Nine

The captain had been swallowed up by a crowd of delegates, all anxious to talk to him. Hoshi had wandered off in search of the Andorian translator. Malcolm was going on and on about how well trained Sen’s bodyguards were (“Look at the coordination… the way they move-no wasted motion whatsoever. Remarkable”), but Travis, frankly, wasn’t paying all that much attention to any of it. He was too busy counting up the number of uniformed Thelasians he’d seen over the last hour or so, both inside (and outside) the Assembly. Dozens, at least. No, more like hundreds. Functionaries, escorts attached to each of the Assembly delegations, security personnel, maintenance workers… the Thelasian government was huge, obviously. The thought of how huge impressed him. Actually, “impressed” wasn’t the right word, “disheartened” was closer to the truth. Maybe even a little depressed. The task he’d set himself last night, the task that had been okayed by the captain this morning, before the shuttle launched, the task of wading his way through that bureaucracy to find Horizon’s money, suddenly seemed impossibly big.

“Now, how do they do that?” Malcolm asked, interrupting his train of thought, and Travis, even though he knew the question was rhetorical, followed Reed’s gaze to the front of the Assembly, where the last of Sen’s bodyguards were now beginning to exit, four at a time, two facing the left side of the hall, two the right, each pair marching in perfect lockstep with the other, while simultaneously scanning the crowd and keeping one hand on their weapons.

He had to admit it was an impressive sight. Unnaturally so, in fact.

“That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, all right,” Travis said.

Malcolm frowned at him. “The what?”

“They’re chipped.”

Travis looked around Malcolm to see who had spoken. He found himself staring at a very short, very pale, humanoid. Male or female, it was impossible to tell.

“Chipped?” Travis asked.

A second humanoid, identical to the first (a twin, perhaps?), leaned around that one and said again:

“Chipped.” The second humanoid pointed to the side of its head. “Neural implant. All the guards have to have them.”

“Have to be on the network at all times.”

“When they’re working.”

“Of course when they’re working.”

“And tall. They have to be tall, too.”

“Even when they’re not working.”

“Two point one two five meters. That’s tall.”

“Of course to us, anything above one-five is tall.”

Travis looked from one humanoid to the other, heard the opening bars of “We Welcome You to Munchkin-land” in his head, and tried hard not to laugh.

“I’m Lieutenant Malcolm Reed,” Malcolm said. “This is my shipmate, Ensign Travis Mayweather. We’re from…”

“Enterprise,” the first said. “Like your captain.”

“That’s right,” Reed said.

The first little alien closed its eyes. They stayed close for a beat; then it opened them again, and said: “Enterprise. Initial warp-five-capable vessel, developed by Starfleet, headquartered Sol system, Planet Three, Earth, Level-Four Technological Development, Dominant Culture: Anglo-Saxon. Operations head: Admiral Robert McCormick. Form of planetary government: Representative democracy. Current head…”

“How do you know all that?” Travis asked, guessing the answer the second he spoke, which the little alien confirmed by tapping the side of its head and saying, “Chipped. Networked.”

Travis and Malcolm exchanged glances.

“And who are you?” Reed asked. “What race…”

“Poz,” the first said, interrupting.

“Verkin,” said the other.

“We are Bynar.”

“Were. Not anymore.”

“Now we’re freelance.”

“Broke the network.”

“Hopped a transport.”

“Stowed away.”

“And here we are.”

The two looked inordinately pleased with themselves.

Malcolm held out his hand then. The two Bynar stared at it.

“It’s a human custom,” Reed said. “A way of greeting one another. Shaking hands.”

He showed them how to do it.

“Interesting,” Poz said.

“Poor hygienic practice,” Verkin said. “No worry for us-cross-species infection rates are minuscule-but among members of your own race…” The alien’s voice trailed off, and it shook its head. “Bad habit.”

Malcolm frowned.

“So these bodyguards,” Travis said. “They’re tied in to a network, so they’re all getting the same commands…”

“At the exact same instant,” Poz said.

“Makes sense, I suppose,” Reed said, frowning, clearly uncomfortable with the idea.

“Critical response situations demand instantaneous communication and informational clarity,” Poz said.

“Why waste time with words?” Verkin said.

“And the chip provides this communication?”

“Direct thought transmission.”

“And occasionally, more,” Verkin said.

“Unsubstantiated,” Poz said.

“The Straz case,” Verkin said.

The two glared at each other.

“More?” Travis asked. “What do you mean more?”

The two aliens continued to glare at each other.

“Hmmphhh,” Poz said.

“Hmmphhh,” Verkin concurred.

“There is conflicting evidence,” Poz went on. “However…”

“However,” Verkin nodded.

“Some believe the technology has been taken a step further. That there are now chips which, once implanted, allow not just for thought transmission but actual control of a subject’s movements.”

“Control?” Travis shuddered involuntarily. The idea of someone putting a chip in his head, taking charge of his movements…

“The concept is simple enough. The interface is extended deeper into the brain structures. The implant overrides conscious thought decision.”

