BC

, though the latter-day, more common (and here, more apropos) definition of the word was a glass-enclosed porch or living room-a sun parlor.

This sun parlor, however, was at the very top of the tallest structure she had ever seen in her life. A building that reminded her more than anything else of the old Space Needle back on Earth, a single slim, towering building that tapered off to a point so high up into the sky as to be invisible.

A handful of H’ratoi, also dressed to the nines, shared the elevator ride up to the top with them. Hoshi was gratified to see that one of the females had on an outfit that made Sen’s gift look like an overcoat.

It was a long way up. A long ride. Hoshi spent the time wondering if the Kanthropians would be there. If they’d be any more forthcoming than Theera regarding the work they’d done on the Antianna signal. Wondering if Theera’s work tied in to what she’d been reading about this afternoon-the Universal Translator Project. Most likely, though, the Kanthropians wouldn’t know anything about that. She’d have to talk to Theera regarding the wider implications of this translation. She wondered if Governor Sen could help her get to the Andorian-get Theera to talk to her. Probably. She wondered what she’d have to do to make that happen. Nothing she wanted to think about too hard. And speaking of Sen…

What was going to happen when she saw him tonight, which most certainly she would? What should she say to him? Thanks? She’d already sent along a message to that effect after deciding to wear the dress; the functionary who received it assured her he would pass the missive along directly to Sen, though he also intimated that the governor would be most appreciative if Hoshi relayed her gratitude in person. That conjured up a whole new series of images that made her want to find the shuttle and head back to Enterprise as fast as the little ship could carry her.

She shuddered involuntarily.

“Cold?” the captain asked.

He held out his vest to her.

“No. Thanks.” She smiled. “Just wondering what the party’ll be like.”

The elevator slowed, and came to a stop.

“It’ll be a formal kind of thing is my guess. Fairly quiet,” he added. “You remember Captain Hernandez’s swearing-in ceremony?”

Hoshi grimaced. “I remember all right.”

“Something like that,” the captain said. “Sedate.”

“Somnambulent,” Hoshi responded, as the elevator doors opened, and they were struck by a sudden wall of noise and heat and light.

The solarium was the size of a small concert hall. It was jammed tight with people.

“Sedate,” Reed said, standing aside to let the H’ratoi pass.

Archer frowned. “Or not.”

The captain told them to mingle, so off she went.

Except after forcing her way into the heart of the crowd, Hoshi barely had enough space to stand, much less start a conversation. Her guess, the solarium was half the size of the Trade Assembly, and crowded with about twice as many people.

Nonetheless, she started pushing her way through; she met Tellarites and a Vulcan (a member of the Cultural Exchange Commission who, she learned in an abbreviated conversation, had known T’Pol’s mother), Maszakians and Pfau, and a very tall, very rude Conani delegate, who lectured her on the foolishness of attempting to negotiate with terrorists such as the Antianna. She also passed by (but did not exchange words with) Ambassador Quirsh, who glared in response to her tentatively offered smile. Fine. She didn’t need to talk to him anymore. Who she needed to speak with were the Mediators, except that nowhere in the entire room did she see anything resembling a brown robe. Maybe they weren’t coming; they didn’t, based on what she’d seen of and read about them, seem like the partying type.

She mingled a bit more.

Eventually, she reached the outer edges of the circle-shaped space, where the crowd thinned slightly, and she turned to take in the room as a whole. It was a breathtakingly beautiful structure; the walls-transparent to the stars outside-curved gently upward, forming a dome whose apex was perhaps thirty meters above the floor. The elevators were directly under that apex; she saw now that the elevator shaft continued upward to the very top, to a second, much smaller room, whose floor was made of the same transparent material as the walls and ceiling. There were at least a dozen guards in that room, which was empty otherwise. Probably some kind of private meeting room, an office.

She turned away from the party then, and looked out through the glass, out over Tura Prex. A sea of lights swam beneath her-far, far beneath her. The stars in the sky seemed closer. Some of them, she realized, were ships. Patrol vessels, most likely, similar to the ones that had escorted them down to the planet’s surface earlier. She wondered just how high up they were here.

She turned back toward the part again, noticed a horseshoe-shaped line of tables partway across the room. Food. Drink. Might as well, since she didn’t seem to be doing much good here otherwise. She made her way toward the closest table. A man in a dark blue coverall stood behind it. As she approached, he smiled at her.

“Nice dress,” he said.

Hoshi smiled back. “Thanks.” She picked up a glass of something off the table-something blue-and sniffed it.

“Hold on a minute,” the man said. “Before you drink…”

He ran a scanner of some sort over her and looked at the results.

“It’s safe for you. Well, relatively safe. As far as intoxicating beverages go.” He smiled. “Two of those, you’ll certainly be having a good time.”

Hoshi frowned. The last thing she needed to be right now was drunk. On the other hand…

She could stand to relax a little bit.

“Bottoms up,” she said to the man, and took a sip.

Her throat burned. Her eyes widened, and watered.

