Chapter 9

Imperial Courthouse, Laibok, Andoria, 7 April 2159

"Damn, Sarge, I'm bored outta my skull."

Sergeant Bonnie Doyle shot an amused glance at the private sitting—fidgeting, really—in the seat next to her.  "Just relax and enjoy it, Sandoval.  No one's shooting at us or trying to blow us up.  I'll take that."

"No one's doing ANYTHING to us," Private Sandoval moaned.  "We've been sitting in this little room with our thumbs up our butts for hours.  It's enough to make me want to go outside, and it's twelve below out there!  I shoulda listened to my brother."

"Dare I ask what he said?"

"He said not to join the MACOs.  He said the real action was with Starfleet.  Now he's at Rho Virginis fightin' rommies while I'm freezing my ass off on Andoria."

Bonnie shook her head.  "You're ass is safe and warm in a snug little room while you pull embassy duty on Andoria—a highly coveted assignment, in case you've forgotten.  Try to show a little gratitude."

"To hell with that, I want some action!"

"Action is overrated," Bonnie stated.

Sandoval took note of her flat tone and shot her a searching look.  "You've seen some!  Where?  When?"  Left unspoken was his real question:  and how can I get some?

Before she could reply, a third voice inserted itself into the conversation.  "You should've listened to your brother."

The interloper was the young Starfleet officer sitting next to them.  His uniform bore Lieutenant J.G. insignia and the dark green piping of the JAG Corps.  "All the fighting has been ship-to-ship," he explained, "not much need for MACOs.  I was a JAG officer on Fifth Fleet's flagship and we didn't even have a MACO detachment."

"See, that's what I mean," Private Sandoval declared, a mournful expression on his face.  "I'll bet the lieutenant here has more combat experience than you, Sarge, and he's just a JAG officer.  Uh, no offense, sir," he added to the lieutenant.

Bonnie shrugged.  "Probably."  She settled back in her chair, not intending to pursue the matter any further.

But Sandoval had other ideas.  "So L-T," he asked, "how long were you with Fifth Fleet?"

"A year.  May '57 to '58.  I was at 61 Virginis and both of the Beta Hydri campaigns."

"And you, Sarge..?"  Sandoval turned an expectant look toward Bonnie, "When were you with Starfleet?"

"I wasn't."

"Huh?  But you said you'd seen action!"

"No, I didn't actually," Bonnie replied.  "That was just you jumping to conclusions."

Sandoval's hopeful expression turned glum.  "No action, then.  Damn, I shoulda known."

"There you go, jumping to conclusions again."

Sandoval narrowed his eyes.  "So... have you or haven't you?"

"I have," she answered, after a moment's hesitation.

Sandoval opened his mouth to demand details, but the JAG Lieutenant beat him to it.  "Wait, you just said you weren't with Starfleet," he stated in a tone that was almost accusatory.  "Where'd you see combat, then?"

Their skeptical looks told Bonnie she would get no peace until she explained.  "The Borderlands.  Multiple raids on Celes II, Chi Leonis IV, and Beta Rigel II.  Boarded some ships in the Gamma Leporis sector.  Oh, and we were boarded once off of Tau Hydrae."

The lieutenant frowned.  "Rommies don't board ships, they destroy them.  And I'm not aware of any Romulan activity in the Borderlands.  I was on Admiral Sprague's staff, so I would know if that was going on."

"Not Romulans; Orions."  Bonnie corrected.  "After the war broke out, all the Coalition warships in the Borderlands were sent to fight rommies.  The Orion Syndicate took advantage of the power vacuum to become more active.  Much more active.  Someone had to let them know they couldn't enslave our citizens with impunity, and that someone was us."

"MACOs?"

"Mostly MACOs.  We also had some Imperial Guard ground forces and a few Vulcan V'Shar tactical squads.  Oh, and a special task force from the Ministry of Justice."

