Season Five

by EnlightenedSkye

Picking up six months after Terra Prime, the Enterprise attempts to hold the Coalition together while keeping an eye on the growing Romulan threat. Trip takes his own command and the war begins mid-season. [July 2155 to January 2157. 25 episodes. Fully episodic, so each chapter is a stand-alone story. ATP, Troshi, Malcolm/OC, P/C. Rated T throughout. Complete, S6 and S7 complete]

19. Episode 19: The World Ender

A/N: Welcome back! Thanks for all the kind words and encouragement.

The Kandar conspiracy unravels today, folks! I believe it's been tied up nicely with a bow. Our resolution today is vaguely inspired by DS9 4x22 For the Cause. There's lots of morally ambiguous decisions being made here. Malira will be taking a backseat to Troshi for a bit while they (ahem) figure some things out, but they're certainly not done receiving heat for this mission. After this episode I can confidently say that Section 31 is to James Bond as Special Ops is to Sterling Archer.

I laughed out loud at last week's Denobulan reference on Lower Decks. I mean, it's no "Kirk sundae with Trip Tucker sprinkles" but we'll take it!

This season will have twenty-five episodes, then we'll be rolling right into season six. Still to come on this season, in no particular order: way too much Shran, a Vulcan family reunion, the return to Paan Mokar, the merging of the fleets, a tempting opportunity to alter the past, a wedding, an undercover mission for T'Pol, exactly what happened to Alira's father, a stunning betrayal of confidence, two more battles, and a very Section 31 ultimatum.

Next time: remember the alternate mirror universe from E8: Butterflies and Hurricanes? It's back in a big way. Jonathan struggles to reconcile his own values with the changing face of the war. Malcolm considers bringing their COs into the fold. Also, Dita gets her own Horizon-inspired episode. Enjoy!

Season Five

Episode Nineteen: The World Ender

"Do you ever sit back and wonder how exactly your life came to this?"

"Plenty of times. You're usually involved."

"You flatter me. If only you could use some of that brain power to come up with a way out of here."

"I did. You didn't seem to like my first idea."

"Because your first idea was ridiculous," Alira insisted, sitting back and attempting to stretch out her legs all the way out in the confines of the cargo container they were trapped in. "We can't stay here. This journey could take weeks. They might be planning to jettison this crate into open space for all we know."

Malcolm shook his head, studying her harried expression in the near darkness. It felt like they'd been there for hours; really, what with all the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, there was no way of knowing for sure. He knew at the very least they were spinning their wheels, desperate to formulate a plan yet unable to wrap their heads completely around the notion that the Romulans were building one or more hydrogen bombs somewhere in the quadrant.

Obviously, he knew it would turn the tides of the war. Regrettably, he wasn't feeling too optimistic about their chances anymore, in the cargo bay or on the battlefield.

"And yours could get us both killed," he countered. "We have no idea what's out there. It's possible there's hundreds of soldiers standing over us, just waiting to tear us apart."

"This ship can't be that large; they'd need to fly under the radar of the border patrols of any systems they passed through. I've inspected a dozen Xantoras cargo vessels like this one back when I had my own brigade." Alira extended her pointer finger up towards the ceiling, as if encouraging him to listen.

Around the ambient noise of the plasma conduits far overhead and the dull roar of the environmental controls, he could barely make out the steady thrum of the engine, a persistent, droning sound that stoked his memory and immediately put him at ease.

"Warp one," he concluded. "Maybe warp two. They're not moving very fast."

"Like I said, so as not to get noticed. We're in a heavily populated region of space; the Kantare pass right through here on their trade routes with the Vissians, and who knows how many ECS vessels we'll encounter. If we can just overpower them and get to the bridge, or to any communications relay for that matter…"

"We can send out a distress call, and then hide out until someone finds it." He was slowly warming up to the idea. "Enterprise may not receive it while they're in the nebula, but Columbia or Phoenix might."

"Now you're thinking like a Special Ops envoy." She fumbled around in the folds of her cloak for a second, producing her tactical belt laden with a curious assortment of weapons and gear. "I still don't know why you didn't let me talk our way out of that situation. That officer might have just believed me. If not, we could have knocked him out cold and taken his communicator."

"It was a moment of weakness," he admitted. And panic, and confusion, and terror, but that's besides the point.

"Uh-huh…"

"You lot seem to do things very differently than any other covert operation I've ever heard of," Malcolm said, choosing his words carefully. He selected a handful of ornately carved throwing stars and tucked them into his pocket, then reached for a strange oblong metallic device with a hook on one end, tracing the quilted pattern with his fingers and noticing how it felt curiously heavy.

Their eyes locked. She smiled.

"Alira, is this a…" He faltered, then tried again, sitting up on his haunches to bring himself closer. "Do you mean to tell me you've been walking around all day with a hand grenade strapped to your stomach?"

She didn't seem to be the slightest bit concerned that she'd only been one well-placed punch away from a self-inflicted detonation. "Burning bridges takes too long. I prefer explosions, don't you?"

For the first time since they'd entered this cargo bay, he was sorely tempted to kiss her. Sure she was a complete mess-a whirlwind of unbridled fearlessness and tenacity and misplaced anger-but she was his mess, and he'd be damned if he didn't at least hear her plan out to completion.

Poking holes in her ideas would come later.

"We've got to herd them into one area of the ship. A lot of them are armed, so we'll probably need to stun them first."

"Did you notice how the corridors were laid out when we came in here?"

As a matter of fact, he did. The ship was shaped like a flattened saucer and seemed to be placed in an oblong frame, the main hull detached from it entirely save for a long, thin diaphragm running from port to starboard. Two spindle-like attachments were attached to the framework on either end, presumably phase cannons of some kind, and the hallways seemed to align with it, branching off to either side from a main corridor running the length of the ship. "There's probably bulkheads between each of those junctions. If we can push them from the front and the back sections, and then to the exterior of the hull-"

"We can trap them in the airlock." She seemed to be satisfied with that, and sat back into the side of the container, her eyes moving around in her head as she attempted to gain her bearings. Finally, she pointed away from him towards the interior wall. "Environmental controls should be downstream of the aft EPS conduits. When we did inspections on these ships, we'd check navigational logs from there."

"Does the Denobulan Infantry make it a habit to know where everyone who passes through their system has been?"

She grimaced, but it was incredibly fleeting and gone in a second. Really, he had no idea.

"It doesn't hurt to be too careful," she replied, and the flood of memories nearly sweeping her asunder. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she continued: "I suppose there's little point to maintaining these disguises for much longer."

"You're probably right." Alira produced the holographic emitter and held it between them at arm's length; a moment later, his field of vision was overcome by a flash of bright light, and then the next thing he knew, he was draped in a cloak that was much too large for him.

He leaned into a stretch, extending his hands past his boots. It was something he never thought he'd be thinking, but he quite appreciated being a Denobulan again. "We owe the Betazoids a debt of gratitude."

"More so that temporal agent," she corrected, and it was exactly what he thought she'd say. They'd all been briefed about Ensign Singh's encounter with Bran in the cargo hold of the Saral, and while it was conceivable that he'd arranged for Alira to come into possession of the device to contend with this very eventuality so they could easily blend in and root out the superweapon that was threatening all of their worlds, he couldn't help but wonder.

Why did he send Chandra to do his bidding for him?

And if they'd already altered the timeline once-and he was almost certain they had, by sending the Maelstrom instead of the Enterprise after the telepresence unit-could he have been anticipating something else?

He knew he was missing something, some critical detail to shed some light on the situation. Malcolm didn't want to believe she was lying to him, but in the very least she was withholding information, and he would need to investigate it further at another time.

At a time when they weren't running for their lives.

"What were you thinking to get out of this crate?"

"Fight them off. Simple."

"They've got phase rifles. We've got a bunch of knives, a single hand grenade, an ushaan-tor, and a…" He trailed off, rummaging around in the pile. "Is this a dart shooter?"

"Shoots neurotoxic projectiles up to fifty meters. I haven't had the chance to fire one in years." She seemingly produced a small vial of what looked like red-tipped needles out of nowhere, shaking them around in their container. The look in her eyes conveyed that she dearly wished someone would try her patience in that matter, just once. "As long as you can cover me with the diverter shield, I've got an idea."

He retrieved the device she held out to him and studied it, looking back at her incredulously. "Alira?"

"Mhm?"

"This…" He held it within centimeters of her face, as if encouraging her to take a second look. "...is a PADD stylus."

The look he was dealt was oddly reproachful, and she seemed more than a little amused. Before he could stop her, she reached for the bottom side of the container's lid, rapping on it with her fist and shouting: "Hey! Anyone out there?"

Her hand came out and seized the stylus, tucking it into her ponytail. He was gesturing around frantically, begging for her to slow down, to give them even a second to review the plan just one more time, but she was insistent, banging on the walls of the crate and screaming for help.

It couldn't have been more than a minute or two for a patrolman wandering the corridors to catch the attention of two of his colleagues and venture into the cargo bay. Even from several meters away, Malcolm could hear them clicking the safety off of their weapons, and his fingers hovered over the button that would engage her diverter shield, just in case this was about to go exactly where he thought it would go.

She was stashing weapons again, in her pockets and in her waistband and in her sleeves. By the time they heard the lock disengaging above them, she was ready, and the second the lid was thrown aside, he followed her lead, rising to his feet and finding himself staring down the business end of three different phase rifles.

Alira, to her credit, seemed undeterred. She propped her hands on her hips and treated each of them to one of her trademark dazzling smiles. "Thank the moon and the stars the three of you are here! I don't know what we would've done if we'd been trapped in there for more than-"

"Hands on your head!" One of them shouted. Behind him, another Xantoras soldier was studying them curiously, seeming to recognize them from their chase through the streets of the capital only hours before. Malcolm knew he was probably wondering just how daft they had to be to go waltzing back into trouble after they'd already escaped.

Apparently, he was about to learn the answer.

He complied with their request, and he could see Alira mirroring his posture out of the corner of his eye, slowly, as though she was testing the waters. "Are you sure?"

"If you don't comply in the next five seconds, you're going to find out exactly how sure I am." It was much too slow for the leader's liking, and he leaned in, jabbing the barrel of his weapon into her sternum. His companions moved forward, and he could see her tense up slightly, coiling up like a viper about to strike.

It was exactly what she'd wanted them to do.

"Duck," she whispered, so quietly that he scarcely heard her.

"What?"

She didn't give him time to react. In a fraction of a second, she whipped out the stylus, seizing it with an open fist and swinging it through the air in the space where his head had just been. In midair, it seemed to grow to two meters in length, sprouting two curved guards that bracketed her hands and allowed her to maintain control as it hit its arc and struck the three of them evenly across the chest.

There was a loud crack of electricity, then the three of them were convulsing, eyes wide, their mouths open in a silent cry for help. The hilts seemed to protect her from the voltage, and she pressed forward, filling the air with the sickening smell of burning metal and singed flesh.

When she disengaged, the three of them fell to the floor in a heap, and the formidable weapon quickly disappeared, folding itself back into the compact size that allowed her to slip it back into her hair just ahead of the elastic.

Malcolm, understandably, was thoroughly stunned, a bit confused, and more than a little curious as to whether the men laying on the ground were still alive. "You've had that thing during our entire mission and never said a word?"

"It's a plasma baton," she corrected him, drawing the robe up and over her head, discarding on top of the pile of unconscious soldiers before them. For the first time, Malcolm noticed how worse for wear she-and most likely he-looked, her clothes covered in dirt and smoke. She was perspiring heavily, and her hair was plastered to her face, casting red stains on her neck and temples where the dye had already begun to rub off. "Got it shipped in with the ECS Bangor last week. To tell you the truth, I've missed it."

Irrationally, he was somewhat miffed that Harris had never given him anything as devastating during his days of field work with the Section. He wondered, thought quickly suppressed it, just what kind of missions Special Ops had to be undertaking to warrant such brute force.

He squinted into the overhead lights, taking a moment to regain his bearings, then scrambled over the side of the container.

"I'm telling you, this thing can spin three hundred sixty degrees, grow spikes, and return to your hand when you throw it, like a..." She paused, furrowed her brows, and sent an imaginary projectile flying in midair. "What do you call one of those things on Earth?"

"A boomerang," he said, hooking an arm around her waist and helping her down to the deck plating. Rather than follow him to the far wall where he knew they'd find the environmental controls, she fell to her knees and began to root through the pockets of the fallen soldiers all around them.

It took him a few seconds to reach the computer displays; fortunately for the both of them, he'd done plenty of infiltration work on alien vessels back in his day, and had a general sense of where different directories were. The Xantoras alphabet was sharp and angular, and before long, many of the letters began to melt together in front of his eyes.

"Found it!" He heard her call out from somewhere behind him, but didn't even bother to look up until she was at his side, holding up a small device that was no larger than one of our communicators. When he looked at her curiously, she pressed on: "It looks like Earth and Denobula aren't the only worlds with many regional dialects."

Sure enough, the moment she flipped open the lid and held it up to the display, the words began to appear on the screen in tiny, orderly lines oriented vertically. It took a few seconds of frantic experimentation, but she finally located the English subroutines, taking a step closer and holding it just within his line of sight.

It was a godsend. He knew he needed to execute the plan, but his hands seemed to have a mind of their own, accessing internal sensors and performing a cursory sweep of the ship.

"Ten biosigns," he reported, heaving a massive sigh of relief. "Excluding us and the soldiers we just incapacitated, that's four Xantoras and one Denobulan."

He could feel her tense up, and she shifted from foot to foot, scowling prodigiously. "He's got to be working for their government, there's no doubt in my mind. Some people will do anything to make a quick credit."

"We don't even know it's Varox. Look here-"

"Malcolm," she admonished. "He's just been burned from Special Ops, which he's devoted over a hundred years of his life towards. I wouldn't be surprised if he was playing both sides."

"At the risk of the destruction of Denobula?"

