Disclaimer: I don't own the universe or the characters. What I do own is a picture of someone I met who was dressed up as Trip for Halloween. I will unabashedly admit that I completely geeked out.

"Not him? Perhaps you should explain yourself, Jonathan." Admiral Gardner frowned at Archer. "The DNA was identical."

"Not quite," Archer said. "My doctor found an unusual marker in the DNA of the body we found that indicates it could be a mimetic simbiot formed by a Lyssarian Desert Larva. Are you familiar with the species?"

"I am," Gardner assented. "However, Starfleet medical has examined the information that your doctor sent and has found nothing to indicate that this genome was artificially replicated, or replaced in any way. Every test they ran indicates that this body does, in fact belong to Lieutenant Reed."

"Respectfully, sir, Phlox informed me –"

"Jonathan." Gardner held up a hand to prevent argument. "I understand how you feel, but Lieutenant Reed is dead. Finding ways to deny it isn't going to do you any good."

"I'm not trying to deny anything," Archer said through clenched teeth. "But if there's the slightest possibility that my officer is still alive, I won't give up searching until I find him."

Gardner stared at him impassively. "Very well," he said at last. "I'll give you forty-eight hours to search for him. If you haven't uncovered anything conclusive by then, you will give this up. Don't make me order you."

Archer nodded grimly. "One other thing," Gardner added. "You should know that Lieutenant Reed's parents have been informed of his death."

"What?" Archer sat up, outraged. "Admiral! You agreed to allow me to contact them. We're not even sure that he is dead!"

"I made no promises, Jonathan. And I had a feeling you would find a reason to delay."

"A reason to delay! Admiral –"

Gardner shook his head. "Don't let emotion cloud your judgement. You have two days to start acting rational."

The screen flicked to Starfleet's logo with a soft chirp, leaving Archer seething. "Dammit!" He smashed his fist on the desk. Porthos jumped up from where he'd been sleeping on the floor with a yelp.

"He doesn't know Phlox," Archer said to the dog, frustratedly. "And he doesn't know Malcolm. Something's wrong here, and I mean to find out what it is."

Porthos whined and wriggled. Feeling disproportionately tired and melancholy, Archer gazed out of the small viewport of his ready room. What if Gardner was right? Was he clinging to a threadbare explanation out of false hope that Reed was still alive?

"Never should have come to this planet," Archer muttered guiltily. Porthos sprang up onto his lap and licked his chin, whining. "You miss him too, buddy? Let's hope T'Pol finds a way to scan this godforsaken planet soon."

The ship Stalagmite was a freighter, both in appearance and in Starfleet records. However, as far as the Section was concerned it was far more: it was a ship of war, powered by the strongest warp engines the Klingons had to offer, cloaked with Romulan technology, equipped with the cutting edge of Vulcan science instruments, and staffed with a crew of grim, silent Section agents that Reed was told 'belonged to the ship.' They weren't a part of this mission. The Stalagmite's advanced weapons systems – of which Reed was only permitted the briefest glimpse – was enough to make any self-respecting Armoury officer giddy. It also suggested that the ship was expected to encounter some formidably armed enemy.

Reed was initially curious and wary at the apparent lack of a team. Individual missions were rare and usually reserved for infiltration purposes only. Harris did not keep him in suspense for long.

"Since Jonathan Archer's rather unusual report concerning the so-called 'Anachron Incident,' the Section has been performing intensive scans for Cherenkov radiation near all Starfleet, Section, and allied holdings. The results are somewhat disconcerting." Harris displayed a star chart on the monitor of the small, sound-proofed briefing room. "You may not be familiar with this region of space. It is approximately two light years from the binary star system where you encountered the Anachron species, and is under the control of the Romulan Star Empire." The agent tapped a few buttons on his keyboard, and the star chart was overlaid with a light blue haze. Reed's attention was immediately attracted by a small planet near the edge of the screen, which glowed as brightly blue as a star.

"Yes, that is what concerns us also," Harris said, watching Reed's reaction. "We believe this planet is shielded by the same technology that cloaked the ship you found. When scanned, this planet appears to be bare and rocky, with nothing of interest. Given recent events, it seems this may be deceptive."

"You said it's in Romulan territory," Reed said. "You're working with them, I assume?" It wasn't a complete surprise that the Section would be working undercover with an obscure, little-known race. But apart from getting himself skewered on a piece of a Romulan mine once, Reed had no experience with the mysterious species. He'd been under the impression that no one knew much about the Romulans and it wasn't wise to ask, given their technological power and easily-provoked aggression. You didn't bother them, and they kept to themselves. But it was never that simple.

