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From Alpha 1, hope for the best
 
Written by : Kylie Lee
Translated by : Laurent
Original published 10 March 2006
French version published 27 April 2007
 
            From Alpha 1, hope for the best
 
"More?" Captain Jonathan Archer held aloft the bottle of Orion liquor, which had been a recent gift from an enemy. "Last time I had a drink with this, it was with Captain Hendry of the Tasman. Turns out he was playing me." He poured some of the heavy gray liquid into his glass.
"Thank you. I find the flavor...intriguing." Ambassador Soval pushed his glass over, and Archer topped it off.
"Captain Hendry made a toast I'd like to repeat." Archer held up his glass, and Soval, along with the others at the table—Commander T'Pol and Commander Trip Tucker—did likewise. "To Starfleet—may they always be on hand when you need them." The toast seemed appropriate to him for their current mission: they were there to participate in formal talks to form a trade alliance between Earth, Vulcan, Alpha Centauri, Andoria, and Tellar. Enterprise carried the Earth and Vulcan delegates.
"To Starfleet," Tucker echoed, taking a sip. Archer grinned at him as Tucker's eyes watered. "Man, that stuff is strong," he croaked, sitting back in his chair to permit a discreet ensign to remove his dessert plate. "Coffee?" he asked the ensign hopefully. He declined Archer's tacit offer of more liquor.
"Coming right up, sir," the ensign said.
"I'm putting in a few more hours after dinner," Tucker told the table at large, rubbing his temple. To Archer's eyes, Tucker looked exhausted and drawn. "I have to say, getting everything shipshape for the Centauris is taking longer than I'd like. I've been corresponding with an engineer, Rao Maas."
"Of course," Soval said, nodding. "Starfleet approved Doctor Maas's request for delivery of the specs for the warp 5 engine."
"And I want our engines to be ready for inspection," Tucker said. "The technology is on its way to being—well, obsolete isn't the right word, but it's just not cutting edge any more. But this Doctor Maas is definitely a perfectionist. I can already tell I'm going to have to justify every single modification I've made."
"Our ETA is still tomorrow morning," Archer said. "And I have to say, I hope this mission is quieter than the last few we've had. I've been on edge ever since the Romulans threw down the gauntlet. Look at what we've found out in the last few months." As he spoke, Archer ticked off on his fingers the list of recent disasters and near-disasters. "The evidence points to them testing both conventional and biological weapons. They planted a spy in a Vulcan delegation that we picked up on the way to Starbase 1. They killed and then impersonated a Starfleet admiral. They seem very...motivated to stop our expansionist activities." There was an ironic stress on the last two words. Clearly the mysterious Romulans, whom they had never even seen, viewed humanity as a threat. They'd done everything possible to try to sow discord. It rankled Archer that they were always one step ahead. Starfleet intelligence had learned nothing of these plots until it was too late.
"Yet the alliances we've built are holding," T'Pol interposed. "The Andorians have become staunch allies. I believe that is the result of your personal relationship with Commander Shran. Andoria listens to his voice."
"Speaking of Shran," Tucker said. "I assume that we're going to run into your blue-skinned friend at the talks."
Soval accepted a cup of coffee from the ensign with a nod of thanks. "I received the final list of delegates to the trade talks today. The suddenness with which they were scheduled meant that the delegates had to be within a few days' travel of the site. Captain, I will send you the list shortly." He turned to Tucker. "Mr. Tucker, you are correct. Commander Shran is the delegate for Andoria. And in what I believe is a first for Andoria, the Aenar are to be represented as well. He brings his ship's namesake."
"Jhamel?" Archer said in surprise. He remembered the beautiful blind woman, with her long, elaborately braided white hair, who had risked her life to save them a little more than a year ago. Last time he'd seen Shran, he'd been intrigued when Shran had hinted that Jhamel might become his life mate. He said now what he hadn't said to Shran at the time: "Isn't she kind of...young?"
"The Aenar do not often go offworld," T'Pol reminded him. "Jhamel is unusual in that she has already traveled the stars. Such an experience qualifies her uniquely, as does her previous relationship with you, Captain. And I will remind you that youth and competence are not mutually exclusive." She exchanged a look with Soval, and Archer realized she had made a Vulcan joke at her own expense. To Soval, who had been the Vulcan ambassador to Earth for as long as Archer could remember, T'Pol probably seemed absurdly young for her position.