"At the benefit of Xantoras being left out of the inevitable invasion of the quadrant. If he's under the protection of their government, he won't need to worry about anyone at home. He doesn't have any spouses or children as far as I know."

He didn't want to believe a man could be driven to take revenge on the entire population of his homeworld, but given what they knew, and to a greater extent what he didn't know, he supposed it wasn't entirely implausible. "It looks like they've got several toxic vapors tied directly into diagnostic lines leading all over the ship. There's carbon monoxide, hexafluorine, diazomethane…"

"All of the above." Her eyes were darting around, keeping an eye on the entrance and the unconscious soldiers at the far end of the room. "Set up a cascading feedback loop with the air quality sensors. Once we get above a certain threshold, the bulkheads should close and secure that section."

"And if they don't make it out in time?"

"What's more important to you-the lives of a few black market smugglers, or billions of lives throughout the alliance?" She was slightly incredulous, and yet completely devoid of emotion. He realized, like him, that she'd spent years making these kinds of sacrificial, life-or-death decisions, weighing the scales of value and consequence. "Build it up to a toxic concentration, hold it for five minutes, then vent it out into space."

Still, the ease by which she'd sentenced these people to death was a little unsettling.

His fingers were flying over the console, stopping every few moments to consult the translation, until he reached the penultimate step and pulled back, cursing loudly.

"What?"

"There's another interlock we need to disable to reroute these canisters into the ventilation system. It's at the center of the ship off the main corridor."

"Not a problem," she said dismissively, and handed the UT into his hands, returning to the scene of the crime.

"This is serious, Alira. If we get caught, this is all over." His mind was already racing, developing alternative plans and contingencies. "What happens if they capture us?"

His question was soon answered the moment she passed one of the Xantoras phase rifles into his hands. It was slightly heavier than the ones he was used to carrying, but functional nonetheless. She was aiming it into the ground and turning it this way and that in order to get a feel for the weapon.

"I'd honestly like to see them try."

It was exactly the kind of reckless, foolhardy confidence he'd normally question, but was more than willing to buy into giving their circumstances. He nodded reverently, and together they slipped into the darkened corridor.

The overhead lights seemed to be dimmed; not that they would have made a difference. The bulkheads and the deck plating seemed to be made of the same deeply reflective black material that was a little difficult to look at and made their every footstep almost unbearably loud.

He attempted to walk on the outside of his feet to make as little noise as possible, but eventually gave up and broke into a brisk walk. At one point, there was a sharp clang behind them, and Alira had to muffle a shriek, flattening herself against the wall and nearly firing towards the source of the noise, an exposed pressure relief valve sticking out of the ceiling.

Somewhat embarrassed, she mouthed her apologies and fell back into line with him. Together they passed countless additional cargo holds, all seemingly shut tight. It didn't escape him for a moment that they were about to find themselves at the helm of a ship stuffed to the brim with nuclear explosives.

For themselves and the sake of whoever happened to be within about a million kilometers of them, he hoped they wouldn't run into anyone looking for a firefight.

At last they reached the central corridor running the broad length of the ship and slipped around the corner. The UT came out, and he began to study the intricate network of symbols covering the screen. At the far reaches of his memory, he recalled a long ago incident involving T'Pol and Hoshi, where the three of them had attempted to rescue a Klingon ship sinking into a gas giant.

Not since then had his quest to translate something been so desperate.

Alira stood guard at the junction of the hallway, just out of sight from anyone approaching, occasionally looking to the left and to the right to ensure that no one was about to sneak up on them. Her heart was racing, and she was sure his was as well, though she couldn't even begin to hear anything over the blood roaring in her ears.

He reached out to grab her elbow, and she startled slightly, before sinking into his touch. The slightest nod of his head was enough to know that the transfer had been initiated, and they were about to have company very soon.

Together they slipped into an open maintenance compartment further down the hall and closed the door save for a fraction of a centimeter. They listened. Waited.

It didn't take long. The sounds of shouting reached them first, then running, then the distance hissing of vapors leaving the overhead vents. She watched his expression through the narrow beam of light that was cast across his face through the gap between the hatch and the bulkhead, then the moment his fingers tensed up around her hand, she reacted.

They burst into the corridor less than a meter from the back of a fleeing Xantoras guard. He turned on his heels and reached for them, but she was faster, catching him across the face with the butt of her rifle. He cried out, and she surged forward, causing him to stumble backwards and into the juncture of the hallway.

The vapor concentration in their section was increasing, and she knew they only had moments to escape until they were trapped. At that moment, four shrouded figures flew past them, rounding the corner and heading in their direction. There was a brief, desperate frenzy of a firefight, and she pressed her back into the wall, coughing and gasping, barely able to draw any breath at all.

They were woefully outnumbered, and whatever they did was almost certainly not going to be enough. Instinctively, she reached for her belt, only to find that the single hand grenade she'd brought along wasn't there.

Realization struck her like a lightning bolt and she flew across the corridor directly into him, nearly being struck by several blasts in the process. He attempted to push her to one side out of the line of fire, but she was frantically reaching for him, running her hands over his pockets until she found what she was looking for.

Her lungs were burning, crying out for oxygen, and the fringes of her vision were growing dark. There was little time to waste.

It was time for a less subtle approach.

She pulled the pin and threw it as hard as she could, then ran after it, bursting over the threshold a fraction of a second before the bulkhead came crashing down. The moment the grenade hit the ground, it detonated, and he reacted strongly, wrapping his arms around her and throwing them both into the wall.

The impact was sharp and painful, and just as they were on Tellar Prime, they were much too close to the impact. Her ears were ringing, and she thought she heard people around them shouting, but couldn't be positive. Something was dripping into her eyes, and she wiped at it, entirely unsure if it was his blood or hers.

It didn't matter. They were now barricaded in a confined space with five very angry smugglers and only above fifty meters of corridor between them and the airlock. Three of them were stunned and unconscious, but two of them were still on their feet, a problem which was quickly remedied by blasts of what Malcolm dearly hoped was the stun setting of their phase rifles. Without a moment of hesitation, they grabbed one of their now hostages by the wrists and ankles and began to shuffle down the hallway.

The Xantoras were heavier than they looked, being well over seven feet tall and much bulkier than any human they'd come across. More than once they had to turn and shift to get them through the narrow space, but the moment they forced him into the airlock, starting a pile in the far corner, she doubled over at the waist, taking in a deep, shuddering breath.

"I honestly can't believe that worked."

She managed what sounded like a short bark of laughter, then righted herself, hurrying after him back towards the pile of soldiers. "After all of this time, you still have such little faith in me."

"I call it healthy skepticism."

"If that's what helps you sleep at night." With her boot, she turned over the crumpled form of the man nearest to her. The cranial ridges were unmistakable, and he saw her fists open and close at her sides, indicative of the rage boiling within. It was short lived, however; soon, she took a step back, covering her mouth with her hand.

Something was wrong. That much was obvious.

"What are you-"

Alira shook her head and leaned into the bulkhead behind her. "He's been a Special Ops envoy for longer than I've been alive. I can't believe he didn't have a contingency plan for this, or anticipated us making this move."

"You think that PADD he placed on his desk was a lure."

"There's no question." She struggled a little, but finally managed to lift him on her own, slinging him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "He's got to have some reason for wanting us here."

The answer, he assumed, must be on the navigational computer, which he dearly hoped they could access from the corridor. He helped her moved the rest of their prisoners into the airlock, and when the final one was unceremoniously shoved in, she closed the hatch, peering through the viewport with a malicious glint in her eye.

He didn't have to ask what their next step was. He already had a general idea.

"Now to get some answers."

---

"How close are we?"

"ETA four minutes, sir," Travis replied, and he wanted to tell him that asking every thirty seconds wasn't going to make the ship travel any faster.

They were presently hurtling towards an empty region of space between the Denobula Triaxa and Shiralea systems; apparently, the four of them had been there since 0500 hours, having come almost directly from sickbay with the briefest of pauses to acquire a change of uniform. When Travis arrived for alpha shift, he was greeted by a rather harried-looking Ensign Hutchison, who had been privy to Trip's strange request, and who had willingly abandoned the conn when he asked for it. All of them could take note of his dour expression, of the furtive way he kept glancing between Ethan, Hoshi, and Yuris, and knew better than to ask questions.

Whatever call they were answering, it was obviously of the utmost importance to the alliance; Commander Hammond made that abundantly clear, as she suggested they contact Starfleet Command several times in that first hour. Trip stubbornly refused her queries, and they continued like that for quite some time, all expectantly silent as they waited on tenterhooks for something to happen.

The last time Travis was feeling anything close to this kind of trepidation, they'd been on their way to Kandar, preparing to mount an ultimately fruitless and unwarranted rescue attempt that tipped the scales towards a declaration of war.

The significance was not lost on him.

He could hear Ensign Nguyen talking quietly to himself at the tactical console now, double and triple checking that all of their weapons systems were online and functional. Though Jimmy had been through the Xindi crisis and every single armed conflict along the way of Enterprise's mission, he was still a touch nervous, his anxiety yielding to his knowledge and expertise and flawless work. He was quiet and meticulous, exactly the opposite of the woman who usually manned the station, but Travis would tell anyone without pause that he'd trust him with his life in a firefight.

As his mind raced and he thought one hundred steps ahead, he heard Hoshi try in vain to reach the Enterprise. He suspected that with their tenuous tactical situation that Ensign Singh would be standing by the comm, but then again, they were all living through the very definition of extenuating circumstances.

He could only hope that the only thing keeping them from responding was a little interference from the molecular dispersion field in the nebula.

The proximity alarm went off, and he silenced it immediately, laying on the metaphorical brakes and causing the ship to emerge out of warp in a bright flash of light.

They were soon greeted by a great expanse of distant stars on all sides, and despite his best efforts, Travis couldn't make out a single thing onscreen: no ships, alliance or otherwise, no stations and no heavenly bodies.

Nothing and no one.

Trip seemed apprehensive, and strangely, somewhat relieved. "Anything on long-range sensors?"

"A stellar core fragment, chroniton radiation residue most likely from a cloak, and…" Ethan trailed off, then he did a double take, reeling back from his viewfinder then sitting forward once again as if to ensure he wasn't seeing things.

"Lieutenant?"

He inhaled slowly, then exhaled roughly, rotating around in his chair. "It's Columbia, sir."

Immediately, Travis knew something wasn't right.

The Captain ordering a course diversion away from their planned rendezvous was one thing. Running into another NX vessel in the vastness of space was another.

"Can they sense us?"

"Not yet," he confirmed. As the most advanced ship in the fleet, Maelstrom was faster and more agile, with stronger sensors and farther reaching weapons than any of their peers. For the moment, it could be to their advantage.

"All stop, Mr. Mayweather." Trip stood and made his way around the side of the conn, turning to face them with his hands on his hips. He surveyed their tense expressions, their trepidation, then explained: "This morning, we were able to decode a significant part of Kandar's computer core. It contained several memory engrams from the stationmaster leading up to the satellite's destruction."

Behind him, he could hear Julia tense up, slap her hands down on the armrests of her chair, and squeeze with all her might. Understandably, she was angry that he hadn't thought to tell her sooner, concerned about the circumstances of their arrival, and tremendously worried about what this could mean for their mission.

"Yuris was able to relay the data to Hoshi through a mind meld. From what we found, it seems that Kandar was destroyed under orders to maintain secrecy on a series of sensor readings taken at these coordinates."

Travis was already starting to get a bit of that nagging feeling, that burning sensation in his stomach that indicated something was very, very wrong. He almost didn't want to know, but he had to ask. "Who would have given orders like that?"

"Captain Hernandez," he said without pause, electing to get it out there before he could talk himself out of it. Trip hesitated then sighed, training his eyes on the deck plating. All around him, his senior officers were all reacting as though they were hearing this information for the first time, seemingly frozen in place, their expressions a mixture of fear and dread and disbelief. "They both saw her clear as day. She was talking about buying time for the alliance. I don't want to believe it any more than you do, but if what we saw is true, we owe it to the people that lost their lives to investigate."

His subtext was obvious.

They owed it to their tactical officer, whose absence was very keenly felt at the moment.

"What did they pick up on these sensors?" Julia asked, and simultaneously, their communications officer and doctor winced.

Hoshi shook her head, leaning forward and burying her face in her hands. "I'm not completely sure, ma'am. I don't think Feezal knew either. All I know is that it's some instrument of war, that it's extremely powerful, and that the human scientists at Kandar were working on simulations and designs for it right under her nose, risking detection to do it."

Try as he might, Travis couldn't wrap his head around the idea that Starfleet was developing a superweapon. He had no way of knowing of the Romulans' reciprocity, but in that moment, something wasn't adding up. There had to be another player, another facet, another aspect to the game they were all missing.

"I'm gonna need everyone's help to get to the bottom of this," Trip asserted, expression unmoving. "We've got to make sure these people didn't die for no reason."

He wasn't sure what the Captain was planning on doing even if he did find something; if some seedy underground underbelly of Starfleet didn't want to be detected, he was pretty sure they could never be found. Even if they did discover out that the construction of such a device was warranted-could they trust themselves to just walk away and accept it?

Travis had to admit he didn't know the answer.

Meanwhile, Jimmy was making another discovery of his own. "There's some kind of EM field out there, sir."

Trip immediately sprung into action, crossing the room and stepping up to look over his shoulder. "It's got the same spatial tuning parameters as our prototype defensive shielding that we developed for Solnara. If you give me just a few minutes, I can…"

"Columbia's hailing us."

Son of a bitch.

He and Julia locked eyes, and then he nodded, joining her to stand behind the conn. Commander Mbatha's figure appeared lounging in their first officer's chair, perfectly relaxed and friendly, as though he were welcoming them into his quarters for a dinner party. He was joined on the bridge by a single officer-Ensign Clark-who had been Julia's second while she'd served there, and no one else, giving the bridge an eerie, cavernous feeling.

"How're you doing, Philani?" She decided to extend the olive branch, as if it wasn't unusual they'd encountered one another light years away from where they were supposed to be. "Long time, no see."