"We work with everyone," Harris said. "But not openly. Not with the Romulan Senate, anyway. However, we are in close contact with an organization called the Tal Shiar, which serves approximately the same service for the Romulan people as we do for the human race. They have proved quite willing to cooperate with us. In fact, they have even requested our assistance in this matter. You will be working alongside them in this operation."

That idea wasn't particularly appealing, but Reed accepted it philosophically. Extreme circumstances made for strange bedfellows. One thing still nagged at him, though.

"You said this was a threat to Earth."

"If it is a threat to the Tal Shiar," Harris said, "then it is also a threat to the Section, and to Starfleet. Starfleet is the future of Earth, make no mistake about that."

Reed looked at him doubtfully. "Lieutenant," Harris said condescendingly, "need I remind you that you are but one small cog in the great machine at work here. The Section is far more entangled than you will ever know. There are many forces at work here of which you know nothing."

Reed nodded stiff acknowledgement. He knew that was true, and he didn't want to know of those forces. There were many things it was best to be unaware of. Still, he watched Harris with slight distrust.

"I don't know much more about the Anachrons than anyone else," Reed said at last. "So why me?"

"The Romulans requested you specifically." Harris spread his hands expansively. "And why not?"

"It just doesn't make sense," Tucker mused aloud as he studied the computer monitor in front of him. "Malcolm ain't careless. He shouldn't have been so far away." He glanced over his shoulder at Archer, who studiously ignored the engineer's continued reference to Reed in the present tense. "Yew said he wasn't even supposed to be on that mission. He asked to go."

Archer was well aware of this, having repeatedly traced through a myriad of inconsistencies on his own. Hearing Tucker voice them aloud only strengthened his conviction that, whatever Admiral Gardner said, all was not as it seemed. There was something else going on, some unknown factor lurking beneath the surface. Moreover, he had a suspicion as to what it might be.

Ever since Reed's betrayal on the orders of the mysterious Harris – back during the Klingon debacle, as Archer tended to think of it – he had struggled to recover his formerly absolute trust in Reed. The Lieutenant had promised his loyalty to Archer over all else and had sworn that he would never again contact Harris. And Archer had believed him – at least, believed him enough to allow Reed to resume his position on the Enterprise.

The fact was that a large part of that willingness to give a second chance had been rooted in Archer's persuasion that no matter how Reed's actions appeared on the surface, there had been an underlying reason. Something had been compelling enough to make Reed, a man of honour, commit insubordination. Either Reed had truly believed he was doing the right thing, or whatever authority Harris had over him went far beyond mere organizational loyalty. Archer hoped it was the first. If honour had indeed been the driving force behind Reed's apparently dishonourable actions, then he could be trusted again. If not, then he would come to Harris's call the next time the mysterious Section agent wanted him. It was upon his hopes about the truth of the situation that Archer had pinned his decision to restore Reed's position.

The whole fiasco had brought to Archer's attention the fact that he knew startlingly little about his Tactical Officer. Apart from random, scattered facts that he'd picked up from various sources – mostly Reed himself – over the years, the man was a completely closed book. Archer knew that he liked pineapples, didn't like water, and was the first male member of his family in a number of generations to deviate from the tradition of service in the Royal Navy. Archer had drawn his own inferences as to why Reed had chosen not to pursue such a career, but he had not asked and Reed had not offered the information. Despite Archer's words to him in the brig, Reed had not exactly said 'a lot' about his father, or for that matter any member of his family. He'd made some offhanded remarks, some of which had even at the time come across as unduly sarcastic, and Archer had made assumptions and put the pieces together from there. Reed, he guessed, had a high regard for the Royal Navy in general and his father in particular, but had invoked his father's disapproval when he had elected to take a different career path. Reed's reaction to Archer's venomous words in the brig had as much as confirmed some of that; the rest, it seemed now, he might never know.

He had read through Reed's full personnel file after that incident, while the Lieutenant was still being held in the brig. Archer rarely read personnel files, preferring to get to know his people in person unless an issue arose and required perusal of past records. He knew first-hand that what showed up in someone's file wasn't always a good representation of their character. Both he and Tucker had been haunted for several years by an incident in their own records regarding the unauthorized launch ('absconsion' had been the word used) of a Starfleet test vessel. Archer didn't want his crew to have to worry about his opinion of them being tainted by their previous errors. However, in Reed's case he had made an exception to his rule.

