Episode 4 : Amor Patriae

Telluride, Colorado, Feb 18h2155

Jonathan Archer pulled the hood of his coat a little deeper into his face. Telluride was not exactly a tropical paradise at the best of times, but at this time of year, the person he was seeking out was probably one of the very few who felt right at home here.

Thankfully the town was relatively small, which meant getting from the landing pad at Starfleet Academy's outpost to the Andorian consulate was not more than a ten minute walk. He breathed in the cold air and listened to the sounds around him. Who knew when he would be able to do that next time, or if there was anything to come back to in the first place should the Romulans decide to attack.

"Pinkskin," someone called out his name when he entered the Andorian consulate's lobby.

"Shran, good to see you. I bet you feel right at home here," he returned the greeting with a friendly pat on the back of the blue alien. From the subtle difference in Shran's dialect he could tell that Shran was not speaking to him through the universal translator, but in actual human standard.

"I envy you pinkskins, I really do," Shran said and watched out the window, wistfully. You have a world that has deserts fit for the Vulcans, lush green forests, an abundance of water and this. This place rivals the majestic slopes of Andoria. And the Tellarites, well they feel at home wherever there's enough mud to wallow in, and you have that too in abundance."

Jon raised an eyebrow, subconsciously mimicking a gesture that was typical of his former first Officer. "You've certainly put in the effort in language training. You've become a right ol' poet."

Shran seemed to ignore his attempt at needling him and instead made a hand gesture that invited him to accompany him on a walk through the facility's snow-covered park.

"Another reason to look at your people with much favor," the Andorian explained. "By our standards and those of all other races I know, your language seems almost simplistic. A few dozen small symbols and you can express everything. That's why you were so successful in making peace with almost anyone you run into, because it takes nobody much effort to learn to communicate with you."

Jon looked sideways at the battle-hardened Andorian as they walked slowly along the path. It was not only the language that had changed about Shran.

"You don't quite sound like the warrior I knew," the Captain remarked.

"The warrior you knew is a married warrior now," Shran said. "Jhamel doesn't expect me to become a pacifist, but she made me think a lot about the past. Fighting the Romulans is a worthy cause, but sending thousands to die in pointless skirmishes with the Vulcans over a piece of rock was a fools errand. It does not reflect well on our people that your people had to come along and teach us that."

"Trust me Shran, we needed a long time to come to that point, too. Only a bit over a hundred years ago we were still killing each other on an industrial scale. And the Terra Prime crisis is proof enough that we aren't quite there yet, either."

Shran shook his head. "But you got to where you are in a hundred years. The fighting over Weytahn alone took longer than that."

Jon shrugged. "We just don't have the luxury of living for two centuries. We're practically born with a sense of urgency."

"Indeed." Shran agreed, his now restored antennae pointing forwards. "Let's go back inside, you seem to become a little too uncomfortable. They serve Ale. It will warm you up."

Jon grinned and followed the Andorian's lead.

-=/\=-

Commander Mendoza-Urribe carefully walked down the stairs to the Tucker residence's panic room and opened it. The three people in it gave him a cursory glance and returned to their work.

"I believe this is a good moment to take off my hair," he quipped and removed the dark wig, revealing a completely bald head.

"You look good as a billiard ball, Malcolm."

An eye-roll was all he had as an answer for the Chief Engineer.

"How did it go?" Hoshi asked.

"He's on it. I gave him twelve hours and free reign over a MACO laboratory to get the job done. His hosts will make sure he's still there when I return."

"You have recruited Doctor Arik Soong?" T'Pol speculated. "Why else would you have a geneticist under heavy guard?"

"The very same," Malcolm said. "Someone who sits in a high security cell and is not allowed to keep any records is somewhat ideal for this purpose, isn't he?"

"And what did he ask for in return?"

Trip's question was a good one. He hadn't actually made up yet what they could offer in return, but that's why they worked as a team. Surely someone would come up with an idea.

"So far he hasn't actually demanded anything. Working on something useful for a change seemed to be good enough for him, at least for the time being."

"There'll be a lot traumatic wounds in the war," Hoshi thought out loud. "Surely he could help with that. Some genetic therapy to restore damaged eyesight or hearing?"

"We'll have to clear it with Starfleet anyway," Trip reminded them.

Malcolm shook his head. "Gardner gave the Captain and us carte blanche, I intend to make use of it. And if Starfleet revokes any privileges later – so what, he can't exactly come after me, can he?"

He saw Trip's snort and the shake of his head. He remembered the other issue to broach.

"This is for you," Malcolm said. "It's not exactly a warp 5 ship, so it should be kiddy stuff for you."

He gave Trip a few moments to skim over the reports and exchanged a grin with Hoshi when Trip, without even looking up, took T'Pol's hand and drew her nearer to have her look over it with him. Both seemed in no particular haste to let go of each other's hand.

"This Turnbull fella, isn't that the same one who owns the Warp 7 complexes in Whitehorse and Nairobi?" Trip asked after a while.