Soval said, "Including the Aenar in such matters is a watershed moment for Andoria and their mode of rule. Vulcan watches with interest." He set his coffee cup down. "On that note, I must retire."
"We've seen too little of you, Ambassador," T'Pol said, rising as well. "Perhaps you would care to join me for meditation tomorrow morning. I begin at 0500 hours."
Soval inclined his head. "That is acceptable. And a request, Commander. If you could wear formal Vulcan robes while on Alpha Centauri. I believe such a traditional display will cement the Centauris' confidence in the ability of Vulcans and humans to work together. If you don't object, Captain."
"No, that's fine," Archer said.
"Of course," T'Pol agreed.
"Tomorrow, then. Captain. Commander."
"Is he all right?" Tucker asked after the door had slid shut behind the ambassador's trailing robes. "He's been keeping to himself. This is the first I've seen him all week."
"I have noticed nothing amiss," T'Pol said. "I cannot say the same for you, Commander. Are your headaches continuing?"
Tucker took a big sip of coffee and stood up. "Yeah," he admitted. "It's like I can't see out of my right eye, but I can, if you know what I mean."
"Headaches?" Archer asked, because this was the first he'd heard of it. "Have you seen Doctor Phlox?"
"Twice." Tucker gulped the last of his coffee. "I'm hoping the caffeine will help." He indicated the cup. "Whatever drugs Phlox is giving me, they don't seem to be doing the trick. T'Pol, maybe some neuropressure tonight?"
"Of course," T'Pol agreed. To Archer's eye, trained in the art of reading T'Pol's understated emotional responses, she seemed concerned, which in turn concerned him.
"If you've got Soval coming at 0500, you'd better come to my place," Tucker said. "Make it 2100 hours? Good." It was his turn to head for the door. "Thanks for dinner, Cap'n," he called over his shoulder.
"T'Pol," Archer said, stopping her from following Tucker out. When the door had closed, he said, "Can you make sure he goes to see Doctor Phlox for a full workup? He really looked terrible."
"Perhaps the neuropressure will help," T'Pol said, but she didn't sound convinced.
"You've tried it before and it hasn't worked?"
"That is correct." T'Pol clasped her hands behind her back. "I agree that a medical examination is in order, not simply a request for analgesics. I will see to it."
"Thanks." Archer got to his feet. "Big day tomorrow. I'm turning in early."
"Sleep well," T'Pol said.
 
*******
 
"The list of delegates to the trade agreement was very interesting," Hoshi Sato said, slicing into cantaloupe with a spoon. As the communications officer, she often was the first to know the news.
"Very interesting?" Travis Mayweather, the helmsman, repeated. "Quit toying with us, Hoshi." He slid his chair forward to let someone pass behind him. "Wow, the mess is sure crowded this morning." Everything was bustling now that they had arrived at Alpha Centauri.
"The list was posted late last night," Malcolm Reed said, lifting his eyes from a PADD as he reached for his mug of tea. The armory officer liked to multitask. "I saw that Commander Shran was on it."
"No surprise there," Mayweather said. "Hoshi? Come on. Name some names."
"Jhamel," Sato said.
"That is interesting," Mayweather admitted. He'd heard a rumor that Shran was in love with Jhamel, even though Shran, that hard-bitten space dog, was probably twice her age. The general consensus on the ship was that his love was somehow tragic and romantic.
"Two Denobulans, traveling with the Tellarites."
That got Reed's attention. "Denobulans?" he said, mug halfway to his lips. "I don't recall seeing them on the list of races that are negotiating. Earth, Vulcan, Andoria, Alpha Centauri, Tellar. Which seems like quite enough to me, particularly because the Andorians and the Tellarites despise each other."
"To that list, you can add the Denobulans..." Sato turned, eyes sparkling, and dropped the bombshell. "And the Boomers."
Mayweather, honestly stunned, set his fork down. "Boomers?" he said. "Why Boomers? We're a part of Earth. We don't have the ability or—or authority or whatever to negotiate like that."
"You have elected representatives at Assembly," Sato reminded him. "And you were there at the Starbase 1 opening ceremonies. The Boomer Alliance was represented. It's a political entity. Why wouldn't you be in on negotiations?"