But the file had been entirely unhelpful, and ultimately raised more questions than it answered. It had listed Reed's full name, birthdate, birthplace, citizenship information, and family members (one sister, younger. Parents, married. Both living.) There had been a home of record listed – one. An apartment in San Francisco. The file noted that he had leased the apartment from 2145 to 2149, meaning that the lease had begun a full four years after Reed's graduation from Starfleet Academy at the age of 24, and ended two years before the Enterprise mission. He'd apparently not lived anywhere on Earth during either of the intervening periods – but there were no records of him being off-planet, either. His record of service after graduation was equally mysterious. A few positions were mentioned in the vaguest terms, but all of them had been of short duration. He was clearly well trained and well qualified for his job, but what specifically he had been doing was not discussed. There had been a brief note mentioning "Starfleet Intelligence," which had led Archer to a dead end – a classified dead end – when he tried to dig further. In short, the file told him absolutely nothing, and did so very mysteriously. It was oddly in character with the Reed he was coming to know.

But despite what Reed had done, and despite the questions raised by his strange personnel file, Archer had opted to trust him again. He hadn't questioned Reed about the file, either; he'd wanted to give the man a clean slate.

Archer was only now beginning to wonder if that trust had been misplaced.

It was ironic that Reed's apparent death had led Archer to begin doubting the man's trustworthiness. That seemed wrong. He should respect the memory of a good officer, not use the death to dredge up past mistakes. But was Reed dead? Phlox's evidence suggested not, and combined with the small inconsistencies that both he and Tucker had noticed, Archer was more than half inclined to believe that Reed might still be alive.

In which case, he was either kidnapped – or a deserter.

Rationally, Archer wasn't sure which he should prefer. He couldn't bear the thought of Reed deserting, but at the same time, how could he hope that one of his officers had been kidnapped? For the moment, he reminded himself, it didn't really matter. Either way he was responsible for finding Reed. The Lieutenant's intentions mattered little at this stage of the search.

He had to assume that Reed had been kidnapped. And if that was the case – which he hoped it was, whatever his logical mind told him – then every passing moment put Reed in more danger.

"Hm," Tucker said thoughtfully, drawing Archer's attention back to the monitor in front of them. It was Reed's personal monitor in his quarters, the only place that was likely to hold any answers. The room itself was almost disturbingly devoid of personal touches. There were no pictures, and only a few books covering a scattered and apparently random range of topics on the small shelf near the desk. "Take a look at this, Cap'n."

'This' was a graph showing a jagged line which could represent absolutely anything as far as Archer was concerned. "What am I looking at, Trip?"

"It's a graph of power used over time," Tucker explained. "Fer this particular monitor, I mean. I'm lookin' at the period of twenty-four hours before Malcolm left th' ship. Take a look here." Tucker magnified the image and pointed to a section that was noticeably elevated above the rest. "Startin' at about 2100 th' night before he left, his computer had elevated power output for just under ten minutes. That's not unusual if he was usin' it, but I wouldn't expect t' see quite such a change. I'd say he was transmitting on an encrypted channel – probably live stream, audio and video. Not much else that I've seen uses power like this."

Archer studied the screen, eyes narrowed in thought. "Did you check the transmission logs?"

"First thing I did, Captain. Nothing there. He must've deleted it." Tucker leaned back with a sigh. "Did a pretty thorough job of it, too. I couldn't get anything at all. Wonder who he was talkin' to."

Archer had a nasty feeling that he knew the answer to that. He said nothing, which made Tucker glance up at him.

"I don't know what he'd have to hide," Tucker added, sounding less convinced than his words suggested. "Maybe it had nothin' t' do with this…"

"That's possible," Archer said stiffly. He was thinking of Reed lying straight to his face, in his office no less, telling him that the weapon signatures hadn't been Klingon. Lying even after he knew he was caught. He thought of Reed's promise to never contact Harris again.

He thought of himself, ordering Reed to "talk to a friend of his." Reed had protested – not to the point of disrespect, of course, but he had been white-faced and ramrod-stiff as he left. What had he known then? An eye for an eye, perhaps?

Archer brushed away the condemning thoughts. If Reed had indeed left on an errand of Harris's doing, it had been entirely his choice. He could have come to Archer with it; but he hadn't. He'd disappeared.

