A/N: Thank you, volley and begoogled, for the reviews!

CHAPTER 3

The captain had caught her looking at him. She felt her cheeks flush, but she refused to look away. She'd lost her memory, was totally unfamiliar with her surroundings, and had no idea what was going to happen to her. So far, only he had asked the questions, but she deserved to ask some of her own. "What's going to happen to me?"

His smile turned sardonic. She could have sworn she heard a faint snicker. Maybe she shouldn't have asked that question, considering she was in his bed.

The smile disappeared from his face as he took a sip from his glass of scotch. After he swallowed, he countered, "What do you think will happen to you?"

She hadn't really thought about it. She'd been too concerned with the moment. It was strange not having a past to draw on while dealing with the present, and there had been no opportunity to think about the future. "I'm not sure," she said. "You'll take me to some sort of medical facility, I suppose. The authorities will try to find some of my family members."

He snorted in amusement. "That's going to be rather difficult. You're not from these parts."

She sat up as straight as she could being propped up on pillows and asked, "You know something about me? What is it?"

He put down the glass. "You're from another universe."

"If you're saying I'm from some place far away--"

"Another. Universe."

She stared at him, trying to wrap her mind around the concept. She found she couldn't. "That's crazy."

The captain shrugged. "According to my science officer, it's not crazy. I tend to believe her. She's very good at figuring out all sorts of things."

Before she could ask for more explanation, a chime sounded. The captain called out, "Enter!"

The door to the cabin slid open. She caught a glimpse of a dull gray corridor outside as a man carrying a covered tray entered. "Your dinner, sir," the man said, placing the tray on the desk.

"Thanks, Cunningham," the captain said. "Bring breakfast tomorrow morning as well."

"Very good, sir," the man responded with a slight dip of his head.

As the man moved over to a cabinet, the captain lifted the lid from the tray.

She tried to ignore the rumbling from her stomach as the smell of charbroiled steak wafted across the cabin to her. She had no idea how long it had been since she'd last eaten. She swallowed, trying to ignore her hunger. "You have a butler on a starship?" she asked.

For the first time, the captain's laughter sounded genuine. "That's a good one! Cunningham's my steward."

"Oh," she said faintly. She gazed at Cunningham, who had a condescending smile on his face as he returned with a bed tray. He placed the tray over her legs where she sat propped up in the bunk, then moved back to the captain's desk where he'd left the meal. He picked up a bowl and brought it over to her tray. Clear broth, with a few crackers on the side.

"Thank you Cunningham," the captain said. "That's all for now."

"Yes, sir." As efficiently as he'd entered the cabin, Cunningham left.

The door chime sounded again. This place was as busy as a space port, she thought. Apparently it wasn't something the captain appreciated, for his voice was harsh as he again called out, "Enter!"

The door to the cabin slid open, and she gazed curiously at the compact, dark-haired man who entered. While the captain was dressed in dark blue trousers and shirt with insignia -- some sort of uniform, she assumed -- this man was dressed entirely in black. What he was wearing wasn't medical garb like the doctor's, however. This outfit struck her as strictly utilitarian, as well as intentionally intimidating. Her eyes were drawn to the pistol at the man's hip. Some sort of policeman or security officer, she surmised.

He was carrying a data padd, which he turned on and offered to the captain. "I've analyzed the logs on her shuttle, sir. Enough information remained intact to extract this." His British accent was crisp and clear, in contrast to the American English spoken by the captain.

As the captain took the padd and began reading, the man in black turned his attention to her. The cold, assessing gray eyes sent a shiver down her spine, making her shrink back against the pillows. She hoped she never had to be alone with this man.

"Well," the captain said. "This is interesting. Seems we have a name for you after all." He stared at her, a new hardness in his eyes. "And a rank. You're in the military in your universe, Ensign Hoshi Sato."

She returned the stare, dumbfounded. The name didn't mean anything to her.

She had been scared of the doctor, but Archer could see that was nothing compared to her reaction to this visitor to his cabin. She was absolutely terrified.

Most people who had any sense should be terrified of Lt. Malcolm Reed. The man was dangerous, barely kept in check by the rules and regulations of the Imperial fleet. That worked in Archer's favor, for Reed was also a man who had little imagination of his own. He was more than willing to hitch a ride on Archer's meteoric rise in the ranks, and therefore was willing to follow orders without question. He was the perfect chief of security for a captain like Archer, who sometimes required tactics outside what the regulations deemed permissible.