His lips split into an easy smile, one whose exuberance didn't seem to make it to his eyes. "Just fine, Jules. Glad to see you again, Captain."

"Commander," Trip replied, keen to maintain formality for the moment. "You're a long way away from our rendezvous point."

"As are you," he challenged. They both knew they had less for forty-eight hours to reach the Canopus system now, a journey which normally would have taken them twice that long under normal circumstances.

There was a lengthy pause in which the only discernible sound on their end was Ensign Nguyen tapping furtively on the buttons of his console. Inwardly, Trip willed him to be a little more subtle about it.

"Mind if I ask what you're doing out here?"

"I do," Mbatha answered and then fell quiet.

Another pause. Seemingly realizing how suspicious that remark sounded, Clark came to his rescue: "There's a stellar fragment only a quarter light year away. It's massive; we're standing back so we're not affected by its gravity."

"We detected that as well," Julia said. Over her shoulder, it seemed like Jimmy was having a breakthrough. She extended her arms out to both sides and turned this way and that, feigning a stretch in hopes of drawing their attention. "Are you telling me the two of you are studying it alone? I would've thought astrometrics would be all over it."

"Yes."

Trip nodded swiftly, then offered them a forced smile. "Mind if we compare notes?"

At the science station, Ethan turned back to his instruments, hurriedly calling up maps and schematics, just in case they were about to need a week's worth of survey data in the space of minutes. Yuris began to tap his boot into the deck plating, insistently, worryingly.

"Not at all. We'll be there shortly."

Jimmy suddenly cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline. Trip took the hint.

"Actually, we'll be coming to you."

"Captain, I don't think-"

"It's really no problem. Just let us-"

"I insist," Mbatha said firmly, the ferocity in his eyes unyielding.

Trip held up his hands in acquiescence. On the conn screen, he could see the sensor logs that indicated the Columbia was already moving, and would be practically on top of them in less than a minute.

There wasn't a moment to lose.

"Stand by, Commander." He nodded, and Hoshi ended the transmission. As one, Julia and Trip turned to the tactical station. "What have you got?"

"It's all about resonance frequency. It's all vibrating at a very specific rate, and if we can match it and phase shift our own oscillations, we might just be able to slip right in." His hands were flying across the keys now. "It's all in the high band, but if we momentarily divert power from the impulse engines-"

"What are you talking about, Ensign?"

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it rumpled and standing straight up. There was still a lot he needed to do, and not a lot to do it in. "Polarizing the hull plating. Shields won't do us any good, if we raise them we'll bounce off like that force field back in the armory."

Trip nodded to show that he understood, then crossed the room, leaning over his console. "Tell us what you need."

Jimmy shook his head, momentarily demonstrating an inviolable resolve. "Not a thing, sir. Full speed ahead, Mr. Mayweather."

He didn't hesitate, didn't even wait for the command to be confirmed-a second later, Travis laid into the thrusters and sent them skittering across open space.

Nothing happened, nothing extraordinary, but then the stars around them appeared to shake and flutter around one another, seemingly ready to pulsate right out of the sky. A spot of bright light originated on the horizon, growing larger and larger until it filled the viewscreen with a single, blinding flash.

One moment, there wasn't anything there, and then the next, they were all looking out on a station of some sorts, seemingly made of several ECS freighters cobbled together, their hulls sticking out at odd angles. There were blinking lights and docking ports everywhere, and in the distance, they could barely make out the shiny chrome siding of a shuttle powered down, its designation obvious from the letters painted there: NX-02.

Though they were at the moment undetected, Travis could almost feel the eyes of the quadrant on them.

He thought he heard their Captain curse, but it didn't matter. When he spoke, it sounded to him as though he was underwater.

"Take us in."

---

"Increase the distance between us and the Romulan vessel," T'Pol ordered, clasping her hands behind her back and ignoring the undeniable urge to pace around behind the conn.

Jonathan nodded and engaged thrusters, slowly easing them backwards and away from the nose-to-nose configuration they'd found themselves locked in for the past half an hour. When the proximity detectors went off, they'd been deep into a day-long series of safety drills and emergency repairs, meaning random systems were seemingly down, and the tactical and security staff were scattered across the ship. He, as well as everyone else on the bridge, was thoroughly bewildered by the sudden appearance of the enemy; they'd scanned the nebula before ever entering it, and three of their Daedalus-class fleet patrols had swept past there only in the past few days, each ensuring that there was nothing there, no warp signatures or power sources or life signs at all.

Clearly, they'd been mistaken.

Lieutenant Commander Hess had managed to bring impulse engines back online, but she warned that they ought not to go much over half speed, for fear of igniting the flammable gas all around them with their exhaust. Warp was therefore also out of the question, as well as weapons, something that Crewman Shelby Bennett was having a very difficult time wrapping her head around over at the tactical station.

Malcolm's second was well and truly losing her mind with worry, though she was attempting to hide it, frowning and all but burying her face into the dorsal display of her console. Her heart was racing, and she was breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth in a circular manner, forcing herself to focus on the different options they had given their present situation.

This wasn't exactly how she'd imagined the day going. She'd served under Mr. Reed for five years at this point, and the moment Ensign Nguyen had left for the Maelstrom, she'd been ecstatic, knowing that she now had the opportunity to rise through the ranks and be assigned anywhere but the dreaded gamma shift. The armory crew knew her as the diagnostics specialist; she was known to work the occasional miracle to bring phase cannons back online during a firefight, and devoted most of her time to making sure the torpedoes were calibrated to the absolute highest standard anyone could possibly have. She'd been scouted by Admiral Houghton several times for design projects back at Utopia Planitia, but continually refused, preferring the hustle and bustle of deep space assignments to anything that could possibly be offered to her planetside.

This was supposed to be her chance to prove herself, to show that she was worthy of an officer's commission and maybe her own brigade, and she'd ruined it.

Really, it had been a series of poor decisions that had lead to their weapons being down at the exact moment they needed them. Even if they were boarded or fired upon, the MACOs were scattered to the wind, trapped behind a variety of bulkheads and secured chambers, and the launch controls had been separated from main power for a round of routine maintenance. She'd spent the past half an hour yelling at her crew over the comm, but they were also woefully understaffed, working as fast as they could to get the couplings connected once again.

For the first couple of minutes, they hadn't had any lights at all. Crewman Delevingne had been performing necessary upgrades to the isolation protocol when he inadvertently triggered the entire cascade, locking down the entire ship and rendering nearly every one immobile. Really, she should have known better than to let him work alone. She made a mental note to serve him a very Malcolm-like dressing down the moment she saw him next.

If she would ever see him again, that is.

"Options, Crewman?"

She startled slightly, but hid it behind a strategically placed cough. Slowly, she turned around to face her commanding officer, taking measures to steel her expression.

"We're three hours to the opposite edge of the nebula, ma'am. If we were to engage half impulse, we might be able to lose them in the-"

"Tactical options, Miss Bennett," T'Pol corrected her, and her eyes widened, realizing that the first alternative she'd given to their Captain had been to tuck their tail between their legs and run.

"We can lead them out into open space. It'll only be an hour that way, but by that time, weapons will be operational." She didn't seem impressed, so she continued: "We also have about two dozen experimental antimatter mines sitting in the armory. If we sneak up on them in a shuttlepod, we might be able to scatter them around and scare them off."

That seemed to thoroughly floor her with its outlandishness, though she could scarcely tell, the barest raise of an eyebrow being her only indication of how she felt. Shelby was starting to feel embarrassed; her ears were burning, and she wanted to say something else to fix the situation, but didn't know where to begin.

Her self-castigation was interrupted by the sound of a piece of the bulkhead being removed from the ceiling and thrown down to the floor below. At the science station, Crewman Rosner jumped about a foot in the air, muffling her surprise behind an open hand.

The Captain reached for her phase pistol, which she felt very fortunate to have left in her ready room, and aimed it into the void of the access tube above the bridge.

Someone cried out, then the fraught face of Liz Cutler appeared, her cheeks thoroughly sullied with dust and soot. Though it was thoroughly unwarranted, she pushed both of her hands through the opening, showing that she was unarmed. Her shoulders followed, then her upper body, until she was dangling into the bridge over the navigation console, no doubt hanging on by a thread.

"Lieutenant," the Commodore remarked, a soft smile on his face despite the direness of their situation. "Glad you could join us."

There was another sudden loud noise, perhaps someone kicking the bulkhead, then another face emerged, belonging to none other than Ensign Pascal.

"You said you needed help," she said plaintively, then disappeared for a second. Soon she dangled her feet and legs over the opening, preparing to take a leap of faith.

T'Pol stepped forward and held her arms wide; the second she slipped out, she was ready, and Liz was more than surprised to feel her commanding officer lowering her to the ground.

She, like most of the crew, often took for granted how strong their Captain was compared to the average human. Regardless, she was on the bridge now, looking thoroughly rumpled and a little out of place, but present nonetheless. "I wasn't going to serve out a tactical alert trapped in a maintenance shaft, sir."

"Nor was I," Simon added, graciously accepting T'Pol's help. "We removed one of the panels on the side of the wall and crawled through some plasma conduits less than half a meter tall. We're lucky they were powered down, or else…"

"She's all yours, Mr. Pascal." Jonathan stood from the conn and went to join his bondmate standing in front of the viewscreen. "What do you make of this?"

The body of the ship was slightly elongated and teardrop shaped, with two rounded curves leading into sharp projections on either side. The hull was an even, unyielding clover green, but at this angle they could see that the underside was painted to mimic a bird-of-prey, the individual red and golden feathers clearly differentiated in what was really a stunning display.

For all intents and purposes, it was exactly identical to the vessels that had menaced them during their encounter at the Romulan minefield, save for the painting, which he had to admit, gave it a slightly ominous appearance.

"They're probably waiting for us to make our move, Commodore. It could be one of the first aggressive actions on United Earth's part."

Liz shook her head and went to stand over the science station, peering over Crewman Rosner's shoulder. "They've been scanning us. For what, I'm not sure."

An alarm went off from the communications console, and for one long moment, no one moved to answer it.

"Where's Miss Singh?"

"Somewhere between D and E Deck upgrading the comm system for the engineering staff. Last I heard, she and Ensign Westminster are attempting to beat the turbolift into submission." Liz cut a knowing glance towards Simon. She'd agreed to be his friend just hours before, but that didn't mean she trusted him completely. She went to listen to the transmission, slipping the discarded headset over one ear.

As T'Pol watched, her expression shifted from apprehensive to shocked to horrified.

The voice she had heard on the other end of the line was low, gravely, and entirely unmistakable.

"They want to know if we are amenable to a battle of wits."

---

"We need to continue on the cargo ship's path. It's the only way we're going to get to the bottom of this."

"I don't care how confident you are, we're not flying blind into a potentially dangerous situation." She was adamant, but he was sticking to his guns. "We'd be better off proceeding to the rendezvous point with Enterprise. They're expecting us, and they don't particularly care what kind of ship we arrive in."

"You're forgetting that the Romulans are probably tracking us as we speak. The minute we divert course, we could be looking at a half dozen raptors." Alira clapped her hands together, then held them in front of her mouth, exhaling raggedly. "I'm asking you, I'm begging you, to think about this like we're in the middle of a war. Sometimes you've got to take risks."

"And sometimes you've got to bide your time." After nearly ten minutes of attempting to reroute controls from the bridge console to their current posting in the corridor, he finally succeeded, and brought up their flight telemetry. "You see, right here. They're heading right towards…"

He trailed off, and she cursed loudly, kicking the bulkhead. Malcolm barely reacted, though he did blink rapidly several times over, trying and failing to convince himself that he wasn't seeing what he thought he was seeing.

According to their current heading, they were making a beeline directly towards the Bowerman Nebula, right where the Enterprise was all but powered down to undergo precautionary repairs.

"We need to contact them."

"We're still out of range. If we send one now, we'll beat the transmission there by over two hours."

"And how long until we reach them?"

"Six." He turned to her and studied her expression, which at the moment was entirely indecipherable. "Do you think the World Ender is-"

"Several ships scanned the nebula, they don't think anything's there. I suppose with that molecular dispersion field, they could have easily been wrong."

"I'll send the transmission anyway. Doesn't hurt to hope for a miracle."

"See if you can't increase our speed from here as well."

"I'm sorry, are you giving me orders?"

She threw up her hands in exasperation and began to look around for another console, sidestepping the pile of the soldiers' confiscated weapons as she did so. They were presently unconscious, but that didn't mean that couldn't change at any second, and she needed to move fast.

Malcolm returned to his study of his own display, clicking his way through a weapons log (two high-yield particle cannons, locked and loaded), a communications array (not strong enough to reach the Enterprise before they did, just as he expected), and finally the crew manifest. Curious, he opened the file for one of the Xantoras soldiers and read his limited biographical information, before scrolling all the way down to the bottom of the page.

He had a criminal history. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised.

Selecting the entry, he found himself within the records of what seemed to be a fugitive registry. There was a sidebar touting a list of the world's most wanted, so he maneuvered over to it, expecting to see Varox but finding someone else entirely about halfway down the list.

Alira heard her name from her post near the bulkhead that sealed them off from the forward section of the ship, and though it was quiet, the intensity with which he said it sent a jolt up her spine. Her stomach was immediately clenched in knots, fearing that he'd been attacked, but the moment she stepped into the junction of the corridor, she realized it was something else entirely.

Her likeness was there on the screen, plain as day, disguised as a Xantoras woman and taken in profile as she rushed past a motion capture camera on a street corner. She was joined by a man, a human, similarly dressed, his head turned directly towards the lens as he engaged her in furtive conversation. The heading indicated that these two interlopers were wanted dead or alive, with a sizable bounty on their heads.

After so long of running from it, her past had finally caught up to her.

"Do you care to explain why you and Ensign Pascal are wanted for murder and espionage?" His voice was low and dangerous, and though he wasn't even looking at her, she could sense his confusion, his poorly restrained anger.

