A/N: This is a very silly episode about the Andorians, and an ice-cutter, and the Captain and Commodore getting to play detective for a little while. In my opinion, the Andorians are the unnecessarily over-dramatic soap opera actors of ENT universe, so this one was a good time to write.
The two big major reveals in this chapter are very much related. That's all I can say for now.
This entire story is inspired by a throwaway comment in 4x13 United about the naming origins of the Kumari. Also inspired by 2x15 Cease Fire, when a certain Andorian said of Shran's tactics: There are others who feel this way. You'll see.
Next two chapters will probably be posted together. Thank you all for your feedback, favorites, and follows! Enjoy.
Season Five
Episode Four: Sevarin
The usual crowd had gathered in the mess hall for movie night. Tucker took the proceedings seriously, showing up an hour before showtime to move the tables to one side of the room and lining up the chairs in orderly rows facing the wall. He preferred to use the portable projector for movie night, salvaged from his childhood home in Florida. It was a large, cantankerous thing that constantly seemed to be breaking. Trip treated it like someone would a child.
T'Pol arrived precisely fifteen minutes before the movie was set to begin and took up her usual seat in the second row. It was far enough away where the projector's fan wouldn't interfere with her viewing experience, yet close enough to get a full view of the screen. When the proceedings of the film often weren't enough to intrigue her, she preferred to look at every screen like a mathematical composition, studying the angles created by the props and staged actors. Once she'd tried to explain how a particular lighting arrangement lent drama to a scene, and Trip had admonished her in a way she couldn't discern if he'd been kidding or not. Such a film snob, he'd said, just enjoy the movie.
The room gradually filled. Mere moments before showtime, Trip sat in his usual seat, directly behind and to the right of her. He was joined shortly by Phlox and the newest addition to the crew, one Lieutenant Kov, both of which were sporting a prodigious bowl of popcorn.
"I'm telling you, it really enhances the movie viewing experience," Trip explained, reaching over Phlox to grab a handful.
"Popcorn is one of my favorite human foods, right after cheesecake, brownies, and something called baklava…" Phlox continued listing the ship's entire dessert range while Kov popped a single kernel into his mouth and chewed contemplatively.
His expression lit up. "It's salty, rich...we certainly do not have anything like this on Vulcan, nor did we on the Vahklas."
"Surely you had popcorn on Earth," Phlox said.
"You're forgetting he spent most of those six months in training," Trip cut in, "I bet they had him eating MREs during survival and zero-gravity combat training. That's not the best impression of human food."
Kov shook his head. "I was apprehensive after that, but a certain Captain Hernandez recommended I try Madame Chang's in San Francisco. Suffice to say I had the evening meal there every day for nearly a month. When it was time to return to Vulcan, the Chef told me...I believe it was…'we're going to have to put your name above the booth, Mr. Kov'."
Trip chuckled at that. "Captain Hernandez, huh? I thought she was in need of some extra help in engineering. Surely they would have assigned you to Columbia."
"Naturally, Commander. It was ultimately my choice, however, and I wanted to be here," Kov replied.
T'Pol was doing her best to try not to look like she was eavesdropping. This was curious to her. Even though those aboard the Enterprise represented the first humans he'd ever encountered, this desire to return represented a sentimental attachment. She wondered if this was how he'd already become a natural fit into the social order of the crew.
Soon the movie began and the conversations around them drifted into silence. On the screen, a classically handsome man with a rakish glint in his eye strode down the sidewalk on a nonspecific city street. He reached the appropriate building while the percussive background music swelled, the noise of the city muffled as he ducked into a stairwell. He soon reached the second floor, whose door boasted his name with the title: PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR.
Inside, an immaculately dressed woman wearing dark lipstick and a hip-hugging skirt stood from her desk, gathering his overcoat and hat. She greeted her employer and he reciprocated, gathering his messages from the previous day and striding into his office, slamming the door behind him.
As the movie went on, Kov leaned over to the doctor and asked, "What purpose does the woman serve?"
"She's our hero's secretary. I believe in that time she would have been called eye candy."
This phrase seemed to confuse him. The film continued, introducing a mystery involving a wealthy widow, a missing fortune, and a dastardly villain with an anachronistic moustache. His questions also continued, each one more insistent than the last.
"What reason does the villain have to resent the hero? They've scarcely interacted before this moment."
"Why does our hero go to the bar even though he knows the gang members frequent it? Is he seeking confrontation?"
"Why does the widow fall in love with her investigator? That's not the nature of their professional relationship."
Trip entertained his queries, whispering answers back to him. The rest of the audience took it in stride, seemingly amused with his persistent questions, with the exception of one officer seated in the front row.
As T'Pol looked on, Lieutenant Cutler twisted around in her seat, her usual enchanting smile on display. "Mr. Kov, my friend, you dear, sweet soul…"
"Yes, Elizabeth?"
"Please know that what I'm about to say comes from a place of utmost respect."
"What is it?"
"Shut your mouth or I'll come back there and shut it for you."
The audience erupted in a fit of poorly-restrained giggles. From behind her, she could hear Phlox say, "She's serious, you know."
"Bridge to the Captain."
It was the comm, all the way across the room. With repeating mutterings of "pardon me" and "excuse me" and only a little bit of acrobatic work, T'Pol managed to extricate herself from the middle of the row and answer it.
"T'Pol here."
It was Ensign Singh. "Captain, we're still a couple of hours from Andoria, but we've received a message from Commander Shran."
"Transfer it to my ready room. Inform the Commodore."
"Acknowledged. Singh out."
Captain's Log, August 15th, 2155: We've arrived in the Andorian system to meet with the Imperial Council. Commander Shran has informed us that a later than usual spring has rendered shuttle travel impossible. Despite the misgivings of our senior officers, the Commodore and I have accepted an offer to be beamed in from a farther distance away and transported to the capital city via ice-cutter.
"Is that Andoria? It's beautiful," Dita marveled, her forehead pressed against the window in the wardroom.
The planet in question was a massive, grayish-blue ice giant with enormous rings. It was as if she could see the ice crystals from here, as the entire planet seems to be twinkling and glowing. Dita thought it looked very much like Neptune with Saturn's rings.
From his seat, Archer called out, "I'm afraid not, Ensign. That's Andor. We'll be going to Andoria, right beyond that secondary ringlet. Port side."
The Andorian homeworld, as it turned out, was a small, grubby, nondescript looking moon. Dita couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.
"So let me get this straight," Trip said, "If we try to fly a shuttle into the atmosphere…"
"The engine will freeze. Commander, it's over one hundred degrees below zero down there."
"And it's springtime?" He cried incredulously, crossing his arms. "Why can't we just transport into the capital?"
"The rings of the gas giant are causing seasonal debris of ionized gases and dust in the atmosphere," T'Pol explained. "Shran has assured us that we will continuously be in a climate controlled environment from the beginning to end of our visit."
"I hate to hear what temperature the Andorians consider comfortable," he grumbled.
"General Karashi has very generously ensured our transportation for this conference. The Sevarin is an ice cutter with tremendous historical significance, second only to that of the original Kumari. They have also offered to share their shield generator technology with us so that we may upgrade our own. Your presence will not only be appreciated, it is also required," T'Pol countered, effectively cutting off his complaints.
"Captain, I do question if it is wise to be out on a boat with a highly duplicitous species for almost a full day with limited means of escape," Malcolm confessed. Alira nodded beside him.
"I tend to agree. That is why we're bringing MACOs with us on this mission."