Archer took his time reviewing the information on the padd. Not only was he keeping Reed waiting to be dismissed, which was petty but helped to reinforce that Archer was the one in charge, but he was curious to see if the woman would give anything away under Reed's intense scrutiny. She hadn't reacted, other than a blank stare, when he'd said her name. Whether that was because she really didn't know, or because she'd been too scared of Reed, was yet to be seen.

After a few long minutes had passed, he asked Reed, "You've given this information to Tucker and T'Pol?"

"Yes, sir," Reed answered without taking his eyes from Sato.

"Should be interesting to see what they make of it."

Now Reed did look at him, his expression a mixture of disdain and depravity. Archer wasn't the only one who knew about Tucker's unending quest to bed T'Pol, but Reed also harbored a deep-seated dislike of the engineer. The two got along about as well as cats and dogs. "You're dismissed," he said to Reed.

Reed headed for the door, but not before he gave Sato one more searing gaze. As soon as the man had left, Archer got to his feet, went to an interior door, and opened it. "Come here, Dart."

Rapid clicking sounded on the deck plating from the adjoining cabin, followed by the appearance of a large doberman pinscher. The dog nuzzled Archer's hand.

"Good boy, Dart," Archer said. "Time to eat."

The dog turned its head to look with liquid brown eyes at Sato on the bunk. Sato's wide-eyed expression was priceless. Did she actually think he was going to sic the dog on her?

"No, not her," Archer said with an amused chuckle. He opened a cabinet door, took out a bowl, and filled it from a bag of dog food. He placed the bowl on the deck.

Dart was well trained. The dobie remained seated on its haunches until Archer indicated he could eat.

After the black-and-brown dog padded to the bowl and began eating, Sato managed to squeak, "He's rather large for a doberman, isn't he?"

"He was the biggest and strongest of his litter -- exactly what I wanted." He saw Sato, a confused expression on her face, give her head a minute shake. "What?" he asked.

"You called him 'Dart,'" she said after a moment. "I thought..."

"It's short for d'Artagnan," Archer explained when she trailed off.

Now she nodded. "One of the Three Musketeers."

"Not really. The three in the title were Aramis, Athos, and Porthos. D'Artagnan joined them as a musketeer."

"Dart was in a litter of four puppies named after those musketeers in the story," she said.

Archer frowned. How could she have known that? His eyes narrowed as his suspicions of her returned, but she wasn't paying him any attention. Her eyes were unfocused, her expression puzzled.

"How did I know that?" he heard her ask herself softly. She shook her head again, her eyes regaining their focus as she turned to stare at him. "For some reason," she said, "I thought he'd be named after one of the other musketeers."

Archer had no answer for her. He indicated she should eat, then sat down at his table and applied himself to his own meal. The steak was excellent, as usual. Dart, having finished the contents of his bowl, was looking at him and licking his lips. Archer cut off a small piece of steak and tossed it to the dog, which caught it easily.

He deliberately ignored the woman as he ate, but he could see from the corner of her eye that she was slowly spooning soup into her mouth. She didn't appear to have much of an appetite.

She was in another universe, he'd said. Even so, some things weren't that different from wherever it was she came from, apparently. They had an author named Alexandre Dumas in this universe, too, for Archer was familiar with The Three Musketeers. But why had she thought his dog would be named Porthos? It was like hearing a snippet of a song but not being able to remember the title. She knew she knew it, she just couldn't access it. And why could she remember the story of the Three Musketeers and not her own name?

She used the act of eating her soup to cover her confusion. She realized that she was fixated on the dog's name because Archer's even bigger revelation of her own name had meant nothing to her.

She'd finished about half the soup when Archer was paged to go to the bridge.

"On my way," he said into the com panel on his desk. He cut the connection and turned to look speculatively at her. After a moment, he looked down at the dog and made a curt motion with his right hand. "Stay. Guard."

The dog whined in response, but remained seated on the floor, watching Archer as he strode to the door and let himself out. When the door shut, the dog turned his head to stare at Sato.

Hoshi gulped. She liked animals. Well, at least she thought she liked animals. The doberman was beautiful, but it was also dangerous. It was liked a pair of pointy ears and sharp teeth attached to a set of legs. As the dog unblinkingly returned her gaze, she ate one last spoonful of soup. The dog licked its lips.

Hoshi picked up one of the crackers and considered it, then the dog. She slowly held out the cracker.