each other so easily.

Shran continued to steer the ship closer to Sausalito. "You have a better idea?"

Gral stroked his beard. "What if we do nothing?"

"Nothing?" Shran asked. "That will never work."

"Tellar is too far away and so is Andoria. We can live here without fear of being taken. The Earthlings surely will not hand us over at least without considerable negotiation. And in the process, we may be able to bargain for some assistance to plead our case. Someone to act as an intermediary that will once again get our planets to ally more easily."

"The Pink Skin is off fighting the war," Shran said.

"I'm not talking about Archer," the pig squealed.

"T'Pol is probably discussing Coridan with Minister T'Pau by now."

"I'm not speaking of Skinny either."

"Kiar? The little gold guy's people could help us win the war."

"Yes, but I'm not talking about him either."

"Who?"

"I'm sure we could reason with Simon."

Shran practically yelled, "Simon? Neville Simon? Have you lost your mind?" The vehicle shook under their feet and Gral nearly lost his balance as the Andorian finished the tirade. "He's the tarpig that threatened to break up the council. He is the derog that forced everyone to seek out a peace treaty with the Romulans. He is the last man on Earth I believe I would ask for help."

"He has not withdrawn his support of the council. Nor will Staron. If the four of us work together-"

"You heard Pointy Ear's comments. Staron said T'Pau is considering backing out of the war."

"I said as much, too, that Tellar would withdraw. But here I am," he said. "And although Tyr bellows that he will remove support, he knows the Romulans are the greatest threat to the universe."

The Andorian huffed, his antennae drooping. "I don't know, Gral. Other Tellarites aren't like you. Your veins run as blue as ice." He thumped his chest, giving the Imperial Guard greeting.

"That's an insulting thing to say," Gral grunted.

The Andorian chuckled. "Why would Simon help us more than the President?"

"If we go to the Prime Minister, we cannot continue the council," Gral said. "It will be disbanded."

"If we don't, it'll be disbanded." Shran typed in a few commands and whirled around in his seat to face Gral. "I think going straight to the top is the best chance we have."

"Simon will assist us in bridging that gap with the Prime Minister."

Shran waved a hand in the air as if to declare how absurd the idea was, but Gral was undeterred.

Gral asked, "Who is the best negotiator in the council?"

"You mean after me?" Shran asked.

"After you? You're the worst!"

"All right, it's not my best strength. Fine. You must mean T'Pol."

"No." Gral snorted. "I am. Trust me to arrange this."

Shran scratched his white mop of hair as if to actually consider the idea. And then he put his elbows on his knees, a gesture that seemed to mimic what the Pink Skin would've done.

"Gral, I'm worried that unless we get the very top involved, our families may be harmed. Tellar and Andoria are far away, but not that far from General Crag's reach."

Gral put a skinny hand on his shoulder. "I know my suggestion is putting your family in danger. I would not suggest it unless I knew this was the best way."

Shran huffed and then said, "I give it two Earth days to work. And if we end up in a pink skin jail, awaiting departure for Rura Penthe, I will never forgive you."

"That won't happen." Giving something Shran called a grimace, he smiled—his teeth showing. "You can count on me. Arguing, negotiating – it is what I was born to do."

Shran watched as he said, "Fine, we go to Simon, but I have to move my family first." And then he turned to Gral. "Do you know how to change an Andorian slu-lu? Shras usually needs a new one about now."

"Slu-lu?" Gral asked.

"Yes, what he wears under his black leather onesie."

"You're his father—aren't you supposed to change it?" Gral queried.

"Who's going to fly this thing?" he asked. And then his antennae lurched forward. "It is an honor to change his slu-lu. If the Pink Skin or the Vulcan were here, I'd be asking them. That's what they were chosen to do."

Gral groaned.

Jon paced around the small Ready Room, ducking his head as he wandered under beams while Admiral Matt Gardner's visage appeared on the small screen. The stocky, grey-bearded man was settled at his desk, looking weary as if the war had taken its toll on him, too.

"Jon," he said with a weary smile. "I feared the worst. I've already heard from Captains Stiles and Gupta. It sounds like it was a hell of a fight out there. They've taken serious damage." The man then looked down at his hands. "And loss of life."

"We have as well," Archer said. "Captain Vega … she risked her life to save this vessel."

Matt frowned more. "Melanie. After this war, I was planning on giving her a promotion."

Jon let out a deep breath. "She would've deserved it."

"I'll let her parents know," Matt said.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to contact them. I can personally thank them that way and let them know how she perished — how she died helping save everyone aboard. How she may've helped be the turning point for the war."

"You took a few Romulan with you?" Matt asked.

"Yes. Maybe as many as three." Archer hung onto a beam. "Not exactly an armada, but a start."

"How's the crew?" Matt asked.

"Forty five people are still in Sickbay, twelve in serious condition, and we've had twenty one deaths. Dr. Phlox has his hands full, but we have several volunteers assisting him."