They both pulled an almost identical dubious expression, opening their mouths to protest. Archer cut them off with a swift motion of his hand. "Before either of you tell us we're making a mistake, we need experienced officers on board should something go wrong. The construction on the Kandar satellite has begun and we need to be ready to mobilize at a moment's notice."
Alira frowned, a rare sight indeed. Malcolm appeared to be pouting.
"You can start developing your security strategy for the joint Rigelian-Ktarian talks next month," he added, nodding at Ensign Singh to encourage her to begin the briefing. Really, he respected and admired his officers, but sometimes they could act like children.
"Let's begin," Dita said quietly, queueing up a series of images on the viewscreen behind her. "Commander Shran has been given command of a new vessel, which has yet to be commissioned. Many members of the Imperial Guard disagreed with this decision, but General Karashi and Chancellor Sindas are most likely tempted with the military advantages that could be afforded to them by the alliance. You won't see either of them until the capital."
She advanced the screen, displaying the portraits of two familiar Aenar women. "Traveling with them are Jhamel, Shran's mate, and the Aenar representative, Lissan. They're pacifists. It may be important to silence the other delegates so they feel comfortable speaking."
"Of paramount importance during these negotiations are to bring the Aenar into the fold. They must be willing to accept Andorian protection so more of them are not taken captive by the Romulans as a means to operate their telepresence units," T'Pol reminded them.
"Shran is accompanied by his Lieutenant, Tholos. Little is known about him, but he is a survivor of the Romulan attack on the Kumari, and assisted us during a hostage recovery mission in the Coridan system. Two other military representatives, each overseeing different sectors of this quadrant, will be along for the ride. These are Captains Namara and Telev."
Namara was a very serious looking officer with a close crop of hair, while Telev had a sharp, angular face that Archer thought made him look like a hawk.
"I'm sure they're also traveling with their own security, but I don't have any information on them," Dita admitted. "My apologies, Commodore."
He shook his head, as if to say it was of little consequence. "You've done a good job, Ensign. Let's exercise caution and keep our wits about us. We know we can trust Shran, but not the others."
Malcolm squinted his eyes and pulled a strained smile, no doubt still wondering if they could even trust Shran in the first place.
As everyone stood and moved towards the door, Trip clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. "It's been a pleasure knowing you, Lieutenant Commander. The next time you see me I'm probably going to be a popsicle."
The away team beamed aboard the top deck of the Sevarin and almost immediately regretted it.
The cold was so intense that it took Trip's breath away, and made every subsequent breath feel like knives stabbing at his lungs, even through his balaclava. Within seconds his extremities began to lose feeling, his hands and feet tingling. His tears began to freeze, gathering in tiny icicles on his eyelashes.
He turned around, expecting to see some form of flora and fauna on the horizon, but was only greeted by a thick, white fog for as far as the eye could see. In the other direction, he could barely make out the other side of the ship, rising and falling ever so slightly as they forged onward, breaking through the flawless expanse of ice that likely surrounded them on all sides. The ice was beautiful in itself, dipping and cresting in peaks, creating near-blinding reflections in shades of brilliant white and light blue.
He could have stayed there all day taking in the sights, if it weren't for one very important caveat.
"It's freezing!" Ensign Singh shouted over the howling wind, rubbing her gloved hands over her arms. Being a rather small person, she was already struggling to retain her body heat, shaking like a leaf.
Struggling worse than their comm officer was the Captain, who looked like a deer in the headlights, positively motionless as the MACOs rushed forward to secure the deck. He doubted she had ever experienced cold like this before. Come to think of it, neither had he.
At least during cold weather survival training on Jupiter, they'd been wearing EV suits.
"This way!" Corporal McKenzie called out, holding open the door which he assumed led into the superstructure.
"Come on," the Commodore said, wrapping a protective arm around T'Pol's shoulders. The two of them began to shuffle towards the opening.
Trip took one step after them, only to immediately lose his balance on the slippery surface. Before he could react, the ground slid away from him and deposited him, rather painfully, on the thick layer of ice that covered the deck.
He exhaled through his teeth in an attempt to avoid crying out in pain. Dita's face came into his field of vision. She still managed to look immensely concerned even though most of her features were obscured. Without putting very much thought into it, she extended her hand to help him up.
Trip took hold of it, immediately pulling her down on top of him when he attempted to pull himself up. She made a rather undignified "oof" sound and rolled to one side, coming to lay on her back next to him.
They stared up at the sky together for one long moment, watching scattered snowflakes drifting down from the clouds. Finally, Dita spoke: "I'd laugh if I didn't think my lungs were already frozen."
Eventually Sergeant Kemper came to help them, and the three of them spent several minutes trying to right themselves without pulling each other down. When Trip was finally on his feet, he began to move in the direction of the door, shuffling his feet as if he were ice skating. He was sure he looked incredibly stupid, but the rest of the away team followed his example, securely shutting the door behind them to block out the elements.
The inside of the Sevarin felt like a brisk autumn day, perhaps too chilly to be comfortable for humans, but appreciated nonetheless. The corridor was narrow, gray and nondescript, with nary a decoration in sight.
"They could have beamed us in about ten meters to the right," Archer exclaimed, "Where the hell is Shran?"
No one seemed to know the answer to that question. The Captain located her tricorder and began to walk down the hall, scanning as she went, followed closely by McKenzie. Dita had removed her hood, and as Trip watched, she ran her hands over the tight-fitting turban she was using to cover her hair, sending tiny ice crystals flying. With a laugh, he removed his beanie and did the same.
"It's going to take me a couple of hours to defrost," she admitted.
"Don't worry, I'm sure Shran will have all of us toasting with Andorian ale. That'll warm you right up," Trip replied, exchanging a mischievous glance with Jon.
She shifted uncomfortably, leaning into the wall. "I don't drink, sir. Religious reasons."
He shrugged. "No worries, Ensign. I'll have your share."
"He'll probably have triple your share by the time we arrive at the capital," Archer teased with a smile.
The Captain was halfway down the hall when the man of the hour appeared at the end of it, arms crossed, like he was ready to give someone a good scolding. She didn't seem phased, but the Corporal's hand tensed over her holstered weapon for a fraction of a second before letting go.
"Archer!" The Andorian cried. "Welcome back to paradise!"
"We seem to have different definitions of that word," he shouted back, and they closed the distance between them in the middle of the corridor.
After exchanging a brisk handshake, Shran's antennae swiftly pointed forward, which to Trip either indicated he was in a mischievous or confrontational mood. "I hear that you've lost your command. What did you do to make Starfleet pull the trigger?"
"It seems that Admiral Gardner thought it best for me to become some sort of diplomat."
"A diplomat?" Shran spat it out like a curse word. "It seems you've done too well in making sure that Tellarite pig and myself didn't kill each other. You ought to make sure you wander into trouble every now and then, just to keep your skills sharp."
"It is agreeable to see you again, Commander Shran," T'Pol said, matching his confident wide stance.
"A pleasure as always, T'Pol," he replied, and thoroughly sized her up. To Archer, he declared, "It seems that they'll let anyone run a starship these days, even a Vulcan."
"You may call me Captain," she ground out, meeting his offer of a handshake half way. Unexpectedly, she clenched down on his palm with the sum of her Vulcan strength, causing surprise to cross his features for a fraction of a second.
Shran quickly recovered. "Message received. Mr. Tucker, are you not going to introduce me to your new officer?"
"Ensign Singh. I'm to be the communications officer on the Maelstrom." She reached forward, and instead of taking his hand, seized his forearm, bearing down slightly.
He smiled. "I like this one. She greets new people like a warrior."