“Bottoms up?” the server asked, frowning.

She held up a finger. One minute.

“Colloquialism,” she managed a second later. “It means good health. Cheers.”

“Ah.”

“So what is this?” she asked, holding the glass up.

“Romulan ale. You like?”

Hoshi swirled the drink around. Swirl, swirl, swirl. She felt a little swirly herself.

She felt, for the first time in what seemed like forever, like she was starting to relax.

“I like,” she said, and raised the glass to take another sip.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw another shade of blue. Blue skin. An Andorian. Theera, standing a few tables down. Hoshi saw brown as well. Two Mediators standing next to her. The three of them seemed to be arguing about something.

Hoshi set her glass back down on the table, and went to find out what.

The captain had gone searching for, and after some effort found, the Maszakian delegate who had spoken up that afternoon in the Trade Assembly. The two of them had retired to the edges of the crowd, to talk in as quiet-and private-a place as could be found in the solarium.

“Sen represents the last gasp of the old Thelasian autocrats,” the Maszakian-whose name was Yandreas-said. “He does not understand how the universe has changed around him. The Confederacy no longer holds a monopoly on the interior quadrant markets. Species such as yours, Captain, have pushed past the warp barriers that kept them confined to their immediate stellar neighborhoods, and dependent on the Confederacy’s ships for the goods of the larger galaxy.”

“And Sen-and these autocrats as well-they’re not willing to change?”

“Whether or not they are willing to change matters little,” Yandreas said. “The facts are what they are.”

“The Confederacy is in trouble.”

Yandreas nodded. “Revenues from trading taxes and surcharges have fallen dramatically over the last few years. There is great concern among some of the larger interstellar financial consortiums. The viability of some of the outlying Thelasian posts is in question. In fact,” the alien looked around to make sure no one was listening, and then leaned closer, “I would say the viability of the Confederacy as a whole is in question.”

No surprise there, Archer thought.

“It would seem to me,” the captain began, framing his words carefully, “that what happened in the Trade Assembly today-the declaration of war-may impact on that viability.”

“How so?”

“War is-among other things-a commercial enterprise.”

“Are you suggesting that the governor deliberately started this war?”

Archer let the words hang there a moment before responding.

“Not… necessarily. But he doesn’t seem to be trying too hard to avoid it, does he?”

“He was elected to deal with these attacks, Captain. As he dealt with the problems at Coreida.”

“Yes,” the captain said. That was the third time today he’d heard the word. “I’ve heard a lot of talk about Coreida. But I’ve yet to hear exactly what happened there.”

“It’s a long story,” Yandreas said.

“Well.” Archer smiled. “The night is young.”

The Maszakian frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Figure of speech,” Archer said. “It means we have plenty of time.”

“Ah.” The Maszakian nodded. “Very well then,” he said, and began his story.

Archer leaned closer, so as not to miss a word.

Immediately on entering the room, Malcolm had pushed his way through the mob and staked out a spot near the edge of the party, where he could watch what was happening. Captain’s orders be damned, he had no intention of mingling or taking the temperature of the crowd, trying to figure out the relative strength/size of factions for and against Sen, who might be convinced to delay the war and who was determined to fight it. His job was security. Specifically, the captain’s security. Already he didn’t like the fact that the party was so crowded, and he had no backup. So he was going to watch Archer like a hawk. Not allow the captain to get too far away from him. And Sen. He was going to keep an eye on the governor as well.

Right now Archer was at two o’clock from him, clear across the room, at the very edge of the party. The captain was talking to one of the delegates from the Assembly. Pleasant, friendly, private conversation. Nothing to worry about there. Sen was at nine o’clock, almost directly to his left, the center of a large, boisterous crowd, a half-dozen of his bodyguards standing nearby. Close enough that Malcolm could see the expression on his face. Polite interest for the most part, and then, every few seconds, Sen’s attention seemed to drift. Maybe it was just his imagination, but it seemed to Reed the governor had other things on his mind.

It would be helpful, Malcolm suspected, if he knew exactly what.

The governor was paying attention to two different conversations at once, the one going on in front of his face, the inane blather of the H’ratoi ambassador, and the one in his head, the one that Roia was piping in through the implant, a talk being picked up by the security monitors between the human captain and one of the Maszakian delegates, a talk that kept causing him to frown at inappropriate moments during the ambassador’s pontifications.

Had he not been in such a public place, of course, he would have done a lot more than frown, he would have had the Maszakian thrown from the top of the tower, and the human-clearly the instigator in this instance-dismembered, then thrown from the top of the tower. But of course, there were other factors to consider at the moment.

“So do I have it? Your assurance?”

Sen blinked, and realized the H’ratoi had asked him a question.

“Your pardon, Ambassador. I was momentarily distracted-new arrivals.” He waved a hand in the direction of the elevators, toward a group of nonexistent newcomers. The ambassador didn’t even bother to turn. “What were you saying?”

“The Conani particle weapons-they are impressive, but have yet to stand the test of battle. I do feel that our phased-array disruptors offer the fleet a much more powerful-and reliable-weapon.”