"Good. And the Panama? How's the ship holding up?"

Jon said, "It'll take considerable time to get repaired. Time we don't have right now. Nacelles were blown off and we have structural damage."

Getting behind the desk, he typed a few commands on his keyboard to provide the latest reports to Matt. The superior admiral acknowledged with a low whistle. "We'll arrange for the vessel to be towed. Where should I send a tow-vessel?"

"We're heading to Talon Station. Commander Sav of Andoria is currently taking us there. From the station, Ambassador T'Pol and her aide, Skon, will leave for Vulcan."

"Captain Stiles let me know that congratulations are in order," he said.

"I haven't spoken to him since we left the nebulae," Jon complained.

"He wasn't sure whether you'd made it, but … he indicated your Vulcan wife had an idea that it sounds like saved three Starfleet ships. Although, that wasn't exactly the way he put it," Matt said. "Not really rocket science to figure out the Vulcan wife that is also brilliant at strategy."

Jon squirmed and noted, "We haven't told many people yet, including Minister T'Pau, so I'd appreciate it if you kept it on the down low. But … yes, Ambassador T'Pol and I are married."

"Phlox wed you?" he asked.

Jon thought that wasn't such a bad idea. "No, it's … it's a long story."

"I doubt Talon Station is a great place to honeymoon," Matt replied. "At least for a Vulcan."

Archer smiled thinking he'd already had a honeymoon of a sorts. Although it wasn't a tropical locale, it included plenty of nookie. He searched for a response when thankfully, Matt spoke up again.

"I'm surprised the Andorians offered refuge there and I'm shocked, frankly, that the Vulcans agreed to take Stiles and Gupta's ships there."

"Talon Station is a little rough around the edges, but—" Archer started.

"No, I mean … while you were gone the council has had some setbacks. All the races are threatening to withdraw support of this war."

Archer leaned in. "General Krag is backing down? I doubt he or Minister T'Pau—"

"Remember that … transaction … you discussed with Ambassador Shran?" Matt asked.

"The dilithium crystals?"

Matt sighed. "The Andorians were literally one month away from finishing their experimental warship when Shran told the other council members of our … arrangement."

Archer narrowed his eyes. "It would've come out anyway."

"Later would've been preferable. Your Andorian friend has put us in a compromising situation. Both Minister T'Pau and Tyr have announced their intention to withdraw support for this war."

Jon argued, "Minister T'Pau would never back down. And I doubt Tyr would either."

"Well, they sure as hell know how to bluff then. I just met with Prime Minister Pelletier – he said they have a meeting set up for tomorrow. He said it didn't seem promising." Matt leaned back in his chair. "I'm not sure the technological advances were worth it. Then again I'm starting to think the idea of a council was a mistake."

Archer sighed. "We wanted to reach space to meet new life forms. To … explore places no one has ever been to before. With an alliance, friendly aliens who are united, we could work together to—"

"Jon, no offense, but you're dreaming. You told me before you headed into the Expanse you were starting to wonder about the merits of interacting with new species."

"That was different." Archer hung his head. "I was different. Earth had just been attacked." He looked at the screen. "I learned from that experience an alliance, one with the Xindi, is what saved our planet. I think the same alliance could continue to benefit mankind from other threats – like the Romulans."

"Well, there's nothing you can do now," Matt said. His face eventually gave way to a small smile. "On a personal front, you'll be happy to know that two of your old crew members were married this past weekend."

"Malcolm and Hoshi." Jon smiled and then let his shoulders sag. "I wish I could've seen it. How was it? Hoshi told me they'd settled at having it at Golden Gate Park."

Matt grinned. "They had it aboard a catamaran circling Treasure Island."

"A boat?" Archer asked. "Malcolm's afraid of water."

"That explains why he was so seasick. I personally chalked it up to nerves." Matt and Archer chuckled together. "The party at the wharf was amazing. I think nearly every member of Starfleet showed up."

"I wonder if they did it for the Reed family – their all from the Navy."

Matt nodded. "I met his father. He seemed resigned that his son is one of the best damned security personnel we have at Starfleet. I got the impression they'd been arguing about him entering Starfleet for some time."

Archer nodded and then smiled, thinking Malcolm deserved some praise from Matt and was happy that settled whatever feud had brewed for years about the Navy vs. Starfleet.

"Are they honeymooning?" Archer asked.

"Captain Reed confided in me that she'd convinced him to go to the tropics. I'm not sure where," he said.

Archer smiled. "I hope you can send some pictures."

"I'm sure the Reeds would like to send those pictures themselves," Matt said.

"If you see them, wish them my best." And then without skipping a beat, as if listening to another voice in his head, he nodded, adding, "Our best. T'Pol is thrilled, Vulcanly of course, for them."

Matt looked confused and asked, "I didn't realize she was in the room with you."

Archer sighed thinking it was easier to lie than explain the truth. "She just came in. Anyway, I'll contact you when we reach Talon Station."