"It makes sense, Travis." Reed pushed his PADD away so he could join in the conversation. "Think about it. The Boomers run cargo ships everywhere. Some of the more distant space stations are almost completely staffed by Boomers. If you want to talk shipping and trade, you want to talk to Boomers. It's not just routes. It's also who you know. And the Boomers know everybody."
"So who are they?" Mayweather asked, curiosity piqued. "Who are the delegates from the Boomer Alliance?"
Sato clearly had the entire list memorized. "Jacqueline Kearney and Elizabeth Franklin. Do you know them?"
Mayweather shook his head. "Nope. I've heard of Elizabeth Franklin. She used to be an athlete. She medaled in some kind of zero-g competition—handball, I think. She was pretty hot stuff when I was a kid. Famous and everything."
"Zero-g handball?" Reed shuddered. "That sounds dreadful." He sat up sharply. "Look who's here," he said, nodding at the entryway.
Mayweather twisted around, just in time to see Doctor Phlox, accompanied by a Denobulan couple, enter, the three of them laughing and chattering.
"Looks like they know each other," Mayweather observed.
"It's old home week," Sato murmured as the party headed toward their table.
"Ensign Sato," Doctor Phlox said jovially. "Just the person I wanted to see. And Mr. Mayweather and Mr. Reed. May I present my first wife, Alora, mother of two of my children, and her second husband, Card."
"Nice to meet you," Mayweather said, trying not to stare. He'd met one of Phlox's wives before—his second wife, Feezal—but this was the first time he'd met a husband. He didn't really understand Denobulan marriage, but the customs seemed far more...relaxed than what he was used to. He did know that Phlox had three wives, and each of his wives had two other husbands. It looked as though Phlox had an eye for aesthetics: Alora was Feezal's equal in beauty. "Hoshi was just mentioning that there were Denobulan delegates."
"Oh, yes," Alora said, smiling. "That's us, I'm afraid. Denobula Triaxa is quite close to Tellar geographically, of course, and we thought we'd better work with our neighbors if they were going off to make alliances with new people." She beamed at Mayweather.
Card, who seemed somewhat younger than Phlox and had long, dark hair, said, "We were nearby working on a research project, and Denobula Triaxa leadership thought it should send us, because Phlox was here. So we caught a ride with the Tellarites, and here we are!"
"So it's no coincidence," Reed said blandly.
"Ah, there's no such thing as coincidence!" Card said, unwittingly echoing what Mayweather knew were Reed's sentiments. Mayweather and Sato shared a brief, amused look. "But I speak too hastily. In such a rich and diverse universe, one is bound to experience coincidence. But, as you imply, not in this case."
Phlox cut in. "I'm giving Alora and Card a little tour. They came on board just an hour or so after we established orbit around Alpha Centauri. We've been up all night catching up. And Hoshi, I particularly wanted you to meet Card, because he is an expert in languages."
"No, no, no!" Card cried, then immediately backtracked. "Well, yes. Yes, I am, rather, I suppose." Mayweather suppressed a smile. Card seemed much like Phlox, only more so. "I am so eager to hear of your work with the aquatic Xindi. The language of an underwater people! Very exciting. Phlox was no help, no help whatsoever. He was entirely unable to answer any of my questions." Card shook his head sadly.
"I'd be delighted." Sato perked up. "In fact, I have some recordings you'd probably find very interesting. Maybe over lunch today? I think we get a two-hour break. And of course Alora and Doctor Phlox should join us."
"I believe Phlox and I will be doing our own catching up," Alora said, which made Card laugh, Sato blush, and Mayweather and Reed exchange meaningful glances. "What? Did I say something wrong?" Phlox leaned in and whispered something to her as she said, "But the three of us already—oh." She smiled at the table, clearly not in the least contrite. "I didn't mean to embarrass anyone. Phlox, my dear, do continue to let me know if I do anything inappropriate."
"How long has it been since you've seen Doctor Phlox?" Mayweather asked.
"Oh! Not long. Not long at all," Card said. "Sixteen years?"
"Yes, that seems right," Alora agreed. "Sixteen years."