The ambassador continued at some length, going on and on about the history of the phased-array disruptor, managing to work in mention of the H’ratoi’s numerous “sacrifices” over the last few weeks, and their deserved rights and the Confederacy’s moral responsibility to acknowledge those rights, but what he really wanted, of course, was the Confederacy to force all ships in the armada to retrofit those disruptors. Sen had to struggle not to yawn. It was all of very little concern to him, the disruptors, or the particle weapons, the fleet, the war, the H’ratoi, the Maszakians… in a very short while, they would all be someone else’s problem.

“Ambassador,” he interrupted. “As you know I don’t make these decisions on my own. But I do want to assure you that my position on these matters will be very clear to the Defense Council when they meet tomorrow morning.”

Which was certainly true enough, as far as it went.

“I appreciate that, Governor,” the Ambassador said.

“Of course. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Bowing, Sen took a step backward, and turned…

Only to have another figure step directly into his path.

He looked up to see General Jaedez blocking his way forward.

“Governor.” The Conani towered over him. Glared down at him. “I wish to speak to you.”

“Of course, of course.”

“As I told your assistant earlier today, I desire to speak further with the Andorian. The translator.”

Sen made a show of frowning. “I thought that meeting had been arranged,” he lied. “Were you not contacted?”

“I received no communication from your staff.”

“Terrible oversight,” Sen said, though of course the oversight had been on his part, oversight to make sure no such meeting happened, at least not before his plans had been finalized, which they were now, so…

He subvocalized a request to Roia, who informed him that the entire Andorian legation, including the translator, was indeed present this evening.

“But one that is easily rectified,” Sen continued. “I believe the translator is here this evening, in fact, if we are fortunate perhaps we can discover…”

He turned, and saw the Andorian right where Roia had said she would be.

What Roia hadn’t mentioned was that with her, wearing the red dress, was the human female.

Sen smiled.

“… exactly where she is. Ah. You see?”

General Jaedez turned and followed his gaze.

“I do,” he said. “Thank you, Governor.”

“Oh, please, General. Allow me the favor.”

“Excuse me?”

Sen smiled. “I’ll escort you to her. Make the appropriate introductions.”

Jaedez nodded. “That’s very gracious of you, Governor.”

“Not at all. The pleasure will be mine.” He made a show of bowing. “This way, if you please.”

Hoshi stopped a few paces shy of the group and listened for a moment, trying to look inconspicuous. Trying to look interested in the food on the table in front of her.

“S-12 is near,” one of the Mediators was saying. “A further series of interviews tomorrow…”

“No. I have to return to Andoria.”

“We understand that. The interviews would delay your departure by a few hours at most.”

“During which time I would miss my transport.”

“There are courier ships aboard S-12. All have Type-Two FTL, so that the trip to your homeworld would actually be considerably shorter, should that prove…”

“What you request,” Theera said, “is impossible.”

“Not impossible. Quite possible. You are being unreasonable.”

The other mediator spoke up. “We have talked with your immediate superior. Ambassador Quirsh. He assured us of your full cooperation.”

“I have given you my full cooperation,” Theera said, a touch of anger in her voice. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

“Everything you are consciously aware of,” the Mediator said. “There may be more. There are certain procedures- “

“I have told you everything!” Theera said, much louder than before, loud enough that everyone within earshot-including Hoshi-looked up.

Theera visibly gathered herself, took a step back.

“I ask you,” the Andorian said, in a much, much, quieter voice, “to leave me alone.”

Hoshi frowned. What was going on here? Something to do with the translation, clearly, the Mediators thought Theera was witholding information of some kind, but what?

She walked up to the group and cleared her throat.

“Excuse me,” she said.

The Mediators and Theera turned to face her.

“I’m sorry to intrude. I’m- “

“We do not require the services of a courtesan at present,” the nearest-the younger-of the two Mediators said.

“You are dismissed,” the other added.

Hoshi flushed beet red.

“I’m not a courtesan,” she said.

“Indeed?” the first Mediator said, staring at her. At the dress.

Hoshi mentally cursed Sen for sending it, and herself for wearing it.

“I’m Ensign Hoshi Sato-from Enterprise. My captain spoke at the Assembly earlier today…”

“Ah. Captain Archer.”

“That’s correct.”

“I found his proposal objectionable,” the Kanthropian said. “Mediators do not perform their work in expectation of having it turned toward military purposes.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your captain’s desire to use the Antianna language as a weapon in this war? To say the least, that does not meet with our approval.”

Hoshi frowned. They were missing the point entirely. The captain had, of course, just been proposing that as a way of getting out the information to the Assembly, to let them know that progress on translating the alien signal had been made. But she couldn’t very well say that to the Mediators, could she?

“I understand that,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “but I can say on Captain Archer’s behalf that should your work lead to a peaceful resolution of this conflict, that would be looked on favorably as well.”

The Mediator took a moment to absorb those words, and then smiled.