"Excellent, I'll know the new assignment then."

The transmission ended and Archer wondered whether Hoshi had convinced Reed to go to South America where she could surreptitiously study Amazonian dialects. The idea made him smile.

T'Pol reached Sickbay and instantly realized Dr. Phlox, albeit capable, had his hands more than full. Volunteers had poured in to help all over the ship, but even that wasn't enough to keep up with the constant churn: new crew members arriving with injuries, those unable to get to the medical facility, and crewmen whose wounds were already addressed in various forms of recuperation.

Skon watched as well. "I have not been privy to such a sight before."

T'Pol watched her friend, his face pale. Although she would never accuse her aide of emotion, she wondered if he was sickened at the sight of so much blood. Gently, she placed a hand on his arm.

"The ravages of war," T'Pol said. "I believe it is worthwhile for diplomats to see war's outcome so they fully understand its consequences."

Skon raised an eyebrow at her. "That is an excellent observation. One I will endeavor to remember."

T'Pol walked over to the doctor whose hair was flying nearly in all directions. He was sweaty and his typical overextended smile had vanished. Instead, he seemed focused on the job at hand. In the middle of reviewing a young woman's vital signs, he barely glanced over at her.

"I assume you are here to help?" he asked, without the mirth that typically saturated his voice. He jotted a few notes down on a PADD and explained to the young woman. "I believe you have a concussion. I'd like you to stay here for a few hours for observation."

"My post—" the woman began.

"Don't worry about that," Dr. Phlox replied. He helped his patient off the biobed and then pointed her over to a chair across the medical facility.

T'Pol said, "Yes, I'm here to help."

"Thank Greevnik!" he said. Without missing a beat, he thrust a PADD at her and began reeling through what he needed. "Two of my physician's aides perished, including the one who organized this medical facility. Although I have volunteers pouring in for all over the ship, I have absolutely no way to determine how much medical experience they have and appropriately schedule them for shifts. I merely have been triaging everyone who comes in and assigning someone to watch those who need less help."

As if proving his point, a crew member carried in a wounded friend. "Doc! A relay blew up only near his face. I'm not sure he can see."

Dr. Phlox scurried over to him and began reviewing the man. And although the doctor knew everyone's name, his brain seemed rattled. Snapping his fingers, he said, "You, over there, Ensign." A man who was talking to a woman with a bandage on her arm came to attention. "I'd like to get a few Semarian eels. Can you catch one?"

The man recoiled, but did as the doctor asked, the slimy brown critters in a large cylindrical tube nearly jumping out of the tank as the man fished in with black tongs. Phlox pointed the new patient to the vacated biobed.

The Denobulan then looked over the man with burns around his face and eyes as T'Pol made her recommendation, sounding like the first officer. "I believe you need three teams, four if possible, during all shifts. Each group should be assigned a lead physician assistant based on who has the most knowledge and skill."

Dr. Phlox jerked his head in surprise. "That is exactly what I need."

"Skon will arrange that for you," she said. "I will be your lead physician's assistant during the alpha shift and your back-up as you rest."

The physician's lips curled ridiculously into an overextended smile. "Ambassador, I am relieved to have you here."

And then the man continued with his work as Skon and T'Pol attempted to provide some order to the chaos in Sickbay.

After merely three hours, the medical facility had started to regain some semblance of order. A system, one Dr. Phlox had wanted to introduce, but had no time to implement, had been established on getting those who needed only rest and minimal supervision back to their quarters quickly while enabling more time on those more critically wounded. Skon also ensured those who were bound for the morgue got their quickly to provide ample room for new patients. It was a grim task, and T'Pol knew he didn't relish it, but he knew the logic of what needed to be done.

As T'Pol assisted a young woman to the biobed to check her vital signs and Phlox looked over another more critical patient, she noticed Jonathan arrived.

Right away, everyone, even those who were injured, flinched as if responding to the chain of command. The chatter in the facility came to a standstill as crewmen sat up as straight as possible.

He must've sensed it to, because he smiled. "At ease everyone."

Much like when he was captain, he walked by and chatted with personnel and inquired about their medical condition. He looked each one in the eye, giving them his full attention and often touched their shoulder or arm as if to further relax them. For those who couldn't speak and were awake, he patted their hand and thanked them for their service, saying they'd be home soon. And for those who weren't awake, he merely stood by their bed for a few minutes and said a few words or held their hand.

It wasn't long until the humans relaxed and the noise of the medical facility picked up again.

After an hour, talking with everyone conscious, Jon casually made his way over to T'Pol.

"I expected worse," he whispered to his wife.

"You may have been right three hours ago." She nodded to Skon, who was busy reviewing his PADD and making notes. "He has helped immensely. Things seem to be running much more efficiently in a relatively short amount of time."

She saw her mate's mouth draw tight and through her bond she reminded him he no longer needed to be jealous.

