FIFTEEN: Snake In The Grass

"In other news, an article published by a small-time newspaper is causing quite a stir! Allegations of an interspecies romance within the very Embassy that's currently housing several trade talks have many up in arms."

God only knew why she hadn't turned the console off yet. Maybe it was some masochistic aspect of her personality coming to light at long last. Or, maybe, it was just her morbid curiosity wondering what the damage was. Whatever the case, she listened to the newscast, silent as the grave, from her seat on a nearby bench in the common area of the Andorian compound. She had buried her face in her hands early on, a combination of humiliation and the idle fantasy that maybe, if she couldn't see other people, just maybe they couldn't see her either.

Stupid, but it made her feel better –if only momentarily.

"-A number of Terra Prime advocates claim that Miss Gunnarssen is an extremely negative influence on traditional Human families, while more liberal groups are praising the young woman for her positive attitude towards furthering Human relations with our interstellar allies."

Dagmar groaned from behind her hands. This was a nightmare. A complete and total nightmare. All those years back in the twenty-first century when random celebrities had been victimized by similar stories, and she hadn't been even remotely sympathetic... Clearly, karma had returned the favour with a vengeance.

"The Andorian Ambassador made a rare appearance at the press conference hosted by our government today, but declined to comment-"

Someone slay her. It would be kinder.

"-Jonathan Archer, a celebrated Starfleet officer and Earth's Ambassador to Andoria, stated that the article was not only completely false, but would be used as evidence against the reporter in an up-coming court case-"

Maybe she could find a rock to hide under until people forgot her name? Or maybe she could jump onto the first transport leaving Earth and settle onto whatever planet she liked? She could move to Vulcan and make a living as an interpretive dancer!

...Or perhaps not.

"-This just in, ladies and gentlemen! The reporter responsible for the allegedly slanderous article has been identified; William Kennings, an employee of The San Francisco Daily, has been taken into custody by police on charges of libel and defamation of character. The court date has not yet been set."

A hand settled on her shoulder and Dagmar knew without looking that it was Thelen.

"Don't worry so much," The lieutenant said in what was probably supposed to be a heartening sort of tone. "Once we return to Andoria, people will forget about this."

Oh, god, she wished. But people never forgot about these scandals –not really. The hype would die down after awhile, yes, but it would never really go away. As it was, though, Dagmar was afraid to set foot outside the compound, lest she be lynched by some of the angrier citizens of Earth.

And it wasn't even deserved! That was the worst part of it all, after the public humiliation. Nothing had happened between her and Shral! Nothing had ever happened! She didn't even have a love-life, for god's sake! The most affectionate that he'd ever been was when he'd called her the equivalent to a tasty pastry thingy –and she'd looked that up! It was an endearment between parents and children!

Evidently her silence and lack of response to... pretty much everything beyond her own cocoon of misery disturbed Thelen. He shook her shoulder a bit. "Dagmar? Are you well?"

Was she well? Was her serious? What kind of a question was that!

"I want," Dagmar forced out from between grit teeth. "To crawl under a rock and die."

The bench dipped slightly as Thelen sat beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers, and the security officer offered lightly, "Lucky for you, Andoria has a number of deep and isolated ice caves. Most of them are abandoned, too –nobody's been there in years! You could accidentally get lost... I hear hypothermia is a slow but relatively painless process for Humans."

Okay, fair enough. Maybe she was taking it a bit too far with the 'dying of shame' thing. Reluctantly she muttered, "Maybe I'll just become a hermit and never speak to anyone ever again..."

"Once again," Thelen cheerfully repeated his offer. "Andoria has a number of deep and isolated ice caves-"

"Maybe I'll just never speak to you again!"

"How fortunate! With Andoria's vast number of deep and isolate ice caves –which, you might like to know, can stretch for several of your Terran miles- you could set yourself up on the far edges of one of our cities and wander for days without ever laying eyes on me again!"

Dagmar raised her head from her hands long enough to shoot the Andorian a particularly withering and exasperated glare. The lieutenant was not particularly intimidated, his antennae bowed towards each other and his face pulled into that characteristically thin smile (and vaguely strained; just how difficult was it for an Andorian to imitate a smile?)

Annoyed, Dagmar asked caustically, "Okay, so what if I said I was planning on moving to Vulcan and making a living as a pole-dancer?"