The lieutenant pondered Bonnie's answer.  "How did... how did these units deploy without Starfleet assistance?" he asked.

"We used civilian ships," Bonnie replied.  "Merchant Reserve or specially chartered vessels.  Initially, we just put MACOs on ships traveling the most active routes and waited for the Orions to show up.  As we developed better intel, we learned where the slave markets and holding pens were located and started targeting them with raids and rescue operations."

Private Sandoval's eyes had grown wide with enthusiasm.  "Yes, that's it!  That's what I'm talking about, Sarge!  Who do I have to kill to get a transfer to the Borderlands?  And why did you ever let them send you here?"

It was a long moment before Bonnie spoke.  "While we were developing better intel on the Orions, they were doing the same to us," she said.  "Somehow they learned who I was, and they targeted my family.  They had my parents killed back on Earth, and almost killed my younger brother.  I went home for the funeral, but I couldn't rejoin my old unit.  Not without putting everyone I knew at risk."

"Oh!"  Sandoval was shocked by her revelation.  "I'm sorry, Sarge."

"Thank you."

She endured their sympathetic expressions for as long as she could, which wasn't very long, then she changed the subject.  "Don't worry; Sandoval.  We'll still be fighting the Orion Syndicate long after we're finished with the Romulans.  Just stick around and you'll get all the action you can handle."

Sandoval's expression hardened.  "And when I do, I'll make DAMN sure they pay for what they did to your parents."

"See that you do, Private," Bonnie murmured. "See that you do."  She settled back in her chair and closed her eyes, signaling that—for her, anyway—the conversation was over.

It was not to be.  "Sarge?  I'm still bored.  How much longer are we gonna have to sit here?"

"Sandoval, do I look like I'm in charge?" she asked.  Her eyes remained closed.

"Uh, no Sarge."

"That's because I'm not.  You'll know what we're doing here exactly two seconds after I do, and not a moment sooner."

"I can probably help with that," the JAG officer said, injecting himself into their conversation a second time.

Bonnie sat upright when she heard that.  She had been wondering why they were included in the large entourage that left the United Earth Embassy that morning.  In addition to Private Sandoval and herself, the group contained the Deputy Chief of Mission, the entire Starfleet liaison section, and almost all of the Embassy's legal staff.  They had boarded multiple shuttle pods and flown to the Imperial Courthouse in Laibok.  On arrival, all the junior members had been shunted aside (without explanation) to the small room they now occupied.  She suspected—no, she knew—that this had something to do with Commander T'Pol's pending trial, but she could not imagine the role she was intended to play.

"No shit?" Sandoval asked, "You know what me an' Sergeant Doyle are doing out here?"

"I do.  In fact, I'm kind of surprised you don't."

"Shouldn't be," Bonnie said.  "If I've learned anything over the course of my career, it's that MACOs are the last to be told anything."

"And here I thought it was Starfleet that was always the last to know," the Lieutenant said, chuckling.  "So, have either of you heard of Ushaan?"

They shook their heads.

"Ushaan is some kind of Andorian honor code.  I understand it's old—very old—and it permeates every aspect of Andorian society, including their legal system.  Anyway, under Ushaan, disputes like this are sometimes settled by duels, and—"

Sandoval interrupted him.  "Duels?!  Does that mean I get to fight someone?"  He could barely restrain his enthusiasm at the thought.

"Sandoval, shut up and let the L-T talk."

"Sorry Private, no duels for you," the Lieutenant replied, grinning.  "You and Sergeant Doyle are going to be shen kareth for Commander T'Pol.  That's Andorian for 'blade minder.'  It's someone who stands with the dueler through the whole proceeding; similar to a 'second' in old Earth duels.  Shen kareth help with arrangements before the fight, keep things fair during the fight, and arrange for medical treatment or funeral rites as needed afterwards."

"So Commander T'Pol is fighting someone..?"