"I wasn't thinking that exactly," he said. And when her eyes widened he squirmed under the gaze. "Okay, a little. I was mostly thinking we're lucky he came."

"Oh?"

"Sure. This." He spread his hand out to the well-run medical facility. "His help on the bridge." And then he whispered to her. "And from your mind, I understand he brought you to me despite everything."

"All true," she said.

He smirked and then walked over to Dr. Phlox who had just finished with a patient. She noted the two conversed about the dead and the injured. The doctor brought the admiral over to review PADD with more information about what he needed once they reached Talon Station.

Jonathan in return discussed getting those most critically injured back to Earth and arranging accommodations for those who needed additional care from Phlox or were less injured.

Afterward, T'Pol watched in Vulcan surprise as her husband then walked over to Skon. The two regarded each other and finally Archer gave him a tepid smile. T'Pol walked over to Dr. Phlox to get closer, hoping to catch not only what her husband was thinking, but also the interaction between the two men as she pretended to be busy.

"I appreciate what you've done here, Skon," Jon said.

"It was only logical. I could be of no use on the Bridge," Skon said.

Jon looked at his feet and spoke again. "Actually, you were very helpful on the Bridge." He took a deep breath. "Everything you have done here has been helpful and I'm lucky to have you aboard. I also know what you sacrificed to get here … to help T'Pol get here."

"That too was only logical," he answered. "She was determined to reject any assistance I offered."

Jon said, "You dumped all your fuel in an effort to reach us. It was a risky gamble. You could've died in space, too."

Skon's eyebrow peaked. "We have not always agreed on everything, Admiral. But we can concur that Ambassador T'Pol is quite remarkable. She asked me to fulfill her request and I was honor-bound to do so."

Jon scratched his head and then nodded. "You're right, we do agree on that. T'Pol is remarkable." She watched as he glanced over his shoulder as if noticing T'Pol's attention, and her face dove closer to a PADD in reaction before lifting her eyes to watch her mate turn back to Skon.

"Listen, I was hoping we could bury the hatchet," Jon said.

"I was unaware you had a hatchet," he said. "And if you have one, why would you want to bury it?"

Jon chuckled. "No, I mean, we should resolve our differences."

"Those sentiments are unnecessary, Admiral."

"No, I think they are. I'd like to thank you and … apologize."

"Vey well," Skon said. His hands folded in front of his waist and a more placid expression, if it were possible, overtook his entire face.

Archer furrowed his brow in confusion and then Skon spoke. "You said you would like to thank me and apologize, so I was providing you the opportunity to do so."

Jon again looked back over his shoulder and T'Pol this time raised an eyebrow in slight amusement. After a long breath he looked back at Skon who appeared to be waiting.

"All right." Jon took a deep breath and let out a long sigh as Skon continued to wait. An uneasy smile made it across the admiral's face and he eventually said. "Thanks. And I'm sorry. I misjudged you."

"You did," Skon affirmed.

Jon winced and something about Skon's countenance seemed to relax even though his body continued to stand upright, with perfect posture, as his face remained the picture of non-emotion.

Then Skon said slowly, "But I believe the appropriate response is: apology accepted."

The two studied each other and then after several seconds, before Jon awkwardly nodded and then left Sickbay.

T'Pol strolled over to her aide and Skon watched the admiral head out the door.

"You allowed him to struggle to apologize to you," she said, quietly.

"Did I?" Skon asked, his eyebrows perched against his black bangs, his blue eyes wide with innocence.

"Yes," she responded.

"I gather apologizing is not something he is particularly skilled at. I wished to provide him further opportunity to hone that skill, as I understand apologizing is important to humans."

T'Pol's eyes twinkled. She knew first-hand Jonathan Archer was many things – proud and stubborn among them. Both of these traits, she decided, made it difficult for him to admit wrongdoing and make amends for the misdeed.

"That is true, Jonathan is not particularly skilled at apologies … I believe that is something the two of you have in common," she retorted.

He turned to her, amusement in his eyes. "Then it is fortunate Vulcans do not need such a skill."

"It is," she agreed, amusement in her eyes as well.

The two scanned the medical facility and the good work Skon had done. T'Pol then whispered to him.

"I do not believe I have thanked you either for everything you have done for me and for my bondmate."

"Thanks is not required. It was logical to take you here, logical to assist in battle, and logical to restore order to Sickbay."

"It is beyond logic. It is friendship."

He watched her and agreed. "Yes, ambassador, it is friendship."

She leaned in and spoke to him in Vulcan. "Shaya tonat, t'nash veh t'hai'lu." [Thank you, my friend.]

His eyebrows flattened. "Kwon-sum, T'Pol." [Always, T'Pol.]

When Shran reached his house, he saw Jhamel pick up a blaster and held it aloft until it seemed she sensed who was there. Immediately, she put it down and ran to the door hugging her husband as he entered.

Shran squeezed her tight as they touched antennae. Once they parted, he told her what she already knew.

"Jhamel, we need to go. Pack only the bare essentials."