"Commander, allow us to congratulate you on your reassignment to the Undali. I understand that officers of the Imperial Guard do not often receive a second command after their first ship is destroyed," T'Pol said, fully meaning it to sound as harsh of an insult as it did.
"Yes," he muttered, "Fortunately for me-and for you-I have some very powerful allies that owe me some very large favors."
"Will we be meeting any of them today?" Tucker asked.
Shran turned and began to lead them further into the belly of the ship, hands clasped behind his back. "No, but you will be meeting some of my friends."
"Friends, Shran?" Archer was skeptical.
"That may be too generous of a word. Perhaps I should call them acquaintances who haven't tried to kill me yet."
Back on the Enterprise, Hoshi and Travis entered the mess hall to a familiar scene.
At their usual table, Reed and Taxa sat across from each other, intensely focused on the chess board between them. He was nursing a coffee, repeatedly rubbing his temples as if under extreme duress. She didn't look the least bit bothered, pushing her lunch around the plate with her fork and intermittently studying her nails.
"Mind if we join you folks?" Travis asked, though by that time they were already sitting down.
"Not in the slightest," Malcolm mumbled, not taking his eyes off of the board. "How's the bridge?"
"When we left, Liz was trying to negotiate with the Andorians to let a science team beam down and collect ice core samples from the Northern Wastes. Apparently, the ice up there hasn't melted for two billion years," Hoshi said. "Though she's not getting through to them because Chancellor Sindas is convinced that she's going to use the opportunity to spy on them."
"What even is there to spy on up there?" Malcolm shook his head.
Travis laughed. "A couple million Aenar, which shouldn't be a problem. Probably just some ice bores, and presumably some weird reindeer looking species."
"They're actually called grissiks," Hoshi clarified, "And they're about the size of a golden retriever."
"Aw," Alira looked up from her meal, clasping a hand to her chest.
"-And have four heads."
"Oh."
"I thought Denobulans didn't care to have pets," Travis said.
"In general, they don't," she assured him, "But my combat training supervisor at STC had a labrador. I can see the benefits of the added companionship."
"And Porthos loves her," Malcolm cut in. "I can't even get the little guy to sniff my hand, but the second she walks into sick bay-" He snapped his fingers.
"He slept on my lap for about an hour while we reviewed the MACO physicals. It was extremely validating."
"Maybe dogs just have a thing for Denobulans," Travis wondered. "So what's the stakes this time?"
He was referring to their seemingly never ending tournament to determine who was the superior chess player; Malcolm had been the ship's champion long before Alira came aboard, and he was reluctant to give up his title. That didn't prevent him from losing more often than he won, however, and so the deciding number of wins kept increasing from best out of three, to best out of seven, to best out of fifteen.
To keep things interesting, they'd made a series of wagers. Most of them had been fairly innocent, like the loser having to pick up the winner's next duty shift, or polishing all of the torpedo casings in the armory. Several times, however, things had gotten intense, culminating in Malcolm having to streak through the bridge in his skivvies the previous week. He'd chosen to fulfill his end of the deal in the middle of the night during gamma shift, but hadn't counted on running into the Commodore in the turbolift on the way back to his quarters.
"Loser has to act as the winner's personal assistant for twenty-four hours," she explained, watching as Malcolm touched a rook in the center of the board. "Six moves."
"Really? Are you going to keep telling me how many moves you can win in?"
"It's called tactics, Mr. Reed, and it appears to be working. Four moves."
He removed his hand from the bishop, reaching for a knight.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Travis warned. He was dealt a look of severe reproach.
"Just to save you time, going across the first row, I'm seeing seven moves, five, six…"
Malcolm sat back and exhaled through his pursed lips.
"Take all the time you need, Lieutenant Commander," Hoshi said, exchanging a mischievous look with Travis. "There's still four hours until your shift starts."
Finally he decided on a pawn, which Alira informed him would give him a relatively luxurious nine moves. As they all watched, she leaned in, narrowing her eyes at the board, then pinned down his king with a single move of her knight. "Check."
"You-" He exclaimed, bringing his palms down onto the table. "You told me I had nine moves!"
"Tactics, Malcolm," she admonished, "I'm surprised you didn't see that coming."
"It was really obvious," Travis admitted.
"Perhaps he was distracted," Alira suggested with a truly shameless grin.
Malcolm turned his concentration back to the board. Sure there were moves he could take, but none that would prolong the game long enough to allow him to regain the upper hand. So he went for the obvious move and allowed her to win, secretly relishing the chance to see the joy rush across her features.
'Nicely done, Ensign," Travis said, "I'm afraid that once we get around to having another tournament, Malcolm might lose his title."
"I hope he enjoys his reign as chess champion while he still can." She reached for her PADD and illuminated the screen, checking the time. "And your twenty-four hours of servitude starts now, at 1208 hours. If you could be so kind as to make me a cappuccino with a double shot."
He rose to his feet. "What, would you like chocolate and sprinkles as well?"
"Ooh, could you?" She glanced at him over her shoulder, her smile a touch more smug than usual. The second she returned her attention to the board, Malcolm threw his hands up in exasperation.
Hoshi suspected that people might have been killed before for speaking to Malcolm in any way similar to that, but he only seemed bemused. "I'll come with you. I could go for some tea. Want anything, Travis?"
He shook his head. "I think I'd rather play Ensign Taxa this next round."
"Oh, Mr. Mayweather," she said, turning the board at an angle to face him. "I respect you too much to see you lose so miserably."
"We'll see about that," he countered, and they set to their game.
At the replicator, Malcolm reached for a clean glass and shoved it under the dispenser. He placed his order, and when the cup was full, he stared at it blankly, almost as if he was wondering how exactly his life had come to this.
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Of course, Hoshi."
She grabbed a mug and studied it, lowering her voice to a whisper. "You two ought to just get a room already."
His head whipped around, glancing in all directions to make sure no one was paying them any mind. "Believe me, it's difficult, what with the no fraternization policy-"
Hoshi scoffed. "Do you think that's ever stopped anyone on this ship before? Think about Liz and Phlox. Think about...well, practically everyone in engineering."
"I don't know. I am her superior officer. I don't want to make her uncomfortable."
"Malcolm," she chastised as she pushed past him to the replicator. "She couldn't be putting out stronger signals if she tried. "
"You think?"
"Absolutely. Sweet tea with ice."
As the replicator filled the mug, he turned back to look at her curiously. "No oolong today?"
They hadn't been having every single meal together recently, but over the course of four years, the senior staff had grown familiar with each other's preferences. "Commander Tucker recommended it. Though he says it's not proper sweet tea unless it comes in a gallon jug from the neighborhood corner store."
"Putting ice in your tea is sacrilege." Malcolm was quick to remind her that he was English, lest she forget. "So, you two have been spending a lot of time together."
"Is that a question?"
"Just an observation," he said innocently, "Telling us to get a room...sounds like the pot calling the kettle black to me."
"Yeah, yeah. Get a move on. Alira might have another job for you by now." Hoshi pushed him between his shoulder blades, and together they made their way back to the table.
The ward room of the Sevarin was completely at odds with the spartan interior of the rest of the ship. An oblong table cut the room in two, made out of some heavy reflective material that Archer suspected was stone. Several large crests were mounted, laden with battle imagery and the same looping, serpentine script. Interspersed between these crests were countless holographic portraits of stern looking individuals dressed in the same ubiquitous Andorian armor over hundreds of years. Several display cases were spaced out around the perimeter, bearing what were either mining tools or torture devices.
"Impressive, right?" Shran crowed, spreading his arms out wide. "And to think that just a few years ago, this was the labor transport flagship of the Andorian Mining Consortium."