“I believe I understand what you’re saying, Ensign Sato.”

“Good,” Hoshi said, and from the look in his eyes, she thought he did, that he got what the captain’s true purpose in speaking up today had been.

“Now, as ship’s linguist,” she continued, “my job is to find out more about the work that has been done to date on translating the signal. And to offer my assistance in furthering that effort.”

The Mediators exchanged glances. The elder of the two cleared his throat.

“As Elder Woden made clear, our work at this stage is preliminary. No firm conclusions can be drawn.”

“I understand. I’d still like to take a look at the data.”

“It should be available shortly.”

“Shortly?”

“Yes.”

“Why not now?”

Again, the Mediators exchanged glances. “A decision to release our research can only be made by the full Mediation Council. I am certain it will be discussed at the next opportunity.”

“When is that?”

“Soon.”

“Soon.” Hoshi frowned. “In case you’ve forgotten, war has been declared. I would think that would make sharing this kind of information urgent, considering that a successful translation could help save lives.”

The Mediator nodded. “In theory, you are correct. In practice…” He looked right at Theera. “I can safely say that the Council will be hesitant to share data without the confirmation of certain facts.”

Hoshi looked from one of them to the other, and wished she knew what, exactly, was going on here.

“And now if you’ll excuse us,” the Mediator said, bowing. “Ensign Sato, we will speak again, I am certain.”

“Of course,” she replied.

“Technician Theera.” The Mediator turned to the Andorian then, and bowed as well. “We will speak further as well.”

“You are mistaken,” she said. “I am leaving tomorrow.”

“We will speak further,” the Mediator reiterated. “Good evening.”

Without another word, both Kanthropians walked away, melting into the crowd.

There was an awkward silence.

“So you’re leaving tomorrow?” Hoshi asked.

“Yes.”

“Returning to Andoria?”

Theera nodded.

“We were there, a few months ago,” Hoshi went on. “Our captain and Commander Shran… they went down to the ice caves. I saw some images-it’s quite beautiful down there.”

“Yes. It is.”

“We saw the rings too. They were amazing.”

Theera nodded again, but said nothing.

So much for establishing a rapport, Hoshi thought.

“Why is it,” she asked, suddenly tired of dancing around the subject, “that no one wants to talk about this translation?”

Theera glared. “You’ll excuse me,” she said, and moved to go past Hoshi.

Hoshi took a step, blocking her way.

“What is it that the Kanthropians think you aren’t telling them?”

The Andorian hesitated a second before replying.

And in that second, in her expression, Hoshi saw not just hostility, but fear.

“That is none of your affair,” Theera said.

“Forgive me for stating the obvious, but I think it is. I think it’s everyone’s affair. Like I said, we’re about to go to war. People are going to die. Or don’t you care about that?”

The Andorian’s expression softened.

“You do not understand,” she said. “The situation is… complicated.”

“Yes,” Hoshi said. “I get that.”

Again, Theera hesitated.

Then she looked over Hoshi’s shoulder, and all at once, the expression on her face changed.

“Governor,” she said.

Hoshi turned and saw Sen standing directly behind her. General Jaedez was next to him.

“Technician,” Sen said, and then turned the full force of his gaze on Hoshi. “Ensign Sato.” The governor smiled, and the skin on Hoshi’s arm crawled.

“I see you received my gift.”

Archer had heard enough.

He thanked the Maszakian for his time, and went in search of his crew. He spotted Malcolm, standing next to one of the refreshment tables. The lieutenant was sipping from a glass in his hand-something orange-brown in color. There was a table full of similar glasses next to him.

“I thought I told you to mingle,” Archer said, picking one of the glasses up off the table.

“You did at that,” Malcolm said. “I was just taking a litle break.”

“Hmmm,” He held the glass up to his nose and sniffed. A strong odor, but not an entirely unpleasant one. Reminiscent of some of the better scotches he’d had.

“Bottoms up,” he said to Reed, putting it to his lips.

“Sir,” the lieutenant said hurriedly. “It’s rather strong, I would sip gently at first so that…”

But it was too late.

Archer’s throat was already on fire.

“Auh,” he said, setting the glass back down on the table.

“Sir?” Malcolm asked.

The captain gasped for breath.

He turned away from the crowd and coughed. He coughed again. His eyes watered.

“Captain? Should I seek medical assistance?”

Archer waved him away. He’d be fine. In a minute. He was sure of it.

Fairly sure, anyway.

The captain bent over and put his hands on his knees. Coughed a few more times, took a few deep breaths, and then stood.

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head, trying to clear it. “What was that?”

“If I understood the gentleman over there correctly,” Reed said, pointing toward a man in a black coverall-a coverall, Archer thought, that looked strangely like the tunic Malcolm had purchased- “it’s some sort of a Klingon beverage. Mot’lok, I believe he called it.”

“Klingon,” Archer said, taking a deep breath. It was only fitting. His relationship with the Empire was not a friendly one-at least not at the moment.