Mayweather blinked. Sixteen years seemed like a long time to him. Not for the first time, he wondered how old Phlox was.
"I think we should get some breakfast," Phlox said. "I have a patient at 0900 and I mustn't be late. Card, Alora, you must try eggs. Delicious!"
"We'll save you seats," Sato offered, and Card said, "Oh, good! Most kind."
Mayweather watched the three Denobulans as they made their way to the food. "I think they'd make terrible negotiators," he told Reed. "They say exactly what they're thinking."
"More people should try that strategy," Reed said drily. "It has much to commend it. It certainly would make my job easier."
 
********
 
Tucker flinched as Phlox leaned in, deploying an instrument to peer in Tucker's ears. "It's my head that hurts, not my ears," he protested. "Ow! That's cold."
Phlox made a little humming noise, completely unmoved. "Just being thorough, Mr. Tucker."
"Admit it. T'Pol put you up to this, didn't she?" Tucker demanded when Phlox set the instrument down and entered some notes on his console.
"Of course she did." Phlox indicated the whole-body scanner. "That's next. A brain scan."
"For a headache," Tucker grumped, sliding off the biobed.
"For a headache," Phlox agreed. "T'Pol is quite concerned about you."
"It's her job to be concerned about me." Tucker headed for the scanner, tugging at the short gown he wore in an attempt to cover his bare bottom. "She's the first officer. I'm a...a personnel concern."
"I'm confident it's a bit more than that." Phlox leaned over Tucker as Tucker sat down on the cold surface. "Lie back. Thank you. I know that the analgesics didn't work, or you wouldn't be here, but did you try neuropressure?"
Tucker nodded. "Yes. It's not like before, when I couldn't fall asleep." That had been a bad time. He'd had nightmares, too. "But my head pounds, and I feel kind of sick, especially from heights. That's new."
"Hmm," Phlox said noncommittally. "In you go."
"I've got to be in Engineering at 1000 hours!" Tucker called as the bed slowly slid into the imager. "I'm meeting Rao Maas! From Alpha Centauri! You know, the people we want to impress!"
Any response Phlox made was lost as the imager switched on. Tucker, who had been in the machine before, knew what to expect. Mostly he had to lie there quietly and not twitch, but it was hard. He still had a few things to do in Engineering before Doctor Maas arrived, and he fairly quivered with the desire to get down there. The machine emitted a loud hum as it worked. Tucker took a deep breath when he felt the bed slide back out. He knew only a few minutes had passed, but it felt like a lot more.
"That machine makes me all claustrophobic," he complained when the bed stopped moving. "Phlox?" he asked when there was no response. "Doc?" He rose to his elbows. "What?" he demanded when he saw Phlox staring at a readout above a bank of monitors.
"My, my," Phlox said. "Now, that is interesting."
"Interesting?" Tucker said, alarmed. "Can I get up?"
"It's particularly clear on contrast." Phlox punched a button, and one of the images zoomed out to fill the screen. "Mr. Tucker! What are you doing over there? Come and see the results. I think I've found the cause of your headache."
"What?" Tucker padded across the cold floor, once again holding his gown together in back. "That?" He indicated a faint cobalt-blue line. "That doesn't look natural."
"It's not. Memory engrams have been altered." Phlox leaned in, clearly fascinated. "Interesting."
Tucker blinked. "Are you saying my memory has been erased?"
"Yes, I am," Phlox said, his expression serious. "Just a very small portion. See the limit to the damage here?" He pointed, even as Tucker stared in horror at the screen.
"I don't remember my memory being erased," he said accusingly.
"Well, you wouldn't, would you?" Phlox pointed out.
Tucker deflated. Phlox had a point. "I guess not." He stared at the readout. "Can you figure out how long ago that happened?"
"Certainly. The degradation rate of memory engrams is a well-known constant." Phlox frowned. "From this, I'd say—hmmm—I'd say ten days ago." He leaned forward. "But wait." He manipulated the console, and the readouts flipped. Tucker stared, trying to keep up. To his headache had been added a sick feeling in his stomach. He didn't know what any of this meant. He didn't feel like his memory had been wiped. He ran through the events of the last few weeks frantically. Shouldn't there be missing time or something? Yet his memory seemed seamless. "Interesting."
"Please don't say that, Doc," Tucker begged.