"No, no one's fighting anyone.  No fighting, it's just a formality.  Tradition holds that each dueler will bring two shen kareth who are chosen from the biggest, meanest members of their respective clans.  An intimidation tactic, I think.  Andorians respect martial prowess above all things, so we picked two MACOs—the two of you—to stand with Commander T'Pol.  Given the history between Vulcan and Andoria, we think Human soldiers are the best choice for this job.  Not to mention we're the closest thing she has to a clan on this planet."

The closest thing she has to a clan...  In that moment Bonnie realized just how utterly alone and vulnerable Commander T'Pol was, a Vulcan in the hands of her people's traditional enemy.  The thought filled her with sadness, and she resolved then and there to be the best damn shen kareth she could possibly be.  Whatever that hell that meant.

"So what exactly do we have to do?" she asked.

"It's simplicity itself," the lieutenant explained, "just stand around and look intimidating.  Should be a snap for any MACO.  Don't they teach you to be intimidating in basic training?"

Bonnie locked eyes with the lieutenant.  "No sir, they teach us to be dangerous.  Intimidation follows as a natural consequence."

"Er, yes, I see what you mean," the lieutenant said, blinking.

Sandoval grinned, enjoying the lieutenant's discomfort.  He well knew the impact of Sergeant Doyle's steely-eyed stare, having been on the receiving end more than once.  "No fighting, then.  Damn."

"I'm afraid not, Private," the Lieutenant said.  "The shen kareth are strictly ceremonial these days, or so I'm told.  The good news is you'll both be at the trial when it starts.  Me; I'll be stuck down here.  The legal staff was assigned different areas of Andorian law to study, and I got stuck with sentencing and appeals.  If I'm ever needed, it won't be until the whole thing is almost over."

After that, the conversation lapsed and Bonnie settled back to rest.  This time she was not disappointed.

#####

Chosin, Rho Virginis, 7 April 2159

Trip could hear the sounds of voices and raucous laughter while still some distance from Chosin's mess deck.  *Sounds like today's meeting of the Board of Dirty Tricks is going to be a lively one,* he sent to T'Pol.

*Are not they all?*

*I mean livelier than usual,* Trip amended.

*That is not possible.*

Trip chuckled, mentally conceding T'Pol's point.  He stepped through the mess deck door and an alert crewman notified the others of his arrival, "Attention on deck!"  The room went quiet as everyone rose to their feet.

"Afternoon, Captain." Chief Verley said.  The emphasis he placed on the word 'captain' was not lost on Trip, who was still very much aware of the shiny new captain pips on his shoulder.

They had been pinned on the day before by a grinning Jon Archer at an impromptu ceremony aboard Enterprise.  "How does it feel to finally outrank T'Pol?" Jon had asked.  Trip had returned the grin, "Hell, Jon, it'll take more than an extra pip on my shoulder to outrank T'Pol.  Nah, this is just payment for having to put up with all the miscreants and scoundrels on Chosin."  Jon had replied in kind.  "And here I thought all the miscreants and scoundrels in Starfleet were on Enterprise..."

Trip took his customary spot at the table closest to the drink dispenser.  "Ya'll sit and let's get this show on the road," he said.  There was a brief rustle as everyone returned to their seats and gave their attention to Trip.  "Have they been briefed on the mission?" he asked Verley.

"Not yet, sir.  We were waiting for you."

Petty Officer McCourtney scurried from the galley with a steaming mug of coffee, which he placed in front of Trip.  "Thanks," Trip murmured.  He paused to take a sip before addressing the room, "The rommies have sixty-eight ships that were damaged at Rho Virg to the point they can only travel at warp two.  The rommie fleet stayed with them until three days ago, then took off.  They left two squadrons of cruisers behind as an escort, but the main fleet is retreating to Terix at warp four."

He took another sip of coffee.  "Admiral Chu is preparing a strike force to attack the damaged ships, but it will be another three days before they're rearmed and provisioned.  In the meantime, Task Force 2.1 will depart with orders to follow the retreating rommie fleet.  When the strike force deploys, our job will be to engage and delay any elements of the main body that turn back to assist the damaged ships."