“There are rumors,” Verkin said quietly, leaning forward, “that First Governor Sen has used the technique on some of his more recalcitrant political opponents. A form of punishment. The Separatists have made this charge on several occasions.”

“The Separatists.” Reed and Travis looked at each other. “Who are they?”

This time, it was Verkin who closed his eyes for a moment, accessing the network, and then opened them again.

” ‘Separatist.’ Commonly used terminology for members of an underground political movement that came to prominence over the last half-decade throughout the Thelasian Confederacy. Name arises from the core of their political belief system, that the Thelasian race must seek independence from the larger trade organization that at present governs all aspects of their lives, before the inevitable collapse of that organization threatens fundamental political stability.”

Inevitable collapse, Travis thought. Based on what T’Pol had told them, that sounded about right.

“Sen did not appreciate their point of view.”

“Not in the least.”

“He had the group outlawed.”

“And Straz…” Poz shook his head. “Terrible thing.”

“Straz?” Reed frowned. “Who’s Straz?”

“Their leader.”

“Former leader.”

“Made the mistake of criticizing Sen before the Trade Assembly. Taken to task in a private meeting with the governor.”

“Now a minor functionary in the Intelligence corps.”

“Very minor.”

“And a strong supporter of the governor’s.”

“Very strong.”

“Word to the wise,” Poz said, leaning closer. “Your captain should watch what he says.”

“Who he says it to.”

“Or he may end up the same way.”

Malcolm nodded. “I’ll take note of that.”

Hoshi fought her way through the crowd surrounding Captain Archer to the Andorians, who were all clustered together, arguing (what else?) among themselves and with every other delegate in speaking distance. All, that is, except Theera, who still stood apart from the others, looking completely detached from the proceedings.

Hoshi took a moment to study her before approaching.

She was tall for an Andorian-one hundred seventy centimeters, at a guess, and lean-sixty kilos at the most. Built like an athlete, Hoshi thought, a runner, except that she stood with a certain stiffness-like someone not really comfortable with her own body. Her skin was a dark, uniform shade of blue. Her hair was clipped short, to the nape of her neck. Her uniform looked brand-new- the dark brown coverall sharply creased, the black sash that ran from her left shoulder down to her waist spotlessly clean and shiny.

There was a scar on the brow ridge just above her left temple-vaguely circular in shape. Hoshi wondered if it was a souvenir of the alien attack. Correction, the Antianna attack. That put her in mind of the signal. Which of the fifty-seven pulses that she hadn’t been able to make heads or tails of Theera had managed to assign meaning to? Why was it a tentative translation? She had a lot of questions. Time to start getting some answers.

She cleared her throat.

“Ensign Sato. You desire something?”

Theera had spoken without turning. Hoshi was too surprised to respond for a second.

“Yes, I-how did you know my name?” she finally managed.

“The ambassador has briefed us on your starship. Your personnel.” Theera did turn to face Hoshi now. From this angle, the scar was practically invisible. “I assume you seek information about the translation.”

“You read my mind,” Hoshi said, offering a small smile.

“I did not.”

Theera’s expression didn’t change.

“No,” Hoshi said quickly. “You read my mind-that’s a saying we have. Humans. It just means that you’re exactly right. That’s what I was thinking.”

“Obviously,” Theera said, and then before Hoshi could respond, continued, “I suggest you speak with the mediators. They have all relevant data.”

“I plan to. But I was hoping that I could talk to you as well. I’m a little confused by what Governor Sen said. Has there been a translation or not?”

“The Mediators can answer that question better than I.”

“But it’s your work they’re building on.”

Theera shifted uncomfortably. “Yes.”

Hoshi waited for her to say more, for further explanation. None was forthcoming.

That was odd.

“Can you tell me at least which of the pulses you were working with?” Hoshi asked. “I’d been looking at the first half-dozen most closely-arbitrarily assigning meanings to some of the smaller forms within each wave, looking for some kind of pattern…”

Theera was shaking her head. “Again-I would suggest talking to the Mediators.”

“You could at least tell me whether or not it was one of the first half-dozen pulses,” Hoshi said, allowing a little of the exasperation she felt to come through in her voice.

“Which of the first half-dozen,” Theera repeated, and at that moment their eyes met, and Hoshi had the most ridiculous sensation that the Andorian didn’t have the slightest idea what she was talking about. Ridiculous, of course. The Andorian clearly must have spent as much time as Hoshi with the signal; how could she not know which pulse she’d been focusing on?

Hoshi pulled out the handheld UT module she was carrying with her. “I have the signal in here,” she said. “If it would help to hear…”

“Human.”

Ambassador Quirsh, standing in the row in front of them, had turned around to face the two of them.

“What are you doing with my translator?”

“I was- “

“Hoping to steal credit for our achievement?”

“No, I…”

“I forbid you to converse with her,” the ambassador-or rather, the legate, though actually, of course, he was the gunnery officer-said, drawing himself up straighter.