Or, he was dead and all this was mere speculation.

"Cap'n," Tucker said in a very troubled voice, "does this have anything t' do with what happened while I was on th' Columbia?"

"I don't know."

"I don't know what happened, Cap'n, an' I'm not askin'. But whatever it was, he was real upset about it."

"Was he," Archer said icily. "I should hope so."

He didn't, of course. He knew all too well that he had overstepped his boundaries so far that another man might have reported him for it. How had he allowed himself to sink to personal insults? The Expanse had changed him, he knew, and not for the better. But still. It had been a low blow. And instead of firing back as Archer had half-hoped he would, Reed had taken it in silence. Archer knew that he'd hurt him deeply. Perhaps that, too, had been part of why he'd decided to keep Reed. The Lieutenant had certainly done wrong by him, but he'd done wrong by Reed too. Quid pro quo. An apology, of sorts.

Tucker looked like he wanted to say something sharp, but shrugged unhappily instead. "I don't know what you're thinking, Cap'n, but I'm not countin' on Malcolm still bein' alive. I know what Phlox said, but there could be an explanation fer that. Jes' before yew go getting' all mad an' self-righteous at him, remember that he could be dead. Yew wouldn't want t' go accusin' him of doin' something wrong and then find out he's…well. I think you know what I'm tryin' t' say, Cap'n."

Archer did know. He closed his eyes briefly against a twinge of remorse. What if he was wrong? What if his officer had done nothing wrong, and he was inwardly accusing him of crimes when in fact Reed really was lying dead in Sickbay?

It was a possibility he couldn't ignore, but instinct told him differently.

"Listen, Trip, there's a lot that's gone on with Malcolm that you don't know the details of. You saw part of it when you came back from the Columbia. I can't tell you what happened. Suffice it to say that he got involved in some…questionable things in the past, and one of those came back to bite him. And I know I've no certain way of knowing, but this – this would fit just a little too well."

"If you say so, Cap'n," Tucker said quietly. "It's jes' that you've been real hard on him since then. I'm not sure he deserves that."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Archer snapped, on edge with guilt and uncertainty. He immediately wanted to apologize, but he didn't. The days when he could be open with Tucker – when he could admit that he was flying blind and needed another point of view – had long gone. Another sacrifice to the Expanse. He straightened and turned for the door, feeling more than hearing Tucker's stiff silence. "Keep looking. Let me know if you find anything."

"Yes sir," Tucker answered softly. His voice was unreadable.

Archer left feeling old and ill. It was at times like this, he thought, when he wondered what his life could have been if he'd never taken this post.

"I expect you to be on your best behaviour," Harris told Reed. There was a note of amusement in his tone, as if the idea or Reed not being on his best behaviour was ridiculous. "The Romulans are a proud people, and if you offend them I won't be able to cover for you. This isn't Starfleet, Lieutenant."

"Right." As if he didn't know that. Ever since he'd awakened two days ago on the Klingon ship, Reed had been gradually sliding back into his old role as an agent of the Section. It had been far too easy; but if he ever wanted to return to the Enterprise, he could not afford to let that trouble him. There would be time for self-reflection and self-loathing after all this was over. That too was familiar: In a mission, personal feelings were a risk that had to be postponed, if not eliminated.

As soon as they docked with the Romulan vessel, Harris hurried Reed down to the airlock. Reed got the feeling that Harris didn't want the encounter to last any longer than it had to. Either that, or he wanted Reed to think that. The former tactical officer had long ago learned never to take the Agent's words or actions at face value.

Four armed Romulans stood inside the airlock, which sealed closed behind Reed and Harris. Reed was instantly on high alert, though Harris did not appear surprised. The door in front of them slid open, and a Romulan man dressed in regal black stepped in, flanked by two more guards.

"Harris." Through the Universal translator, his voice carried a slight accent. "You have brought the prisoner?"

Prisoner? Reed's uneasiness increased tenfold.

"Captain Keyar, a pleasure to do business with you again. This is Lieutenant Reed."

The Romulan, Keyar, studied Reed openly and looked unimpressed. He nodded to one of the guards. "Take him." The two guards grabbed Reed roughly by the arms.

"What is this?" Reed spat at Harris. The man smiled at him.

"I told you, Malcolm, I can still use you. And you are helping the Section." He turned to Keyar. "I hope you intend to hold up your end of the bargain, Captain?"