"Hmmm? Oh, sorry." Phlox pointed. "I'd say that although the erasure occurred ten days ago, there are other anomalies, other traces, that simply don't make sense. Here, it's as though—as though memory were laid over memory, then stripped back. And yet here and here—it's not contiguous, as you can clearly see." Tucker nodded, even though he had no idea what Phlox was talking about. Phlox turned to face him. "Commander, what were you doing ten days ago?"
Tucker knew exactly where he'd been. "Sitting in the shuttlepod with Malcolm, waiting for our rendezvous with the Klingons," he said promptly, just as sickbay's intercom beeped.
"I think there may be more to that event than meets the eye," Phlox said, hitting the button. "Sickbay," he called into the intercom.
"Rao Maas is here for Commander Tucker," Crewman Feldman's voice said. She was covering for Sato while Sato was on Alpha Centauri with the negotiating team. The team, including Ambassador Soval and Commander T'Pol, had left at 0800.
"Please escort Doctor Maas to Commander Tucker's office in Engineering," Phlox said, with an inquiring look at Tucker, who nodded assent. "Mr. Tucker will meet her there. Sickbay out."
"Thanks, Doc," Tucker said. His excitement at meeting Rao Maas had completely dissipated. Instead, he had the urge to cancel, despite his days of frantic preparation. But now she was here, and it was too late.
"I'm making a report to Captain Archer and Commander T'Pol about this," Phlox said. "I'm afraid I don't know exactly what's been done to you, and the erasure is small and localized—it's so constrained that in my medical opinion, your memory hasn't been otherwise tampered with. In short, I don't view you as a current security risk."
Tucker smiled weakly. "Good."
"But as to what was done to you—we must get to the bottom of this. Memory engrams themselves do not contain data; they merely contain the encoding for it. It is the framework of the thing, not the thing itself." Phlox frowned. "I've made recordings of the anomaly, of course, so I don't require your presence to work on this little conundrum. But I'll want you back whenever you can spare the time." Phlox switched off the monitor. "Meanwhile, except for your headache, which should disappear on its own in another day or so, there's no physical reason for you not to continue your duties. Perhaps you and Doctor Maas would like me and Alora for lunch? Card is having lunch with Ensign Sato so they can talk shop. I don't believe you've met them yet—my family."
Tucker cleared his throat nervously. He'd met one of Phlox's wives before, and she had been very...friendly. "No, no, I haven't met them yet. Uh, I can't wait. But I don't know about lunch. I'll see how the tour goes."
Phlox beamed. "Of course. Well, I'm sure we'll be in the mess, if you want to find us. And when you can spare the time for more scans—they'll be staying on the Tellarite ship, where they booked passage, so you'll find them here with me, or me there with them." He sighed. "It does make me just the tiniest bit homesick, seeing them again! It's been too long since we've all been together." He clapped Tucker on the shoulder. "Be careful, and alert me if there is any change in your condition, even if it's slight."
Tucker headed for the cubicle where he'd left his uniform. "I'll do my best," he muttered, because his head was killing him, and fully a third of the tour would have to be done from a height.
It was going to be a long day.
 
********
 
"...And Alora, the Denobulan, Phlox's wife, calls the Tellarian delegate 'Raf.'" Sato giggled. "I mean, he is very impressive. Very, very impressive. Everyone else calls him by one of his seven titles, but not Alora."
"Terribly attractive, Alora, isn't she?" Reed mused. "Trip? What do you think?"
"Shut up, Malcolm," Tucker warned. Reed had come with them to dinner both out of courtesy and because the captain had decreed that Tucker had to have a security escort when he went off the ship until Phlox resolved the problems with their chief engineer's memories. Archer had felt that Tucker was a security risk, despite Phlox's medical opinion.
"One of Phlox's other wives once made a play for him," Sato explained to Rao Maas, a heavy-set woman with iron-gray hair who looked to be in her fifties. Tucker had taken to her right away, and Sato could see why. She was smart, direct, and funny. "Our culture is monogamous, and poor Trip didn't know what to do."
"I knew what to do," Trip protested. "I said thanks, but no thanks." He turned to the hovering waiter. "No, not you," he said hastily, stopping the waiter from leaving. "I'll have another one of these yellow drinks." He looked around the table, clearly wanting to change the subject. "So! Food on Alpha Centauri. Thoughts? Comments?" He waggled his eyebrows. "Seconds?"
