Thank you for letting me know what you think, and Happy Easter to all of you who celebrate it!

18

"Here."

A pile of fori tubers was thrown on the table, and Malcolm reacted instinctively, catching them before they could fall on the floor.

Yonakh grinned in response to his glare. "These have to be finished before the evening meal. Oh, and when you're done, seed the pla-savas over there." He indicated two baskets of fruit. "Better get a move on."

Malcolm had resolved himself not to let them get to him, but the man's smug expression was suddenly too much. "I believe Yumur told you to do that."

Yonakh shrugged. "So?"

"So do it yourself."

The man's grin faded. "Better be careful, Krintu. I don't take shit from bed warmers like you or your buddies."

Malcolm threw the paring knife onto the table and got up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh come on. Why else would the Family allow filth like you to be brought into this house?" Yonakh sneered. "Bet you're really good at it, too. Where were you before, anyway, one of the city brothels? I hear the wealthy in town get off on pretty boys like-"

Malcolm grabbed the man's tunic, and was about to slam him into the wall when a hand closed on his shoulder.

"Krintu! Let him go, or I'll send you both to the Correction Room!"

Malcolm let go of Yonakh, pushing him slightly so that he stumbled into the table. He still ached to land a punch in the man's face.

"Stop it." Yumur frowned at them both. "Yonakh, go take care of the pla-savas like I told you. And I'd better not find any seeds in the bowl when you're done."

Behind the First Cook's back, Yonakh flipped Malcolm the finger before he shuffled off to do as he'd been told. Malcolm ignored him, as he knew he should have done in the first place. The man's insults weren't new to him. Jackson, who had been assigned to work in the gardens, had told him that slaves on the lower scale of the hierarchy were considered fair game to all intents and purposes, by their masters and fellow servants alike. To say that it didn't make things easier would have been the understatement of the century.

"Krintu, you won't be serving the Family today. Finish the fori, then go and ask Tehkur for cleaning utensils. The hallway in front of the library needs mopping."

"Yes, First Cook."

She left, and Malcolm sat back down to his work, gripping the knife a little harder than necessary. Stupid. He shouldn't have reacted to Yonakh's taunts at all. Tactically, they were in a vulnerable position, with Trip still not well and the probe hidden under his bed in the sleeping chamber. It was unlikely that anyone would miss it, after T'Per had agreed to give it to T'Var for "research", but they couldn't afford to draw too much attention to themselves. If anyone found out, the consequences would be extremely unpleasant.

The good news was that Trip was recovering, albeit slowly. In the five days since he and Jackson had arrived, the engineer hadn't talked much to anyone, but he had used every unobserved moment to take out Jackson's stolen tools and tinker with the probe's charred interior. There had been no signs of a functioning signal so far, but Malcolm was confident that, in time, Trip would find a way to restore the device. He always did. In the meantime, it was Malcolm's job to keep him safe, which, under the circumstances, might turn out to be a walk on a very thin tightrope.

Finishing the last of the tubers, he wiped off the paring knife and got up. There was a sudden hush in conversation as he passed the adjoining work table, heads and eyes quickly turning away. He knew they were talking about him, huddled in a group while he had been sitting on his own. He ignored them.

"Ma'am?"

Yumur surveyed the pile of neatly pared vegetables and nodded curtly. "You can go. Come back here when you're done cleaning. I'll have them prepare dinner for you and your friends."

"Thank you, ma'am."

He was on his way to the door when she called him back. "Krintu."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Your friend, the sick one. Is he getting better?"

Malcolm nodded cautiously.

"Good. He can start in the kitchen when he's well enough to work again. I need a dishwasher."

It was all she said, and Malcolm paused briefly before he replied. "Thank you, ma'am."

She gave him the slightest of nods, and Malcolm held her eyes, nodding back. By slotting Trip into the kitchen work schedule, Yumur had effectively prevented that he would be assigned as a "personal servant" to any of the Vulcans as soon as he was feeling better. Although he had never mentioned it to Trip, the prospect had weighed heavily on Malcolm's mind.

Tehkur, the elderly janitor, handed him a bucket and a mop, grumbling that the floor had better be sparkling when he came to check. Malcolm hardly listened. He had a feeling that the hallway in front of the library didn't need cleaning any more than the rest of the house; the assignment seemed more about getting him out of the kitchen than anything else.