They wanted him dead-or, more accurately, they wanted him alive, so that they could take a long time killing him.

Maybe, he thought, they were going to do it with mot’lok.

Sen introduced the general to the Andorian linguist, then maneuvered himself into a conversation with the human female. Hoshi. He escorted her to one of the refreshment tables, and offered her a drink. She refused. He offered her food. She refused that as well. The more he tried to do for her, the more resistant she was. Her eyes flashed fire.

His blood stirred. Sen was reminded, once more, of the long-vanished Roia. He wished he had more time; he would have taken the female to the Prex at Saleeas Optim, bought her a Keelan, plied her with the accumulated knowledge of a thousand years of Thelasian civilization, delicacies from across the civilized worlds of the entire quadrant. As it was…

He checked in with Roia. Kareg’s ship was close. He had less than an hour.

No time for subtlety.

“Did you enjoy the bazaar, Ensign Hoshi? The Prex?”

“I did.”

“Remarkable variety of goods, from worlds that I don’t expect you humans have been to before. You have warp-five capability, is that right? Places you won’t get to for quite some time, at that speed. Sample the merchandise while you can. I’d be happy to advance you more credits, should you so desire. If there was any particular thing that caught your eye…”

She shook her head. “No.”

“It is fortunate for you I had the dress, is it not? It looks marvelous on you. As I knew it would.”

“Thank you.”

The female appeared distracted. She was looking over his shoulder, Sen realized, back toward the Andorian linguist, and General Jaedez. He thought he could guess why.

“You’re curious about the translation?” Sen asked.

For the first time, he saw the light of excitement in her eyes.

“Yes. Very.”

He leaned closer to her. “I have access to the Kanthropian database. A personal keycode. Would you care to see the information in it?”

She leaned back from him. “I’d be very interested in that, yes.”

Sen reached around her and picked up a glass off the table. A goblet, with a brown liquid inside that didn’t so much slosh as ooze as he tilted the glass to one side.

“This is kanar,” he said. “Marvelous drink. Quite safe for your species, I assure you. We have an expert medical staff-xenobiologists very familiar with your species. If I’m remembering correctly,” and of course he was, as Roia was feeding him the information as he spoke, “this particular drink will act in a very similar way to alcohol on your blood chemistry. Provide a pleasant, harmless narcotic effect. Please.” He held the glass out. “See for yourself.”

“No, thank you. I’m less interested in the drink than in the database,” she said.

“I admire your dedication,” Sen said, and drank the kanar down himself. Very refreshing. He set the empty goblet back on the table.

“The keycode is in my office. A short distance from here. If you’d care to accompany me…”

She frowned.

“We pass by the Prex,” he offered.

“I’m not much of a shopper.”

“No shopping, no alcohol…” The governor shook his head, made an expression of mock displeasure. “What pleasures do you allow yourself, Ensign Sato?”

“Well…”

“Recreational sex?”

The female blinked.

“Recently, I picked up several new techniques from a courtesan of Rigleigh’s Pleasure World. Mentally stimulating. Physically challenging. Perhaps you would care for a demonstration?”

The female changed color.

“Is that a yes?” Sen asked.

The captain set off again into the crowd. This time, Reed went too, staying with Archer long enough so the captain could see him “mingle” and so that he could see Archer safely eased into a conversation with delegates sympathetic to his own views. Translation, rather than war. Reed listened for a few minutes and then excused himself, ostensibly to get a drink but in reality to take up a position directly opposite his previous one, from where-again- he could watch the captain in relative privacy, without fear of interruption.

On his way to that new post, he spotted Sen, standing near Hoshi. Standing very, very near Hoshi.

He smiled. That would be, Malcolm knew, worth a few digs later on. But for now…

He stood back from the crowd, and watched.

Most parties, in his experience, had a rhythm to them. An ebb, and a flow. This one, he decided, was currently ebbing. It wasn’t so much that people were leaving, but rather that they were not moving around so much. Staying in one place, as opposed to flitting about from conversation to conversation. It made the captain easier to keep track of-and Sen, too.

And it made the governor’s bodyguards very easy to spot indeed. They were the ones standing around, doing nothing. Most wore the same blue and green uniforms as the ones he’d seen earlier in the day, but some were undercover-at least as undercover as they could be while at the party and not of the party. Stuck out like sore thumbs, they did

Reed decided that perhaps he’d better mingle just a bit.

He circled the edges of the crowd, joining in on a conversation about weapons systems, which ones the Confederacy’s war fleet was likely to use. He made a mental note of those systems he’d never heard of before-ion cannons?- before moving on to one of the refreshment tables, where he got another, slightly smaller glass of the mot’lok to sip from. He would have to watch those sips carefully. It was, as he’d warned the captain, strong stuff.