"I thought he just made that up," Archer mumbled, remembering their ill-fated attempt to steal the Xindi prototype two years before.
T'Pol spared him a cursory glance, but shifted her focus back to the line of Andorians that were waiting to receive them. Shran seemed to take the hint and gestured to the woman at one end of the line, who was at least a full head taller than anyone in attendance.
"Captain Namara of the cruiser Argosin," she announced, not even extending her hand for a shake.
"You honor us with your presence, Captain," T'Pol said.
"I do not enjoy exchanging pleasantries, and I certainly do not approve of the General's decision to engage in diplomacy with pink-skins, or Vulcans for that matter."
And I don't particularly enjoy being around you all either, Tucker thought, but didn't dare vocalize it.
"Very well," the Captain replied evenly. "I hope we can set aside our differences."
"Doubtful." The next officer in line stepped forward. Archer recognized him as the hawk-faced man from the briefing that morning. "I'd much rather take a shuttle directly to the capital than use such an outdated mode of transportation with such undesirable company. It's a pity that the dust storms from the gas giant's rings prevent us from doing so."
"Captain Telev, commander of the Tahndeli fleet," Shran gestured to him, seemingly unfazed by his colleague's rudeness.
Trip immediately recognized Telev from their encounter at Paan Mokar, where he'd had to bring the Enterprise between the Vulcan and Andorian fleets to prevent an interstellar war from breaking out while Archer was wheeling and dealing on the surface. The feeling of distaste was mutual.
"This is my Lieutenant, Tholos," Shran nodded at the last man in line, who T'Pol remembered from their attempt to escape the murderous intent of Coridanite rebels following the incident at P'Jem.
Their host took several large steps around the assembled Andorians, coming to stand behind two small figures already seated at the table. "Archer, of course you remember Lissan, the chosen representative of the Aenar, and my mate Jhamel."
Neither of them turned to look at them, but everyone knew they saw them nonetheless. The Aenar were completely blind, but possessed preternatural telepathic abilities that allowed them to read minds and unfortunately made them prey to the Romulans' telepresence efforts.
Before he could say anything, Shran leaned in and whispered to Jonathan: "She's carrying my son!"
"Shran," she admonished, treating them to a gentle smile. "The gender of our child is far from certain. It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Archer."
He returned her greeting. Lissan said nothing, her antennae folded down in a deferential stance.
"Well!" Shran exclaimed. He clapped his hands once and rubbed them together. "Now that's finished, I'll summon the stewards to bring us our meal. We only have a few hours to go until the capital."
With that, he disappeared from the room, leaving the Enterprise crew alone with several very hostile Andorians. Kemper and McKenzie took defensive positions at the far corners of the room.
Trip set to divesting himself of his cold weather suit, as it really was quite warm towards the interior of the ship. By the time he'd removed his parka, insulating pants, and heavy boot covers, he was sweating profusely. He unzipped his dress uniform jacket by a couple inches in an attempt to cool off, but after a disapproving look from the Captain, zipped it back up again.
Dita and Jhamel were standing at one of the display cases, discussing inscriptions and uses for the various tools. Trip noticed his future comm officer was a natural at communicating with other species, and after a few minutes of speaking into her tricorder, she attempted her first couple sentences in the Aenar language.
Lissan took notice of this and joined them; soon, the three women were chatting like old friends. Dita even made some sort of comment which amused them, as they both turned and laughed behind their hands. Meanwhile, the Captain and the Commodore were engaged in some sort of staring match with the Andorians seated on the opposite side of the table, no one daring to say a word.
By the time Shran returned with the ship's stewards in tow, Trip was grateful to see him. He was starving, and dearly hoped that what they were about to be served would be edible, at least by human standards.
"Before we begin, a toast," Shran said, taking his position at the table. He produced a bottle of Andorian ale seemingly out of nowhere and filled his glass, before passing it to his left. When it passed by Ensign Singh, Trip filled her glass and clandestinely slid it onto his placemat, exchanging a knowing glance with her.
When the bottle had made its way around the table, Shran stood and raised his glass. "To friends, new and old, and to enemies, the very same. May we always be able to tell the difference."
Striving mightily not to breathe through his nose, Trip downed his glass, fighting the urge to gag. It stung more going down than he remembered. He was starting to miss Natalie's cheap tequila.
He followed it shortly by Dita's glass, then sat down quickly, knowing it would only be a matter of minutes before he started to feel the alcohol. Turning his attention to his plate, he discovered his meal constituted the whole body of some batlike creature, its wings folded over its abdomen, with a rather menacing set of fangs. It was surrounded by a bed of some thick, fibrous looking vegetable, charred black and not looking particularly appetizing.
"Commander Shran, what do you call…" He gestured down at his plate.
"It's redbat and tuber root. Both delicacies," Shran replied, severing one of the bat's wings with his knife.
Beside him, Dita flinched, her lips pressed in a firm line of concern. She made eye contact with the Captain across the table, and together the two vegetarians began to pick around the creature, having to use some effort to stab the root with their forks.
Trip looked back and gestured to Corporal McKenzie, then back to his plate. She shook her head emphatically.
"Archer, I would be interested to hear of your exploits during this diplomatic mission of yours." Shran was the first to pose an overture of conversation. Trip watched as he picked up the wing with both hands and made quick work of removing the flesh from the bones, just like any human would with a chicken wing.
"I wouldn't," Captain Namara said loudly.
In spite of the objections in the room, Archer seized the opportunity to lay down his fork and knife. "Well, I don't know if you've heard, but Commander Tucker is set to take his own command in January."
"Ah, yes. The Maelstrom. A truly impressive warship."
"And just how did you know that?" Trip still had to brace himself at the description of warship; it hadn't been his intention when joining the service to jump from conflict to conflict, but it seemed that fate had other ideas. He privately yearned for the days when they were simple explorers. Not diplomats, not solicitors of humanity. Just explorers.
"We've been conducting surveillance on all communications between Starfleet and the High Command for some time," Lieutenant Tholos helpfully explained, doing away with any pretense that anyone in the room could trust one another.
Archer was determined to salvage the conversation. "We've taken on some of Commander Tucker's future bridge officers. Ensign Singh is one of them, and Lieutenant Kov in engineering, as well as Ensign Alira Taxa for tactical."
Down the table, Captain Telev leaned forward and asked incredulously, "How did you convince the Denobulan Infantry to give you their defensive fleet commander?"
"I understand she volunteered for this assignment," T'Pol clarified.
Shran laughed. "Captain, your Ensign Taxa is notorious in this sector. She is a fearsome warrior. I know from experience, because the few times the Imperial Guard has dared to test the borders of Denobulan space-"
"Just to see what they would do." Tholos shrugged.
"Commander Shran was defeated soundly," Namara confirmed.
"That was many years ago," he assured them, "Say what you want about the Denobulans, but they can assemble a good army."
The Captain and the Commodore exchanged a curious look. How had this not come up in conversation with the Ensign before now?
"We never paid them much mind after that. What with their infernal smiling faces and focus on scientific pursuits, the Denobulans are not much of a threat. I cannot say the same about the Vulcans," Telev declared, staring down the Captain from across the table.
Before she could respond, the power went out, sending the room into darkness. The attendees reacted with confusion, coming out of their seats and feeling around for anything familiar. There was an immediate shuffling of feet, coupled with the sound of someone crying out in pain.
Ensign Singh located her flashlight in the pocket of her parka and turned it on, darting the beam around the room before settling over the crumpled form of Captain Telev, who was bent over the table with some kind of projectile lodged in his back.