"The very same," Malcolm confirmed with a nod. "And my gut feeling tells me that the genius who thought outsourcing the Warp 7 program to the private sector was a good idea, is also the mole in Starfleet."

"Which would mean the top brass is involved," Hoshi noted.

Malcolm exchanged a knowing look with T'Pol. Both had agreed that involvement from the upper echelons of Starfleet would make this a particularly distasteful mission.

-=/\=-

"Oh, Mr. Mendoza, you are just in time," Arik Soong greeted them with a smile that had all the sincerity of the one of a Rigellian tart.

Malcolm just gave him an ambiguous nod. It was obvious that the old geezer was more interested in his companion.

"And who do I have the honor to meet? I thought the good people of the islamic faith were mostly past such things as Burqas these days?"

"Doctor Aliaya Khalif Hossein," she answered curtly, leaving no doubt that she was in no mood for small talk or even flirting. "I will evaluate your results. Should you try to deceive Commander Mendoza-Urribe, there will be consequences."

Malcolm admired both Hoshi's teaching and T'Pol's quick learning. There were not too many people who could acquire a perfectly plausible Persian accent in just eight hours. His own Spanish accent was a left-over from his time in the section. Being able to pose as a Hispanic in San Francisco was a basic requirement for every operative.

"That's a name I have never heard before," Soong wondered.

"You've been somewhat out of the loop for a decade," Malcolm reminded him, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"You are certainly right on that one, Commander," Soong agreed with a theatrical sigh. "However, I have all the results you wanted. I analyzed that DNA. It is no doubt Vulcan, at least one who has been away from his home planet for at least two millennia. Most intriguing. The differences are subtle but noticeable. This particular sequence here should not be found in any contemporary Vulcan DNA."

Malcolm took the PADD from him and quickly ran a scanner over it, just in case Soong had in any way tampered with it. When he was satisfied that it wasn't going to blow up T'Pol, he handed it to her. He watched her study it for a moment.

She nodded towards Malcolm.

"Not very talkative, your colleague, isn't she?" Soong remarked.

"We aren't here to talk, Doctor, at least not unnecessarily much," Malcolm rebuffed his provocation. "Do these minute differences you spoke of hint at any changes in anatomy, outward appearance or environmental adaptions?"

"I cannot tell you much about the appearance. They will be minimal, but two of the sequences I found are common in species with bony facial ridges. You'll find them in Denobulans for instance. However, whoever this DNA belongs to is adapted to a lower gravity, higher humidity and higher oxygen content. I found several strains that are not too dissimilar from human DNA."

"Thank you, Doctor," Malcolm said. "For once you have genuinely done something for the good of humanity."

"Would humanity's gratefulness perhaps extend as far as to making my life a bit, let's say, productive," Soong bartered.

"I cannot promise you too much, but having seen your willingness to support us in a time of crisis, I'm sure we can make some concessions regarding improvements to your record keeping, and perhaps even occasional access to equipment should you be willing to accept input into your work, ideas or questions."

"It's not like I have too many better things to do," Soong answered with one of his theatrical sighs.

-=/\=-

"So, which one did you use, limey? Gonzalez, Hernandoa, Mendoza-Urribe?"

"The latter," Malcolm admitted as he shook Falkner's hand. "I hope you're not too mad that I dragged you back into it?"

They were looking across the river, sitting on the river bank. To anyone who bothered to look they were just two middle-aged fat blokes, fishing and having a beer together. Here in a small town at the arse-end of Germany nobody would be looking for two operatives.

"Don't worry, can't let you have all the fun."

"So what did you find out?" Malcolm asked and took a swig from his beer. "We have a hunch that the Starfleet mole is pretty high up in the food-chain, in fact my money is on Hieram Black."

"The Germans are still best at making this stuff," his companion said, looking at the label of the bottle before answering. "You money is well invested, limey. It is the right dishonorable Admiral Black."

"Once we knew that Turnbull is the Big Cheese, it wasn't so hard to guess. Before the reshuffle after Forest's death washed him up at Starfleet Security, Black was in charge of BuShips and that means he was the one who outsourced the Warp 7 program to Turbull's consortium."

"And all that under Harris's nose," Falkner said and belched. Malcolm immediately understood that someone was passing by somewhere and they had to stop talking for a moment. He shifted his sitting position, lest it became too obvious that his impressive beer gut was actually a fat suit.

"We need to get rid of that idiot," Malcolm said angrily after the passer-by was finally out of earshot. "He's as useless as a concrete parachute, unless he can solve the problem by just killing someone. Hell, Falks, you should take his place. We're heading into a war and we can't afford to have that numb-skull in charge of intelligence."

"But isn't that what you're planning right now? Just offing a few people? I doubt you can arrest Black without causing a huge scandal."