Tallah ran into the room dressed in all black and hoisting her ice pick. She sneered. "Father, I would like to cut the antennae off the tarpig who took you. Tares!"

Shran tousled her hair. "Child, although your need to revenge is admirable, Tares is not to blame. She allowed me to live. And we owe her a debt of gratitude."

"A debt?" Tallah asked, huffing.

"We'll settle it with her later," Shran agreed.

Tallah placed her arms across her chest and stuck out her chin as if to consider the matter. Meanwhile, Jhamel grabbed a blue baby dressed in black leather. Shras cooed, trilling.

Jhamel asked, "Where will we be next? What should we take?"

Shran pointed to a few things that seemed trivial. "Clothing, Tallah's ice pick, Shras's nest—if we can fit it." The Andorian turned to his daughter. "Tallah, we practiced just this drill. Can you help your mother?"

The little girl stood at attention and gave the Imperial Guard salute, her hand hitting her chest firmly. "I will ensure our family is prepared, Father." She immediately set to work like a drill sergeant, pointing to family items and yelling out what was needed. Jhamel scurried to follow her daughter's instructions as Shran worked on packing weapons. Gral followed him to assist.

"Aren't you concerned about Martog?" Shran asked.

Gral said, "Tellar would never take Martog. When Tyr realizes I have abandoned his requested position, he will need to provide the senate a bill for them to argue about whether to imprison me." Gral showed his fangs in a gruesome smile. "They would debate it for at least three Earth years, before handing out a verdict. That verdict would need to be approved by Tyr and then handed back to our Azazi, interstellar police for my capture." He chuckled. "I figure I have at least six years."

Shran scoffed, "Bureaucrats!"

"Yes, aren't they wonderful?" Gral asked, rubbing his sinewy fingers together with greed. He sighed with appreciation. "As a pup I wanted to be a bureaucrat. Dreamed of it. Tirelessly arguing for years … but I was never as patient as they."

Gral watched Shran's antennae wilt and then almost recoil. The little pig grunted. "You mock me? Your world is led by a queen and her military aide."

Shran furrowed his brow. "You may insult General Krag, but never the queen." He stopped his frantic packing. "She is the most beautiful, most graceful female to ever walk across the ice flows of Andoria." He smiled as if remembering meeting her and then whispered mostly to himself. "I one day hoped she would choose to mate with me, to give her another queen. When I was with the Imperial Guard, she singled me out several times."

A low clicking noise emitted from his mouth as if a coo and Gral frowned.

Gral narrowed his eyes. "Your queen mates with her people?"

Shran smiled. "Oh yes. Every two years, she chooses an Andorian thaan to sire her children and if the mating is successful, she eats her mate."

Gral sucked in air and recoiled.

Shran smiled. "You're gullible, pig." And then he stuffed another pair of leather pants into his duffle bag. "No, she only eats her mate if he died in the throes of passion."

Gral asked, weakly, "Does that happen often?"

"Often enough," Shran said, flashing his friend a smile. "What a way to go!"

The two continued until Tallah entered the room, reporting to her father. "We have gathered all essential items and enough food for several days." Then she huffed. "Mother indicated based on food we're taking she may not produce enough milk for Shras."

The child curled her lip and Shran stood, hoisting the duffel bag over his shoulder. "She doesn't need to worry. I can lactate if necessary. After all I am the father."

Gral again recoiled and started carrying bags to the shuttle.

During the day, Jon had contacted Starfleet at least three times, worked with Stiles and Gupta for a rendezvous and the Panama's engineering staff to fix what they could. And as the ship crept closer to Talon Station, he worked on guest accommodations for crewmen, ensuring needed medical supplies would reach Sickbay and there would be beds on the station for the wounded. Levy and T'Var assisted with nearly every aspect as Mayweather manned the captain's chair.

He'd contacted Arthur Westing, nephew of Captain Vega, to help arrange for Captain Vega's funeral and both decided they would celebrate her life on Talon Station along all the fallen crew. Arthur had assured that celebration would be exactly what his aunt would've wanted, complete with a party, alcohol, and funny stories about her.

Around 2300 hours, Archer left his Ready Room, telling a tired staff to allow the next shift to take over. As T'Var and Levy vanished in the turbolift, he smiled at Travis.

"Captain's chair suits you," he said.

Travis flashed a grin. "I don't know if I could ever give up flying." Then he paused, a twinkle in his eye. "Beisdes, didn't you pass me up about a year ago for the job?"

Archer's smile dropped. "The Andorian had more experience than you or Kelby. And that didn't necessarily seem like a goal for you. But I think it should be … maybe in a year or so."

Travis chuckled. "I'm not sure I can see me captaining anything bigger than a shuttle. Besides, flying is a lot more exciting."

Archer said, "I thought the same thing when I was about your age. But the allure of new alien worlds and new life forms …. Discovery and exploration are a lot more exciting than pulling an 'L' maneuver. And after the Romulan War, I hope we can get back to exploration. We've only explored a fraction of our universe."