"This is one of my favorite restaurants," Maas protested. "And it's not just me! It's on the Top Ten list for best restaurant in the city. It's in all the guidebooks. Would I steer you wrong, Trip?"
"You said you'd take full responsibility if we didn't like it," Tucker pointed out.
Maas grinned at him. "And so I will. But of course, as guests, you must be unfailingly polite. Obviously I can't lose."
"She's got you there, sir," Mayweather said. "Well, I think it's delicious. This—uh—haou is really tasty." He indicated the rice-and-bean dish they'd shared.
"That's the Centauri national dish," Maas said. "I make it with a little more green spice, but that's just me."
"Yes, when do we get an invitation to your place, for real home-cooked food?" Tucker asked.
Maas laughed. "Likely never," she said. "First, I'd have to clean my house. Such an occurrence is incredibly unlikely. Second, my husband does all the cooking these days. I haven't touched a pot in—oh, three years."
"Nice," Sato said approvingly, and the two women clinked glasses. "I have to say, Rao, I'm not getting much of a feel for the people, or sentiment about the trade deals. Is it getting much play here?" She took a sip of wine. Sato didn't mention that she'd monitored news feeds and had discovered that although Alpha Centauri was hosting the talks, popular sentiment, at least in the capital city, ran against it. She didn't understand everyone's mode of thinking: Alpha Centauri had been represented at the Starbase 1 opening ceremonies, as had each of the other races now present. They could agree to share the construction and use of a starbase, but apparently, they couldn't agree on anything else. Archer's dream of a unified group of people, which he'd spoken of during his remarks at Starbase 1's opening, was seeming less and less obtainable.
"Not that much play, no," Maas was saying, and Sato snapped back to the conversation. She smiled encouragingly, and Maas continued. "But I don't really pay much attention to politics. I think Centauri's close physical proximity to Earth, and your relative technological superiority, make us feel in your shadow. Earth's ties with Vulcan make us nervous, because they withhold so much information. With Vulcans, you're never sure where you stand, because you can't tell what they're thinking. Andorians are hot-headed—shoot first, ask questions later—and they don't get along with Tellarites. That's just a recipe for disaster. Denobulans—well, I guess we like the Denobulans."
Sato smiled. "Everybody likes the Denobulans."
Maas took a sip of water. She hadn't had any wine with dinner. "I'm far more interested in your warp 5 capabilities. Trip's tour today was fascinating. I was really intrigued to see the differences between the specs Starfleet provided and the practical adjustments that have been made."
"It's different in the field," Tucker agreed. "We've also had to modify Enterprise here and there, to get out of a scrape, or to gain some speed."
"I was more impressed by your superiors' desire for good relations." Maas spoke to the waiter, who had come by with Tucker's drink. "The check to me, please." She held up her hand at Sato's and Tucker's protests. "Please. It's my pleasure. It's wonderful to meet new friends."
"Thank you, Rao," Sato said sincerely. "I should run to the lavatory before we head back. Excuse me."
As she left, she heard Maas and Tucker launch into another detailed technical discussion. The two seemed to be kindred spirits, for all the differences in age, sex, and experience. "Sorry," she murmured in the local language as she forced her way through the packed bar on her way to the lavatory. "Excuse me. Sorry."
"Watch it," a man said sharply when she trod on his foot, and Sato looked up into his face.
"My error," she said, the Centauri apology falling from her lips automatically, even as a shock of recognition ran through her. She was sincerely glad that she, along with the rest of her crewmates at dinner, had worn civilian clothes.
It was Captain Hendry—the same Captain Hendry who'd given Captain Archer a bottle of Orion liquor; the same Hendry who'd lured Enterprise away on a bogus rescue mission while Tucker and Reed had made their rendezvous with, as it turned out, Klingons. And seated at the table with Captain Hendry were men and women who were clearly Boomers. She recognized the shoulder patch on a leather jacket tossed casually over a chair: at least one Boomer was from the Fortitude.
That was Jacqueline Kearney's ship—Kearney, one of the delegates for the Boomer Alliance.