They were only a few hours into their duty shift, but Alira's constant requests were starting to get on Malcolm's nerves.
He had the conn, so he was taking full advantage of it, sitting in one chair with his feet propped up in the other. At first he was intent on arranging the following week's armory duty roster, but he kept getting interrupted with requests that he get her a coffee, or recalibrate the targeting sensors (that he personally knew were flawless) for the third time that evening, or run down to the quartermaster's office to pick up her uniforms. Somehow he found himself conscripted into acting as the tactical dummy for Alira's self defense course directed at female crewmen the following evening. By perhaps the thirtieth time he'd heard his name coming from the tactical station that evening, he was ready to go nuclear.
"Lieutenant Commander, there's a-"
"What is it, Ensign?" He ground out, not even glancing in her direction.
"There's a tactical alert aboard the Sevarin. The Captain has activated her body alarm."
He stood immediately, turning to the crewman at the communications station. "Hail them."
Ensign Westminster tapped a couple buttons, then shook her head. "That may be impossible, sir. There's too much interference from the planetary dust."
"Keep trying. I suppose there's no hope of a transporter lock either, is there?"
At the science station, Lieutenant Novakovich shook his head ruefully. "I'm sorry, sir. We'll have a chance as they get closer to the capital. They have a form of weather modification netting over the city center, but we still may not be able to take advantage of it because their cities are underground."
Malcolm and Alira made eye contact from across the room. Suddenly she stood and came from around the tactical console, crossing her arms. "Ensign, try a much lower frequency. In the Infantry we often had to communicate over radio frequencies to avoid detection."
She nodded and set to work, and first getting static, but then, something that at least partially resembled a voice.
"Reed to the Captain."
Nothing.
"Reed to the Captain. Please respond."
Finally, a faint response: "Reed, this is Archer. One of the Andorian officers has been murdered."
"Are you in any danger, sir? We could assemble a boarding party-"
"No, I don't think we are." A pause. "At least not yet. We need all the information you can gather about several members of the Imperial Guard. And I don't care what lengths you need to go to in order to get it."
Alira sat in the Commodore's chair and pulled the computer console over, entering in the names as he recited them.
"Is there anything else you need, sir? We're willing to risk piloting a shuttle-"
"No, Lieutenant Commander. Just the information, as fast as you can."
The transmission ended, and the bridge descended into silence.
"How are you at hacking through multi-layered encryption?" Alira asked at last, her brows furrowed in concentration.
"I've had my moments," he admitted as he leaned over her shoulder. "Is that the personnel server of the Imperial Guard? How did you gain access to that?"
"Don't worry about that," she said, gesturing for him to join her. "You don't know everything about me."
As soon as Ensign Singh made her rather unfortunate discovery, the MACOs sprang into action, taking up defensive positions in front of the ranking officers. Dita remained motionless for a few seconds, taking in the scene before her, her expression contorted into a mask of pure horror.
Corporal McKenzie seized her arm and pulled her back roughly, causing her to tumble backwards into the Captain. Kemper clicked off the safety of his rifle, a nearly imperceptible motion that caused a cascade of weapons to be drawn around the room.
Trip froze, eyeing his cold weather suit in a pile in the corner of the room. He knew that his phase pistol was there, tucked away in his pocket, not useful at all to him now. Beside him the Commodore reached for his sidearm but didn't draw it out, his fingers twitching above it like a cowboy about to duel it out in the wild west. The Captain acted swiftly, slapping herself on the shoulder, activating the body alarm that Ensign Taxa had insisted they both wear.
Shran withdrew a long rifle seemingly out of nowhere, the end of it fixed with a long bayonet and a bright light. He leveled it at Captain Namara, who had a smaller handgun pointed directly at his head.
"You couldn't even wait to reach the capital to start your treachery!" He declared. "You've done this to seize control of the Tahndeli fleet!"
"Why so quick to accuse, Commander? Could it be that you are seeking revenge for Telev's actions at Weytahn? You will do anything to ingratiate yourself to this human crew!"
"It was the Vulcan," Tholos accused, aiming his weapon in her direction. "He was struck down immediately after he reminded us of their deceitfulness."
Kemper began to raise his pistol, only for the Commodore to reach out and seize his elbow. "Everyone needs to lower their weapons now! No one leaves this room until we figure out what's happened!"
Shran narrowed his eyes at Namara. "You first."
"How do I know you won't immediately shoot me?"
"I suppose you don't."
She shifted her arm to aim at the Aenar women, who had yet to move or say anything during this confrontation. They sensed her animosity and almost simultaneously leaned all the way back in their chairs, their antennae bent forward. "They're my insurance that you put down your rifle."
Shran harrumphed, throwing his weapon down upon the table, sending napkins and utensils flying. "You disgust me."
"The feeling is mutual," she replied calmly, adding her weapon to the pile.
Much to his surprise, Archer felt his communicator go off in his pocket, and stepped into the corner to answer the call. Tucker stepped forward, gesturing to Tholos. "You too, let's go."
He looked doubtful. "Your soldiers first."
The MACOs looked back on the Captain, utterly incredulous, but heeded her unspoken command and laid them down at their feet. Finally the Lieutenant complied.
T'Pol approached the Andorian woman, crossing her arms and getting quite into her personal space. "What reason does Shran have to seek revenge on Captain Telev?"
"I'm surprised you don't already know, Vulcan," she answered sharply, "Telev responded when Shran's officers called for the fleet to defend our territory. He continued to denounce his association with the humans even as Shran dealt you favor after favor. They were enemies in every sense of the word."
"Captain, do you think I would invite you to accompany the Imperial Guard's delegation to the Coalition talks just to commit a murder right in front of you? I am not a fool!" Shran cried.
"Debatable," she countered, "I find it hard to believe either of you would be foolish enough to commit a crime in front of two powerful telepaths."
Jhamel turned away from Dita, who she had been urgently conversing with. "Right before Telev's demise, I felt a surge of rage. It came from the opposite side of the table."
"Could you narrow that down a little bit? Who was giving off these feelings?" Trip asked.
"Commander, surely you are aware that Aenar cannot read minds without the consent of the participant," Lissan said.
"And that they will certainly never agree to," Jhamel added.
"They might if it would clear their name," Trip said loudly, making eye contact with the three Andorians standing across the table from them.
Shran turned and looked at Archer, who was returning from answering Malcolm's hail. "We've got bigger problems right now, pink-skin. The environmental controls are off. In less than an hour, the Sevarin will be uninhabitable for the likes of you."
"Can we contact the capital?"
Dita looked up from her tricorder, shaking her head. "There's too much interference."
Archer huffed. "Fine. The environmental controls, where are they?"
"Somewhere on the lower level, I'm not quite sure," Shran answered.
Trip crossed the room and retrieved his parka, slinging it on over his dress uniform. "That settles it. Come on, Ensign. We'll get it started up again."
Dita joined him at the door without a second thought, much to the consternation of Captain Namara. "How are they permitted to leave this room?"
"Because right now we're the only thing standing between us and freezing to death," Trip retorted, "And unless you can make up some reason either of us should be accused, I'd like to get to work."
They swept out of the room without a second thought. The group had resumed arguing by the time the door shut behind them.
The temperature had already dipped significantly by the time Trip and Dita made it to the lowermost level of the vessel. Without the whir of the power supply or the environmental controls, the only sounds around them were the crushing of ice and the creaking of the hull.
Trip aimed his flashlight down the corridor, finding it mercifully empty. Dita bent over and began to scan the paneling along the wall with her tricorder, attempting to make sense of the looping Andorian script written there.