The room was silent as everyone digested the plan, and Commander Graham picked up the narrative where Trip had left off.  "This could be a walk in the park," he told them, "there's a very good chance the rommies will decide that trying to save their damaged ships won't be worth the cost, and they'll make no attempt to reinforce them.  In that case we get to enjoy a nice, uneventful cruise."

"That'll be the day," someone muttered.

"Exactly," Graham agreed.  "The rommies may decide to throw everything they have at us, and we'll find ourselves fighting a delaying action against some very stiff odds.  Which is our specialty, I suppose."

A voice from the middle of the room called out, "Ya know, this 'overwhelming odds' thing is starting to get a little old.  Why don't we give 'uneventful cruise' a try this time out?"

Graham waited for the muffled laughs to subside before answering, "That's a great idea, Delgado.  Too bad it's the rommies who get to decide."

Verley spoke next.  "We've got a couple of things working in our favor.  First, at warp four their main fleet will be five days away from the damaged ships when our strike force launches.  That means only the ships that can sustain at least warp five will be able to get back in time to help.  This rules out the heavies on their main battle line.  Second, none of the ordnance they expended at Rho Virg has been replenished.  Our ships, on the other hand, will be carrying full combat loads."

Verley's observation met with everyone's approval, judging by the rowdy outburst that followed.  Trip let the cacophony continue unabated for several seconds, then raised a hand.  "Okay, that's the mission in a nutshell.  The full op plan is posted in each department's inbox.  I encourage you to read it at your leisure.  Chief Verley will now call this meeting to order.  Chief?"

Chief Verley nodded.  "Computer, audio recording on."  He waited for the computer's acknowledgement, then continued, "The twenty-first meeting of the Board of Dirty Tricks is now called to order.  You all know the drill:  Rank does not apply while this board is convened, and no idea is too stupid for consideration."

"Except Wageman's."

"Bite me!"

Verley smiled.  "Let the brainstorming begin.  Who's first?  Leach?"

Crewman Leach dropped the hand she had been waving in the air.  "Yeah, so I was at chow last night, and that got me to thinking of a solution to the antimatter shortage.  Instead of antimatter in our torpedo warheads, we can use McCourtney's meatloaf.  If it does to the rommies what it did to my stomach, the war will be over next week."

This set off a round of hoots and catcalls, which PO3 McCourtney, the ship's cook and object of Leach's jibe, took in stride.  "You sure as hell weren't complaining when I brought out the pecan pie," he groused.

A grinning Trip spoke, loud enough to be heard over the hubbub, "Khart-lan says"—the room grew still at the word 'Khart-lan'—"while she has no direct experience with meatloaf, personal observation leads her to believe that deploying McCourtney's meatloaf as a weapon would constitute a serious war crime and a grievous violation of the international laws of war."

The room dissolved into peals of delighted laughter.

*It appears you were correct about today's meeting being especially lively,* T'Pol sent.

*Well, if it wasn't true before, it sure is now that you've got them all wound up with your war crimes joke.*

*Humans require no assistance in becoming 'all wound up'.  They are quite capable of managing that on their own.*

*If you say so,* Trip replied, and T'Pol was intrigued by the way he managed the equivalent of a derisive snort across their bond.

The laughter in the room provoked by T'Pol's comment ran its course, and was replaced by a general clamor for an update of her status.  The existence and nature of the bond had become common knowledge among the crew, and now that they knew she was 'present' (in the mental sense), they demanded to know how she was doing.

