by Dave Stern
“Okay,” she said.
Green turned back to the console. “You are aware that her ship—the Lokune—was attacked by the Antianna?”
“Yes.”
“Have you heard details regarding that attack?”
“Some. Not all.”
“No one has all of them. We do know that the vessel was bound for Andoria, that it was traveling through a region of space where several attacks had occurred previously—against the express advice of the Confederacy, I might add—and that they engaged with an Antianna vessel. Exactly what happened then is unclear, but shortly afterward…a H’ratoi patrol vessel discovered the wreckage—the remnants—of the Lokune. No survivors were found.”
“No survivors? I don’t understand.” Hoshi frowned. “What about Theera?”
“Four days afterward,” Green continued, “a convoy of Conani destroyers came upon an Antianna ship. Life signs—Andorian life signs—were detected aboard that vessel. It was decided to attempt a rescue, and after a series of battles stretching across the sector, the Antianna ship was disabled. The Conani prepared a boarding party, and—after considerable difficulty, I might add—established transporter lock on the Andorians. Before the operation could be completed, the Antianna vessel self-destructed. Only a single Andorian was rescued.”
“Theera,” Hoshi said.
Green nodded. “This is a recording of that rescue.”
She pressed a single control on the console. The display screen came to life once more.
Hoshi was looking at a high-ceilinged, dimly lit room. A raised platform at one end of it. A transporter platform. Two Conani in full body armor flanked it, two others stood nearby, all with weapons at the ready. A column of energy appeared, a beam of sparkling light that began to coalesce almost at once. Theera. A naked and obviously terrified Theera, who as she finished materializing collapsed on the platform, looking up at her rescuers in disbelief and shock.
She began screaming—a single word, over and over again.
Antianna.
The Conani warriors closed around her.
The screen went dark.
Green cleared her throat.
“Clearly,” the Elder said, “a highly traumatic experience.”
That’s putting it mildly, Hoshi thought.
Green continued speaking. “Data was recovered from the wreckage of the Andorian vessel indicating that before its destruction, a single code group was transmitted to the alien ship. A rough transliteration of that code group is the word ‘Antianna.’”
“Theera sent that code group.”
“Precisely. It is our hypothesis that it represents the name of the species.”
“She doesn’t remember sending it.”
“No.” Green shook her head. “As I said, Technician Theera recalls very little of the work she completed before the attack—and even less of her imprisonment by the aliens.”
“Ah.” Hoshi was beginning to understand now. What further information the Mediators wanted from Theera; her reluctance to speak of the incident at all.
One thing, however, still wasn’t clear to her.
“So what is it, exactly, you want from me? I get the feeling I’m not here because of my linguistic skills.”
“In part, you are correct,” Green replied. “We are hoping you will prove to be a more sympathetic confessor than we have been.”
“Confessor.” Hoshi frowned. “To who?”
“Theera.”
“Theera? She’s on her way to Andoria—isn’t she?”
“No. Technician Theera is here. Assigned to S-12 by the order of Ambassador Quirsh.”
Hoshi recalled the scene she’d witnessed at the party: General Jaedez and Quirsh talking, Theera standing by, looking anxious.
“I don’t suppose she’s too happy about being here.”
“You are correct.”
And no doubt that unhappiness was playing a role—at least partially—in her refusal to talk to the Mediators. Hoshi shrugged. “All right. I’ll talk to her. Though I still don’t understand why you think I’ll do any better than you have.”
“I have confidence,” Green said. “As I told you, I’ve been reviewing your record. Your own experiences. Your empathic skills.”
“The Huantamos,” Hoshi said. “Yes. You said that.”
“No,” Green said. “Not the Huantamos. The—am I pronouncing it correctly—Zindi?”
Hoshi’s heart thudded in her chest.
She pictured a small, dark, dank cell.
Her forehead ached with remembered pain.
“No,” she said, after a moment. “That’s—Xindi is right.”
The Kanthropian nodded. “Would you not agree that the two experiences are similar?”
She pictured the reptilian commander looming over her.
The launch codes. Give them to us.
She pictured Theera, screaming.
Antianna. Antianna.
“Yes,” she told Elder Green. “I suppose they are.”
“So you will talk to her?”
Hoshi nodded. “Whenever you want.”
“Good.”
She pressed a button on the console, and almost at once, Younger Emmen appeared in the doorway.
“Please take Ensign Sato to the Andorian’s quarters.”
Emmen bowed in acknowledgment. “This way, please.”
“I’d like to get set in my own quarters first, get my kit from the analysis chamber,” Hoshi said. “If that would be all right.”
A smile flashed across Green’s face for an instant, and then was gone, just as quickly as it had come.
“That will not be a problem,” the Elder said. “As the two are one and the same.”
Hoshi frowned. “We’re sharing quarters.”
“Yes.”
“Ah.”
“Is that a problem?” Green asked.
“No,” Hoshi said. “No problem at all.”
Sixteen
At the door to Room J-21—Theera’s quarters, about to be hers as well—Hoshi paused a moment.