Hoshi put the handheld back in her pocket.

“Ambassador Quirsh. We’re all working toward the same goal here,” she said. “We’re all trying to find out the reason for these attacks. To understand what the aliens want. I don’t see how sharing…”

“Humans and Andorians? Working toward the same goal?” Quirsh wagged a fat blue finger in her face. “That is a laughable suggestion. Laughable.” As if to prove his point, Quirsh actually started laughing then.

Some of the other Andorians immediately joined in.

“Ha,” another snorted.

“Ha, ha,” said a third.

Quirsh kept wagging his finger. Hoshi felt the urge to snap it off and hand it back to him.

“May I remind you of events at P’Jem?” she said. “The Vulcan monastery? Weren’t we working toward the same goal then? Making sure the treaty terms between yourselves and the Vulcans were honored?”

Hoshi was referring to one of Enterprise’s earliest missions, when Captain Archer had discovered an illegal Vulcan listening outpost hidden beneath a monastery on the planet P’Jem. The post’s exposure-and the subsequent destruction of it and the Vulcan monastery-had convinced the Andorians (in particular, Commander Shran, their leader) that the humans were not simply Vulcan lackeys, and had been the start of the current rapprochement between the two species.

“P’Jem,” Quirsh snorted. “Your captain has shared with me the fairy-tale version of what happened at P’Jem. Claiming that he was responsible for the exposure of the outpost.”

“That’s exactly what happened.”

“More likely the Vulcans knew our heroic comrades had discovered their secret. More likely they commanded your captain,” here Quirsh jabbed with his finger again, “to pretend to turn against them, to befriend Guardsman Shran in the hopes of worming his way into our confidences.”

“That’s simply not true,” Hoshi said.

Quirsh glared at her. “Are you calling me a liar?”

Yes, Hoshi thought.

“Of course not,” she said, gritting her teeth. “But I’m certain a careful review of the events at the monastery…”

“Everyone getting along all right?”

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Captain Archer standing alongside her.

“Your subordinate,” Quirsh said, “has insulted me.”

Hoshi glared. “With all due respect, Ambassador, that’s simply not the case. I was merely stating that P’Jem- “

Quirsh threw up his hands. “P’Jem again? Are we never to hear the end of this?”

Archer’s hand tightened ever-so-slightly on Hoshi’s shoulder. “Ambassador, I apologize for any misunderstandings between you and my translator here. The important thing, of course, is not what happened at P’Jem, but what happens here. What we can accomplish if we work together. Building on the efforts of your translator.”

The captain smiled at Theera, who-Hoshi saw-had taken a few steps back from the group. Establishing her boundaries again.

She nodded her head toward Archer, in recognition of the compliment, but said nothing.

“Hmmmff,” Quirsh said, somewhat mollified. “Perhaps you are right. However, we have turned all our data on the Antianna signal over to the Kanthropians. As I believe Technician Theera made clear, you should speak with them.”

He glared at Hoshi, who forced herself to smile in return.

“Of course,” she said. “Forgive any intrusion on my part. I’m simply anxious to complete the translation.”

Quirsh continued to glare, as if he didn’t believe her for a second.

Finally, the Andorian turned and nodded to Archer.

“Good day to you, Captain,” he said, and swept toward the chamber exit, the other Andorians trailing in his wake, Theera among them.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Hoshi turned to the captain. “Sir, I did not insult him. I was just…”

“I know, I know. The man’s an idiot. Soon to be replaced, never fear. But until then… we’d better play nice. This is not the time for any sort of incident.”

“Yes, sir,” Hoshi said, knowing Archer was thinking about the scheduled interspecies peace summit back on Earth, in less than two weeks’ time. The Andorians, the Tellarites, the Vulcans, almost a dozen species in all would be gathering to discuss spheres of influence, trade agreements, self-defense pacts, and the like. It was a project near and dear to the captain’s heart. In fact, Hoshi didn’t think it would be stretching the truth too much to say that the conference wouldn’t be happening without Jonathan Archer’s efforts. So she would be nice to Quirsh.

Even if it killed her.

“Talk to the Kanthropians,” the captain said. “I guess that’s what we’d better plan to do then.”

“Yes, sir. I gather they’re some sort of interspecies mediators. When we get back to Enterprise, I’ll request a meeting with their representatives. See if I can’t…”

Archer was shaking his head. “We’re not going back to the ship tonight.”

“Sir?”

“Change in plans. We’ve been invited to a party.”

“A party?”

“Governor Sen’s reception.”

“But I thought…” She frowned. “Didn’t he say that was for the delegates?”

“And now… us.”

“Why the special treatment?”

“Not quite sure,” Archer said. “Something to think about, though-wouldn’t you say?”

“I would,” she replied, adding it to the list she’d been compiling in her head of things to ponder, just underneath the fifty-seven pulses, the Antianna sensor readings, and Theera’s puzzling behavior.