*They miss you, T'Pol.  Almost as much as I do.*

*I miss them, too,* she replied, *almost as much as I miss you.*

The truth of T'Pol's quiet proclamation could not be hidden from Trip, nor was he surprised by it.  He knew—as only a bond mate could know—the true depth of her feelings.  He also knew how onerous and fraught with danger (real physical danger) the path leading to her current facility with emotion had been.  Yet she had done it; she'd managed to fuse two drastically different cultures with radically divergent philosophies into a single, coherent world-view, and she'd done it without losing her sense of self or violating her Vulcan heritage.  She never seemed especially proud of her accomplishment—that would be illogical—but she didn't need to be.  Trip was proud enough for the both of them.  After all, he knew better than anyone how dark and menacing, how truly terrifying the emotional demons she wrestled had been, and what it had taken for her to ultimately defeat them.

Trip lifted a hand to quiet the room.  "The trial begins today and Khart-lan is at the courthouse, waiting to be taken to the courtroom.  Her defense team has some highly experienced legal minds from Andoria, Vulcan and Earth, and they're estimating the trial will last about two weeks.  They are also predicting she'll be found not guilty.  She could be back here on Chosin in a couple of months!"

He waited for the cheering to subside before trying to get them back on task, "In the meantime, we still have a job to do, and it looks like we'll have to do it without meatloaf bombs.  So, any other bright ideas?  Lieutenant Koussa?"

Lieutenant Brant Koussa had taken over Ops Department when LCDR Graham became First Officer.  Judging by the expression on his face, he was about to make a serious proposal.  "Yessir.  I was the Sensor DivO, so I'm familiar with all the ways a torpedo detonation can affect sensors.  Can't say I know what McCourtney's meatloaf might do, but it probably wouldn't be pretty."

McCourtney groaned at the renewed assault on his culinary skills.

Koussa continued, "A near miss from a torpedo will shut down sensors for several seconds.  An explosion farther away won't shut the sensors down, but it will obscure readings from anything in the vicinity of the explosion."

"I'm familiar with the affect," Trip said.

"Does the same thing to my comms," Lieutenant Walder interjected.  Indignantly, as if Koussa might have been somehow personally responsible.

"Yeah," Koussa agreed. "Anyway, it seems to me that we could use this to degrade the effectiveness of rommie defensive fire."

"Go on..."

"Usually, we launch our torpedoed in large salvos, trying to overwhelm the target.  Send enough torpedoes and some are bound to get through rommie's point defenses.  Instead of launching them all at once, I'm thinking we could launch them in sequence.  Then we detonate the first torpedo some distance from the target, the second one a little closer, and so on.  It's a rolling barrage of torpedoes all the way to the target, where each detonation obscures the torpedoes behind it.  Rommie's fire control is blinded and they can't get a lock on the inbound torpedoes.  Whatcha, think, sir?"

"Hmmm..."  Trip's first thought was Hell Yeah, but he had learned to carefully consider such proposals before passing judgment.  "How many torpedoes would it take?"

"Beats me," Koussa admitted.  "I'll leave it as an exercise for Weapons Division to calculate the appropriate quantity and spacing."

"Hodges?" Trip asked, turning to Chosin's senior torpedo tech.

"I'd have to run some simulations, sir, but I'm thinking ten torpedoes launched at two second intervals might do the trick.  That would give us a sensor-masking effect for eighteen seconds of the last torpedo's trajectory, and that last eighteen seconds is when rommie defensive fire is most effective."

Commander Graham was less restrained:  "This is brilliant!  Inspired!  Brant, you’re a genius!"

Trip grinned at Graham's enthusiasm.  He had to admit it was a pretty damn good idea; a ten-torpedo cascade could very well be as effective as a salvo of twenty or thirty torpedoes.  "Ensign Bowman, you and Hodges run some simulations and—"

*Trip...*

"bring me the results and a recommended plan to implement—"

*Trip!*

*What, darlin'?*

*We cannot do this.*

*Huh?  Of course we can.  It's a simple matter of reprogramming the warheads and timing the launches.*

*Let me rephrase that:  we should not do this.*

*Why not, T'Pol?*

*If we can do it, so can the Romulans.  We have no countermeasures against it.  It is bad enough that the Romulans will soon have torpedo packs of their own, now that they have seen our six-packs.  For them to also develop rolling torpedo barrages of this type would be catastrophic.*

Trip knew at once she was right.  Damn!

