The shuttlepod landed safely in the bay of the ship, and Malcolm had formulated a plan in his head. He didn't want to place the Romulan into the brig, as he didn't want to field questions as to why a Vulcan was in the brig in the first place. He would have this man confined to his quarters until Starfleet figured out what to do with him.

He looked over at the tall, obviously military man who was slumped unconscious next to T'Pol, and he instinctively knew that he wouldn't be an easy man to hold secure. The man was also glowing slightly, as were T'Pol and Hoshi. No doubt their skin and hair was coated with a thin layer of dilithium dust. Luckily, it appeared the he and the rest of the landing party had been spared the same fate, possibly because most of the dilithium dust in the planet's atmosphere had been ignited.

He glanced over at Hoshi, who had not yet met his eyes on the journey. As much as Malcolm focused on his job and the professional nature of the current situation, he was hyper-aware of her presence, and he suspected she was experiencing the same thing. He took a quick breath and focused on his job.

"The man should be unconscious for several more hours. Once he clears decon, I want him confined to guest quarters with three guards outside. Phase pistols set on maximum stun setting," ordered Malcolm.

As it turned out, Phlox determined decon was the best place to rid Hoshi, T'Pol and Enme of the dilithium dust. Malcolm's men carried Enme into the decon chamber. Malcolm had already taken an image of the uniform to send to Starfleet intelligence.

"Take off the uniform and destroy it," ordered Malcolm, "we can get him a jumpsuit to wear."

This man needed to understand he wasn't a soldier anymore. He was a prisoner.


About an hour later, Hoshi and T'Pol sat in the decon chamber and stared at the unconscious Enme.

"It seems a shame we can't let him go," said Hoshi, "He did rescue us."

"He was unaware that hostilities were about to break out. Had he known, it is unlikely we would have been released."

Hoshi nodded.

"He's still your brother," said Hoshi.

"I only met him yesterday," said T'Pol.

Hoshi looked at T'Pol's face. She appeared as Vulcan as ever, no hint that this lousy situation bothered her. Hoshi, for her part, suddenly felt that she was on the wrong side of the moral fence. She knew war was about to begin, but she never thought the Alliance would make the move that started it.


For her part, T'Pol had begun to wonder where Trip was, specifically. She sensed him nearby, and the relief he felt at her safe return. No doubt he wanted to spare her an emotional reunion in front of the crew, so he had not met them in the launch bay. Perhaps he would come to decon but possibly not. He might find it frustrating not to be able to touch her. She thought about meditating and finding him in white space, but she decided against it. Too many distractions. She would see Trip soon enough. She was patient.

Phlox appeared in the window.

"You're all clear. There's a security team to take our guest to his quarters. The captain is currently on a subspace conference call with various members of the Alliance. He said he would like to meet with you for a debriefing in three hours. You are to rest until then. You are both ordered to return to your quarters."


T'Pol opened the door to her home, knowing Trip was inside. She walked in and saw him standing there on the opposite end of the room, leaning against the bulkhead. The scent of him washed over her, mixing with the other familiar scents of their shared life. For the first time since her rescue, she felt her guard start to let down. It was strange that less than a day ago, it had been a real possibility that she would never experience the comforts of this room again.

"I came to sickbay," he said softly, "but I knew you wouldn't like a scene in front of the others. So I left once Phlox told me your were fine."

"Thank you. I might have found it difficult to maintain appropriate restraint."

"I doubt that," he said, half-smiling.

She felt his torrent of emotions starting to come undone. Now that she was safe, he wasn't finding it so easy to keep them wrapped up. She crossed the room to stand in front of him.

She held her hand up, but in his daze, he didn't move. She took his hand with her free one and guided it to her right hand and entwined his fingers with hers. She wasn't exactly the model of the serene Vulcan at the moment, but she had more control than him. She gifted him with some of that control, just as she experienced some of the terror he had felt when she was gone. A mixture of fear, helplessness and anger flowed into her mind, and she was dizzy.

He broke the link of their fingers to hold her steady, and then he led her into the bedroom. He laid her down gently, and then finally took her into his arms. As he cradled her, he breathed in the familiar copper smell of her hair and skin.

"I'm sorry I overwhelmed you," he whispered, "I didn't want to do that."

"I'm sorry my peril caused you such fear," she said, "and I'm glad to be home."

They stayed silent for a long while. Words of love and longing and gratitude for her safety were redundant.

Gradually, she began to speak of her ordeal. She had experienced worse, but the situation had been filled with precarious unknowns. Finally, she reached a critical part of her story.

"So the Romulan that we have as a prisoner is your brother, too?"

"Yes," she said simply.