His disappointment.

A sudden flurry of activity from the airlock caught her attention and she rushed off to attend to it, leaving him behind. She needed time to gather her thoughts, to come up with an appropriate ruse, to figure out if this was the moment of truth after all.

The smugglers, however, were determined not to even give her a moment to breathe.

Unbeknownst to them, they'd only recently regained consciousness, and the four Xantoras soldiers were thrashing around, convulsing, foaming at the mouth and clutching their throats. It was a truly horrific sight, and she faltered, taking a step back.

Varox was standing fully upright at the far end of the room, arms crossed, an unbearably smug smirk on his lips. She hit the comm and all but screamed into the speaker, shocked by the volume of her own voice. "What have you done to them?"

"They've all ingested a fast-acting poison. Another thirty seconds, and it'll just be you and me."

"Why have you done this?" She could feel Malcolm at her side, fighting her purchase at the viewport, but she was unyielding. "Who are you working for?"

"If you're asking that question, you must already know the answer."

Damn him. Damn him and all of his ingenuity and Special Ops platitudes and ever-evolving talent for not getting caught, no matter the consequences. She struck her fist against the bulkhead and seethed through her teeth, managing to ignore the pain for now. "I can't believe you would do this to your own people. If the Romulans build their weapon, it's only a matter of time, and Denobula will be on their list."

"They've already built their weapons." He paused, glancing down at his companions, then nudged one of them with his boot to make sure he was dead. Satisfied, he continued: "And many more like it. I don't consider it a major betrayal after what the Supreme Council did to me. What they did to your father."

"I'll advise you not to mention him." Something in what he said raised her internal alarm, but her fingers still hovered over the controls, tracing the perimeters of the buttons. "I can airlock you in a second. I could even start decreasing the oxygen levels in there to warm you up to the idea."

Like any true Special Ops envoy, Varox was truly unafraid of death, and his expression showed it. "By now, you know that everyone has a price."

"You just happen to come a lot more cheaply than others."

"When you contacted me, all I could think about was eliminating you and getting Starfleet off my trail. Going rogue again, finding another alliance world and setting up shop." He paused, and his smile returned, dark and sinister. "But now, assuming you're still en route to the nebula, I can assume the Romulans will finish the job for me."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing, my dear protegee. The United Earth flagship is trapped there now, and there's more ships on the way. I can almost guarantee you won't make it there." He took a step closer to her, and she all but pressed her face against the viewscreen, the look in her eye positively feral. "This time, your curiosity will be your downfall. They say war is hell for a reason."

"Then you must be the devil." It was a human expression, but it was true. "You still haven't told me why you've done this."

"I just want you to realize what kinds of people you're working for." He gestured towards Malcolm, who was barely visible at the corner of the window. "These people are not blameless. Like your father."

"Stop."

"You remember what I told you about the accident, don't you? I'm sure you must relive it every day."

"Enough."

"By now, I'm sure you've guessed that I've not told the whole truth-"

"I said stop talking!"

"What you don't know is that your father died like a coward, screaming for mercy, begging for reprieve. He was crying out for his mother. Really, it was so shameful how he-"

Before he had the chance to stop her, Alira opened the hatch and swept inside. For a split second he thought she was about to start pummeling him into the deck plating with her bare fists, but she reached for her stolen phase rifle instead, leveling it and pointing it directly at his head. "Give me one reason I shouldn't shoot you right now."

She was visibly shaking, her features contorted into a nearly unrecognizable mask of pure rage. Slowly, Malcolm reached behind him, meaning to seize one of the soldier's discarded weapons should things go south, which he was almost certain they were about to.

"You wouldn't. That's always been your problem. You'll play the game, but only up to a certain point."

"You don't think I would?" She clicked the safety off of her rifle, flexing her finger experimentally over the trigger. "It would bring me no greater pleasure than to see your brain splattered across that wall behind you."

Varox seemed to find this amusing. He cut a furtive glance towards Malcolm, and her eyes flitted over to him, to his horrified expression and tense posture. "Be careful, Taxa. He's seeing the real you. I hope all of this was worth it."

She hesitated momentarily, and he lunged for her, making a mad reach for her weapon that sent them both sprawling across the floor. There was a frantic struggle, and before he knew it she was screaming bloody murder, discordant and chilling, kicking and punching to try and gain the upper hand wherever she could.

He was trying to fire on Varox, but they were moving around too fast. Just a second before he considered jumping into the fray, they both managed to get their hands on the weapon, her hands on the hilt and his on the barrel. She jerked away, and he meant to pursue, but wound up wrapping his fingers around the trigger instead.

Almost instantly, his limbs went slack and he slumped into the deck plating, her prophecy for his death entirely fulfilled. She studied his crumpled form, wide-eyed and aghast for a few breathless moments, then half-heartedly rubbed at her face, making little headway at the blood splattered there. He meant to say something, but she immediately burst into tears, ear-splitting and mournful.

She cast her weapon aside and stumbled to her feet. Malcolm was just as appalled at what he'd seen, but still moved to intercept her, grabbing her by the wrist and forcing her into the nearest bulkhead.

"Now, look, you're going to tell me what's going on, or-"

"I'm not lying to you anymore!" She declared, her words barely decipherable over the sobs that were wracking her body. She thrashed against him, but he held fast, and she began to cry even louder, falling into his arms and weeping for every misguided decision that had led her to this moment.

She cried for her betrothed, for her friends in the service, for parents and every criminal or enemy of the state she'd had to slaughter along the way. After fifteen years of running, she was tired, and damn it if she wasn't going to open her mouth and say something, even if it meant losing it all.

It felt like hours, but she finally regained her composure at least partially. He was looking at her like she had three heads, like he couldn't even trust her let alone stand to be around her at the moment, and she dearly hoped her revelation could remedy that. "I've been lying to you about the circumstances surrounding my father's death."

"You know, I figured as much." Malcolm pulled away to shut the airlock hatch, and his detachment shook her to her very core. But when she started talking, she found that she couldn't stop.

"Varox told me this elaborate story to pull me into Special Ops a week or two after the fact. Now, I can't be sure if what he was telling me was the truth, but he claims they were out on a routine patrol when they were attacked by the Kalaine."

"Commanded by Namara and Shran."

She nodded. "They wanted to know about any listening posts we had, troop movements, that kind of thing. Apparently, they took a moment to stop being suspicious of the Vulcans and turn their attention to us. There were only five aboard at the time. That includes my father, Varox…"

He watched as she struggled to breathe, the weight of her anxiety and grief threatening to crush her. She doubled over and inhaled slowly, speaking directly into the deck plating. "I told you that I was betrothed before, and that it didn't work out. The entire truth is that when my father's crew refused to talk, they shoved them all into the airlock and opened the hatch just as they jumped to full impulse."

"Are you telling me-"

"There was nothing left. We found his genetic material scattered across a quarter light year." When she looked back up at him, he could see the heartbreak in her eyes all over again. "I didn't even go to his Rite of Absolution ceremony, Malcolm. I let Nieron die, and tried to pretend that he never existed."

And she'd paid for it during their bout with the telepresence unit at Calder IV; he'd come back to haunt her, and her subconscious had encouraged her, begged her practically, to finally come clean. She knew that he was gone, irrevocably gone, but she hoped that somewhere and somehow he would be proud of her.

Malcolm paused, as if mulling his words carefully, then asked quietly: "How far away was the wedding?"

"Ten days," she whispered, barely able to get the words out. All she could think about was the dress she'd hurriedly thrown out, the flowers she'd trampled on, the communiques and photographs and memories she'd deleted in an effort to forget. For days, she saw no one, and wept until she had no tears remaining.

And to think that only moments ago, she was so willing to subject her former mentor to a similar fate.

"Alira, I don't know what to say. I'm-"

"Varox claims that they had the opportunity to escape, and they both ran for it, but my father took a plasma blast for him. He was rescued, and General Taxa…" She trailed off, screwing her eyes shut. "...was found already dead a few days later, drifting through space in an escape pod."

"And the Supreme Council?"

"Made up an elaborate story about an accident. Claimed they found his ship and immediately sent it to salvage. I don't know why I didn't see it earlier, but one of them is lying, and even now, I'm not sure who it was." Alira paused and drew herself up to full height, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. "I spent years in Special Ops traveling around trying to discover the truth, trying to seek revenge, but never made any progress until I was approached by a human while I was visiting my brother on Earth."

His heart immediately dropped through his stomach. Part of him knew what she was about to say, but he was powerless to stop her or even intervene.

"He told me he could get me the information I needed if I did a few simple favors. It would involve commissioning with Starfleet, lying to anyone and everyone I met, living a double life and operating under a code name."

By that time, he was shaking, and seized his offending hand, bearing down with force. He didn't want to believe it, but now that he thought about it, Alira was exactly the kind of officer Harris would go after.

Young. Driven. Capable. Loyal to a fault with an obvious chip on her shoulder.

"Beloved, you've got to believe me, I wanted to tell you everything. It's been eating me alive for months. All I want to do is get out of my contract and be honest for you. I've been plotting and planning and if only I could just have a little more time-"

"I know," he interrupted, and she startled, seeming to retreat into herself. He wanted to go to her, to provide her some physical comfort, but knew it was neither the time nor place to do so. Right now, he needed to get something very important off his chest. "These people are dangerous. I've been with them for nine years."

"You-" She seemed shocked, then incredulous, then pensive. "I can't believe you'd commit to something like that right out of STC."

"I was young. Covert operations seemed exciting. In all honesty, I couldn't resist it."

"You could have."

"But I didn't, and now I've got to live with that." His previous rage was now tempered by realization of their fate, of trepidation of wading further into these unfamiliar waters. "What do they call you?"

"Lazuli," she admitted somewhat sheepishly.

He supposed it was appropriate; it was the color of her eyes, a semiprecious stone prized since antiquity, found in paintings and artifacts and jewels of ancient queens. He gestured towards himself. "Winston."

"Like Churchill?" He often took for granted that she'd been a tenured professor of military history in her past life, but now, her credentials fairly jumped off the page.

"Unfortunately not," he replied. "Orwell's 1984. I was a little too edgy for my own good back then."

She laughed at that, but still continued to cry, her tears running down her cheeks in an uninterrupted manifestation of her sorrow. There was a long, impenetrable pause, then she forged on: "I couldn't take it any longer. What with this mission and everything...do you want to know what happened to the real Sareen and Rivell?"

He didn't want to think about how much his disguise had degraded over the course of their mission, but he could feel it now, pressing down on him like a ten ton weight. He shook his head.

"It was one of my first assignments for the Section. They were getting sloppy, slipping in and out of ECS freighters, dealing with the Nausicaans and the Orions, trading in Starfleet secrets on the side." She trailed off, and rubbed her eyes on her sleeve, leaving a wide streak of soot across her face. "Rivell, I shot while he was running away, in the middle of the night in some alleyway on Keto-Enol. Sareen was stronger than I anticipated. She managed to wrestle my pistol away from me."

Malcolm was starting to see where this was going, and it sounded dreadfully familiar, like any number of skull-knocking and neck-snapping missions he'd been sent out on as an ensign. It was a tried and true method to see just how far an operative would go, and from the sounds of it, Alira had passed with flying colors.

"I killed her with my bare hands, Malcolm. She was screaming, begging me to spare her life, telling me that she had a child and I…" He closed the distance between them and took her hands. She clamped down on that particular memory and pushed it to the side. "Simon and I were assigned to depose the leader of the previous regime on Xantoras. With the trade options they were promised, Starfleet had a very vested interest in the current faction rising to power. I never expected him to be assigned to the Enterprise, but when he was, I knew that Harris was suspicious of me, of my ability to hold my own out in the field. Now I understand why."

As did he. The realization was so painful that he momentarily couldn't acknowledge it, but he was relieved to know his suspicions of the man were at least somewhat founded. "What's his code name?"

"Corsica."

"Appropriate for a Frenchman." It was the birthplace of Napoleon; clearly, he had higher aspirations. "He's got an ego as wide as this ship, doesn't he?"

"You have no idea." She shook her head. "I regret it all, every bit of it. I never wanted to be that person, but I am, and now I have to deal with the consequences. All I know is that I can't lie to you anymore. I refuse to sacrifice it all and wind up like Varox."

He was hoping to assuage her concerns, but what came out of his mouth was nothing close to that. "You realize the punishment for revealing your involvement with the Section to a loved one or family member."

As a matter of fact, she did. People had been thrown in prison, their careers ruined or even worse. They'd all heard horror stories, but at the moment, they were both in the same boat. "If they know we're collaborating, they'll kill us."

"Does that bother you?"

"You know, despite all that's happened, of all that I know now…" She gripped his hands and stared into his eyes with an absolute unbearable amount of sincerity. "I still love you, Malcolm. I realize what this could mean, and if you want to walk away from me right now, I won't stop you. I just don't want to throw any of this away. Do you?"

By the time she'd finished speaking, her voice was nearly a whisper. He was suddenly seized by an overwhelming premonition of death, of destruction, of consequences for railing against an organization that ran deeper than any of them realized, and pulled away, not missing her devastated expression for a second.

He supposed they'd been set up to fail. They were two of the most stubborn people alive, and neither was particularly good at expressing how they felt. All things considered, this really should break them.

He'd certainly walked away for much less before, walked away from relationships because he was scared of how deeply he cared, or settling down, or making promises he couldn't keep. But this time was different, and he almost immediately decided that this time he wasn't going to run.

He was going to stay and fight for as long as it took to make things right again.

The moment he brought her back into his arms, she began to tremble even harder, and he realized just how terrified she had been that this meant the end for them. He held her tightly, the only anchor in her crumbling world, and promised: "We're going to get through this."

"I know we've got a lot of work to do before things can go back to normal."

"We do," he acknowledged, thinking of all the difficult conversations that lay ahead of them, the restoration of trust. "Do you remember what you told me on Christmas morning back at my sister's flat?" She shook her head into the crook of his neck, and he reached up to stroke her hair, attempting to calm her down.