Thelen didn't even blink as he countered, with a perfect deadpan expression, "You'd pass out from heat stroke before you accomplished much of anything. Don't even try to pretend otherwise."

Oh, ouch. Okay, yes, it was probably true, but ouch.

Bit frosty there.

"Now, Andoria has considerably cooler temperatures and would, in fact, encourage you to remain active to stay warm. Between that and the novelty of this 'pole-dancing' you're proposing, I predict great success and-"

"Okay! Okay! I get the point. Andoria is awesome." Dagmar caved in wearily. Thelen could probably keep arguing in that vein all day, but Dagmar was tired. Dropping her head back into her hands with a sigh, she added, "I'm just tired of being harassed by my own people for stuff that isn't even true."

Thelen bumped his shoulder against hers –a wordless 'buck-up, kiddo' sort of gesture- and suggested, "At least they didn't make up anything about you and the Tellerite Ambassador's aide."

"That's because no one would ever believe it." Dagmar countered from behind her hands, smiling despite herself.

The sooner she left for Andoria, the better. Whatever her reservations were before, they were nothing compared to the prospect of staying on Earth.


"Doctor Shore," Jonathan Archer greeted the thin, sharp-eyed man neutrally. The psychologist had asked –no, demanded- to speak with him immediately following the press conference, and something about the man's manner set off at least a dozen red flags. He hadn't spend years serving in Starfleet –exploring, fighting, negotiating- without learning to read people at least a little.

"Ambassador, I hope you were successful-"

Archer held up a hand, interrupting the man. "I spoke with the Andorian Ambassador –and met Miss Gunnarssen while I was in the Embassy. Miss Gunnarssen is leaving with the Andorian delegation once the treaty is finalized. Quite frankly, after today I don't think she can leave Earth fast enough."

The psychologist adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat –an odd thing to do; a nervous tick, perhaps?- before speaking, "I was afraid of that. This unfortunate incident with the media has only further alienated Miss Gunnarssen from Terran society, but I cannot stress enough how detrimental to her psychological well-being leaving Earth could be."

Archer frowned and said, "Seems to me like staying is more detrimental than leaving at this point, doctor."

"Yes," Dr. Shore agreed. "But only temporarily! I'm concerned that she could develop an aversion to her own species through avoidance responses. Think –she could easily lose her cultural identity, her sense of belonging, and her sense of purpose as a functional and productive member of our society!"

Not that their society was letting her have much of any of those, Archer thought wryly to himself. He'd done a little research –had looked up old newcasts and reports- and had come to the conclusion that if anyone was perfectly suited to space travel and long periods of time spent away from their home planet, it was the twenty-first century woman. Just walking down the streets she used to live on, back in her time, must have been like visiting an alien planet!

"She fits in well enough with the Andorians."

Dr. Shore's eyes narrowed and Jonathan noticed a few telling facial tics. Micro-expressions, they were called –like that upwards twitch of his upper lip, signifying contempt, or the way Jonathan could see the muscles of Shore's jaw working furiously beneath thin skin. "With all due respect, Ambassador, Dagmar Gunnarssen is not an Andorian! She's a living remnant of ancient Human civilization –and look what's been done to her! I've told Starfleet and the Academy a thousand times –she should have been segregated from any alien influence. If she had been forced to interact with Humans only, she might not have-"

The doctor's face was flush with angry, spittle flying as his rant grew in volume and vehemence. The carrying –neurotically- arranged hair was out of place, dislodged by the almost violent gestures that emphasized his words; gone was the cool, composed psychologist from earlier that morning.

At least another two dozen red flags appeared in the Terran Ambassador's mind as he listened to the tirade with rapidly thinning patience. The name 'Terra Prime' came to mind a few times, and Archer idly wondered if the doctor was a member. He made a mental note to check and surreptitiously alerted security; officers, he reminded himself, were not supposed to pick fights with civilians –diplomats even less so.

It was an effort –a real and concentrated effort- to reign in his own contempt, and a sudden nostalgia for the days when he was allowed to carry a phase pistol hit him like an errant wave. Even as two bulky security officers removed the doctor –not quite forcibly, but almost- Archer couldn't quite suppress the half-instinctive twitch of his hand towards the empty space were a holster should have been.

Silently, he activated the nearest console and punched in an enquiry regarding Dr. Shore's records and known affiliations.