"I scanned your ship," Keyar said with a nod. "I see that you have come prepared to take what you came for if I do not. But you have no reason to worry, Harris. It is on a shuttle to your ship as we speak."

Reed understood, then, the full extent of the betrayal. He was not to work with the Romulans; he was being traded, like a piece of technology, in exchange for something the Romulans had that Harris wanted. He was, quite literally, being sold out.

"You bastard," he hissed, covering his fear with anger. "You bloody bastard, Harris. What the hell have you done?"

"Believe me, Malcolm, I take no pleasure in this," Harris said quite seriously. "But the simple fact remains that I need you less than I need what the Romulans have to offer. It's business. You know the Section has no room for personal attachments. I am simply doing the logical thing, the thing which will help the Section the most. The right thing."

Reed stood silent and furious and terrified, knowing there was no point in arguing. He remembered the code of the Section; though he wanted to deny it, there was an element of truth in Harris's words. There was nothing personal in this. That did nothing to make his present situation more palatable.

"Try not to kill him," Harris said to Keyar. "I'd like him back when you're done with him."

Keyar smiled politely, exposing sharp canine teeth. "Of course. But I'm afraid he won't be of much use to you or anyone else once we're done with him."

Harris shrugged dispassionately. "Well," he said, "I'd like to get back whatever is left."

"I want to speak with Harris," Archer said wrathfully as soon as Admiral Gardner's face materialized on the computer screen before him.

Gardner looked startled, perhaps as much at the tone and manner of the request as at the words. "To…who?"

"Harris," Archer repeated. "Of Section 31."

Gardner blinked, nonplussed but with annoyance growing in his expression as his surprise faded. "Captain, I suggest you take a moment to consider your attitude."

Archer resisted the urge to snap back. He took a long, calming breath and reminded himself that there was a chance, however outside, that Gardner truly didn't know who Harris was.

"I apologize for my hastiness, Admiral," he lied. It was as much of a concession as he felt capable of making. "I would like to speak with Harris. I believe you are in contact with him."

"Who is this Harris?" Gardner asked. Archer did not miss his uncomfortable readjustment in his chair.

"Harris is an agent of Section 31. You're familiar with the Section, I presume?"

"Captain, please refrain from such discussion," Gardner said agitatedly. "This channel is not top-secret encrypted."

"So you do know," Archer said, vindicated.

"I have no idea who this Harris is," Gardner insisted. Archer couldn't tell if he was lying. "Jonathan, what's this about? I got called out of a meeting with the Section Commander for this. It had better be something important."

"I believe Harris has something to do with Malcolm's disappearance," Archer started, but the Admiral held up a hand to stop him.

"Jonathan, please. Listen to yourself." He sighed and assumed a sympathetic tone. "I know the loss of Lieutenant Reed has been very difficult for you, but you must compose yourself. I understand your desire to hold out hope. However, all available medical data suggests that Lieutenant Reed is dead. I gave you two days to search. That's almost up, and I won't have you using wild flights of fantasy to overrule my orders."

"Doctor Phlox found evidence that the body found on the surface of the planet was a clone," Archer said sharply. "Re-examine your data, Admiral, I urge you."

"I already had the doctors examine it again, after your insistence that their conclusions were incorrect. Two different teams, both well-informed on the genetic markers of the Lyssarian Desert Larva. You see, Captain, if there was even the slightest chance that Lieutenant Reed was still alive, I would be as eager as you to find him. Unfortunately, the evidence leaves no room for any debate. Starfleet doctors found no sign to suggest that this body was a clone."

Archer seethed in silent frustration, wondering how Starfleet doctors could be so blind. He himself had needed the genetic discrepancy pointed out, but it had been clear enough once he understood what he was looking for. It should have been even more obvious to trained doctors. A nasty suspicion slid uninvited into the back of his mind. What if Gardner's doctors were agents of the Section? Moreover, what if Gardner himself was working with Harris? He could be lying straight to Archer's face and the Captain would never even know. He watched the Admiral distrustfully on the monitor.

"In any case, what makes you think that this 'Harris' has anything to do with Lieutenant Reed?"