His focus returned to the room where he found all eyes were on him, wondering at his suddenly grim visage.  After he explained T'Pol's objection to the concept, they looked equally grim.

#####

Imperial Courthouse, Laibok, Andoria, 7 April 2159

"Hey, Sarge.  Sergeant Doyle!"

Bonnie's eyes snapped open to see an excited Private Sandoval reaching for her shoulder.  "I'm awake," she growled.

His hands froze inches from her shoulder, then beat a hasty retreat.  "Uh, they're getting ready to bring Commander T'Pol to the courtroom.  We have to go."

She glanced over at the door and saw a man in formal civilian attire looking their way.  He was clearly waiting for them.

"Damn," the JAG Lieutenant muttered, "That's Dan McFadden."

"Who?" Bonnie asked.  She gave the man by the door a closer look.

"Daniel McFadden.  He's the Embassy Legal Attache.  My boss's boss.  Sending him to get you is like... like sending the Ambassador to get coffee."

Bonnie suppressed a yawn.  "Well, I hope the Ambassador gets here quick.  I could use some coffee."  She stood, stretched, and headed for the door.  "Let's go, Sandoval."

The Legal Attache led them from the room and they walked briskly down the hall.  "They're bringing T'Pol to a holding area next to the courtroom," he explained.  "You need to prep the room before she arrives.  Thon will be there, in case you forgot anything from his briefing."

Bonnie glanced at Sandoval, whose blank expression revealed he was just as mystified as her.  "Who's Thon?" she asked.

McFadden broke stride at her question, but quickly recovered, "You haven't been briefed?"

"No sir."

He looked annoyed.  "Thon will have to give you a crash course.  We should have time; everyone says it's pretty easy..."

Nothing's ever easy, Bonnie thought, but she kept it to herself.  "Yes, sir," she said instead.

"Here we are."  McFadden stood to one side and they preceded him into an unfurnished room.  Unfurnished, but not unoccupied.  The buzz of conversation from several huddled groups filled the air.  A quick glance revealed an assortment of Humans and Andorians, even a couple of Vulcans, but Commander T'Pol was not among them.

"They'll bring Commander T'Pol along shortly," McFadden said, before she could ask.  "First, you need to get with Thon for a crash course in Ushaan."

Bonnie followed his eyes and saw an Andorian engaged in an animated discussion with a pair of Humans.  On closer inspection, she decided 'discussion' was probably the wrong term since it appeared Thon was doing all the talking.  "He looks busy," she said.

McFadden snorted, which Bonnie interpreted as disagreement.  "Thon!" he called, "The shen kareth are here."

Thon's antenna snapped upright and his head swiveled in their direction.  He left the two humans he was addressing—in mid-sentence, judging by their bewildered looks—and approached Bonnie and Private Sandoval.  He looked them up and down, but his expression left Bonnie feeling he was not favorably impressed.

"He is acceptable," Thon stated, pointing at Sandoval, "but she is too small."  His finger was now pointed at Bonnie's face.

McFadden frowned.  "She's a soldier, uh, a warrior.  A combat veteran.  That's what you asked for."

"I also said they needed to be large and impressive.  I can assure you that Chancellor Shalin's shen kareth will be MUCH more imposing."

"So what do you propose we do?  There's no time to get anyone else."

"Since we have no choice I suppose we'll have to make do with what we have," Thon answered.  "It probably won't affect the outcome of the trial either way..."  His tone reflected doubt in his own words.

"Good," McFadden said.  "I leave them in your capable hands, then."  He was walking away even as he spoke.

Thon turned back to the two MACOs.  "There is little time, so we must—"

Bonnie's hand shot up, a rigid index finger coming within millimeters of Thon's nose.  "If you ever point that finger at me again, I will break it off and shove it down your throat.  Am I perfectly clear?"