Sure enough, he found T'Var waiting in front of the large, wooden double doors that led to the library. Her crinkled face brightened when she saw him.

"Malcolm. I was wondering if the First Cook would be able to spare you for a while." She lifted an eyebrow. "I hope she won't be too displeased with your absence. From what I have heard, it would be an unwise move to incure her wrath."

Malcolm set down his bucket. "Actually, I don't think she minds."

T'Var's amusement faded. "Has there been another incident?"

Malcolm shrugged, trying to sound casual. "Just a misunderstanding, I suppose."

"I see." T'Var sighed. "Maybe your friend shouldn't be assigned to the kitchen, after all."

It was only now that Malcolm realized Yumur had been acting on T'Var's orders. "We'll be all right. Thank you," he added, knowing he didn't have to explain. Even the most menial of work was far more preferable than the "duties" of a personal servant.

T'Var's face had grown somber. "I wish there were more I could do."

"You are doing a lot," Malcolm said quietly. He didn't like the sadness that seemed to cloud her features so often of late. T'Var was eager to learn every detail about the universe on the "other side", as she called it, and yet everything he told her seemed to pour salt into an open wound. The more she learned, the more her own world was beginning to look like an ugly, distorted image of the universe that should have been, and he knew it pained her that all her efforts couldn't change the way things were.

She sighed. "Not enough, it seems. The administration called me this morning. They are not going to close Aylak's factories, after all."

Malcolm knew that she had pulled every string available, even greased a few palms to draw attention to the hellish conditions in Aylak's production plants, but no one had been very interested. He didn't tell her that he had expected no different. "You tried everything you could."

She inclined her head. "And I have no intention of stopping. I will not accept the situation as it is."

Malcolm could think of nothing to say in reply, and settled for a mere nod as he dipped the mop into the bucket. Changing things would be a long and laborious process, if it could be done at all, and all he really wanted was to return to the world where he belonged. But he wasn't going to tell her that.

Her hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he looked up from his work. To his surprise, T'Var was smiling at him.

"I am sorry, Malcolm. I did not mean to burden you with an old woman's melancholy. In fact, I arranged for you to come here because I wanted to give you this."

She handed him a bundle of cloth. Under the fabric, he could feel the outlines of something small and square.

"I went to see your friend this morning," she said quietly. "He mentioned that he would need something to "boost the signal". I am no engineer, but I believe this might be useful to him."

Malcolm unfolded the fabric, taking a sharp breath when he saw what the bundle contained. "An amplifier chip!"

And a high-quality one, too. Malcolm looked back at T'Var.

"Thank you." He wanted to say more, but the words got caught in his throat. She might have just handed him the key to contact Enterprise.

"I hope it helps," was all she said. She seemed to understand. "Tell your friend to be very careful."

Malcolm nodded. "I will."

T'Var reached for her crutch. "Well, I am afraid I must ask you to excuse me now; I have promised my great-grandson that I would meet him for a game of kal-toh." She paused. "I would appreciate it if we could continue our conversation some time soon."

Malcolm nodded. There was still a lot to be told about the world on the "other side", and he knew how important it was for her to know every single detail. "I'd like that, T'Sai."

Her eyes crinkled in an almost-smile. "Good."

Malcolm watched her leave, his hand closed tightly around the small bundle in his pocket. Excitement bubbled in his stomach, and it was all he could do not to drop everything and hurry downstairs to see Trip right away. If this worked, they might have a real chance, something he hadn't allowed himself to believe for a while now.

"Well, well, what a surprise. You're actually here."

The unexpected voice startled Malcolm. He turned around to find Yonakh standing there, a sneer on his broad face.

"I didn't think Yumur really meant for you to mop the floor when she sent you up here."

"Thinking's not your strongest suit, is it?" Malcolm turned away and resumed his mopping. He wasn't going to waste any time letting this idiot bait him into another fight.

"Very funny, asshole."

Malcolm reached out to grab the bucket, but it was too late. Water and foam spilled on the floor, soaking his feet.Yonakh grinned in satisfaction and gave the bucket another kick for good measure.

"I'm gonna get you one of these days, Krintu. You better remember it."