Malcolm shook his head. "We're going to have most of them arrested, except for the Top three. But I don't want to just kill them and bugger off, like Harris would have done it."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Turnbull has no close family. They all lived in Florida when the Xindi attacked. No points for guessing why he co-founded Terra Prime with Paxton. He must have taken over after Paxton was arrested. Hoshi did a deep search. He has registered his will with a notary in Tallahassee. We'll 'misplace' that thing and with no close relatives to inherit it, the whole kit and kaboodle will go to the government. That way we can bring the Warp 7 project back under Starfleet control."

"Reminds me of the olden days. I like your thinking, man," Falkner replied and Malcolm could hear the honesty in Falks words. "How is the fabulous Ms Sato? Or is she Mrs Reed by now?"

"You know?" Malcolm asked, surprised. Falks seemed to be better than he thought.

"Just using my instincts. You look like someone who's well catered for in certain areas and there are only two women on that ship whom you would give the time of day. T'Pol is spoken for and the only other woman who shares your interest in weapons is Hoshi."

"I'm quite transparent for an operative, aren't I," Malcolm remarked dryly and hid his momentary abashment by emptying his bottle.

"Only to someone who's been through hell and back with you a few times too often," Falks said with a sarcastic chuckle.

"Have you got anything on the number 3? From what we got on the chip, we could tell he must be a hacker type, but that's about it."

Malcolm saw Falkner check the surroundings, before taking the data chip that Falkner offered him.

"The guy is Russian, Juriy Terentiev. Officially an entrepreneur, but in reality he seems to live off the money from Turnbull. Hell of a hacker, but completely off his face on Vodka most of the time. The old Samogon trick should do nicely."

"Thanks, Falks. Can you keep tabs on Black for us. Something tells me he'll do a runner when Turnbull has his little accident tomorrow."

"Will do. We should go back now, I'm starting to sweat like a pig under that damn fat suit."

-=/\=-

"Damn, I'm sure happy to be out of that thing," Malcolm complained after getting rid of the fat suit. "I'll be upstairs taking a shower before I cause T'Pol to faint. I'm smelling a bit ripe right now."

"T'Pol isn't here right now, but it's probably for the best," Hoshi said and chuckled, staying behind to finish her work with Trip after Malcolm had left.

"By the way, Hoshi, if you and Malcolm get frisky again, you might wanna close the window next time. T'Pol does have a very sensitive hearing, if you remember."

Hoshi gasped, and swatted Trip on the back when he started laughing about her predicament.

"It did peak her 'scientific interest' though," Trip needled her further, still snickering. "Didn't know you was the kinky type."

"Stop it Trip, please, I'm embarrassed enough."

-=/\=-

Whitehorse, Turnbull Industrial Complex, Feb. 20th 2155

Malcolm was tense. He didn't actually have much reason to doubt Trip's abilities, after all he was a senior Starfleet officer with four years of experience and a lot of talent to get himself out of tight spots.

Except deserts, he added in his mind.

Trying to tamper with a car near a large car park was a job for a trained operative, and that was something Trip was definitely not. And even worse, T'Pol would probably have his hide if he didn't bring back her husband in mint condition.

Things weren't helped by the fact that this was winter, so any movement inevitably left tracks in the snow, which meant they had to move along the paths that had been trodden by many employees during the day - not the easiest way to stay out of the range of security cameras, and the 'cheat device' that Hoshi and T'Pol had conjured up did only work over a short range.

What it did was taking a still picture and then remotely overwriting the data stream of a nearby camera with it. That gave them time to trick it for a few seconds, hopefully enough to sneak by without being caught and documented on CCTV footage.

"Done, Mal. Let's get outta here," Trip said and crawled up from beneath the vehicle. Thankfully the heat after its arrival had melted the snow below it, else even a half-blind copper would have seen that someone had slid below it. Funny, how even in the age of fusion engines humanity had still not managed to avoid wasting energy by excess heat.

Malcolm held him back as Trip was obviously a bit too hasty to get away from here. It was a common mistake among junior operatives. Even after successfully carrying out a sabotage act, and elated by not having been caught, they often tended to make too much haste on escape, inevitably mucked it up, and were found out.

They had to get out as carefully, if not more, as they had come in.

-=/\=-

Falkner flicked on the view screen to watch the latest news bulletin and opened a beer. Just in time by the look of it...

Whitehorse.

Richard Manfred Turnbull, founder and CEO of Turnbull Industries has been fatally injured in a car accident. According to preliminary reports by the authorities no other cars have been involved and the tragedy is attributed to a technical malfunction of the car's technically advanced fusion reactor engine that was debuted with this production series. He was piloting a ground car manufactured by his own company and as our data team has found, this is the third such malfunction on the same type of car,reported within the last twelve months.

The Vice-CEO of the company has meanwhile released an immediate emergency recall of all ground cars of the types TBR 2000 and TB-CS 450. The United Earth Government has ordered an immediate inquiry into the company's quality assurance management.

"Excellent job, limey," Falkner mumbled to himself. "You definitely still know how to get a job done well and proper."

He raised his bottle in a toast to the view screen and relaxed. One down, two to go.