"You're going to have a hard time getting rid of me now."

This time, when she began to weep anew, he was fairly sure it was for joy.

They remained there for some time, holding on to one another, hurdling through open space to their almost certain demise.

---

The Maelstrom remained looking out over the station for what seemed like an eternity, holding their breath in anticipation, waiting for the Columbia to follow them, waiting for something to happen, waiting for a clue.

For once, the universe did not oblige.

"Hail them," Trip ordered, and Hoshi complied, opening a channel. He took a deep breath and propped his hands on his hips, staring out in the unknown. As with anything, it was best to take the direct approach. "Maelstrom to Captain Hernandez."

No response.

He tried again. After a few more attempts, he started to grow frustrated, and brought his hands down loudly on the side of the navigational console, causing Travis to jump.

"Maelstrom to Hernandez, we've got our visual sensors locked on you right now. Respond or I'll blast these coordinates to every single alliance ship in the sector."

There was a pause, then a crackle of static and the line roared to life. The voice they heard didn't belong to the captain they knew; rather, it was a man's voice, quiet and deeply affected, with a strong Italian accent. "Maelstrom, this is the stationmaster. You are clear to dock."

He reacted immediately, turning to the tactical station. "Mr. Nguyen, prep a shuttlepod. It'll just be you and me."

"Sir-"

"My ready room, Commander," he said, surging forward. Julia followed him closely, side-stepping Jimmy as he rushed for the turbolift, then slipped into the room, closing the hatch tightly behind her.

For almost a minute, neither spoke. They were both in shock, neither wanting to believe that Starfleet could possibly be involved in something like this, but being forced to reconsider given the overwhelming evidence to support it. If this was a legitimate operation and what he thought was being manufactured there actually was, it had the potential to reshape the future of the war, the quadrant, and humanity altogether.

"Sir, permission to speak freely?"

"That's never stopped you before, Jules."

"This isn't the Erika I know. She would never be involved in anything nefarious or underhanded or-"

"Me neither," he admitted with a sad smile. "We've got to get to the bottom of this. We owe it to those scientists. We owe it to Alira, in the very least."

"And if we're stepping on someone's toes by doing so?"

Her insinuation couldn't be missed. Trip stepped forward and placed a companionable hand on her arm. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

The shuttle ride over to the station was conducted in complete silence. Jimmy had insisted they arm themselves, and even though he wanted to protest, Trip had to admit he had no idea what they were about to get themselves into. He was too busy thinking about theories and contingencies and the fact that Columbia hadn't even bothered to follow them.

It was all very curious, and he immediately knew they were messing with forces they did not understand. He was apprehensive, tense, but not nearly enough to turn back, though Nguyen did suggest it multiple times.

In any other situation, he would have valued his caution; it tempered Alira's natural inclination to go charging into a situation with guns blazing, but now it only set him on edge, and he found himself telling his impressionable young armory officer to be quiet before they even docked.

They set down on the external hull of one of many ancient ECS freighters that had been cobbled together to form the station. Trip stood at the hatch for what seemed like hours, Jimmy at his side, before engaging the airlock and forging into as yet undiscovered territory.

Sure enough, Erika Hernandez was waiting for them in uniform, offering them a terse smile. Trip could see that she was repeatedly flexing and curling her fingers at her sides, which he took as an obvious tell. Now that he saw her like this and in this context, all he felt was anger. Confusion. Betrayal.

He couldn't hide it for a second.

"What are you doing out here, Captain?"

"My duty, Captain," she replied, her voice adopting a note of irritation. She extended her hand towards Jimmy for a shake, and he obliged somewhat hesitantly, quietly introducing himself. "If the two of you would like to follow me."

The interior of the station seemed to be thoroughly broken down and patched over; Trip had heard stories of repeated attacks on cargo vessels, where ECS crews would redline their engines until they gave out trying to evade Vulcan ships filled with Romulan hybrids, until they were finally forced to give up, either being slaughtered or thrown to the mercy of whatever Daedalus or NX class could get there first. Many of them had to be scuttled, their complements sent elsewhere, and he suspected he now knew what had happened to a few of those ships.

"What does your crew think you're doing right now?"

"Studying that stellar core fragment."

"Alone?"

"Why not?" She rounded a corner and reached out, tracing a scorched portion of the bulkhead with her hand. He immediately recognized it as residue from weapons fire. "There's plenty of repairs to do. Commander Mbatha is keeping them busy while I check up on things."

In the distance, he began to make out the sound of machines grinding, of metal against metal, of many different components whirring and clicking and working together. It grew louder and louder until a bright spot ahead of them emerged adjoining a massive viewing window. "Things? What is this place?"

Erika didn't respond until the moment they stood in front of the porthole, then gestured somewhat noncommittally towards the scene before her.

They were presently looking out onto a massive assembly line, replete with conveyors and mechanical arms and turntables all in the same shiny metallic chrome, moving and modifying hundreds if not thousands of spatial torpedoes. He saw great bubbling vats of God knew what, a deep orange gelatinous substance being mixed with a yellow powder and interspersed with sparges of gas in solution, an injector jabbing into the surface of the warhead before passing it off into a stasis chamber one by one every few seconds until it was full, at which point it would pass into a second, unseen compartment. It was a dizzying, horrifying sight, and immediately, he knew exactly where Captain Garrett's stolen spatial torpedoes had been bound for.

"What I am about to tell you can under no circumstances be revealed to anyone else," she warned, making eye contact with both of them. "To inform your crew of what you see here can have devastating consequences, not just for the three of us, but the service and United Earth as a whole."

Jimmy nodded and glanced at his CO, looking for a clue on how to proceed. When he offered nothing, he asked: "Is Starfleet building nuclear warheads, Captain?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. You're looking at the very foundations of our defense effort. We had plans to ramp up production, but given that our operation is now compromised…"

"How long has the ECS been running errands for you?"

"Not for me," she corrected him gently. "I'm under orders."

"From who?"

"I can't tell you that," Erika replied, and it wasn't a lie. She had no idea who it was. She'd been contacted by a man who only referred to himself as Jaguar over a secure channel outfitted with a voice modulator. He said he was under orders from Starfleet Intelligence to begin producing a new kind of weapon for the war effort, and to see it through, she needed to make the acquaintance of two supposed dilithium experts from the warp seven project. She needed to make first contact and gain the trust of an entire species overnight.

For months, she had lost sleep over it, tossed and turned and agonized. But now that it was out in the open, she felt an irrational sense of relief, but also fear, with the knowledge of what could happen if this information were to get out.

"What do you even call this place?"

She took a deep breath. At the far corner of the room, Dario and Martina Corsetti, who had been presumed dead after the Battle of Solnara, emerged onto an elevated platform, seemingly deep in conversation with one another. Trip recoiled, and when he looked at her, he was visibly enraged. "They call it Salvare Station. Whether you believe it or not, Mr. Tucker, this weapon is going to be our deliverance."

"Call me crazy, but I'm having a hard time believing a word that comes out of your mouth right now."

Erika met his challenge with a tight smile and leaned into him, whispering: "That's perfectly fine, you don't need to. Within months, every single ship, from the Enterprise down to the most insignificant patrol, is going to be armed with these. Now, you can either turn right around and return to your ship and tell everyone what you've seen, or you can step into my office and get all the facts. It's your decision."

He stared her down, his resolve positively unyielding, trying and failing to find any trace of the woman he once knew and served with beneath this unsettling veneer of calm. Finding none, he acquiesced, and began to follow her down the corridor.

"Sir-"

"Stand watch, Mr. Nguyen! That's an order!"

---

Seconds after they received the transmission from the Romulan vessel, the Enterprise was zooming through the nebula on thrusters only, trying to keep from bumping into anything and anyone.

They all knew the hybrid marauder behind them; Crewman Rosner sat at the science station, looking through the viewfinder into the aft visual sensors. They weaved and dodged in between the clouds, not daring to fire and ignite the flammable gases of the nebula, but stayed on their tail, so close that she was sure if they were to lay in an all stop there would be a collision within seconds.

Shelby was adamant that it would only take three hours to reach the other side of the nebula; even so, the Commodore recommended they hug the outer edge, skirting the rim just in case they needed to make an escape.

An escape which they all knew was impossible.

As soon as they broke into open space, T'Pol knew they'd have a more intense chase on their hands, and probably a firefight which they had no chance of winning for as long as most weapons were down. Really, they had no idea how many Romulan vessels were in the nebula, how many were visible or cloaked or hovering just over their hull, and without the ability to contact anyone outside the nebula, there was no way to call for backup.

And yet the clock was ticking down; they had less than two days to remain in the nebula before the particle flux caused irreparable damage to the hull. It truly was an unsolvable conundrum, and immediately, she recognized the problem the hybrids had presented her with.

Did she trust the capabilities of her crew in the face of insurmountable odds, or would she, as her human colleagues would say, attempt to play God?

Pascal had a vicelike grip on the joystick, and as they watched, he jerked it strongly to one side.

At that moment, a rock fragment brushed past the hull, flying over the main viewscreen and disappearing overhead.

"Do I want to know how close that was, Ensign?"

"No, ma'am," he said, reaching up with his free hand to wipe the sweat off his brow.

"We've got warp one back, and turbolifts between E and B Deck." Liz briefly moved Dita's headset to one side, swiveling around to face her COs. "Anna seems to think we'll need to blast through the emergency bulkheads to get all the way through to the bridge."

"See to it," T'Pol replied and turned to the tactical station. "Hull plating?"

"Eighty percent and steady for now. Inertial dampeners are compensating." For now, at least, though they were receiving quite the workout. In all actuality, in the hour since the isolation protocol was accidentally engaged, they'd only managed to get partial power back to phase cannons and one of the aft torpedo launchers, neither of which they could use with the molecular dispersion field all around them. Shelby wasn't feeling too optimistic.

"Any hope for shields?" The Commodore was smiling softly, encouragingly.

She shook her head. Their primitive deflective shielding was quite honestly the bane of her existence; it hardly worked effectively even when it was online. It was based off of a few schematics passed along to them from a representative of the Andorian Imperial Guard's research unit. The plans had been given to them in good faith, and in her opinion, the idiots at Utopia Planitia had completely squandered it. The moment she had a couple of hours to herself, she planned to get to the bottom of the persistent issues they'd been facing.

"Ma'am, permission to switch to the dorsal camera." The slightly frantic tone to Miriam's voice couldn't be ignored.

She hesitated, glancing toward the Commodore. Repeatedly over the course of the past hour, they'd appeared to have a conversation without words, and now was not an exception. She nodded, and the view shifted.

"What are we looking at, Crewman?" All Jon could really see was a continuously swirling cloud of blue and gray, nearly opaque and entirely ominous.

"They're right there, sir," she insisted. At their confused expressions, she zoomed in on the upper left hand quadrant of the image. "Can't you see it?"

As a matter of fact, they did. They could barely make out the afterimage, a shadow, a break in the dust and debris just large enough to accommodate another bird-of-prey. It seemed to bend and reflect the space around it, and they immediately knew they were looking at a cloaked ship.

"There's eight more of them, six behind and two ahead. We're surrounded."

Simon broke through their fear and trepidation, banking hard to the left and then back to the right. He peered into the smaller display on his viewscreen, saying: "We're coming up on something."

"Can you be a little more specific than that?"

"No, sir. Whatever it is, it's huge."

"All stop!"

This time, the gravitational forces as Simon layed on the metaphorical brakes were enough to almost throw them from their chairs. The clouds seemed to clear steeply, and at once they found themselves looking at the enormous silvery hull of a modified warbird, slightly tad-pole shaped, replete with many blinking beacons and what appeared to be launch tubes studding one side.

It was larger than any D'Kyr or Suurok class battle cruiser she'd ever encountered, more massive than anything the humans or Andorians or Tellarites could ever hope to build, and T'Pol had to inhale sharply in a bid to fight the wave of terror rising up from her gut.

Immediately, she knew they'd found it.

The World Ender.

---

Erika's office aboard Salvare Station was small, cramped, and nondescript, the walls bare save for a few schematics and the desk empty except for a pile of PADDs. It was both windowless and airless. As Trip studied the diagrams of the prototype of the weapon, he started feeling faint, and by the time she passed a tumbler full of liquor in his hands, he was more than ready to drink.

She knocked back the amber color liquid and pulled a strange face, then, noticing his reticence, reached for his and drank it too. Now somewhat fortified, she leaned into the bulkhead and crossed her arms, affecting a conversational stance. "Where would you like me to start?"

"From the beginning."

"Sure," she sighed and trained her gaze on the ceiling, as if attempting to hold her composure. "About a year and a half ago, Starfleet Intelligence picked up some reconnaissance indicating the Romulans were building thermonuclear weapons somewhere in this quadrant."

He was hurriedly doing the mental math, and when he finally landed on the correct date, he shook his head. "Around the time we encountered the first Romulan telepresence unit. Why didn't HQ dispatch us to investigate?"

"Because they didn't want to move too fast and raise the enemy's suspicions. At that point, we didn't want Vulcan involvement either. They got to work designing a prototype, one that uses dilithium as the fusion fuel to give the weapon wider range and devastation." She swallowed, hard. "There was no way we could pull that amount of material out of Coridan without alarming the Vulcans, so we located a suitable planet with naturally high dilithium concentration in its core and set our mark. I led them out there myself, Captain. I let your first officer believe it was her discovery."

"And you used the Solnarans. Used them up until disaster struck and tens of thousands of them were dead." He remembered her briefing on their first contact back on Tellar Prime, how she'd told them United Earth was looking forward to setting up a mining operation there and helping the locals become a part of the interstellar community. Come to find out, that had all been a lie.

"No!" She exclaimed, exhaling swiftly into her hands. There was an uncomfortable pause, and then she continued: "We hoped to refine enough dilithium in the first few months, but we ran into some setbacks. Defenses weren't set up quickly, there weren't enough supplies, there wasn't enough manpower-"

"That's where the Corsettis came in," he assumed. And to think, they'd been anticipating bringing hundreds of Solnarans into their venture, to pull them into a war they weren't even passively involved in. "And Lord Senath?"