Archer almost said 'previous experience,' but didn't. The episode in which Reed had been thrown in the brig, as well as his later meeting with Harris at Archer's request, had both gone slightly…under-documented. Few enough people had known about it that with some assistance from T'Pol, Archer had managed to document the first episode in true but minimally revealing terms, and the second encounter with Harris had remained entirely off the record. Then, too, despite the circumstantial evidence from Reed's personal computer which, along with personal experience, provided a persuasive argument for Harris's involvement, Archer realised that he had very little which would, to the Admiral, constitute a convincing suggestion of untoward activity. He stumbled for an explanation, but was mercifully interrupted when Gardner looked up and called "come in," presumably in answer to some knock. Someone spoke to him, voice muffled by distance from the microphone.

"Yes. Yes, of course. Tell him I'm on my way." He turned back to Archer. "I'm needed in that meeting, Captain. Please consider what I've said. If you find anything certain, I will of course be happy to review it. But as the facts stand, I suggest you accustom yourself to the idea of gaining a new Tactical Officer. Don't allow your judgement to become unduly clouded by emotion. You have your orders, Jonathan. Your two days are nearly up."

"Yes, sir," Archer acknowledged, filled with helpless frustration. Even as they spoke, Reed could be dying somewhere on the planet thousands of kilometres below the safety of the Enterprise. In fact, he could be anywhere at all.

The Admiral's connection ended, but instead of being replaced by Starfleet's standard communique terminated screen, the view of Gardner's office was directly replaced with another communications link. The man staring out of Archer's screen was unfamiliar to him.

"Hello, Captain Archer. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Harris."

"I understand you've been trying to contact me," Harris went on, when Archer was too stunned to respond immediately. "Unlike your channel with Admiral Gardner, this is a top-secret encrypted channel. In fact it's quite a bit more than that; you should be aware that as soon as this link is terminated, all records of it, of any kind, anywhere in your database, will be permanently and irretrievably deleted."

"Unauthorised tapping of private official communications is punishable under the Starfleet Code of Justice," Archer said stiffly, buying himself a few seconds to regain his severely shaken equilibrium.

"Captain, I don't think that's what you wanted to discuss with me. If it is, then I am sincerely disappointed." Harris wasn't smiling, but he looked amused. Archer cut right to the chase.

"What have you done with my Tactical Officer?"

"He's not dead, if that's what you're asking." Archer felt a thrill of relief, followed instantly by anxiety. He was tremendously glad that Reed was alive – at least, if Harris was speaking the truth – but this opened up a whole new can of worms that Archer had no idea how to tackle. "And he wasn't taken against his will," the agent added. Archer's stomach knotted with cold resignation. If what Harris said was true – and given that all traces of the communication would be deleted, Archer couldn't see what motive he would have in lying – then Reed had broken his promise of loyalty, deserted, and could potentially be accused of treason. Reed had betrayed him. Again.

"I hardly imagine you expect me to believe you," he said coldly. Harris shrugged.

"It is of little consequence to me whether or not you do believe me, but he did come willingly and knowingly. Malcolm's word, Captain, may not be as binding as you supposed."

"I trust my crew," Archer informed him unequivocally. Although generally accurate, it was in context a bald-faced lie. He knew what Harris said was true. He could feel it. He knew Reed had lied, or at the very least broken his word.

"Very well." Harris smiled as if Archer's untruths were as transparent as they felt. "You have an excellent doctor, by the way. I had anticipated at least a week before he discovered that the body was a clone."

Clone murder, Archer thought. Premeditated murder? He felt sick, knowing that he was no better than Harris. The reasons for committing such an act hardly mattered. No matter how noble his intent to save Tucker had been, all those months ago, there was still no justification.

"It's a shame your doctor won't be commended for his sharp eye," Harris continued. "We modified the data he sent before it got to Starfleet Medical, of course. It would be very awkward if Starfleet officially discovered such an operation."

"You did what?" Archer barked, enraged. "That data –"

"– was the only substantial proof of your claim, yes. But it makes little difference. You wanted permission to search for Malcolm longer; now that you know he came to us willingly, you have no cause to search at all."

"You haven't done your research on me very well. I'm not going to stop looking for Malcolm just because you claim he went willingly. As far as I'm concerned, he was kidnapped."

Harris looked entirely unconcerned. "Suit yourself, Captain. You will not find him. He is long gone from that little planet you're still searching. He's far out of your reach – and mine, for that matter. Not even I could get him back now."

"Where is he?"

"If I told you that," Harris said reproachfully, "I would risk starting an interstellar war."

A/N: I'm sorry. I wish I could say it's going to get better.