Trip sat up and looked into her eyes, where he found no hint of conflict. He didn't even see a hint of curiosity.

"He saved you and Hoshi," he said.

"He's also an officer in the Romulan Imperial Military Command," she said, "and he would not have released us had he known outright warfare was imminent. I am more concerned with our ability to safely hold him. He strikes me as a formidable person."

"Are you going to go talk to him when he wakes up?"

"If the captain thinks its appropriate," she said.

Trip closed his eyes. Nobody was supposed to even know that Romulans and Vulcans looked alike. Now they had a high-ranking Romulan officer as a prisoner, and the man was also his brother-in-law. And the war was about to start. What more could possibly happen?


Hoshi was curled up on her bed staring out at the stars when the chime on her door rang. She sat up and put her feet on the ground. They were bare, but she had put on a fresh uniform.

"Come in," she said.

Malcolm appeared in the doorway. She looked up at him, and he looked down at her. Without a word, he crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. Their lips met, bodies entwined and they fell back on the bed. Unlike their last time together, there was nothing careful about this coupling. It was a blur. Before either of them realized it what had happened, they found themselves naked, facing one another on the bed with a shared sense of euphoria and relief.

"I'm glad you're safe," he said finally.

"Me too," she said.

"How's the prisoner?" she asked.

"Still unconscious," said Malcolm.

"He rescued us," said Hoshi, "We probably wouldn't have escaped our captors without him. We certainly wouldn't have survived the blast without him warning us."

Malcolm nodded. He couldn't believe he owed a Romulan officer a debt of gratitude.

"I want to let him go," she continued.

Malcolm looked at her.

"Fairness and honor aren't usually part of war, despite what you might have seen in movies," he sighed.

"What are we going to do with him?"

"I don't know," replied Malcolm.


"You want me to what?" asked Archer.

He was debriefing T'Pol and Hoshi in his private mess, over dinner. It was an informal space for such an official matter, but it was also very private. The Romulan-Vulcan connection was in danger of being revealed over this incident, and Archer needed to figure out how to keep it under wraps while keeping a Romulan prisoner on his ship. Now he suspected T'Pol and Hoshi had contracted a mild case of Stockholm syndrome.

"You should have him to dinner tomorrow night," said T'Pol, "Of course, we'll keep him under guard, but if we treat him as a guest he'll likely behave as one. From what I have witnessed in two encounters, Romulans respect family and hospitality. So I will join you, of course."

Archer sat back in his chair. He instinctively reached of a glass of wine, which wasn't there given the official nature of the proceedings.

"We're a few hours away from full scale war with them," said Archer, "Two days, at the most."

"He doesn't know that," said Hoshi, "and you owe him your thanks for saving us, regardless of the circumstances."

"We can't return a high-ranking member of their military to them. If he were a civilian, I'd say let him go…"

"We haven't asked you to let him go," said T'Pol, "I am advising you that from a strategic point of view, treating him with hospitality will make him a less dangerous prisoner."

Archer turned to Hoshi, who had gotten a look at their literary database.

"Their literature is full of references to hospitality. It's definitely a cultural trait," said Hoshi, "We were treated as guests by both of the groups that held us. I think if we treat him roughly, he'll respond in kind, and he strikes me as someone with the skills to be very threatening."

Archer closed his eyes and imagined writing a report to Starfleet that involved hosting a dinner party for a high-ranking Romulan officer a few hours before the war started. He supposed stranger things had happened, but he found the juxtaposition between his planning for the upcoming battle and the thought of socializing. . .odd.

"What should we serve?"

"They aren't vegetarians," said Hoshi, thinking of the pigeon she'd eaten.


Enme awoke in a strange, sparse room aboard a starship, wearing a very plain and thus degrading jumpsuit. Thankfully, however, they had left him his boots, which not only had been custom fitted to his feet but had also been well-broken in by now, despite their polish. He sat up and looked out the window, gratefully noting that the ship wasn't at warp.

He gradually remembered being stunned by one of the humans and assumed that he was aboard their ship. He didn't know why they had bothered to take him, but these quarters didn't appear like a prison cell. He inhaled the cool air of the ship and shivered. Humans apparently preferred cooler temperatures.

I'm not a prisoner, he thought, so they will likely release me.

He noticed a pitcher and glasses on the desk. The pitcher was filled with water, and he poured himself a glass.

Water, he thought. Barbaric. We'd have left fine ale.

He drank a glass of water, and then went to open the door. He couldn't make it open so he pounded at it.

"I've awakened," he shouted.

The door opened.

"Good Evening," said the security officer.

"Where am I? When I am to be released?"