"I'll give it some thought sir," Mayweather said.

Weary, the man pushed himself from the captain's chair and walked into the turbolift as the new shift crew came onto the Bridge. Jon debriefed the highest ranking officer, Briggs, and then went back to his cabin for some rest himself.

When he opened the door, he saw T'Pol meditating on the floor in front of a candle and relished the inner peace that washed over him. He let the experience sink into his bones and closed his eyes, wrapping it around him like a warm blanket.

"It has been a long day," T'Pol whispered.

She stood nearly in a single move, catlike, and the two hugged for many moments. When they parted, he watched her face.

"I hope both Skon and Phlox get some rest," Jon said.

"I do as well." She said, "The rotations created have given everyone some rest, but Dr. Phlox insists on caring for his neediest patients." The woman paused. "Skon indicated he would retire when T'Var was off-duty."

That caused Archer's eyebrows to raise and a smile to cross his face.

T'Pol said, "Touching my mind caused the burning to overtake him as well."

"T'Var. Huh. That certainly is a surprise," Archer commented, taking off his shoes and leaving them in the middle of the floor.

She looked at the shoes and he immediately moved them to the closet. As he did so, she said, "Not really. Vulcans are honor-bound to provide assistance to those who are in the throes of the fever." She paused. "If both are single it can create mutual admiration."

"Yeah, admiration." At his whimsy, a tease on the tip of his tongue, he felt T'Pol's admonishment and let the comment go without being spoken. At the silence, he could tell she was pleased. And then a thought occurred to him. "You know, she'll be reassigned. I think current plans have her with Captain Gupta. He needs a communications officer of her skill."

T'Pol took his hand. "Jonathan, not all Vulcans who assist each other become a couple or marry. When I say admiration, it could also mean friendship."

"Friendship. That's where we started," Jon said, smiling.

"Indeed it is."

The two kissed and when they broke apart, he spoke. "Remember when you said you could extinguish the embers, the traces that remain of Pon Farr?"

"Yes. I indicated the need was not great, it was controllable."

"What if we fan those embers instead?" he asked as his lips traipsed over the tip of her ear.

"To allow the fire to consume us?" she asked, rhetorically.

"Yeah," he whispered. "To share in our grief and let the embers control us."

She returned his question by placing her mouth on his and leading him to bed.

Skon walked up to the door of the communications officer. Emotion was always easy for him to control, but now he felt anxious. Straightening his spine, he depressed the chime of T'Var's door and waited with his hands behind his back.

T'Var answered, already in her Vulcan robes – ones that were less ceremonial and more casual. He gave her the Vulcan greeting and she did the same.

"Do you wish to enter?" she asked in Vulcan.

"If you are not previously engaged," he returned in their native language.

"No."

He entered and the two were silent. Although he knew it was an invasion of privacy, he studied her belongings with interest – the Vulcan lyre resting on her dresser, a fabric-bound book of Surak's teachings, and a picture of a young Vulcan with brown eyes.

"That is my brother, Srin," she said. "He is a scientist now in the Sulan province."

"Then he must be a geologist," Skon concluded.

"Yes," she confirmed.

After taking a cleansing breath, Skon turned to her. "I have not yet shared the mating fire with anyone other than my bondmate." He corrected himself. "My deceased bondmate."

"I know. You told me only two days ago."

He nodded. "Yes, of course. It is difficult to recall much from the past few days."

"Then you may not remember I told you my betrothed – the one I was intended for – perished many years ago. You have not placed me in a precarious position."

Skon closed his eyes and tried to recall the conversation. Finally, he caught hold of a wisp of a memory. "You said you did not intend to bond with someone else because of your situation —your role at Starfleet."

She agreed and walked over to a bottle that held an orange liquid. Pouring it into a glass, she held it out for him. He took it and gave s shallow drink as she took some herself.

T'Var said, "When I was young, Ambassador T'Pol, then a science officer on Enterprise, lectured at Sevan Hall. She spoke about the wonders of exploration. I remember how the Vulcans around me reacted, with disdain and disapproval, commenting that science is calculated rather than wondrous." She walked to her portal and looked out at the stars. "There is science behind what we see, but I understood her comment – we can appreciate the aesthetics of it even as we study the science." The Vulcan woman turned to him and sipped her glass. "It is not sentimental or emotional to appreciate beauty or relish the science. It is, in fact, logical."

"Quite so," Skon said. "I may not have understood that until I met Ambassador T'Pol myself." And then he paused and watched the woman across from him. "We have touched minds, but I do not recall you sharing that particular story with me."

"As you stated, your mind was chaos for the past few days."

"True."

She sat on her bed and motioned for him to do the same. Carefully, he did so and watched her for a few minutes.

"You are wondering if our minds have shared our katras – if we have become one?"