Sato kept moving, her body language casual. She went to the lavatory as she'd intended, but her mind was on one thing: What was someone from Kearney's party doing with Hendry, a man who could obviously be bought?
She needed to talk to Reed right away.
 
********
 
The Centauris tended to the gray, Reed decided the morning of the second day of negotiations. That was the only way to describe them. Everyone he saw—although admittedly he hadn't seen much, just the complex where negotiations were held and a very limited part of the capital city—wore stark gray or black, generally a tunic over long pants. Both men and women wore their hair long, so from a distance, everyone looked alike. However, everyone was friendly, and the food was good—not just last night, at the restaurant Rao Maas had taken them to, but here at the negotiations.
"Another canapé, sir?" the waiter asked blandly, extending a tray.
"Mmm, thanks, yes." Reed picked up a cheesy something-or-other and surveyed the room as he bit into it. Along with all the other attaches and hangers-on, he stood in the huge foyer outside the room where the negotiations were taking place. The event was being broadcast onto large screens, but the sound had been turned down very low, so he had to pay attention in order to hear.
He'd quickly discovered that delegates liked to make long, dull, self-aggrandizing speeches, particularly the Andorians and the Tellarites. The short speech that Alora had made yesterday had put everyone else to shame, in his opinion. She'd said only, "The Denobulans want the ability to move freely and without restriction in space, and we want to trade with all of you. We think we have much to offer. And that's why we're here." That had been it. Now the introductions were over, and they were getting down to it. He thought he could get Sato, who was Archer's chief aide during the negotiations, to give him a quick rundown.
Reed was far more interested in security, although he had to admit that so far, it seemed very good—at least, it was good within the complex. Reed was still worried about the discovery that Trip Tucker's memories had been altered while they were aboard the Klingon ship. Reed had been checked over by Doctor Phlox, but that exam had turned up no evidence of tampering with his memories. Reed wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse. To that he added the information Sato had told him last night on the shuttle ride back up to Enterprise: she'd noticed Captain Hendry with Boomers, including someone from a delegate's ship. Sato had pointed out that Hendry probably accepted any job that came his way, whether it was on the up and up or not, so it could be completely innocent, but Reed didn't buy it. Something was up.
"The bacon ones are almost gone."
Reed looked up, surprised, then down at the tray of canapés. "I see that," he said politely. "Are you recommending them?"
The waiter's voice suddenly changed pitch and timbre. "I'm a fan of bacon," he said, cocking his head as only one person in the galaxy did, and Reed stiffened and cursed inwardly. "A big fan." The voice had gone back to its original tone, bland and polite, but Reed now knew who he was.
"Harris," Reed hissed.
"I can't believe you let a little change in hairstyle fool you," Harris said, still in his waiter voice. He'd dyed his hair blond and spiked it. He'd also altered his eye color. But it had been the change in his body posture and gesture that had caused Reed to overlook him. "We need to talk. I see you're alone. Keep it that way. Just through there." He indicated with his eyes. "In five minutes."
Harris sauntered off, and Reed watched in disbelief as he offered hors d'oeuvres to a few more people as he wound his way toward the kitchen. Reed left the foyer a minute or two later. He found a quiet spot in a corridor and flipped open his communicator. "Reed to T'Pol," he said. He couldn't contact Archer, because of course Archer was in negotiations.
"T'Pol here," came the answer.
"I just ran into an old friend," Reed said. Thinking she might be surrounded by others—he'd last seen her with the Vulcan attaches—he added, "We last saw him thirty-one days ago. He's requested a brief meeting with me, and of course I agreed."
"I understand," T'Pol said distantly. He'd been right. She wasn't alone. "Please check in when your conference is concluded. I am most interested to hear what he has to say."
"Confirmed. Reed out."
Reed pocketed his communicator and headed for the rendezvous point. He found Harris lounging against a pillar in an unused conference room. "How's Commander Tucker?" Harris asked without preamble.
Reed blinked and just managed to keep his face neutral. "Fine," he said. "You called in your favor, and you got it. I was with Commander Tucker when we ran into Klingons. Klingons like to shoot first and ask questions later. We were lucky to get out alive." He held Harris with his eyes. "I just don't understand why you sent us on that pointless little adventure. I assume you wanted to get rid of me and Trip, and you wanted to get rid of the Klingons, particularly Krell, and so you thought we'd take each other out. I'm so sorry to have disappointed you."