At the table next to him, one of the servers (a woman, dressed in an oddly ill-fitting coverall) set down an empty platter, and began filling it with food from the table. Reed watched her a moment, disturbed by the seemingly haphazard way she arranged the food on the plate, seeing it as his sister, who once ran a restaurant, would have seen it, as the mark of poorly trained staff, before turning back to his task. Archer and Sen (and Hoshi) were right where he’d left them. From this side of the room, he also noticed that the governor’s guards were arrayed in a very precisely shaped circle around Sen (though the nearest ones stood a little farther from him now than before, probably to give him privacy while he spoke to Hoshi). If they were indeed all networked, as the two little Bynar had told him earlier today, he had no doubt they used that network to maintain formation precisely.

Might be a valuable tool after all, he thought. A neural implant. Especially for security. Though he was certain that neither the captain nor Travis, in particular, would agree with him. Reed had never heard anger in the ensign’s voice the way he’d heard it earlier, when Travis had mentioned Sen’s name. And speaking of the captain, and Governor Sen…

He looked up to check on their position, and at that instant the server from the next table over wandered directly in front of him, blocking his view of the party.

“Excuse me,” a man said, stepping up next to the woman. “I’ll have one of those.”

She smiled, and held the platter out for him.

He frowned.

“Serving utensils?”

Her smile wavered a moment, then came back even stronger.

It struck Reed as a particularly forced smile. An artificial one.

He frowned.

Little alarm bells were going off in his head.

“Oh how stupid of me to forget those,” the server said. “I’ll go get some.”

But instead of turning back toward the tables, she headed off deeper into the party, still carrying the tray. Walking with determination. With purpose.

Heading right for Governor Sen, and Hoshi.

Reed set down his drink, and set after her.

When the female made it clear that recreational sex was not on her agenda that evening, Sen excused her from their conversation. He watched her go regretfully. Ah well. When he reached Qo’noS, there would be-from what he’d heard-argumentative females to spare.

The governor subvocalized a series of questions to Roia. He learned Kareg had moved into position, was awaiting his signal. The guards had prepared and cleared the upper solarium. The data caches in his terminals were clear as well-wiped of all potentially incriminating data. His credit accounts were full.

All was in readiness then. All that remained was to locate the human captain, and bid a final, fond farewell to Procyron. He would miss this place, no doubt about it.

He turned and saw a server heading toward him, carrying a tray. Drinks, he hoped. Perhaps even some of the mot’lok. That would be, Sen thought with a smile, only fitting, to use the Klingon beverage for a final ceremonial toast to his time here.

He stood in place, watching the server come closer and closer. Waiting.

Archer was not stupid.

He was well aware that Malcolm had spent the entire party watching him. Watching out for him, ostensibly. Fine. Part of him appreciated it, though he did resent the fact that Malcolm didn’t think he could take care of himself. Part of him wished, though, that Reed had looked on this party as a bit of an opportunity as well-a chance to fulfill another aspect of his job as security chief, that being to do a little surreptitious research on the weapons systems other races in this part of the galaxy had. To talk to those races Starfleet was unfamiliar with, and get a sense of their offensive-and defensive-capabilities. It was only prudent for Admiral McCormick to have that information in hand.

Instead, though, Malcolm had spent virtually the entire evening clinging to the fringes of the party, nursing a drink. And to what end? Nothing was going to happen here; there were simply too many people. Too many guards, Sen’s personal troop, in their blue-and-green uniforms, were everywhere. Archer thought there might be undercover guards as well. One particular H’ratoi he had noticed, in fact, had never seemed to be more than half a dozen meters away from him the entire evening. The captain wondered if Sen, too, was keeping an eye on him.

And speaking of Sen…

Archer had some things he wanted to say to the man. Not that he thought he could reverse the course of action the Trade Assembly had taken this afternoon, but the governor should know that there was considerably less enthusiasm for the war-and the diversion of resources it would cause-than perhaps today’s vote had indicated. Archer wondered, perhaps, if the two of them might find a quiet place to discuss such things. The Kanthropian translation efforts as well-what else the Mediators’ work might have revealed about the Antianna. He wondered if Hoshi had been able to find out anything in that regard.

He looked up and scanned the floor. There.

The governor stood-by himself, surprisingly-in the center of the room. A server was walking toward him, holding a platter of food held in front of her, a smile frozen on her face.

There was some sort of commotion going on just behind her, Archer saw. People shouting. A lot of angry faces. Someone was forcing their way through the crowd. A second later, the crowd suddenly flew apart, and a familiar face-a familiar body-came charging through.

Malcolm?

The server dropped the platter on the ground.

The smile on her face vanished.

Reed hurled himself through the air.

The woman reached across her body with her right hand even as he flew toward her, bridging the last few meters between them with a single jump. He landed on the woman’s back, and she fell to the ground with a loud crack and an audible exhalation of air.

Her right arm and whatever weapon she’d been planning on using on Sen were pinned beneath her. But her left was free. She tried to use it to push herself over onto her side, to dislodge Reed. He grabbed her wrist with both hands and straightened the arm rather forcefully, then pinned it to the ground in front of her.

He became aware of figures standing over him. Blue-and-green uniforms. Sen’s guards.

“She might have a bomb!” Reed said. “Get everyone back!”