"Fully bought into the plan. Lord Moberly had no knowledge of the deeper purpose behind our alliance, but Senath always knew they were in danger so close to Romulan space."

"Is he here now?" He asked, fully knowing the answer.

"Somewhere," she replied cryptically. "By that time, this station had already been built. I have no idea when or by who, but I know they've been receiving deliveries of stolen spatial torpedoes from the Sol system for months. They're the easiest to acquire, the easiest to modify."

"The ECS Flagstaff must have been one of your runners. We ran into them at Starbase 1."

"Trip, I don't know anything about that, but from the internal documents that were released from the investigation, it looks like he just got careless."

"And the Tellarites?"

"What about them?"

"Their Ambassador Kell propositioned me back on Tellar Prime, offered to help me come into some specialty materials. Come to think of it, I think she might have confused me with someone else."

Erika began to pace the length of the room, reaching the hatch and turning abruptly on her heels. "From what I understand, a special branch of their Trade Directorate has been helping us consolidate our supply. I don't know any more than that."

"I suppose you're going to tell me you weren't really out there rubbing elbows with ministers and vedeks on Bajor while the rest of us were trying to defend the Solnarans."

"Oh no, I actually was." She paused. "For the first couple of weeks. Then we went scouting for materials, took the scenic route on the way home, under the guise of studying phenomena we encountered. We were just on our way to join the patrol when I received word that you were headed directly towards us."

"So why didn't you hide?"

"Trip, after Kandar, you already knew too much. What with you and Enterprise working to decode their core, it was only a matter of time before you came after us."

Something clicked in his head, and he surged forward, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her into the bulkhead. To her credit, Erika scarcely reacted, though she could see the anger and confusion in his eyes. "You sent the mother of one of my best officers to her death. Why?"

"The shielding technology we're using right now was only a prototype at the time. There was a glitch, and they detected us. We weren't anywhere close to ready for distribution. Kandar had the most sophisticated satellites in the quadrant, and they were in the unique position to deny reports from any other listening post that there was something here if the same issue came up again."

"You killed her!"

"She volunteered to help us. Feezal understood it was for the good of the alliance. There were scientists there in on the plan, working on targeting sensors for the warhead, battle strategies and supply plans. They were sending out occasional transmissions with their work, and when she found out..."

He screwed his eyes shut and leaned away from her, understanding where this was going and not particularly liking it. Trip could feel a searing, deep seeded rage burning up in his gut, one he could not ignore. Erika could sense all of this and more, but she needed to complete her tale, to confess the reality of the situation in its entirety.

"The Romulans picked up on one of those messages and came to call. They had terabytes and terabytes of sensor data and information about the warheads on their data core. It was a tragic mistake, and it wasn't her fault, but she did her duty. I'll now ask you to do yours, Captain."

Trip released her and took a giant step back, entirely incredulous. She hadn't seen how much the carelessness of a handful of their scientists had deeply affected Alira, had almost broken her entirely, had caused her to weep into the arms of many a senior officer for weeks following the incident. He didn't give a damn about duty and obligation at the moment-the situation had been woefully mishandled by everyone involved, and he was determined to let her know.

"What are you talking about? You could have just built all this out in the open, asked for cooperation from the Vulcans and the Tellarites and the Andorians-"

"The Vulcans have their own problems right now," she replied cryptically, and he hoped she was referring to the fact that their salvage ships kept getting stolen by the Romulans and not anything to do with the hybrid plot. "We needed evidence that the enemy was building this weapon in the first place. We needed them to make the first move. You've seen firsthand how the Tellarites and the Andorians behave when they don't have that. It would be like lighting a match in a room filled with powder kegs."

"Erika, I don't understand." He ducked his head. "Where is this going to end?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Where are we going to use these?"

"In open space, like flash bangs to distract and divert the enemy. These warheads won't be strong enough to pierce their hull, but they can scatter their sensors long enough to gain the advantage."

"And then what?"

"Then?"

"How long until we're being asked to fire upon Romulan outposts?" When he looked up at her, his eyes were burning with anguish. "And then unarmored transports? Defenseless colonies?"

"It's not going to come to that, Trip."

"You don't know that for sure. None of us do." He inhaled sharply. "War is bloody and unpredictable, I'll give you that. I for one don't want to wind up standing on the bridge a year from now firing into a city full of civilians, watching the chaos and destruction like some Oppenheimer, declaring now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds!"

Erika's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and she crossed her arms, pressing down with such strength that he thought for a split second he could see her shaking. He knew, just as well as she did, the kind of unholy destruction that had been brought down upon their home during the second and third world wars. It was horrific and unspeakable, and hundreds of millions of people had died. He was sure that in the moment the people who yielded those weapons thought their actions were wholly justified, but he hated to think that he would have to convince his tactical officers of that.

He didn't want to believe such orders would ever come down from on high, but here he was looking at the living proof otherwise.

The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. It was an expression T'Pol was fond of, but he couldn't imagine himself using that logic to condone nuclear warfare. He was more partial to a different saying.

Those who don't remember their history are doomed to repeat it.

"Trip, I know you've read the same reports I did from Kandar. The Romulans are powerful. Their strategic abilities are beyond anything we could hope to match on our own, and I'm not too proud to say that. When they strike at Sol-and they most certainly will-we're going to need to be ready."

"Does that mean you'd feel comfortable giving the order, Erika?"

"Of course it doesn't," she said passionately, and he was taken aback by the resoluteness of her words. "But once the Commodore knows, and if he gives the order, I'll be more than willing to follow it."

She took a step forward, drawing closer until her lips were mere centimeters from his ear. She placed a hand on his shoulder and pressed down lightly. "And you will have to be as well."

"Captain, I won't-"

"I don't care. Make peace with it." Erika retreated towards the door and studied the controls contemplatively. "It's never been black and white. This universe isn't just good guys and bad guys. Sometimes you've got to exist in the middle."

"The middle?"

"Careful, strategic, but not unwilling to unleash holy hell when threatened." The hatch slid open, and he followed her, effectively ending their conversation.

Further down the hall, Ensign Nguyen was watching the assembly line, a storm of thoughts raging in his mind.

He heard a lift running at some distance away, but paid no mind to it, the unheard sound of bombs exploding and civilians screaming and fires raging roaring in his ears. He couldn't be sure how many they'd stockpiled, but the rate they were building, he couldn't imagine it would be much longer until he and Alira were making room in the armory for a nuclear isolation chamber.

He didn't care to think too much about it, but now, it seemed that he had very little choice.

Jimmy didn't notice he had company until he was right beside him, a man was short, curly hair wearing a cloak of some sort, seemingly no taller than five feet. He offered him a handshake, and he returned it warily. The two of them stood stock still looking out onto the impressive scene of industriousness before them, remaining silent for some time.

"How did you do it?" He asked finally, not even turning his head.

Lord Senath frowned. "Escape pods. There was a ship waiting for us. They beamed us out of danger just as the core breached on that Romulan marauder."

"Why not stay?" He wanted to ask what kind of ship, but he had a feeling he didn't want to know.

"They needed someone to classify and help replicate this dilithium. We only managed to extract a couple hundred pounds."

"Is that going to be enough?"

"It will have to be."

"And was it worth it, knowing you can never return?"

He turned to him, somewhat irritated by his persistent questioning and blatant insinuation. "I still may, someday. When these weapons are launched and they have no need for me."

"You're wrong. Your people have nowhere to go, and neither will you. It's going to take a hundred years to terraform Solnara back to the way it was. Their only real hope of asylum turned them down. Lord Moberly has been fighting for them the entire time, while you've been hiding out in the middle of nowhere." Jimmy paused, somewhat unbelieving that he was talking to a head of state like this, but felt powerless to stop what was coming next. "I hope they run you out of town."

He reached forward and grabbed a handful of his collar, pulling him forward and forcing him to look at him. Senath was enraged; that much was obvious. He had no way of knowing that with his tactical training he could bring him to the ground before he could even blink, and for the moment, he kept that close to his chest.

"I did all of this to help my people, to give us a higher standing in the interstellar community. Your people promised to protect us and give us first access to these weapons. We received nothing of the sort."

"Don't try and tell me you have the moral high ground." He tilted his head towards the assembly line. "You're no better than they are."

Than we are. His brain automatically corrected him, and he withered from that thought.

For a second he thought they were going to have a physical altercation, but before that could happen, Erika Hernandez swept past him, followed by his CO.

Trip nodded, and he hurriedly disengaged, leaving the disgraced statesman where he stood and rushing after them.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Captain," Trip said with an incredible amount of sarcasm, and together they stepped over the threshold of their shuttlepod.

"It was my pleasure, Captain." She smiled again, but this time it was profoundly weary. "You'll be hearing from us in a few weeks."

"I'm sure we will."

The hatch closed in front of them, and Jimmy observed his body language, his dejectedness and anger, unsure of what to say. Finally, he found the courage. "Sir-"

"Not right now, Mr. Nguyen." He took a seat in the pilot's chair, and then to his surprise, bent over the console, heaving a massive sigh.

---

"Last chance to turn back."

"You should know by now that I never back away from a challenge."

"Even when you should." Malcolm's hands hovered across the navigational console, studying their flight telemetry. The moment they came within visual range of the Bowerman Nebula, he disengaged the engines, sending them sliding out into open space.

They both expected to waltz right into a firefight, but found nothing on the sort; rather, the area around the nebula was completely clear with nary a ship in sight. He thought he heard her say something, maybe an expletive or some curse directed at their dearly departed Varox, but could scarcely hear it over his own thoughts.

The bridge of the Xantoras freighter was more of a cockpit, only reachable by a ladder leading into a slight swell of the hull at the front of the ship. There were two chairs, back to back, one for the navigator and one for the gunman, with no room to stand up at all. The narrow compartment was incredibly cramped and almost unbearably hot, but at this point in their mission, they could've been thrown into a vat of boiling lava and not found reason to complain.

"I'll try contacting them again. From this distance, I can pick up their transponder frequency, but it's very faint." Automatically, he passed their one and only UT over his shoulder, which she accepted gratefully. He could hear her tapping away at the console, growing progressively slower and slower until it faded out altogether. "Malcolm, look at this."

He had to twist and turn quite awkwardly in order to see, eventually winding up straddling his seat backwards in order to peer over her shoulder. Finally, he caught a glimpse of what had attracted her attention: the comm log, filled with ingoing and outgoing transmissions, time-stamped and addressed to the letter.

Only one wasn't written in the same jagged Xantoras script; he assumed it was because there was no equivalent for the word in their language, but nevertheless, it jumped out right away.

"Do you know an agent named Jaguar?"

It sounded like the kind of indulgent, self-aggrandizing codename one of their colleagues in the Section might give themselves, but he had to admit that he did not. "Where was the it going?"

"Impossible to tell. You know as well as I do how they usually route these messages." He surely did; though as many subspace transceivers and satellites as possible, until the origin was entirely unclear. Fortunately, they both knew how to set up such a transmission, and had done so hundreds of times over the years. "This one goes through the comm networks of four different alliance words, as well as Echo Two and Three. It's disguised as an ECS cargo manifest."

"Can you open it?"

She shook her head. "The contents have been erased. Varox wasn't a fool."

"Depends on how you define it." He studied her fraught expression, and he knew what his own thoughts on the matter were, but had to know if she reciprocated. "Do you think he was playing both sides?"

"Of course I do. And if you're asking me if I think the Section is using the ECS and other trade partners to traffic in stolen spatial torpedoes and nuclear materials, I definitely think that's the case as well."

"And the connection?"

"Malcolm, please." She looked over her shoulder, and they locked eyes. "If I caught wind of the fact that an enemy was making one or more superweapons, I'd certainly start building my own."

And they were going to expect them to use them, without hesitation, without fail. The idea was slightly unsettling to him.

"You're thinking. Now's not the time."

"You're right," he acquiesced, engaging the thrusters and maneuvering them into the outer fringes of the nebula. "How are we doing on hull plating?"

"Better than anything we could ever hope for on an NX-class, that's for sure. They're shielded to the teeth." It was more than likely to do with avoiding being randomly scanned when they were in port, but that was beside the point.

Almost immediately, they lost primary navigation and all sensors except the proximity detector. They flew in on the remnants of the Enterprise's impulse trail and forged on at half speed, dearly hoping not to run into anyone else. The clouds seemed to close in an them from all directions, and every so often they felt rock fragments and dust eddies strike against the hull, causing the cabin to shake in all directions.

"How long has it been since they entered the nebula?"

"Five or six hours, by my count. Then again, that may not matter too much." She could feel him tense up, though he didn't take his eyes off the viewscreen for a second. "If you think about it, this is a perfect place to hide out for cargo drops. Cloak in, make your rendezvous, cloak out. We ought to be inspecting more of these nebulas."

"You're saying you think they knew the Enterprise was going to be here."

"I think we were unlucky," she corrected him. It hadn't been the first time, and like so many instances before, it could very easily mean their demise.

"You've really got to hand it to the Romulans, though," he mused, banking them around an approaching boulder, which was really large enough to be classified as an asteroid.

"Do I?"

"You do. Building nuclear missiles in alliance territories is outright brazen. If the circumstances were different, I might just respect it."

"No one ever said they weren't tactical geniuses. I doubt they're building them here, though. No one can stay in this nebula for more than a couple of days. If the entire vessel is cloaked, they could really be anywhere."

"Maybe sitting right above Earth as we speak."

"It's possible," she admitted, brushing off the chill that set in her bones. She kept seeing little blips of something on the proximity sensor, but they vanished just as quickly as they appeared, and she initially chalked it up to interference, which there was an abundance of around them at the moment.

A few seconds later, she realized their mistake; the aft section of the Enterprise appeared before them at incredibly close range, and Malcolm pulled back on the joystick with both hands, sending them rocketing up and over the dorsal section.