"Environmental controls should be down here somewhere," he said absently, "We might not be able to restore the lights, but temperature is gotta be the priority."
"I agree," she replied, her voice muffled around her balaclava, which left only her eyes and the bridge of her nose exposed. "I don't think I've ever been this cold."
"It never got this cold in Florida, that's for sure," Trip said.
"Nor in India. I don't believe I even saw snow until I was almost thirty, teaching in England," she mused, suddenly stopping in her tracks. "Here. Environmental Controls Access Conduit A."
He trained his flashlight on the wall and continued downwards, until his worst fear was realized. The conduit was wide, but shallow, tall enough to slide in on one's back, but not tall enough to sit up. He already knew it was pitch black inside. Really, it was just their luck.
Trip helped Dita pry off the paneling, shining his flashlight into the darkness. The conduit continued for as far as he could see, with various valves and switches mounted to the ceiling. Before he could say anything, Ensign Singh had sunk down to her knees and rolled over on her back, using her feet to slowly push herself into the conduit.
"Come on, Commander, let's get this over with. I'll help you read these inscriptions."
He hesitated, hands braced on his hips.
From inside the wall came her muffled question: "You're not claustrophobic, are you?"
Trip didn't respond, looking up and down the empty hallway once more. It felt like one hundred eyes were trained on him, watching his every move.
This was ridiculous. He'd looked death in the eye more than once in the form of a dozen hostile alien species, and he couldn't handle performing a bit of maintenance on an environmental access panel? Taking a deep breath, he slowly sank to the floor and began to follow his communications officer down the duct.
Once they were well inside, he trained his flashlight on the ceiling and they set to work, following the lines of piping and haphazard labeling above them. Most of the words had faded over time, and Dita was struggling to get the UT to take a reading.
"They don't make this easy," she muttered absentmindedly, rubbing a bit of dirt from the body of a control valve.
"This job rarely is," he answered, and the two of them exchanged a smile.
Suddenly, from the hallway, they heard the scraping of metal on the floor. Trip craned his neck in an attempt to see what was going on, but in the next moment someone had sealed them inside the compartment, leaving them in almost complete darkness.
"Hey! Who's there?" Ensign Singh shouted, rolling onto her stomach and pulling herself in the direction they'd come. Trip could hear her pounding on the access panel, but it wasn't louder than the sound of the blood rushing in his ears.
By the time he joined her, his heart was racing, and the reality of their situation was sitting in. They both pushed on the paneling with their feet in an attempt to break it loose, to no effect. Trip pulled out his communicator, shouting into the receiver: "Tucker to Archer!"
No response.
"Tucker to T'Pol. Tucker to Enterprise. Tucker to anyone that can hear me!"
The silence on the other end of the line was all-encompassing. It felt like the walls were pushing in on him from all sides. The environmental access tunnel on the Sevarin felt like a coffin.
He closed his eyes and took several deep, measured breaths to avoid panicking. In the darkness he could feel Dita's eyes on him, and he knew he had to get himself back under control. "Okay," he whispered, pointing his flashlight further down the conduit. "Maybe that leads somewhere."
Ensign Singh shook her head slowly, with a great deal of regret. "That blue paneling down there is the hull, sir."
"Damn," he huffed, switching off the light. In the darkness, all he could hear was their own ragged breathing. "We should've taken a MACO with us, Ensign."
"They say hindsight is 20/20," she replied, oddly calm for the situation they were presently in.
"So we've tried finding another route and kicking the door down. Any other ideas?"
She seemed to think about this for a moment. "We could try screaming?"
Before that day, Jonathan had been convinced that out of all their travels, the Klingons had been the most unbearable, frustrating race they'd encountered. But after five minutes of listening to them argue, he had to admit the Andorians were giving them a run for their money.
"I can't believe that you would dare commit this crime in front of the delegates from Starfleet!" Shran exclaimed, pounding his fist on the table.
"I haven't killed Telev, and if even if I did, I daresay I would have killed you as well," Namara replied calmly, "You are too weak, too deferential, to defend the Andorian way. You're going to negotiate away our freedom, make us as weak and spineless as the Vulcans."
"What good is your bravado going to do when the Romulans come for us as well?" He gestured towards Archer and T'Pol, who were nearly blocked from his view by the MACOs. "We need them! If we don't stand together with other species in this quadrant, we will all die together!"
"He's correct," Tholos asserted, "This incident only makes us look disorganized, un-unified. Like we don't have a plan."
Namara and the Lieutenant exchanged a meaningful look, then the young man's antennae swiveled backward, pointing in near opposite directions. "I'll fetch some stewards to see to Telev's remains."
"Go with him," the Captain whispered to Sergeant Kemper, who quickly made tracks towards the door. The moment he turned his back, the lights flickered back on.
"Don't go too far," Archer said loudly, coming around the table to stand behind the Aenar. He was starting to feel that there was some sort of game afoot. "Shran, would you consent to have your thoughts read?"
"Surely you don't think I've done this," Shran protested, gesturing to the dead man, whose hands were outstretched towards them, a puddle of dark blue blood pooling below him.
"That's exactly why I'm asking you to," he replied, watching as T'Pol brushed past Namara.
She retrieved a napkin from the table and wrapped her hand around the hilt of the projectile, pulling it out with a dreadful squelching sound. She studied it, turning it this way and that, before coming to her conclusion: "An ice pick. A poetic end to an Andorian, wouldn't you agree, Captain?"
Namara's expression remained perfectly neutral, impassible, even as T'Pol made her way over to the display cases against the wall, returning the projectile to the only empty mount on the top shelf. "Curious. It seems that it was only a few meters away from you."
She scoffed. "You could say the same with everyone on this side of the table. This proves nothing. It's plain to see that this is an act of simple revenge perpetrated by Commander Shran."
T'Pol frowned, clasping her hands behind her back. "Would you be willing to have a telepathic examination to that effect?"
"This is absurd. I will not allow this sub-class of Andorian to invade my thoughts."
Archer gestured toward Jhamel and Lissan, who seemed perfectly unaffected by her words. "That's quite a bigoted stance for a high ranking officer of the Imperial Guard to have. And here I am, thinking we were here to foster peace."
"I'll do it," Shran acquiesced. "If only to clear my name."
"Good choice. Captain, if you please," Jonathan said while mustering as convincing of a smile as he could manage under the circumstances. Corporal McKenzie took the hint and followed her into the corridor.
Once the door had shut behind them, Lissan turned to look directly at him. "It was one of them, I'm sure of it. I sense a great deal of fear and apprehension."
"To what end?" T'Pol asked, clandestinely tugging on the neckline of her jacket. The temperature in the room had increased dramatically over a matter of seconds.
Jhamel shook her head. "It is impossible to tell. Whatever gambit they meant to play here, I sense that it has gone awry."
"Because they know they're going to get caught," Shran surmised. "Archer, if you hadn't been here-"
"Don't thank me yet, Shran," he warned. Across the table, T'Pol was standing where the Captain had been seated. He took the hint and came around to the head of the table, standing directly behind the crumpled form of Captain Telev.
"About ten seconds elapsed from the time the lights went out to the time Ensign Singh activated her flashlight. Our culprit would have presumably been unprepared for the first event." As they observed, she turned and pointed towards the display case.
"Ten, nine, eight…" Archer called out, watching as she hesitated for a second, then dashed toward the display case, fumbling around for a full count, then turned and made tracks back to the table. She passed where Namara had been seated, then the Lieutenant, then Shran. Finally, she began to maneuver around the corner, only to feel her boot catch the leg of the table. She pitched forward and scrambled for purchase on anything that would keep her from falling into the dead man.