The woman was cursing a blue streak at him, much of which the UT translated as nonsense phrases. At least, Reed thought they were nonsense phrases. He’d have to talk to Hoshi about it later. For now—

One of the guards knelt down and jabbed something into the woman’s arm. She stopped cursing. She stopped moving. She lay still.

Reed’s eyes widened in horror. He looked up at the man.

“What did you do?”

“Exactly what I ordered. Standard procedure in these cases.” Governor Sen stepped forward, a look of absolute fury on his face. “Move back.”

For a second, Reed thought about staying right where he was, about telling Sen exactly what he was thinking at that instant. Wouldn’t that do wonders for interstellar relations, he thought.

He got to his feet, and stepped away from the woman.

The second he was clear, two guards drew weapons and fired. Reed thought for a second they were using laser pistols; the energy beams looked similar. But when the rays struck the woman, her body literally began glowing with energy. A faint blue outline of some sort appeared around her for a second. The blue turned to orange, then red.

The woman disappeared as if she’d never been there at all.

“Everything is fine,” Sen said, turning in all directions, smiling-as false a smile as the woman who had just tried to kill him had worn-and speaking to the crowd. “The terrorist has been apprehended. Please-continue to enjoy yourselves. The night-as a new friend of mine is fond of saying-is young.”

People looked around, unsure.

Sen walked into the crowd then, shaking hands, and accepting expressions of concern. Of sympathy.

The party, hushed into silence a moment before, gradually came back to life.

Reed felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw Captain Archer standing next to him.

“Nice work, Malcolm.”

“Sir.” Reed shook his head in disbelief. “Did you see that? What that weapon did?”

Archer frowned, and shook his head. “Not the weapon, Malcolm.”

“Sir?”

“Sen. It was what Sen did. He’s a dangerous man.”

Reed nodded, about to concur, about to suggest that perhaps he should have let the woman do the job she’d set out to and then apprehended her when all at once, the captain smiled. Another false smile.

“And here he comes now,” Archer said.

Reed put on a smile himself, and turned to greet the governor.

He had never been in any real danger, of course. Roia had flagged the counterfeit staff person-no doubt a Separatist-Sen was sure Intelligence division would find a connection soon enough, they were already rounding up the usual suspects and from that instant on, the guards had a relatively clear shot, minimal collateral damage assured, anytime they wanted to take it.

But Sen had wanted to give the human-the dark-haired man, who’d spent the entire evening watching not just his captain but Sen-a chance to release some of his pent-up energy. To feel as if he were on top of the situation. To get him to relax, for just an instant.

Starting right about now.

“Captain Archer.”

“Governor Sen. You’re all right?”

“Yes. Fine. Thanks to your officer here.”

“Lieutenant Reed.”

“Lieutenant Reed.” Sen repeated the man’s name, and regarded him with a smile. “I owe you a great debt of thanks, Lieutenant. May I propose a toast?” Roia fed Sen an interesting tidbit of information through the implant then, and the governor turned toward the nearest refreshment table. “The mot’lok perhaps?”

The captain, like the female earlier, changed color.

“Something else,” Archer said. “That’s not my favorite.”

Sen nodded. “Of course. It is an acquired taste. Like most things Klingon.”

The governor smiled then, pleased at his own wit. At the glare in Archer’s eye.

He snapped his fingers and a server approached (albeit with a bit of understandable hesitancy). They all ordered drinks.

Back to business, Sen thought, and lowered his voice. “Captain, I wonder if I might have a word with you. I’ve been thinking a bit about what you said earlier-at the Assembly.”

Archer smiled. “Governor. It’s like you’re reading my mind.”

Sen smiled back. “Oh?”

The drinks arrived. He and Archer made small talk. The dark-haired man-Reed- watched. Apparently, all the man’s pent-up energies hadn’t dissipated yet.

That wouldn’t do at all. Sen subvocalized a command to Roia. A few seconds later, Kuda appeared.

“I need to speak with you,” he said to Reed. “Regarding the terrorist.”

Reed frowned, and shook his head.

“Could we do it later? I’m feeling a bit worn-out at the moment.”

What an excellent liar, Sen thought. He subvocalized another command.

“Now would be better,” Kuda said. “While your memory of the event is fresh.”

“I’d really rather wait,” he said, a little more firmly.

“Malcolm.” Captain Archer touched his man on the shoulder. “Do it now, please.”

The mask of false emotion Reed had been wearing dropped, and Sen could see the depth of the man’s concern. His suspicion.

“Yes, sir,” he said reluctantly.

“We’ll be right here,” Sen lied.

Kuda led the man off.

“He’s a good man,” Archer said again. “Occasionally overprotective, but a good man.”

“He has your best interests at heart, I’m sure,” Sen said. “Now about that word…”

“Whenever you’d like.”

“I was thinking someplace more private, actually.”

Sen drew the human’s attention to the upper solarium, high above the main floor.

Archer hesitated a second.

“I’ll have one of the guards notify your man where you are,” Sen said. “If you’d like.”

