When Hoshi woke, she was still alone in Travis's quarters. After treating the indifferent furniture to a theatrical sigh, she spent twenty minutes or so readying herself for duty using her various possessions which had migrated here over the past few months.

When she went to pull on her boots, typically the last thing she did when getting ready, she found a handwritten note tucked inside of one.

/*\\

Hoshi,

There was a message last night that the surgery went well. Thought you should know.

-T

/*\\

Hoshi must have read the note three or four times, with equal amounts of relief and irritation. Eventually, she decided she needed a coffee.

Fate smiled, because she did not encounter Travis until she reached the bridge, where a certain propriety was assured. Additionally, by then she was properly caffeinated.

"Where did you sleep last night?" she inquired in what she hoped was a casual tone.

Travis's response was at least civil. "I went to Halliwell's poker night thing. It got late and I didn't want to wake you. Trip said I could sleep at his place. Apparently, he wasn't too worried about waking T'Pol."

Hoshi nodded. She wondered if she should thank him for his note, but suspected it would hurt rather than help.

"His quarters are way bigger than mine, by the way," Travis continued amiably. "I think I'll stage a mutiny."

"Well, count me in," Hoshi responded. "I've had my eye on T'Pol's quarters for a while. I don't know if you've noticed, but it always smells really great in there."

Travis smiled. "I don't spend a lot of time in Commander T'Pol's quarters if I'm honest, alas. I'm glad that YOU are though. Really."

Hoshi snickered agreeably, just as Travis moved off to his own station.

Pleased that the interaction had been pleasant, Hoshi settled into her work day, beginning, as she always did, by reviewing the previous shift's communications as logged by Crewman Baird. Right in the middle of the pile was the transmission from Liz Cutler that Travis's note presumably referred to.

It can't hurt to listen, Hoshi thought to herself. Supervising Baird is part of my job after all. I could have chosen this communication to review completely at random.

Shifting slightly, so Travis was out of her immediate gaze, Hoshi played Liz's message into her earpiece, and soon found herself smiling. Quite apart from the welcome news about Malcolm, Liz also reported the somewhat colourful story about what had happened when Alice had tried to contact Phlox and had initially been answered by his son Mettus. It had been quite the personality clash, apparently.

Chuckling, Hoshi realised that this conversation between Liz and Baird was abnormally chatty, and friendly in tone, given that the two didn't get along. Liz is doing this for my benefit, Hoshi realised suddenly. Her shoulders tightened at the thought.

She knew I would listen to this.

Distracted by the unpleasant connotations of this thought, Hoshi failed to notice that the message had ended and she was listening to static. Realising at last, she was about to switch off, when, right at the edge of the range, she detected a signal.

What the hell is that? She wondered.

T'Pol settled herself into her lab, barely suppressing what might have been considered a yawn. It must be the pregnancy, she thought. How inconvenient! But at the same time a small smile ghosted on her lips.

A great deal of data had been lost when the Terran embassy had exploded, and if there were backups at an external site, they had not yet been located. Still, the Vulcan embassy had been undertaking its own investigations and had willingly been sharing its data, so she had plenty to be getting on with.

To end or at least mitigate the crisis on Denobula - and incidentally recover their crew members- they would need a cure, or at least a vaccine and a treatment. And for that, it would be enormously helpful to have a known causative agent.

Effects have causes, just as causes have effects. All that affects the world may be known to you with sufficient care and patience.

There was an agent then. And T'Pol hoped to find it.

Engrossed, but a moment ago, in pathology reports and microspectral analyses, T'Pol was suddenly distracted my memory. With an amused smile she recalled how, this morning, Commander Tucker had been inexplicably distressed by the thought of her working on this problem.

"You understand, do you not," she had said, "That I will be working on reports only? No actual samples. Surely you do not think that the infective agent is the data itself?"

He had frowned, unsoothed. "I'd hardly put anything past these Romulan bastards."

"There is no evidence the Romulans are involved," she replied. "And besides, it is perfectly safe, I assure you. Your one, thoroughly inadequate biology course notwithstanding, I am the expert here."

He'd then grumbled acquiescence, and ALMOST placed his hand on her lower abdomen. He'd diverted it, awkwardly, unconvincingly at the last moment, to grab hold of some gadget he'd had no cause to want. She had not been fooled.

The sound of a cleared throat jerked her from her from here reverie. Turning she saw Crewman Halliwell. He was watching her in a way she found somehow impertinent. Irrationally annoyed at him for jolting her from her pleasant memory, T'Pol took no care to inject any warmth into her acknowledgement. "Crewman."

Halliwell smiled unpleasantly. "Commander."

"I am occupied with work, Crewman," T'Pol responded, disliking that smile more by the second. "So if you have a purpose, please state it."

Halliwell raised his eyebrows loftily, and T'Pol abruptly wished she had simply banished the man entirely.

"There is an opening for a science officer now that Morello is dead," Halliwell began. "You are going to appointment me, including a field commission to Ensign."

T'Pol narrowed her eyes. "Ensign Morello died yesterday, Crewman. I have given no thought to replacing him yet. It would be vulgar to do so before a memorial. Additionally, his replacement is unlikely to involve a field commission, and even if it were, it is especially unlikely that the replacement would be you. Your work is mediocre at best, and certainly doesn't warrant this sort of confidence."