On the bridge, they all felt and witnessed a mysterious craft of unknown origin pass over their bow and disappear into the clouds. It made a complete one hundred and eighty degree turn and returned to them, facing away from the World Ender, coming to rest so close to their nose that Jonathan felt like he could have reached out and touched them.

Do you recognize that ship's configuration, T'Pol? It was shaped like a flattened out saucer, with two spindle-like projections for phase cannons on either side. The hull plating was black as the darkest night, and seemed to be watching them just as they were watching it, listening, waiting.

I do not believe so, she replied silently, and crossed the room towards the comm. "Unknown vessel, this is the United Earth flagship Enterprise. Identify yourself."

While communications outside the nebula were out of the question, within the confines of the clouds also presented a challenge. They were treated to almost a full minute of static, then a familiar English accent flooded the overhead speakers: "Enterprise, this is Reed and Taxa. Please acknowledge."

Jonathan immediately rose to his feet and crossed the room towards the viewscreen, as though that would increase the signal strength. He was having a hard time comprehending their entire serendipitous appearance, especially since he'd sent them out in a Denobulan shuttle only for them to reemerge several light years from the rendezvous point in what looked like a warship.

"What the hell have you two been up to?"

There was a flurry of conversation, not all of which was inaudible. Alira was next to take the comm. "With all due respect sir, I believe that explanation can wait."

Ensign Pascal hooked an arm around the headrest of his chair and looked back on his CO. "I thought they were fixing the planetary defense system on Teerza VII?"

The look in his eye, however, told her that he knew more. She ignored his inquiry. They would need to come up with a suitable ruse for their senior staff at a later date, but as for now…

"Do you mind if I ask what you're doing standing at an all stop in front of a-" He trailed off, and Jonathan could almost hear him turning around in his seat. He watched them draw closer and closer to the shadow, which was partially obscured by the clouds, until realization struck. One of them cursed, though he wasn't sure which one it was.

"There's Romulan birds-of-prey cloaked all around us. Crewman Bennett and Lieutenant Cutler are placing incendiary antimatter mines as we speak." Really, it had been a whirlwind decision to accept their armory second's suggestion; their shuttlepods would be too small to be picked up on proximity sensors, and assuming the mines were placed less than two kilometers from any of the many shadows they saw in the clouds, they would be able to detonate one and mount their escape while the others scrambled away.

"So close to a device like that?" Alira must have realized she sounded a touch insubordinate, because she backed up and tried again. "Ma'am, we don't know if this is the only World Ender, or if there's others, or-"

"Exactly why we need to destroy this one, Ensign. Mr. Pascal assures me that as long as we can fly out of here at half impulse and jump to warp the moment we're free of the clouds, we will be clear of the nuclear detonation by the time it reaches the secondary stage."

"I suppose there's little point in trying to change your mind."

"There is not," she assured her, and knew they were thinking the same thing. It was outrageous, foolhardy, and completely out of left field, but it just might be crazy enough to work. "We previously believed we may have to collect the shuttlepod ourselves, but now that you're here…"

"We're on it. Stand by, Enterprise." Alira ended the transmission, then, in the space between them on the bridge of the Xantoras cargo ship, she hissed: "What are we doing here?"

His only reply was to look at her with confusion. She twisted around in her chair until they were only centimeters apart, then whispered: "It doesn't matter whether they hunted the Enterprise down here, or if we stumbled into their supply lines. They're just sitting here, waiting for us to make a move. Why?"

"They want us to agonize about our next decision, to wind down the clock until we're risking permanent damage to the hull. Perhaps they want us to act impulsively."

"Exactly. Right now, we're the only ship in this sector. Everyone else is up near Canopus. What's the nearest inhabited planet?"

"The Vulcan colony on Barisa VI, right outside the Karonid Nebula. There's patrols stationed there, but-" He immediately cut himself off, bringing his hand down on top of his console with an audible slap. "They're keeping us occupied. I bet you the second we leave the Bowerman..."

"Hold that thought." On her side of the viewscreen, Shuttlepod One had only just emerged from an assembly of clouds, weaving and dodging like a bat out of hell. A second later, space seemed to shift and shimmer behind them so drastically that she immediately knew one of the birds-of-prey had managed to catch them on their view screen. "They can't fire weapons in here, can they?"

"No, but I bet that they've got a tractor beam." His hand shot out to activate the comm. "Reed to Enterprise. We're making our move."

"Acknowledged."

The next few seconds were full of frantic preparations, then they began to move, extremely slowly and then all at once, attempting to put themselves between the shuttle and where they assumed the cloaked ship to be.

"I need you to be my eyes," he said somewhat rhetorically, noticing that they'd entirely lost navigational sensors.

"You have nothing to worry about," she assured him, and hit the comm again. "Taxa to Shuttlepod One."

A weighty pause, and she saw the craft visibly jump, as if whoever was at the controls was taken by surprise. "Ma'am?"

"Shelby!" She greeted Malcolm's second with a very characteristic lack of propriety. "We're coming to get you. Hold tight."

It was Lieutenant Cutler who answered next. She wanted to ask why she'd volunteered to fly instead of Simon, but she had a feeling she already knew the answer. "That's a very kind offer, but I'm afraid we're a little occupied at the moment."

"You're much more agile than they are. Shouldn't be too much of a challenge." They fell into line with the pod, then surged forward until their noses were even.

"That's easy for you to say, sir. The moment we stop to dock, they're going to be on top of us."

"Then we're going to have to do this while we're moving. Slow down to quarter impulse." He could feel Alira moving around, sliding out of her seat and maneuvering to the ladder which would lower her to the deck below.

At the last possible second, he reached out and grabbed her arm, hissing: "Are you crazy?"

"Maybe. You tell me if you think there's a better way." He looked at her, eyes wide as he rapidly calculated through all the possibilities and contingencies, unaware that she was silently counting down. Finally, she pulled away, saying: "Time's up."

She disappeared through the access port, and he sighed, righting himself and steering their craft back into line with the shuttlepod. On the other end of the line, Shelby sounded skeptical.

"Sir, are you sure about this?"

"Quite," he assured them, though that wasn't the entire truth. "I take it that using all of those antimatter mines was your idea?"

"It was. We needed some way to incapacitate this fleet and destroy the weapon without the use of our normal arsenal. The Captain asked, and I-"

"I was planning on saving those for a rainy day," he grumbled, hoping she could sense the teasing in his voice. It was uncharacteristic for him, but the stress of the past few days was weighing heavy, and if he was completely honest, he was dangerously close to cracking. The hull suddenly rocked, and he turned around to Alira's side of the viewscreen, noticing that another bird-of-prey had joined the chase. "You've got company, Lieutenant."

"I see it. I'm about to engage the autopilot. You're going to have to come to us. If we drift into you, we'll probably bounce off and go flying into their weapon." They were growing closer and closer to what was probably one of many World Enders now. If he wasn't careful, with the route they were currently on, he could just as easily run headlong into it.

Not for the first time, he found himself willing his own hands to be steady.

Alira was sprinting through the corridors of their stolen cargo ship en route to the airlock, struggling to maintain her balance over the tremendous shaking of the hull.

Really, it felt like the deck plating was bucking and rolling, and more than once, she found herself being thrown sideways into the bulkhead and having to scoot sideways along the wall, before she would be jostled once again, thrown to the floor with very little ceremony whatsoever.

Finally she reached the docking port and stumbled up to the viewing window, slightly startling at the sight of the dead Xantoras soldiers, features contorted in horrendous death masks of terror. Her former mentor was entirely unrecognizable, a great deal of his face having been completely blown away.

By a phase rifle she'd been holding.

She swallowed her grief, her recognition of her own impulses and nature, and reached for the comm. "Are we ready?"

"They're going to give it a try." That was a gross oversimplification. What they were asking their science officer to do was like trying to land a ball in a bucket of water from ten kilometers up in the atmosphere, and the more he thought about it, the less optimistic he was.

A second later, she heard the pod make contact with their outer hull, before slipping out of the docking clamps and shearing against them loudly, her ears filled with the unbearable scrape of metal against metal. The ship bucked, and she felt them try again and again, until finally, the hatch at the far end of the wall popped open and the light above her head turned green.

Shelby's expression was entirely fraught, which quickly turned into terror when she saw the crumpled bodies of the smugglers all around her. Alira found herself wishing they'd thought to jettison them out into space before they arrived at the Bowerman Nebula; this was surely going to be difficult to explain.

Liz followed, then she hit the button which would close the hatch, only to find that it wasn't responding. Now operating under its own power, the shuttlepod was thrashing and attempting to pull away from its berth, and the two of them rushed towards the door, pounding on it frantically.

Alira was helpless to assist them; she estimated they only had seconds left before the pod gave way and they were sucked out into open space, so she cast all other preoccupations aside, reached for her plasma baton tucked into her hair, and struck the panel on the wall with all her might.

The ensuing arc of electricity was almost blinding, but then the two of them were surged forward, taking in great, enormous gulps of air, falling to the ground with the force of their own adrenaline. She was struggling to close the hatch manually, but Shelby came to her rescue, throwing her entire weight into the right half of the door and managing to secure it the very moment the pod gave way.

The space between the docking berths and the airlock hatch was suddenly filled with a murky blue-gray haze, and she stood there for a second, momentarily spellbound and dazzled by the sight of it. The soldiers and her mentor tumbled out into open space, and just like that, they're gone, and she's free.

Realization hit like a speeding hovertrain, and she reached for the comm, shouting that she had them and the pod was gone and tell them to detonate the mines and get going for the love of all that's good and holy we need to get out of here now.

The next few minutes were all a blur. She thought she felt the ship turn around and go to impulse, weaving and bobbing before eventually catching the tail end of a shockwave and being thrown sideways. She wasn't sure how he did it, but Malcolm maintained course, trailing the Enterprise and jumping to warp at the exact moment the nebula behind them exploded in a torrent of fire and sparks.

Her heart was racing, and she knew she needed to return to the bridge, but just couldn't bring herself to move even a centimeter. She and Liz locked eyes; they were both disheveled, but she knew she was much worse for wear, covered in dirt and smoke and blood that wasn't her not her own from the waist up in one even, uninterrupted layer. She didn't want to think about what her face looked like, what the look in her eye was conveying, and for one long moment, neither spoke.

Finally, Shelby broke the silence. "What happened to you, ma'am?"

"Everything," she replied, sinking to her haunches and inhaling raggedly.

---

The next thing either of them really remember, they'd trudged wearily into decon, trying to gather their thoughts and hoping the damage caused by a lengthy exposure to radioactive materials could be easily remedied.

Liz and Shelby dodged most of Phlox's scrutiny; a quick once-over with his tricorder was enough to send them on their way, though she could still see them, speaking further down the corridor with the Captain and the Commodore, their heads bent together, and she was certain they were telling them everything that they'd seen.

Malcolm made some off handed remark about how nice it was to be clean again, and she turned back to him, taking in his damp hair, his scrubs, and the dull look in his eyes, which was enough to tell her that he was feeling all that she was and more.

"They're going to ask how our contact wound up dead in that airlock."

He seemed taken aback by her urgency, and beckoned for her, urging her to take a seat next to him on the bench. It was tremendously unusual for him to have to act as her strength, but in the moment he was ready, and when the time came, he knew she was more than willing to reciprocate. "We'll tell them the truth. We got an inkling of him smuggling something, and when we found out what it was-"

Alira sat down heavily and leaned forward, dropping her face into her hands. He knew she was scared, and desperately wanted to afford her some physical comfort, but gracious refrained. Instead, he waited for her to say something, and when she did, it shook him to his core.

"I keep telling myself we didn't do anything wrong."

"We didn't. We acted as admirably as we could given the circumstances." The guilt from finally revealing her secret and embracing her past with open arms was clearly burdenson, and he made a mental note to broach the subject later, when they weren't in such a public place, when there wasn't such a threat of eavesdroppers hanging on their every word. "You've been keeping up appearances with them this entire time. Just hold on a little bit longer."

She sighed and righted herself again; though she didn't look at him, she nodded, training her eyes on the bulkhead in front of her and taking measured steps to steel her expression. It didn't come a moment too soon; they heard the exterior doors open, and then the Captain and the Commodore were there, ready to talk.

They stood automatically and snapped to attention, though she felt more than a little silly doing so. The Commodore reached for the comm, and soon his voice filled the room.

"I bet the two of you have got a good story to tell."

"You have no idea, sir," she admitted self-consciously. "Sorry about the shuttlepod."

"We can replace those, but we can't replace valuable officers." He paused, giving them both the onceover, no doubt sensing something was off, but not being able to place it. "We've just received word from Barisa VI. While we were being occupied by the Romulans, another one of their battalions broke out of the Karonid Nebula and attacked. They had another one of those devices, those World Enders."

"The colony was completely extinguished. Five thousand lives, three Vulcan ships, and one of our Daedalus class patrols were lost." T'Pol explained, fighting to keep her expression neutral. "They have claimed the system as their own. This is the closest they have come to Sol as of yet, and its strategic importance cannot be overstated. We are here seeking options."

"We'll be more than happy to take a look." Alira gestured towards the PADD in her hand, and she obliged, placing it into the meal slot and pushing it though.

"I don't want to see either of you on the bridge until we rendezvous with the Maelstrom."

"Sir-"

"Two days from now. According to what you told Cutler and Bennett, you've probably earned it." He paused, anticipating their next question and meeting it headlong. "We don't know how many birds-of-prey escaped the nebula, or if that particular World Ender made it out. With what we know about their cloaking technology, we can only really tell where they've been."

"Perhaps we should be sending out patrols."

"We are, Mr. Reed," T'Pol said. "We're leaving the Xantoras vessel in the custody of the Mariner and assigning them a permanent station between the Karonid and Bowerman nebulas. The Phoenix will be around later this week to collect it and bring it to Starbase 1 for inspection. I am sure that its contents will be of great interest to Starfleet Intelligence."