She tried to remember what she had felt like after being rescued from the reptilian ship, after returning to Enterprise. Numb, mostly. There had been no time to reflect on her experience, not right away, not with so much else going on—it had been a week, at least, before she’d had a chance to really absorb what had been done to her. How she’d been violated. There was the anger, and the revulsion associated with that violation, and then there was the fear that when they drilled into her brain, the Xindi had done some kind of permanent damage. Theera had to be feeling all the same things—and more, even. After all, she was now aboard a ship deliberately seeking out the very race that had kidnapped her. It would be, Hoshi thought, like her going back into the Expanse and looking for the reptilians.
Theera had to be scared. And maybe there were things about those four days she’d spent aboard the Antianna vessel that she was repressing—either deliberately or involuntarily. She’d have to work her way into the Andorian’s confidence before finding out what they were, though. And she had to do it quickly—it was, as Elder Green had pointed out to her, a matter of life and death.
There was a touchpad to the side of the entrance. Hoshi pressed it, and the door slid open.
The room was small—half the size of her quarters back on Enterprise, shaped like a flattened capital “T.” Each of the letter’s arms held a bunk and storage shelves. Directly in front of her was a terminal, a workstation.
In front of it sat Theera.
At the sound of the door opening, the Andorian spun around in the chair. Her eyes widened in surprise. There was a picture on the terminal behind her—an Andorian male. Theera punched a button and the screen went to black.
“Ensign Sato.”
“Theera. I’m sorry,” Hoshi said, nodding toward the screen. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It is a recorded message. I was simply reviewing it.” The Andorian got to her feet. “What are you doing
here?”
“I’ve been assigned to these quarters.”
“What?”
Hoshi took a step into the room. “I’ve been assigned to these quarters,” she repeated. “It seems like we’re going to be roommates.”
“There must be some mistake. I told the Kanthropians I did not want to share quarters.”
“Maybe they had no choice,” Hoshi said. “Maybe the ship got too crowded.”
“No one has come aboard save yourself that I am aware of.” The Andorian frowned.
Hoshi chose to ignore that frown and take another step in the room. The bedclothes on the bunk to her right were rumpled. The one to her left looked fresh.
“Okay if I…” she asked, gesturing toward the empty bunk.
Without waiting for an answer, Hoshi put her kit down on the bed, opened it, and started to unpack.
“So how long have you been here—on S-12?” she asked.
Theera took a moment before answering.
“A week. Almost immediately after the bombing on Procyron.” She paused a moment. “I heard about your captain. My sympathies.”
“Thank you.” Hoshi pulled out the spare set of clothes she’d brought, and her data viewer, and put them on the shelf. “It’s still…sinking in, I guess.”
“I am glad to see that you have recovered, at least.”
“Good as new.” Hoshi folded her kit and stowed that too. She turned to face Theera.
“So I guess you didn’t make the trip back to Andoria after all.”
“No. I was ordered here, to provide the Mediators with whatever assistance I could.”
“Ambassador Quirsh’s orders, I take it.”
“Quirsh’s, and the Imperial Council’s.”
“You don’t sound too happy about that.”
“I serve the Empire.”
“Yes,” Hoshi said. “I’ve read about some of your work. The Universal Translator project. I was very impressed. Your thinking parallels…”
“That was a long time ago,” Theera interrupted. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get some sleep. I have an early shift in the analysis chamber tomorrow.”
“Oh. Of course.” So much for working her way into the Andorian’s confidence tonight. Hoshi glanced around the room. “Should I turn down some of the lights, or—”
“No need.” Theera stepped back to her bunk, and Hoshi saw there was a touchpad on the wall above it as well. The Andorian pressed a button on the pad, and a wall of polarized light came to life, a blue curtain of light that cut off her side of the room entirely. The high-tech equivalent of a privacy screen.
The screen vanished. Theera reappeared, still standing next to the bed.
“The force-screen blocks out sound as well as light. You are free to utilize the room as you wish. It will not bother me at all.”
“Okay,” Hoshi said. “Good…”
Night, she was about to finish, but the privacy curtain was already back up.
So much for breaking the ice, she thought, and sat down on her bunk. What now? Report back to Elder Green, mission unaccomplished? Contact Enterprise, and try and obtain a lift back home?
She kicked off her boots and lay back.
It had been a long day, she realized. Twenty hours or so since she’d gotten up early to meet Carstairs for breakfast, and what was more, for the last twelve or so, she hadn’t eaten a thing. She wondered when and where meals were served aboard S-12, if there was a mess hall on the ship, or…
Her gaze wandered over to the workstation. She could probably find the information on that. She got up and sat down in front of it.
The machine used a standard command interface, unlike the ones in the analysis chamber; Hoshi quickly found a map of the ship, and saw that indeed, there was a mess hall—two of them, in fact, one on this deck, one right next to the analyis chamber. Looked easy enough to find. Grab a midnight snack—or rather, a twenty-two hundred hours snack—come back here, and get to sleep herself. If Theera was on the early shift, she probably was too; Elder Green would have her stick as close to the Andorian as possible. She wondered how early early was for the Kanthropians. She wondered if, on really her first full day back on the job, she’d have enough energy to get up then. She’d have to find it, she decided.