"And yet, I'm profoundly confident," Halliwell replied. "You are going to give me that field commission. And perhaps more beside, since you were just so rude to me. Because I know what you were getting up to. I know all about your little experiments. And I know Commander Tucker has absolutely no idea that pregnancy started in a test tube. So, about that promotion?"

"It's a ship," Hoshi declared, triumphantly.

Archer stared closely at the screen and back again. "Yes, I can see it's a ship. It's a Denobulan mining barge, isn't it?"

"I don't think so! In fact, I don't think it's Denobulan at all!"

Archer frowned. "It looks very Denobulan, has a Denobulan transponder, a Denobulan registry number, and it is orbiting Denobula."

"Yes!" Hoshi agreed, readily. "That's just what they want you to think."

"...'they'?"

"The Romulans," Hoshi replied, excitement getting in the way of her composure. "That's a drone ship! This is the evidence we need to prove Romulan involvement in the plague!"

Archer looked up skeptically. "Hoshi, are you sure, though?"

"Pretty much!" Hoshi answered. "Listen to this... There, hear that? Those beeps?"

"Those are Romulan beeps?" Archer tried tentatively.

Hoshi screwed up her nose. "No. They are just beeps. There's no uniquely Romulan way to beep. Well, there sort of is, but it's not relevant here. Or it could be, but probably not. The point is, those beeps are HIDDEN. Hidden in the wake of sub space transmissions. Denobula has one of the most advanced communication networks in the quadrant, and these beeps have been hiding in plain sight the whole time, maybe, and no one has detected them!"

Archer's brow furrowed. "And these beeps are being directed towards that Denobulan junker?"

"No, sir. Well not directly, but if you look at the angle of the transmission in our signals sub-space wake, and if you assume it's bounced twice of the atmosphere, well then it does go towards that ship. The signal would be weak after two bounces, but still detectable! And no one would see it. It's genius!"

"Um... Hoshi?"

"Wait, there's more. As you said, that ship has a Denobulan serial number and transponder. When I looked it up in the registry, that serial number and transponder are registered to the Katafix. A fifty six year old Denobulan junker."

"And that ship isn't called Katafix?" Archer suggested.

"Oh no, sir, it is."

"But the registry is fake?"

"No sir it's real. This will go faster if you stop interrupting sir."

Archer squinted at her uncertainly. "Will it?"

"Yes, just listen," Hoshi insisted. "I contacted the owner of the Katafix, or tried to, and it turns out he died three months ago. I spoke to his niece who said that the Katafix was sold for scrap. But when I contacted the scrap yard they had never heard of the Katafix."

"So," Archer answered slowly. "If I'm following you correctly. Because the Denobulan barge called Katafix wasn't scrapped, it can't be sitting out there in orbit? Unscrapped?"

"I think it was scrapped," Hoshi insisted. "I think the scrap yard is lying, because the Romulans payed them off, and that ship out there isn't the Katafix. It's a drone ship, disguised as the Katafix. Hiding in plain sight."

Archer pursed his lips. "Or it IS the Katafix, and the niece was mistaken about what happened to the ship?"

"But the signal!"

"The signal that, if it bounces twice off the atmosphere goes weakly in the general direction of the Katafix?"

Hoshi sighed in frustration. "Okay, so you aren't convinced. I'll get more proof. In the meantime, can we at least monitor that ship?"

"Hoshi..."

"Please, sir. I know I'm right."

Archer sighed. "Okay. Fine. But get more proof, Hoshi."

There wasn't, Liz discovered, a terrible lot for her to do.

A steady stream of Denobulans flowed in and out of Palayjah's rooms, but none of them seemed particularly inclined to take her sight-seeing, and there were road blocks between them and anything worth seeing, in any case.

There was a great deal of conversation going on in the room, but absolutely all of it seemed to concern people she had never heard of, despite the fact she had met upwards of two hundred Denobulans in the last 24 hours.

Over and over, she has interjected to ask if - oh, was that the lady who was hear before in the purple dress- and she would be politely told - oh no, that's such-and such- and the she'd be told every possible family connection BETWEEN such-and-such and who they were actually discussing, and finally the conversation would move on as if she had never spoken at all.

After this had happened about twenty times, Liz gave up entirely and went to sit on the reclining coach with Palayjah and watched the news waves. After yet another tiny meal of bugs, Mettus joined them too, and began almost immediately to complain about the bias of the 'wave they were watching and demanding they 'switch over'.

At length, apparently tired of being pestered by her brother, Palayjah did so.

"Reports are growing," intoned the new 'wave reader, "of Denobulan free citizens being detained against their will on so called 'Coalition' worlds. I have heard increasing speculation that our citizens may be forced into camps- allegedly for their own protection- but without the right to return home if they wish. The government has so far refused to answer my questions about this shocking arrest of our free citizens."

Palayjah and Liz looked at each other.

"See," Mettus announced triumphantly. "Nothing about that on the other 'wave, was there?"

"Because it's not true, Mettus," Palayjah hissed through her teeth. "It's probably just some new immigration requirement that's been blown out of proportion by that pompous fool."

Mettus shook his head sadly at his sister, and Liz wished she was anywhere else.

"I'm sorry about my brother, Elizabeth Cutler," Palayjah said at length, rather pointedly. "He has very strong and very... novel... opinions."

"You can just call me Liz, if you Like," Liz answered awkwardly.

"Can we, 'Liz'?" Mettus asked staring at her intently. And something about the way it sounded in his mouth made Liz wish very much that she could withdraw the offer.