"...one." Jonathan had seized her by the forearm, the weapon mere centimeters from Telev's back. Her other hand came down hard on the table.
"Just like that," Archer said, releasing her a second later. He leaned back and studied the leg of the table, or more specifically, the two scuffs that were there. "That must have been the source of all the noise. Our killer tripped."
"Both Tholos and Namara are taller than myself, so they could have covered the distance more quickly," T'Pol pointed out.
"I suppose this means that I'm no longer a suspect." Shran grinned shamelessly. "Could this mean that you trust me, Captain?"
"Against my better judgment," she admitted. "Commodore, if you please."
The two of them moved off to the corner of the room, where they turned their backs and bent their heads together. "Jonathan, I know that you believe Shran is your friend, but-"
"You believe that he did this?"
She shrugged and whispered back, "It is possible he's framing his colleagues for some political aim, perhaps to show that the old way of Andorian aggression is unsustainable. We know next to nothing about his collaboration with the rest of the Imperial Guard. The Aenar could be in on it."
"They're pacificists, T'Pol."
"So they claim," she replied, "but the only information we have on them has been passed down from the Andorians, who have only recently become reacquainted with them."
"Is it so hard to believe that the Imperial Guard could be trying to frame him? Face it, he's not popular. With him, the Coalition negotiations would die. He wouldn't be able to take command of the Undali if he's in prison."
She thought about this for a moment. "If that were the case, it would be Captain Namara who stands to gain the most. She's his superior. His crew, his ship-they would all be passed along to her."
"So it's settled. We need to hold her in custody until we reach the capital, and then let the Imperial Council know what we know." Archer shivered, rubbing his arms with his hands. "Is it just me, or did it suddenly get a lot colder in here?"
"I believe Commander Tucker and Ensign Singh may be trying to send a message."
Suddenly from the hallway there was a great deal of shouting, followed by the sounds of a fist fight and weapons fire. The Captain didn't hesitate, retrieving her phase pistol and dashing towards the door.
"Stay here," Archer demanded as he ran after her, only for Shran to disregard his warning and give chase.
They emerged into the corridor only to find the MACOs. Kemper was unconscious, face down on the floor with a phase pistol wound to his back. McKenzie was barely conscious, and could hardly move, but she managed to extend one hand and point down the hallway.
The three of them turned just in time to witness a glimpse of Andorian armor disappear around the corner.
"What's that way, Shran?"
"Below decks. The engine room."
"Let's go." The Captain ordered, charging down the corridor.
"I could get used to this," Trip thought aloud, taking another bite of the protein bar he'd found in his jacket.
"Me too." Dita reached up and turned the temperature gauge all the way up once more. "It was terrifying for a few minutes, but now that we've got a plan-"
"It's only a little unsettling," he concluded, listening to the sounds of people shouting and furniture being knocked over above them. "If you're terrified, you hide it well, Ensign."
She took a deep breath, turning the temperature way down. "When I was eleven years old, the Saraswati was attacked by Nausicaan pirates. My mother had heard stories of them selling the victims of their conquests to the Orion syndicate, so she hid me in a storage locker in the cargo bay. I stayed in there for a full day, listening to my family fighting for their lives. When it grew quiet, I assumed everyone had been killed, and I was ready to accept my fate."
"What happened?"
"My mother came and got me then. The pirates were gone, but we'd lost over a fourth of the crew in the fight. Most of them were my family."
"I'm so sorry, Ensign."
"Don't be," she said, "The pirates only fled because a Vulcan battlecruiser responded to our distress call. I stayed with them for a week while we were being escorted to the nearest starbase."
"Is that how you became so interested in alien languages?"
In the darkness, he could hear the smile in her voice. "You could say that. If anything, it gave me a healthy appreciation for life, Commander. I enjoy every minute of it, and I don't waste time."
Trip thought was a good way to live. There were a great many things he'd been putting off for a more convenient time, and he realized now he had to act on them.
If only they could ever get out of this access tunnel...
From the hallway, they heard thunderous footsteps rushing past them, and then the paneling was wrenched open and tossed aside. A moment later, Archer's face appeared in the narrow opening.
"We heard you, loud and clear," he shouted, sliding a phase pistol across the floor in their direction. "Now look alive, you two!"
Without a hint of hesitation, Dita rolled over to her stomach and crawled towards the light, collecting the weapon as she went.
Trip knew there was a great deal of urgency to their mission at the moment, but he hadn't the faintest idea what was going on. His COs were yelling at Shran, who was shouting direction back at them as they descended further into the labyrinth of the lower decks. There was something about traitors, and MACOs, and a stolen pistol. At one point, they agreed to split off, and he followed Dita into a narrow side hallway.
Even with the environmental controls restored, there was hardly any light to speak of. They made their way around stacks of cargo containers with caution, stopping ahead of every doorway to make sure they weren't about to receive an unfortunate surprise. All the while Dita kept her phase pistol held aloft, though Trip could see that her hands were shaking.
They turned right, and then right again, only to come into another corridor, much more sparsely lit than the others. Some distance ahead of them was the silhouette of an Andorian man, lying in wait.
"Don't move!" She shouted, causing him to stop in his tracks.
At the far end of the hall, the rest of their party appeared, weapons drawn. Tholos didn't obey her command, but began to stride towards Shran, weapon held aloft.
Before he could stop her, Dita surged forward and threw herself at him, causing them both to fall to the ground. There was a brief struggle filled with kicking and screaming, and Trip was sure he was going to have to intervene, then she was clambering to her feet with a weapon in each hand.
She aimed her phase pistol at his knee and fired, causing him to cry out in pain. In disbelief, he yelled, "You shot me!"
"You were charging at my Captain," she countered, "Maybe I'll use your weapon next. I hear this one doesn't have a stun setting."
"You don't even know what I was-"
"Make another move and I'll blow your head off!" She screamed, bearing down on his injured leg with her foot.
Trip was amazed. She was bold. She was fearless.
He hoped she didn't make it a habit to kneecap any other worlds' delegates.
Captain Namara suddenly emerged from the way they'd come, curiously unarmed, arriving at the T in the hallway where Dita held Tholos at gunpoint. She looked both ways down the corridor, staring down the barrels of at least four different weapons, and held up her hands. The two of them exchanged a look, rich with pretense, then she called out, "I saw the Lieutenant fire on your MACOs and was on my way to apprehend him! It appears that you've beat me to it."
His eyes went wide. Shran closed the distance between the three of them. "What is the meaning of this?"
"I was asked to kill Captain Telev as a matter of personal revenge for an old friend of yours, Commander Shran. He was cowardly at Weytahn, and he ultimately robbed Lieutenant Tarah of her own command with his inaction."
In the back of his mind, Archer remembered navigating the war torn landscape of the aforementioned planet in an attempt to get Shran and Ambassador Soval to sit down at the same table and negotiate a ceasefire. Only Shran's second had stood in his way, and ultimately had gone to prison for her subterfuge and attempts to kill their landing party.
"He was a fine officer! You had to do this now? In front of the pink-skins?"
Trip found it curious that this was what he was concerned about. Shran looked towards Namara. "And you, you had to accuse me of this crime?"
"It was the only thing that made sense," she protested, "Commander, you would be surprised to know who you can't trust."
By the time they were able to reach the capital through the interference, the MACOs had recovered enough to form a makeshift brig in one of the storage compartments. Shran lingered for quite some time, taunting Tholos through the door, asking him how many antennae he thought he'd be left with once the Imperial Council had finished their punishment. He responded by calling him a traitor and by cursing him six ways from Sunday, using many words the UT couldn't even begin to pick up.