What was it Captain Archer always used to say? A little hard work never hurt anyone.
She supposed a couple more early days wouldn’t kill her. Especially with some food in her.
She was about to log off when she saw a little status bar at the bottom of the screen. It read:
Message Standby
“Message?” she said out loud, wondering what that meant.
All at once, the screen filled with the words:
Message 3 of 6. Active.
Playing Resumed.
which then disappeared, and were replaced with the image of the Andorian male Hoshi had seen before. This was Theera’s message, Hoshi realized instantly. The one she’d interrupted playback of.
The man started talking.
“…understand you at all anymore, R’shee,” he said. “You don’t seem like the same person.”
He wore the uniform of an Andorian soldier, with markings on it that made Hoshi think he was an officer of some kind.
He took a deep breath, and leaned forward in his chair, leaned closer to the viewer.
“Why haven’t you responded to my last few messages? Have I offended you in some way? Please tell me. Please talk to me.” He spoke in a calm, almost matter-of-fact tone that belied his words—but the depth of emotion he felt was plain to see in his eyes. “Remember the plans we had made? I still—”
Enough, Hoshi thought. This was none of her business.
“Stop,” she said out loud, and the terminal went to black.
It seemed as if she wasn’t the only one having a hard time getting through to Theera.
It seemed as if the task Elder Green had laid before her was going to be even more difficult than she’d thought at first.
Seventeen
For what seemed to him like the hundredth time already this morning, the warning light on Travis’s console flashed red.
“Ensign!” Captain Tucker said at the same instant, and Travis could hear him coming down the steps from the engineering station, where he had spent most of the last few hours, to the growing resentment of Lieutenant Hess, who had ideas of her own regarding the proper way to run the engines, and the engine room, and its personnel. Although Travis only knew that from overhearing her rant at breakfast, as far as he could tell she hadn’t told Commander Tucker anything at all regarding her opinions. Though no one had really been able to tell him much of anything lately, except of course Admiral McCormick, who was continually sharing with Trip and whatever bridge crew was present the absolute overriding necessity of reaching Barcana Six by 1200 hours tomorrow (“Push the engines,” McCormick told them). In order that the Tellarite vice-ambassador, who along with Enterprise’s crew was going to be the single most important attendee at the peace conference, for reasons Travis had yet to hear fully laid out, could arrive on schedule, and in style.
Of course, what McCormick didn’t take into consideration was the fact that the direct route back to Barcana took them perilously close to the space the Antianna were claiming, so they were going the long way round, which meant dealing with certain obstacles the more traveled corridors did not present. The occasional nebula. A convoy of ill-tempered Rigelian spice merchants. The Maldeev Meteor Cloud, which now loomed on the viewscreen before them, though in his opinion it should have been called the Maldeev Asteroid Belt, because the meteors in it were the size of small planetoids. Moons, actually, on the scale of Deimos, sometimes bigger.
Like the one that had just whizzed past, and set the proximity alarm off.
“How close was that?” Trip asked.
“Ninety-nine point six-seven meters,” Travis replied.
“One hundred meters.” Trip rolled his eyes. “Didn’t we plot the
course so we wouldn’t come within a thousand?”
“The orbits of objects in an asteroid field such as this one are inherently unstable,” T’Pol said, looking up from her own station.
“So one could hit us at any time?”
T’Pol nodded. “It is a distinct possibility.”
“Won’t happen.”
Everyone turned to face the back of the bridge, where Malcolm stood at the weapons console.
“Why won’t it happen?” Trip asked.
“Laser cannons are on-line. Anything gets too close…”
The edges of a smile—a nasty little smile—played along Reed’s lips.
“Don’t fire on anything without my orders, all right?” Travis peeked over his shoulder and saw Trip running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to draw power from the engines right now. Things are messed up enough down there as it is.”
At the engineering station, Hess gritted her teeth.
Malcolm frowned.
“Of course I wouldn’t fire without your orders.”
“Lieutenant Reed, are you trying to push my…”
T’Pol, over at the science station, looked up and said, “Captain Tucker, could I speak with you a moment—perhaps in your ready room?”
The two of them exchanged a significant glance. Trip sighed, and got to his feet.
“Come on.” He started for the ready room. T’Pol followed.
Travis had no doubt that she was going to give him another lecture on his command style. Travis had accidentally overheard one of those (at least part of one) last night, on his way back from sickbay, when he’d wandered into the mess and come on the two of them, T’Pol and Captain Tucker, almost shouting at each other. They’d fallen silent on his entrance, and invited him over to chat, but not before he’d heard enough (“In my opinion, you are micromanaging the crew.” “I don’t micromanage.” “You never did before, I agree, but now…”) to get the gist of the conversation.
“Ensign.”
Travis looked up. Malcolm stood over him.
“Something occurred to me this morning, regarding your mission.”
“My mission.”
“Your attempts to recover Horizon’s money?”