The captain shook his head. “Not necessary.”

“Very well then.” The governor smiled. “Shall we?”

The two men turned as one then, and made their way toward the central elevator bank.

Hoshi had circled the party twice, the first time to blow off some steam-recreational sex? Please-the second to look for Theera, to pick up the conversation that Sen’s appearance had interrupted. She didn’t see the Andorian anywhere.

On her third circuit of the room, she witnessed Malcolm save the governor’s life, and saw Sen’s would-be assassin murdered. The combined result of which was that she felt like stalking up to Reed and saying, “How could you?” Which was of course the wrong reaction; she should be congratulating him, except her stomach turned at the idea.

Maybe what she needed was another drink.

She stomped off to the nearest refreshment table.

“Any Romulan ale?” she asked the server.

“Sorry,” he said, then smiled at her. “Nice dress.”

A sound something like “grrrrrr” escaped her mouth.

“Whoa, whoa,” the server said, backpedaling away from her, hands raised in self-defense. “I can go check. We may have more.”

“That,” she said, nodding, “would be a good thing.”

“We must be very high up here,” the captain said.

“Oh we are. Roughly five thousand meters above the planet’s surface. Touching the edge of the planet’s atmosphere,” Sen replied.

Archer looked down, and then up. It did seem to him that the stars were brighter than the lights of the city below. One star in particular, in fact. A silvery white dot that seemed to him to be moving toward them. Probably one of those patrol ships they’d encountered earlier, while coming in on the shuttle.

He turned away from the window. Sen was standing over a large circular table that occupied the center of the room (the upper solarium, as he had referred to it), studying a display screen built into the top of the table. It was running a text feed of some sort, in a language Archer didn’t recognize at all. Several languages, in fact, running down the screen in parallel columns. One of those languages looked to him like Orion, or a dialect thereof, which he’d had occasion to brush up on recently, a run-in with some slavers. It wasn’t text, though, so much as numbers. If he was reading it right. Sen was deeply absorbed in the readout. Happy about what he was seeing. Archer wished Hoshi were there to interpret.

“Good news?” the captain asked, pushing aside one of the chairs that surrounded the table to get closer to the screen. As he did so, he noticed that the floor they stood on was now opaque, cutting off their view of the party below. Neat little feature. Privacy on demand.

“Very good news,” Sen replied without looking up.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Yes. The transfers have all cleared, and the routing data has all been erased.”

Archer frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s not important. What it means is that we’re ready to go.”

Sen straightened. He held a weapon of some sort in his right hand, aimed squarely at the captain.

Foremost among the thoughts crossing Archer’s mind at that instant was that he really had to learn to trust Malcolm’s instincts.

“I thought we were going to talk.”

“We will. At a leisurely pace. Quite soon, in fact.”

Keep him busy. Keep him speaking, the captain thought, his eyes flickering around the room, searching for a weapon of some kind, any kind. He had one hand on the chair he’d pushed aside. He wondered how heavy it was, if he could grip it with both hands and throw it before the governor could fire. Not likely. Might be his only chance though.

“Care to tell me what this is all about?”

“Money, power…” Sen shrugged. “The usual sort of thing. Ah. Here we are.”

Sen’s gaze went to the window behind Archer. The captain turned and saw that same silver star he had noticed before, growing larger with each passing second. Coming closer. It wasn’t a star at all, he realized, and turned back to Sen, opening his mouth to speak again.

The governor raised his weapon.

There.

General Jaedez, and Theera. And Ambassador Quirsh. Surrounded by a knot of uniformed Thelasians. Quirsh and Jaedez were talking, Theera stood by, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Why, Hoshi thought, did I have the feeling that the same conversation she’d witnessed was playing out all over again?

She took a step toward the group, and someone touched her shoulder.

Sen, she thought, shuddering.

She took a deep breath and turned around.

Malcolm.

He smiled. “You and the governor getting along all right?”

She glared.

“Do not,” she said, pointing a finger, “expect me to congratulate you for saving that man’s life.”

“I know,” he said, frowning. His eyes went past her, scanning the room.

“I’m kidding,” she said.

“I know,” he said again, continuing to look all around.

“What’s the matter?” Hoshi asked.

“Where’s the captain?”

“I haven’t seen him. Why?”

“Where’s Sen?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” The last slipped out before she could stop herself. Maybe, she thought, two Romulan ales were her limit.

“See if you can spot him,” Reed said, ignoring her remark. “He’s got to be here somewhere.”

He looked to his left, and his right, and Hoshi did the same, and he looked over her shoulder, and she looked over his, and then he looked up and said-

“What happened to the floor?”

Hoshi looked up too then, and saw Malcolm was right. The floor of the upper room, which had been transparent before, was suddenly opaque.

“Privacy feature,” she said. “I wonder who’s up there.”

“I can hazard a guess,” Reed said. “Come on.”

He took her arm.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

He pointed upward.

There was a sudden flash of light, and a noise like the end of the world.