More than anything else, Malcolm Reed hated daily briefings.
Seated in front of his computer, he frowned at the images of the various control officers now displayed on the many monitors before him. Most of the digital representations were clearly fabricated, and the voices that emerged were electronically distorted to further conceal the identity of the speaking officer. Even Reed had decided to put up an electronic block to prevent his face from being broadcast to the other officers. In an organization as paranoid as this one, it was frankly dangerous to not conceal your identity.
And yet, Harris' face wasn't hidden at all, almost as if he were daring them to come after him.
Shifting slightly in his chair, Malcolm discreetly attempted to rub away the phantom pain that seemed to lance through his artificial left arm. He knew that any sensations were illusions created by an overactive imagination, but that did not prevent him from feeling a persistent dull ache stabbing through the limb of plastic and synth-flesh. The phantom pains had lessened somewhat in recent weeks, but occasionally resurfaced at the most inopportune moments.
As the imaginary pain slowly dwindled, Malcolm gave his comfortable prison a quick glance. The smart walls were currently programmed to display a beach scene, making it appear almost as if he was on a deserted island somewhere in the South Pacific. Even the overhead lighting system participated in the illusion, bathing the entire apartment with ultraviolet rays identical to those of the sun. It was nearly enough to make him forget that he was thirty meters below an illegal German brothel. Given the nature of his current occupation, the irony of that particular fact almost made him laugh.
Almost, but not quite.
"Sagan City," Harris said, and the control officer in that city shifted slightly. There was a half-second of signal lag, but that was to be expected as the man was currently on Mars. It was always surprising to Malcolm when he realized just how extensive this organization actually was.
"We've secured the Tellarite craft," the control officer in Sagan City announced, his or her voice heavily distorted, "And I've dispatched them to the coordinates of the station. If it's there, they'll find it."
"Good." Harris looked and sounded pleased, but seemed to pick up on Malcolm's confusion. "You have something to add, Aschaffenburg?" he asked, identifying Reed by the city that he was in.
"What station?" Malcolm asked, refusing to address the man with any sort of honorific.
"The one that Enterprise encountered following her encounter with the Romulan minefield." Harris smiled broadly. "An automated repair unit like that would make an excellent asset for the war effort."
"That station is dangerous," Reed argued. "It'll take one of the crew and turn them into part of its central computer!"
"We are aware of that," Harris said simply.
"Is the crew of that ship you're sending?" Malcolm demanded.
"They know what they need to know," was the cool response. Reed fell back against his chair, suddenly grateful for the false image his station was broadcasting to the other attendees of this briefing. He had known that Harris was ruthless, but willingly sacrificing someone simply to acquire an "asset" like this? It was horrifying, inhuman even.
And yet ... he could not deny that the repair station would be an amazing help to the war effort. When Enterprise had found the station, it had taken less than two days to repair what would have taken Jupiter Station three months or more. With the Romulans pushing in on all quarters, wouldn't the sacrifice of one man be worth the price?
Malcolm shook his head in abject disgust, suddenly furious that he was even entertaining the notion. The hate he held for Harris intensified as he realized the insidious nature of the other man's talents: Reed was turning into the very thing he hated.
"Vulcan," Harris said, clearly of the belief that the ethical debate wasn't worth having. This time, the signal lag was even more noticeable as the distinctly male voice replied.
"We've confirmed that Ambassador Soval was involved in some sort of firefight with government officials," the control officer said at his prompt. "Preliminary reports are sketchy, but it appears that the orders came from the top."
"An attempted coup?" Harris queried, even as Malcolm was frowning. He had difficulty accepting that Soval would be trying to unseat Minister T'Pau, not after having worked so hard to put her into power in the first place. They were missing an important piece of the puzzle...
"Unknown, although Soval has gone dark since the incident." The reporting officer paused for a moment. "I don't know how this will affect Vulcan's technology transfer to Earth." That made sense, as the ambassador had been the driving force behind his government's sudden decision to volunteer previously classified technology even before the war with the Romulans began.
"Continue to observe," Harris decided. "If he resurfaces and the opportunity presents itself, attempt to recruit." He barely paused as he shifted attention. "Sacramento."
"Investigation into Black's suicide is ongoing," the female image related. "There are some inconsistencies with Commodore Casey's story that Starfleet Security failed to notice." Contempt was easily detected in her voice, despite the electronic distortions, and as an ex-member of Starfleet Security, Malcolm instinctively bristled. "We're looking into the possibility there may have been a romantic connection between the two."
"Is that speculation or are you basing it on something concrete?" Harris asked.
"Speculation based on some unexplained off-duty interactions between the two," Sacramento replied. "There are a number of recorded instances where the two of them simply dropped off the grid together for hours at a time." The image shrugged slightly. "Both of them are lifelong bachelors with absolutely no known romantic relationships. We haven't found any other connection between them to explain Casey's visit to Black's house."
"Keep digging." Harris was glowering; he hated not knowing something. "Anything else?"
"Archer dropped off the grid for nearly a minute prior to the Romulan detection," Sacramento said with an annoyed tone in her voice. "The agent assigned to follow him says he simply vanished after punching a man whose image we don't have in the database. They reappeared, talked, and the man disappeared again immediately before Archer was contacted by Starfleet Command."
"That sounds like our mysterious Mister Daniels," Harris mused. "Keep an eye on the recordings your agent made of him; they have a tendency to disappear unexpectedly."
"One other thing," Sacramento interjected. "We're reading a rise in Terra Prime chatter in the California area."
"Let the local authorities deal with them," Harris ordered. Malcolm winced slightly at the indifference in the man's voice and briefly wondered what had happened to the Terra Primer Hayes had captured in Jacksonville. Per his instructions, Reed had turned the man over to Harris, never questioning what was intended for the would-be terrorist. It had been something of a surprise for Malcolm to realize that he didn't care what happened to the man, not after witnessing firsthand the depths of depravity Terra Prime would sink to. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the rows of incubators on Paxton's craft that held the failed attempts at crossbreeding Humans and Vulcans, all in an attempt to prove a point Malcolm still didn't comprehend. He had never let Trip or T'Pol know that their daughter was attempt number thirty-six.
"Aschaffenburg has been working on the Romulan problem," Harris announced, and Malcolm glowered at the screen. "What do you have?" Reed drew in a steadying breath, glancing down quickly at the notes he'd jotted down.
"I want to insert an operative into Klingon space," he said calmly. It was the only thing he had been able to come up with that seemed to have a chance of success, and it reminded him of how much he missed being on Enterprise. This sort of problem-solving would have been much easier if Hoshi or Trip were around to bounce ideas off of.
"How does that help the Romulan problem?" the officer in New Delhi asked.
"This operative's objective will be to instigate the Klingons into conducting raids across their borders into Romulan space," Malcolm replied coolly.
"Which will cause the Romulans to divide their forces," Harris smiled. "Well done." Reed wished he shared that optimism. There was a substantial risk of this backfiring; if the Klingons discovered they had been manipulated, they might ally themselves with the Romulans. Even if Earth's manufacturing capacity were completely devoted to wartime use, there was simply no way Starfleet could hold out against two war-like races.
"Can I presume that you have an operative in mind?" Harris asked, and Malcolm nodded.
"I have just the man for the job," he pronounced.