"That it will, ma'am." Alira scarcely reacted at the implication of that, though something about the mention of the Phoenix set her on edge. She collected the PADD and took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest.

She knew there was something else, and from the looks of it, both of their COs were struggling to verbalize it. Finally, Jonathan reacted, reaching back to seal the door behind him and moving right up to the screen. They reciprocated his movements until they were almost nose-to-nose, with the only barrier between them being a thin sheet of hermetically sealed glass.

"What I am about to tell you absolutely cannot leave this room." He waited until they nodded, then pressed on: "Captain Tucker has located a production facility set up by Starfleet to mass produce nuclear warheads for fleetwide distribution. He just so happened to run into Captain Hernandez as well."

They didn't look nearly as shocked as he thought they would; truthfully, they'd already assumed as much, and it was only par for the course with the scale of weapon the Romulans had apparently developed. Jonathan was still having trouble processing the involvement of one of his dearest and closest friends, and T'Pol knew it, quickly stepping in.

"They now know that Kandar was the designated lookout for the operation. They had scientists stationed there working on the project, and when the Romulans gained knowledge of their location-"

This time, they appeared thoroughly floored, as though a sudden stiff breeze could knock them both over. Alira in particular was having a hard time maintaining her poker face; deep in her heart, she always suspected where her mother's orders had come from, but now, with it all laid out on the table…

She felt a sudden irrepressible wave of hatred, towards headquarters, towards the Section, towards the service as a whole. Unlike before, it was only momentary, and soon she was overcome by sadness, which physically manifested as a furrowed brow and eyes brimming with tears, which she quickly blinked away.

Though she desperately wanted to rail against them now, she knew she wasn't that person anymore-or rather, she couldn't be. It had happened, and now that it was over, she had to grieve. She couldn't hide her sorrow behind anger, the need for revenge, or anything else.

What she needed now, above anything else, was to heal.

"It's become clear to us that we'll need to use these weapons in order to gain equal footing with the Romulans." Jonathan shook his head, taking his time to make eye contact with both of them. "I encourage the both of you to ask yourselves one important question. Would you be comfortable with that?"

Even if they didn't, they were sure it wasn't going to make a difference. Even Jonathan appeared visibly conflicted, something which couldn't be missed.

"We'll have a briefing with Starfleet Intelligence tomorrow at 0900 hours." T'Pol disengaged from the barricade between them and took a step toward the door. The Commodore followed, and the implication was obvious.

You'd better have your stories straight by then.

The second the door closed behind them, Alira turned away, covering her mouth with her hand and sucking in a breath. Before he knew it, she was shaking again, and this time, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. No." She laughed slowly, ruefully. "I will be eventually. I-"

"Take your time."

"I just don't know what else this day could possibly throw at us."

"Don't jinx it." He took the PADD from her and maneuvered away from the report on Barisa VI, towards the directories which all standard issue devices had, acting on a hunch and a feeling alone.

He started at the top and left no stone unturned, opening up the file of every flag officer with direct control over field operations, then worked his way down to starship captains, looking for clues, looking for an obvious tell, anything.

"Is this her?" She caught a glimpse of Agent Long's personnel profile and nodded. According to the first paragraph, she'd only been promoted to Commander Zhang a few days ago, and was now the commanding officer in charge of all ship movements out of Starbase 1.

Shipments of stolen spatial torpedoes included.

"And now we've got Captain Leota. The NX-06 Tempest is shipping out in two weeks-do you think it could be him?"

"It's possible. Min told me he wasn't involved, that they only had a special arrangement, though she could have just as easily been lying." She had to admit it wasn't unusual for members of the Section.

Something about it didn't sound right.

He moved on to the current NX captains-Trip and T'Pol were absolutely out of the question, as was Erika-he was sure the latter was only the victim of casual manipulation, of following orders she really believed were coming down from on high in San Francisco. With her service record and how much experience she had under her belt, Captain Hernandez would have been a valuable recruit, but come to think of it, he didn't believe even Harris would be capable of turning her.

"That leaves Pritchard and Al-Shahrani." She took the PADD from his hands and automatically selected Mustafa's profile, scrolling all the way down to the photos at the bottom.

Malcolm didn't want to believe that Captain Al-Shahrani was their mysterious Agent Jaguar. He was revered among the tactical brigades as the first NX CO to come up through the armory. He had a reputation for being ruthless and cunning on the battlefield, yet fair and compassionate, and everyone he ever spoke with from the Phoenix enjoyed serving under him. Really, he supposed the same could be said about Captain Pritchard, though her demeanor certainly didn't match that of a seasoned Section officer.

But if there was anything the past few days had taught him, it was that appearances could be deceiving.

"You're rendezvousing with the Phoenix next month, aren't you?"

"At that Vulcan salvage yard on the outer rim of their system." He paused. "Assuming that's still on, I can search for more information."

She suddenly froze, her hands hovering over the screen, seeming to find what she was looking for. When she turned the PADD around, he found that he was looking at a picture of Mustafa with a bunch of his fellow cadets during his STC days, leaning against a fence on a bayside running trail he keenly recognized. He was smiling, his arms crossed and torso partially turned to one side. Even from that angle they could make out the shadow of a large tattoo on his bicep, the face of a great snarling cat ready to pounce.

"It's him," she insisted, entirely confident. A look passed between them as they both realized that he was on his way, that he was about to confiscate a ship full of contraband and likely enough evidence to determine what had transpired there over the course of several very frantic hours.

And they were entirely powerless to stop it.

---

Their goodbyes were swift this time, leaving no room for sentimentality, but still tragic nonetheless.

They'd spent a vast majority of the previous day and a half within the confines of his quarters, cuddled up together, talking until there was nothing left to be said. For all intents and purposes, she felt at peace with him, entirely comforted, closer than ever now that they'd laid their souls and their secrets bare to one another. There was plenty of work left to be done on their relationship-neither could deny that-but for the moment it was enough to just be there.

The only interruption had been their formal report, which was given inside the Captain's ready room with armed MACOs posted at the doors. They told them everything, save for their mutual involvement with the Section, Alira's discarded journey of revenge, and what they believed of Captain Al-Shahrani's dalliance with covert operations. It took several hours, and when they were done, neither T'Pol nor Jonathan said anything, simply opting to thank them for their time and remind them they'd be rendezvousing with the Maelstrom that following day.

That particular realization had been deeply disconcerting, and just as they'd done the night before she shipped out, he'd seized the opportunity to worship her while he still could, reminding her that he loved her and cherished the time they had together, just in case she'd had the chance to forget. She'd arranged to take a week of leave in four months' time, but with the war ramping up, neither could say for sure if that would happen, or if they'd even be alive by then.

The next morning, she dressed for duty and stood at the door to his quarters with her duffle bag slung over her shoulder, her arms crossed over her chest, knowing full well that it was time but for once not being able to find the words.

"I'm sure Ensign Nguyen's going to be happy to have you back."

"He's probably destroyed the armory by now."

That thought was a little amusing to him considering the amount of damage his own brigade had managed to do in such a short period of time. "Be careful out there."

"Be safe," she corrected him, and gestured towards the sweatshirt she'd borrowed from him all those months ago, slung over the back of his desk chair for safekeeping. "It's your turn now. Make sure it doesn't get too torn up."

"You have my word." He tapped his chest, as if to say, and my heart.

She reciprocated, momentarily placing a hand on her right side underneath her arm, then nodded, fully understanding she had to leave now if she wanted to make a clean break. The instant she reached for the door controls, she was interrupted once again.

He called her out by name, and the way he said it gave her pause. When she turned to him, she could see the pain and sadness in his eyes, and she almost threw down her bag right then and there.

"Come home to me."

Those four words hit her like a punch to the gut, and she knew she couldn't wait a moment longer. She opened the hatch and took one step across the threshold, then paused, looking back at her closest friend, her confidante, her partner in crime, the man she was now sure was the only one she would ever need.

It lasted only a fraction of a second, and then she was gone. Malcolm stood there attempting to steel his expression, trying to think about anything and everything else, then stood a step forward and retrieved his sweatshirt, bringing it up to his face.

Sure enough, it did smell like her. Something floral, something familiar.

Something warm.

---

Captain Tucker and Commander Hammond were waiting for her at the airlock, having come from several consecutive hours of briefings with San Francisco. Sure enough, Captain Hernandez's mission was entirely sanctioned and fully approved by Admiral Gardner, though he had staunchly refused to admit using the Solnarans to the end of enhancing their nuclear program. According to him, the survival of the Corsettis had been of the utmost importance, and the incomplete nature of their work at Salvare Station completely warranted the clandestine way they'd been rescued.

They weren't the only ones who didn't buy it, but Al-Shahrani and Pritchard seemed to, and if what he said was any indication, they ought to be prepared to use the nuclear warheads within a few weeks' time.

He asked if she'd be comfortable using them in open space.

She said that she would, without hesitation.

He asked if she'd be willing to unleash holy hell on a Romulan outpost or colony.

She said she didn't know, and meant it.

For now, that was good enough for him.

They lead her to sickbay, explaining the circumstances by which they'd discovered the coordinates of the station. She'd already heard it before, in decon following their nearly disastrous encounter with the World Ender, but it wasn't any less shocking the second time around.

Try as she might, she could hardly wrap her head around her mother's sacrifice, her selflessness, the way she'd put herself to death to buy the alliance some time, to send them off to Solnara, to scatter the fleet to quadrant so the Corsettis would have time to enact their plan. She knew that several had to die in order to save many, and now that they were on an even tactical footing with the Romulans, Denobula would still have a chance.

She hoped.

Even though she fundamentally disagreed with the Supreme Council on damn near everything, she would need to ensure they did.

Yuris stood in the shadows at the back of sickbay, his hands clasped together in front of him. The moment they locked eyes, she knew he had something for her.

Trip and Julia let her go, and she surged forward as if she had no control of her own body. With a flick of his wrist, he revealed the cortical monitor to her, whispering: "I've had the opportunity to analyze all of the memory engrams which were contained within Kandar's data core."

Before she could stop herself, she reached out and traced the tiny device with her hands, feeling him tense up beside her. It was as if she could feel the weight of loss through the barrier of space and time, and a wave of emotion coursed through her, one she could not suppress.

She knew Yuris felt it, but he maintained his perfectly even expression. He covered her wrist and beared down slightly, as though he needed to make sure she absolutely understood what he was about to tell her.

"Not all of them were related to the station's business. There is one in particular which might interest you."

Alira nodded, rapturously focused on his words, silently encouraging him to continue.

"I can show it to you, but it would require a melding of minds. You would see the recollection exactly how she experienced it. If you aren't comfortable with this, perhaps I could-"

"Doctor," she interrupted, pulling back from his touch. "Whatever you need to do."

He could feel her willingness to undergo the procedure, could sense her desperation and overwhelming need to get closer to the memory of her mother. Swiftly he attached the cortical monitor to his neck, then moved slowly, positioning his fingers and speaking the words of the ancient melders passed on through generations: "My mind to your mind, your thoughts to my thoughts. Our minds are merging, our minds are becoming one…"

It was a sensation unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. In Special Ops training, they'd learned to resist mind probes and all means of truth-telling serums, but this was nothing of the sort. Irrationally, she felt uplifted and comforted, and sighed into him, focusing on the images dancing before her eyes.

She was presently standing in a great, wide-open room surrounded on all sides by floor-to-ceiling glass windows and natural light. It was loud, almost unbearably so, and someone was talking to her, but she couldn't even begin to decipher what they were saying.

There was a group of young children playing nearby with all means of diversions, chattering to themselves, laughing and shouting. She didn't recognize any of them, but the moment she turned her head, she immediately identified Kessil, one of her mother's colleagues and closest friends. She'd had to tell her about her death once she'd spoken to all of her siblings, and she'd been disbelieving, before eventually breaking down into hysterics.

She remembered now. In the years that she'd been too young to accompany her mother to work, she'd been watched over by a collection of grandmothers who had arranged a daycare of sorts on one of the upper floors of their building. It was a distant memory, and she really only remembered it in the context of her younger siblings, but it was there all the same.

One of the older ladies ventured into the gaggle of children, bending down to talk to one of them. It didn't take long for a cherubic, wide-eyed toddler to rise and begin to hurry across the room on unsteady legs, shouting mama, mama, mama...

Seconds later, she felt herself bend down to sweep the little girl off her feet, spinning her around in a circle, delighting in her laughter and her smile, a tiny facsimile of her own. She brought her to her chest, and her firstborn immediately threw her arms around her neck, squeezing with all of her might.

She asked how her day was, and she immediately began to babble, talking about games and snack time and a visit to the park. She just went on and on, but she didn't seem to mind, stroking her hair with her free hand and depositing a kiss on her forehead.

The love she felt for her daughter was so profound and all-encompassing that it almost took her breath away. If she had any doubts about it, she understood now why she had made such a sacrifice. The memory ended there, but in the real world, she was entirely overcome, leaning into the nearest wall and clutching her chest.

Trip and Julia reacted immediately, coming to her side. She looked up at them, and Trip could see the tears shining in her eyes. He didn't know what to say, so he settled for an extremely vague: "Alira, I'm so sorry for your loss."

He wasn't sure if he'd ever said it after Kandar, but he meant it.

She shook her head. Julia was beckoning to her, and she hesitated for a second, before settling into her arms and hugging her tightly.

There was a moment where no one said anything; Yuris even seemed deeply affected, but he hid it well, removing the cortical monitor and sweeping into a different area of sickbay. They waited for her to regain her composure, but when she finally pulled back, her expression was simultaneously weary and resolute.

"She's not lost," she insisted, then tapped her forehead, offering them a sad smile. "She's right here."

End of Episode Nineteen

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Next time on Enterprise…

Episode Twenty: The Ktarian Gate

Enterprise, Phoenix, and the ECS Saraswati engage in a dangerous cat-and-mouse game with the Romulans. The alternate mirror universe spills over into our own.