He said without emotion, but felt somewhat disappointed, "I do not hear your thoughts echo in my mind. I attempted to reach out for you today."

"Nor do I hear yours."

"It seems fortunate for you – that you will continue to carry on your role as you wanted."

"Fortunate? I am not certain, but it exists that we are not paired."

Skon lifted two fingers in the air, which she took quickly. "I thank you for your assistance," he said.

"Thanks are not in order. We are Vulcans. It is our way."

"It is, but …." His voice trailed off as his fingers left hers. "I believe another Vulcan female would not be as understanding."

Skon felt a tinge of green reach his face as he thought back to his attempt to kiss her – something that T'Pol showed him how to do. In the mating fever, he was determined to attempt it as if it would quench his need. Other Vulcan women would not understand the touching of lips or the significance. T'Var although just as unpracticed as he, attempted it without question.

Reflecting now, Skon had to admit the kiss was strange and intriguing. Although he preferred the touching of fingers, the sensation of merging mouths had merit.

"Because we have both been with the humans, I know you will understand. What occurred between us was not without emotion." Her brown eyes blinked at him – her face the epitome of logic and reason. "It was not without … pleasure."

He quipped an eyebrow at her. "Yes."

"Does the fire still consume you?"

"Not entirely. It is manageable."

There was silence between the two. T'Var put down her glass and turned to Skon. "You must not feel shame at what occurred between us. It is Vulcan and beyond your control."

"Shame?"

T'Var took a sip of her drink and then answered him. "Because we have shared minds and this bed, I know it is an emotion you wrestled with during the fever."

Earnestly he answered her. "I no longer feel shame at what occurred."

"Then -?"

Skon set down his drink on her nightstand. "Because we have both been around humans I know you will understand. Our lives are devoted to the eradication of emotion: we meditate, practice the way of Surak, and pride ourselves in destroying emotion. During Kolinahr we distance what takes us from logic. I find now emotion confusing."

She continued to watch and he turned to her. "Although it is confusing, I admit the emotion I believe I feel is … disappointment."

"Disappointment?"

"Disappointment that we have shared so much, and that I recall so little. Disappointment that we part ways now."

"I understand." She put down her glass as well. "I believe I feel the same. It has been some time since I have seen another Vulcan, especially one as aesthetically pleasing and interesting as you."

She offered her two fingers this time, which he took quickly.

"What happens to you now?" she asked.

"I am to continue our mission to convince our council to pay reparations to Coridan. And you?"

"Admiral Archer indicated I am to be reassigned to Captain Gupta's ship."

"And re-enter the war?"

"Most likely."

"And you wish this?" he asked.

"It is only logical. We must fight the Romulans, lest they conquer all our worlds and enslave us." She watched him. "Your role and mine, they are not so dissimilar."

He agreed, "True, although I believe mine puts me in less peril." The two were silent for nearly a full minute before Skon spoke again. "I should allow you to rest and recuperate." When he stood, she did so as well. Slowly, the Vulcan walked to the door, his feet heavier than usual.

"Thank you for your assistance. Again," he said.

When he turned to give her the final Vulcan greeting, he felt her lips on his. Though they were both clumsy at the gesture, but he found it comforting. He understood the meaning behind it, a reminder of what they had shared for the past few days – their tie to each other.

His finger traced a lock of hair and he looked down before whispering in her ear. "Contact me often to let me know you are safe."

"I will," she agreed. "I hope your argument sways with Minister T'Pau."

"I do as well," he said.

The two watched each other until T'Var raised her hand in the Vulcan greeting, a symbol of their culture and heritage. He offered the same.

"Live long and prosper, Skon," she said.

"Peace and long life, T'Var," he said back. "I hope we will see each other again."

"As do I."

Without anything more between them, he turned to walk back to his cabin. On the way there, he thought several times of returning to her with the excuse Pon Farr called to him. And yet he knew the sentiment, disappointment that they could not continue and that he may not see her again, was not Vulcan. Silently, he decided he needed to meditate and reflect on that emotion.

Once the family was loaded in the car, Gral and Shran discussed where they could leave his family. Ruling out any hotel accommodating aliens as the first place Krag would look, the men both decided on one that catered to humans in a place far outside the boundaries of California. Deciding on a place so sunny the Andorians would assume he'd never visit, they headed for Jamaica. Immediately, Tallah groaned at hearing they'd have to be warm for many days.

"At least they serve fresh fish," Shran explained.

When the vehicle finally landed, it was outside a small motel that seemed to cater less to tourists and more to those who were from the island. Shran walked up to establishment with sunglasses on already complaining his black catsuit was too hot. Jhamel, Tallah, and Shras waited in the car.

Gral followed and immediately tried to peer over the counter at the dark-skinned man who was there. He seemed in better spirits, comparing the humidity and lush greens to Risa.

"I've never cared for it," he said.

Shran saw the bell on the counter and decided to ring it repeatedly, his palm smashing against the knob. A dark-skinned man in his forties finally came up, annoyed, until he saw them. Taking a step back, he waited for one of them to speak.