It was an enormous effort not to grab the man and push him face first down into the wet mess, but Malcolm resisted the urge. The last thing he needed right now was to be sent to the Correction Room for brawling in the hallways.

"Get lost, Yonakh."

The man seemed almost disappointed at Malcolm's lack of reaction. "This isn't over, you know."

"Whatever."

Realizing that Malcolm wasn't going to be provoked into a fight, Yonakh stomped off, not without a last glare over his shoulder. "You better watch out."

Sighing, Malcolm knelt down to wipe up the mess, his thoughts soon returning to the bundle in his pocket. With any luck, he'd be able to slip away for a few minutes after Tehkur had inspected his work. He'd give the amplifier to Trip and return to the kitchen before anyone had noticed his absence. Malcolm smiled, thinking of the look on the engineer's face when he pulled out the chip.

It didn't take long until he had forgotten about Yonakh altogether.

"Report, T'Pol."

Archer's tone was curt, but T'Pol knew that his brusqueness wasn't directed at her. The senior crew, including Halan and Mevak, stood gathered around the console in the situation room, and for the first time, T'Pol understood why humans spoke of tension that could be cut with a knife.

Calmly, she began to speak. "Subcommander Halan and Ensign Mayweather have succeeded in bringing the probe close to the city, using a scan deflector to avoid detection. Scans indicate that it is a Vulcan colonist settlement with approximately two million inhabitants, human and Vulcan. Ensign Sato and I are working on a map of the surroundings."

"Is there any way we can scan for individual biosigns?" Archer wanted to know.

"The sensors of the probe have only limited range, and the signal is further distorted by the electromagnetic charges inside the "doorway". It is unlikely that we will be able to locate Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker by scanning for their biosigns, Captain."

"What if we took the probe inside the settlement?" Archer asked.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "Doing so would increase the risk of detection by more than 70 percent."

"Is there a chance we could scan for their bio signs from within the city?" he repeated impatiently.

"It is possible, yes."

Another curt nod. "What else have you found?"

This time, Sato took over the report. "The probe has recorded several transmissions from within the colony, and we've managed to get close enough to get a few visual impressions." Her tone changed as she continued, and T'Pol realized that the young woman was struggling to suppress her emotions. "We're dealing with a slave society, Captain. Humans aren't only second-class citizens, they're seen as commodities."

A moment of silence followed, and for once, T'Pol found that she wasn't entirely immune to the emotions she sensed from her colleagues. For two hours, she and Sato had listened to Vulcans bartering humans as if they were buying and selling livestock, Vulcans planning raids to recapture runaway slaves, and it had become increasingly difficult to control her anger and disgust. It was illogical for her to feel responsible – these Vulcans were no more her people than they were Archer's or Sato's – and yet she couldn't deny the shame in what she had heard.

Archer was the first one to speak. "T'Pol, Hoshi, I want you to get as much data as you can on the colony. Administration, infrastructure, everything. Halan, Mevak, Travis, get to work on a way we can take the probe into the city without being detected. Maybe there's a park or some sort of-"

"Sir!" Müller called from Tactical. "I believe the probe's picking up a signal on a Starfleet frequency!"

Archer took the stairs to the tactical station in one bound. "Ensign?"

"I'm scanning the signature... it's from the first probe, Captain!"

"Put it on audio."

Müller's fingers flitted over his console. A moment later, a soft bleeping filled the bridge, a steady repetition of short sounds. Suddenly, Sato's eyes widened. "S-O-S! It's Morse code!"

The bleeping changed, and Sato's lips moved as she spelled out the coded letters.

"Ensign?" Archer urged.

"It's them, Captain." Sato smiled broadly. "The signal spells "Reed" and "Tucker". It's got to be them."

Archer closed his eyes for a moment, then his face broke into a smile. "I'll be damned."

"I've got the coordinates, sir," Müller announced. "The signal's coming from a building inside the city."

"Good work, Bernhard, Hoshi. Keep tracing it." Archer turned to his senior staff. "Seems like a change of plan is in order."

T'Pol clasped her hands behind her back. "Captain..."

"Yes, T'Pol?"

"Sir, with your permission, I would like to make a suggestion."

She hadn't estimated the odds yet, but she was confident that her idea would work. It was only logical.

TBC…

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