"Actually, Krell is a good friend of mine. We go way back. Ah! You look surprised."
Reed crossed his arms and glared, and Harris hurried on.
"The Klingons may all be bloodthirsty barbarians, but they do have an appreciation for people in my line of work. We've been able to help each other out here and there. It just so happens that Krell was helping me out."
Reed's mind raced. He'd thought the song and dance that Harris had fed them about stolen plans had been completely fabricated. Harris had told them that some plans to super-secret warp technology—warp technology no one aboard Enterprise had ever heard of—had been stolen, and Harris wanted to buy them back. Harris had wanted Tucker along on the drop because Tucker, as a warp engine expert, could vouch for the authenticity of the plans. Instead, surprised humans had met up with equally surprised Klingons, and the only common thread that linked the two was Harris. The Klingons had as much as admitted it. Now, Harris implied that the Klingons had been acting the whole time, and that Tucker and Reed had never been in any real danger.
And Commander Tucker's memories had been tampered with.
"You were very particular that Commander Tucker be there," Reed said slowly. "You called in the favor he owed you for what seems to me a spurious mission, quite wasting his talents. And you disappeared from Section 31 right afterwards. I don't suppose you'd care to enlighten me?"
"I thought you'd never ask," Harris said obligingly. "Perhaps you can cast your mind back. Remember Starbase 1? The disastrous opening ceremonies? Commander Tucker was held captive there for several days—alone." Reed nodded when Harris paused. Harris went on like he was speaking to a child. "He wasn't killed. He was given food and water. He was held in solitude, not interrogated."
"Yes," Reed said unwillingly.
"Didn't that strike you as...odd? Even inexplicable?"
Reed felt himself bristle. "Yes, of course."
"In fact, Commander Tucker's brain was implanted with certain...information. Now, I rather thought you'd find him more quickly, but no harm done, although it was a close call." Harris was alluding to the fact that the starbase had been sabotaged and nearly destroyed, along with everyone on it, including Tucker and Archer. Only T'Pol's quick work had saved it from being blown up. "I needed to transport that information to a certain party. And so I arranged for the Klingons to act as my go-between. I've worked with Fleet Admiral Krell in the past."
"I imagine you get on quite well with his targ," Reed murmured, and Harris laughed.
"I don't. I don't know anyone who does. Krell got the information for me. Your beam over to the Klingon ship took a bit longer than you remember. The information was extracted from Tucker while you were both held unconscious, and then you were awakened for your meeting with Krell. From your point of view, no time passed. And the intel is, even as we speak, speeding its way to its destination."
"Which is where?" Reed asked, although he knew that he wouldn't get an answer.
"Unimportant for the moment," Harris said dismissively. "But Commander Tucker is probably experiencing headaches and nausea—the result of the extraction procedure. It takes a week or so to kick in." He waved a hand. "But enough about Commander Tucker. If you say he's fine, then he's fine. On to—me. I regret to say that I'm no longer officially affiliated with Section 31."
Reed, still trying to piece together what Harris had said, was skeptical. "Really."
Harris sighed theatrically. "I know you don't believe it, Malcolm, but I am a patriot. A true patriot. When Section 31 ceased acting in the best interests of Earth and started involving itself on the wrong side of petty conflicts, all for the personal gain of the principals—my superiors, not to put too fine a point on it—it became clear that my goals were no longer congruent with theirs. I thought it best to depart before I lost my life."
Reed indicated the complex at large with a gesture. "Perhaps you can explain what you're doing here, then," he said. "A trade negotiation? Just the sort of get-together that the Romulans like to ruin. I've come to expect it, frankly. What's on the menu this time? Sabotage? An assassination? Perhaps a little bribery to ensure the breakup of any alliance?" He leaned in and lowered his voice. "Simply sowing the seeds of doubt by whispering in someone's ear?" Someone like Reed himself?
"I fear that the Romulans have a larger agenda," Harris said, dropping his urbane mask. His face was hard and more serious than Reed had ever seen it. "And I'm here to stop them. I feel confident I can count on your support. You see, they want to start an all-out war with Earth. They want to crush us once and for all."
To be continued
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