When Shran tired of that, he joined Archer and Dita, ranting and raving about how he couldn't trust anyone, and how this wasn't the first Lieutenant who had double-crossed him in a spectacular fashion. Dita immediately clapped her communicator shut and excused herself, stepping into one of the smaller rooms offshooting the main hallway.
They'd gathered in the corridor to witness their descent into the Andorian capital city, which was underground beneath several hundred feet of ice, water, and solid rock. Apparently it was a sight to behold, and entirely imminent, judging by the sheer number of attendants rushing around battening the hatches.
Trip found the Captain standing at one of the portholes. The fog had cleared, and visibility was nearly unlimited, revealing an endless expanse of ice reaching towards the horizon.
"We can't seem to catch a break, can we?"
She glanced in his direction before training her eyes back towards the window. "It would be gratifying to have one round of Coalition negotiations which didn't involve proposals for surveillance satellites, or murder, or…"
"Or what?"
T'Pol shook her head, seemingly lost in thought.
Outside, they were gradually coming to a stop. A near deafening grinding sound came from the hull as they slid onto some sort of track and were turned ninety degrees.
Trip thought about what Dita had said, about enjoying life, about not waiting for things to happen. And he knew he had to take a chance. "I was thinking, we haven't been talking a lot recently-"
She appeared confused. "We have nearly all our meals together, not to mention all of our briefings."
"That's not what I meant," he insisted, "You know what I mean. Like we used to."
Her shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly and she turned away from the window, pinning him down under her gaze. In her eyes, he saw everything and nothing: exhaustion, sadness, and the desperate urge to express what she was feeling in a way that they both knew she could never do.
And that was the truth of the matter, the truth that kept him up at night and made his heart ache. It hadn't been for lack of trying. It hadn't been for lack of opportunity. It was simply fact: they had loved each other as deeply as any two people could, but it hadn't been enough.
"I know it's been rough since Elizabeth died. Believe me, I cried for weeks. I'm glad we were able to help each other through it. It felt like old times. It was wonderful, but then it stopped." As he watched, she crossed her arms and began to look away, only snapping back to attention when he reached out and seized her arm.
"I'd like to know why. I'd like to know you're okay. Whatever we had, you know, up here-" He pointed to his forehead and wiggled his fingers, referring to the bond they had once shared. "It's not there anymore. I used to be able to know how you were feeling from across two decks, and now I can hardly read you. What's going on, T'Pol?"
"Trip-" She began, visibly registering the emotion in her voice and taking measures to steady her reaction. "Trip, you are correct in the assumption that we are no longer bonded. We never discussed it after Elizabeth died, but I believe we both knew…"
"We knew it was the end," he said, "In more ways than one."
She nodded. "I did not want it to appear that I was casting you aside. We were very close during a very trying time in our lives and I would be remiss to not thank you for your companionship."
He felt an instant surge of relief. She had a very circular way of saying it, but he knew she felt the same. Suddenly the ship pitched forward at a steep angle, nearly tossing them down the incline of the corridor. Trip pressed his boot into the wall and used his shoulder to brace the both of them against the impact. The Sevarin was motionless for one seemingly endless moment, then it began to slide forward, and the skyline disappeared behind the chrome walls of some kind of tunnel. The sound was deafening, a dreadful metallic scraping coupled with the rush of water.
He suspected she'd scarcely be able to hear him, but he had to get the words out, the very same that had been weighing heavy on his heart since returning from leave. He leaned in and said loudly: "Whatever happens when I leave for the Maelstrom, I wanted you to know that you're always going to be a very special person to me, and I've got your back. I mean it."
She looked up at him, wide-eyed and affected, and he knew he had been heard. "I too care for you deeply. I am fortunate to have you as a friend."
And that had been it. T'Pol had always been a woman of few words, which was both infuriating and appreciated at times. But he was glad it was out in the open now, and that they could begin to move forward.
After a moment of silence, he tilted his head towards the end of the hallway, where Archer and Shran were clinging onto the handrails. "Speaking of that…"
"What does Commander Shran have to do with this?"
"Not him. Jon!"
"What about him?"
"I take it that you care for him deeply as much as you do for me."
Their descent was growing steeper by the second, but they were starting to get glimpses of light through the porthole. T'Pol took a second to steel herself; she knew what he was insinuating, but was determined not to give him the satisfaction. "I also consider Jonathan to be a friend."
"Ah." He affected that self-assured smirk that always made her want to smack him. "I understand that he cares for you deeply as well."
"Does he?"
He nodded slowly, sagely. "He has for years. Every time he looks at you, it's written all over his face."
She didn't have the chance to reply, because in the next second they were shot out of the tunnel and onto some kind of man made body of water. They were presently in some sort of cavern, with impossibly high walls reaching upwards all around them. As the Sevarin came about, they were treated to the sight of the Andorian capital from a distance; skyscrapers gave way to looping spires nearly brushing the underside of the cave, which were interspersed with enormous lanterns and spotlights strung across the surface, giving the city some illusion of natural light. The buildings were oblong, meandering, sinuous, all in the nondescript shade of dark metallic chrome the Andorians seemed to be fond of. There was even snow down there, covering the ground and peaks of some of the buildings. That and what little sunlight that broke through the ice from above gave the city a muted glow, as if it were permanently in the last few minutes before total darkness after sunset.
There were a handful of similar vessels docked up ahead; the Sevarin seemed to stand on the brakes, allowing them to gently coast into port.
Finally Ensign Singh emerged from the room adjoining the hallway and made a beeline for them, followed shortly by the Commodore. Shran left, seemingly in search of the Aenar women, leaving them alone in the corridor with Namara.
Trip and T'Pol immediately disengaged from their familiar stance, taking several steps away from each other. Dita appeared deeply concerned.
"I've just received word from the Enterprise. Taxa gave me an extremely thorough report. First and foremost, she wanted me to let you know that this is what happens when you don't bring your security officer along."
Archer sighed and rubbed his forehead.
"She claims that Shran's Lieutenant Tarah died about two years ago in prison. She wouldn't have had access to communications, and what with the Kumari in the Expanse during that time-"
"She couldn't have put Tholos up to it," Trip whispered, shaking his head.
"What's more, there was a recommendation for promotion to Commander under his name, filed by none other than Captain Namara. It appears that he was intended to take command of the Undali, by orders of the General."
Slowly, four sets of eyes drifted up the hallway, where the woman in question was deep in conversation with one of the stewards. The man listened intently, before nodding and hurrying away. It all made sense.
"She must have ordered her stewards to hinder us in whatever way possible. There's tons of them all over the ship. They must have cut the power and locked us in the environmental conduit, which means-"
"Shran was the intended target all along, and Lieutenant Tholos has taken the fall for it," T'Pol said. They'd been seated next to one another, and in the darkness, would have appeared very much identical.
"She really meant to force us into abandoning the Coalition talks," Archer said, "And she was willing to murder to do it."
"They both were. There's no telling how many collaborators there are," T'Pol advised.
The four of them were silent as they took this information in. Finally, Trip spoke: "So, when do we tell Shran that the entire Imperial Guard is out to get him? Before or after these talks?"
The Captain and the Commodore exchanged a pointed look. Simultaneously, they turned to look at him, delivering their verdict in one word: "After."
End of Episode Four
Next time on Enterprise...
Episode Five: Retribution
Social and political unrest tear through the Coalition talks on Rigel V, leaving the away team in the crosshairs. Liz and Kov race against the clock to avoid certain disaster. Also, Malcolm gets the chance to practice his bedside manner.