"I'll alert the captain and Commander T'Pol that you've awakened. It's the middle of the night, you see. However, we are under orders to bring you whatever you request to eat or drink."

"I don't know what to request," said Enme, "I met my first human only this morning, so I have no clue what you people eat."

"I'll have whatever Chef made for Commander T'Pol brought to you," said the guard, "I believe he saved some for you."

"I suppose that would be fine," said Enme, realizing the guard assumed he was a Vulcan, "Thank you."

If the guard noticed this man was expressing more emotion than a Vulcan should, he didn't appear surprised. He just shut the door.


Archer looked at Admiral Williams's face on the screen.

"Under no circumstances can you release him," ordered the Admiral.

"I agree, but what will we do with him?" said Jon.

"I've already contacted the Vulcans," he said, "They will take custody of him. Once the battle or skirmish or whatever it is that is about to happen happens, their battleship will take the man aboard. It will be up to them what to do with him. They are far more equipped to deal with him."

Jon nodded.

"You understand your orders? Enterprise will only be providing support to the more battle ready ships. She wasn't designed as a warship - you are to leave the heavy lifting to the ships that were."

Jon nodded.

"But make sure your sickbay is ready. The battleships will be transporting patients to you. We've got three doctors to transport over, as soon as they arrive. They will be assisting Phlox."

"We'll do our part," said Jon.

"I look forward to reading your report. I'd love the opportunity to sit down to dinner with a Romulan."

Jon said nothing.

"Good luck, Jonathan."

"Thanks, Admiral"


The chime rang on Enme's door.

"It is beyond my power to open the door," he shouted, "Something which you undoubtedly know!"

The door opened, and he saw his sister standing there. She wore her official blue uniform with its blue stripe around her shoulders. It occurred to him that he had no idea what the blue designated.

She stood at ease, and she was unaccompanied by the guards. He stood across from her in a Romulan Military pose, hands at behind his back, legs straight.

"Hello, sister," said Enme.

She nodded.

"Are you fully recovered from being stunned?"

"Yes," said Enme, "I feel fine."

"I have experienced the same thing. It is not pleasant, but you should feel no adverse side effects."

"Why didn't the humans leave me on the planet?"

"The Alliance believes the mining colony to be of strategic value. The have decided not to recognize the Romulan claim to it. Ships will arrive shortly to seize control of this system."

"So," said Enme, "your leaders have gone mad, then."

"Under the circumstances," said T'Pol, "Lt. Commander Reed felt you would be safer aboard Enterprise."

"So," he said, "I assume I won't be let go."

"It is unlikely. However, if your people allow the Alliance to take the mining colony peacefully. . ."

Enme rolled his eyes.

"You know as well as I the odds of that happening…"

"Yes," she said, "I'm sorry."

"So am I," he said.

"Nonetheless, the captain wishes to dine with you this evening," she said, gesturing to the chronometer. It was no longer night but early morning.

"I accept the invitation. It's always good to meet one's gaoler."

"He's a good man. Honorable," she said.

Enme looked at his sister. Her face was bloody unreadable. No expression whatsoever. She looked like a Romulan, but she sure as hell didn't emote like one. No wonder his ancestors had made the exodus. It would be a peculiar kind of hell to live among people that never expressed emotion.

"You know I'll eventually have to try and escape."

She nodded.

"That would be unwise at the moment. Our escape pods and shuttles are short-range, and we are very near the minefield. It is doubtful you would make it to the planet's surface. If you did, you would probably be killed in the upcoming conflict or taken by the Alliance again."

Enme smirked.

"So you are advising me to try and escape later," he sighed.

"I am simply pointing out that currently, an escape attempt would be illogical."

"I'm a Romulan," he said, "I'm not logical."

"Nevertheless," she said, "we'll treat you well."

"They sent me vegetarian food. I hardly call the treating me well."

"Most of the humans believe you to be a Vulcan who was working with the Romulans. They don't know of our kinship."

"By kinship — do you mean Vulcan and Romulans or you and me?"

T'Pol raised her eyebrow.

"I suppose I mean both, brother."

He thought for a moment. Romulans and Vulcans were far apart on many things but keeping their kinship a secret was one issue upon which they agreed. He wasn't about to enlighten anyone aboard this ship about his true ethnicity. Also, he thought, he would likely gain the confidence of people aboard if they thought he was a Vulcan. He resolved to not smile anymore, if he could help himself. He bit his lip at the thought.

"You must be happy to be back aboard. This ship is your home, is it not?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Yes."

"Well, I hope for your sake and mine this ship isn't destroyed in the upcoming conflict."

"I shall see you tonight, brother."

"I look forward to it, sister."