"We speak English," Gral offered.

The man nodded and then asked, "Can I help you?"

"We would like a room," Shran said.

"You know, we don't really cater to aliens and –"

"We know," Gral agreed.

The man furrowed his brow and then looked for something on his PADD. While he did so, he explained some of the rules like checkout times and where the ice machines were. Shran was about to cut him off, but found the ice machine discussion fascinating.

"Ice machines?" Shran asked, delighted.

"Yes. You know, like in the freezer. They make ice cubes."

"We can sit in these ice machines?" Shran asked.

"No. It's just like a big freezer. You can use it for drinks."

"Yes, like a freezer. Excellent," Shran said, smiling down at Gral. The Andorian recalled enjoying sitting in front of it for hours with his family – an activity that frequently led to a new freezer.

Gral snorted at the idea as Shran beamed. "We obviously chose the right hotel." And then suspicion crawled across his face as he narrowed his eyes. "How much do these machines cost?"

"Ice is free."

"Your ice is free?" he asked to clarify.

"Yeah," the man said.

Turning to Gral, Shran explained, "An Andorian hotel would charge by the bucket." He nodded to the man behind the counter. "How much ice can I take? Legally that is?"

"Uh, as much as you want."

Shran ran outside to alert his family. "This facility has free ice!"

The family cheered and he ran back in the establishment wearing the same grin. "Then we shall definitely like a room."

"Okay, just one or …?"

"One very large one," Shran replied.

"We have a suite with a king bed and –"

Shran grinned. "I can understand the confusion. Although I appear regal, I'm not a king. Your normal beds would do. Dignitary if you have them."

"A queen?" the human asked, perplexed.

"As I explained, I am not royalty." He then said under his breath to Gral, "Humans aren't very bright, are they?"

Gral shrugged.

"Okay, we have a suite with uhm … two normal beds. Would that work?"

"Yes."

"For how many nights?" the man asked.

"Well, I would be staying days as well. Do I pay extra for that?"

The human was confused again and then finally figured out the response. "Uhm, no. We charge by the night, but the hotel room would be open to you during the day as well."

"I'm not sure I understand why you charge for the nights only. It seems poor business practice."

The man shook his head. "It's just the way it is."

"Well, very well, but if I were you I'd write to your hotel commission." Looking at Gral, he then tried to calculate what they would need. "I'd like a room for at least two months, maybe more."

"Two months?"

"We would be happy to pay a considerable amount in advance," Shran said. Holding a number of credits, he plopped them down on the counter.

The man counted them and said, "You realize this is about three thousand credits."

"Do you need more?" he asked.

"I'll have to get the manager," the man said.

Shran sighed, his antennae sagging. "Listen, why don't I throw in another three thousand?"

The man didn't look convinced and then Shran said, "My family – my two children and wife – need lodging and … well … you have free ice. Can't you see fit to help us?"

The man seemed torn and then said again. "We can't cater to aliens."

"We don't expect special treatment."

"All right," the man said. Eventually he produced a passcode. "What's your name?"

Shran's antennae whirled and he said loudly, "Archer."

"Is that your first or last name?" he asked, suspicious.

"It's the only one I have."

"And what's your address, Archer?"

Digging into the recesses of his brain, he came up with the address that the Pink Skin and Vulcan shared. Quickly blurting it out, he then turned to Gral who seemed satisfied with the transaction. The two hastily headed back to the shuttle.

Winding their way through the shuttleport, they eventually found their room. Immediately on entering, Tallah turned the thermostat to its lowest possible setting and Shran grabbed the trashcan to bring back ice for the bathtub so they could sit in it, just like at home.

Gral looked out the window at a stunning view – the ocean rolling in and out. Jhamel blindly went over to the pig-man and sat down. "Will we be safe here?"

"Shran and I will ensure it," he said. "We'll speak to Simon tonight and he'll be back to you by tomorrow morning."

Gral then lowered his voice so Tallah couldn't hear. "You shouldn't let anyone enter … just to be certain. Blue thinks Krag will find out soon and come for you."

"I know."

"You must stay inside as much as possible," Gral said. "I'm certain few Andorians reach this island."

"Yes, I know." She paused. "Martog will be okay?"

"It will take years for my people to act, if they decide to. By then, all will be settled."

"You sound certain," she said.

"I have to be. Your lives are counting on it," Gral countered.

Jhamel said, "Shran is lucky to have a friend such as you. Thank you for helping to save his life and ours."

"You would do the same for me and my family," Gral said.

The pig from Tellar Prime wrapped a bony hand around Jhamel's and the two were silent as they waited for Shran to return.

A/N: Awww, sorry, Skon! Sometimes it sucks to be a Vulcan. Next chapter – Talon Station and Shran's brother as well as a surprise of a new and deadly traitor (that begins to put everything together). And Shran and Gral talk with Ambassador Simon.