Thon took a step back, startled by her vehemence, then another step back as she advanced on him.

"And since everyone says there isn't going to be any fighting, perhaps you can explain why we need to be so big and scary."  She snarled the last word at him, and Thon took a third step back.  He might have retreated further, but Bonnie had backed him against the wall.

"Well?"  She folded her arms and glared at him.

It is... tradition," Thon squeaked.  "Under the code of Ushaan, shen kareth must stand ready to protect the shan keth... that is T'Pol... from acts of treachery or lawless attacks..."

"You mean we watch her back."

"Er, yes.  When small or weak shen kareth are provided, the clan is sending the message that they don't care, that their shan keth is being disowned."

Bonnie considered Thon's words.  "So you're saying Andorians will think T'Pol is guilty because I'm not seven feet tall and covered with hair?"

"I, ah, I believe I have changed my mind... your size will not be a problem."

"Good," Bonnie said.  "In that case, please tell us whatever it is we need to know."  She gave Thon her sweetest smile, which only served to unnerve him further.

#####

"She's on her way."  The notification came from a Human, whose head appeared briefly through the doorway before vanishing back into the hall.

Thon paused his rapid-fire instructions to the two MACOs.  "There is more to learn, but we're out of time," he said.  "I've told you most of what you need, since there will not be a challenge.  Now, show me what you've learned.  Your shan keth is coming; what will you do?"

Sandoval looked at Bonnie, deferring to her rank, and Bonnie glanced around the room.  It's really pretty simple, she thought.  We're pretend bodyguards in a ceremony where actual bodyguards are no longer required.  All we have to do is act like there's a real threat.  "Sandoval, go check and secure the hall.  When Commander T'Pol arrives, follow her into the room.  I'll be over there by the door."  She looked at Thon.  "I don't suppose we can get a couple of phase pistols?" she asked.

"No, that won't be necessary," he replied, but his smile showed approval of her zeal.

Sandoval left the room and Bonnie took a position by the door.  Not long after, Commander T'Pol entered flanked by two uniformed guards.  She wore a flimsy green poncho and her wrists were shackled behind her.  Private Sandoval came next, followed by a cavalcade of Humans, Andorians, and Vulcans from her legal team.  Judging by the annoyed looks some of them were giving Sandoval, he had been less than gentle when inserting himself behind T'Pol.

Commander T'Pol came to a stop in the center of room while everyone else milled about.  After several moments of this Bonnie began to think no one was in charge; an intolerable condition from her MACO perspective.  Deputy Chief of Mission Joseph Pickett was the senior person in the room, and she was considering whether to say something to him when Dan McFadden began barking out orders.

Relieved that there was a functioning chain of command, she looked back at Commander T'Pol.  The Commander had become the epicenter of a flurry of activity.  The Andorian guards were removing the manacles from her wrists, an Andorian advocate was speaking something in her ear—something urgent, judging by his intense expression—and a Human Starfleet officer, oblivious to the fact that her attention was elsewhere and her wrists still restrained, was thrusting a bag at her while issuing a stream of instructions to someone on the other side of the room.

Bonnie moved in.  "I'll take that, sir," she said, retrieving the bag from the distracted officer.

"Oh, thanks."  He spared her a puzzled glance, uncertain of her place in the hierarchy but relieved that he could now concentrate on his other duties.  "It's her uniform for the trial," he explained before hastening away.

She looked inside the bag, verifying that it contained a set of Starfleet dress blues, undergarments, and a pair of shoes.  When she looked back up, T'Pol was watching her.  "Your uniform, Commander," Bonnie said, offering her the bag.

"Thank you, Sergeant."  T'Pol took it from her and began glancing around the room.

Oh shit, there's no place where she can change, Bonnie realized.  "Just a moment, ma'am."

She turned to one of the Andorian guards.  "Commander T'Pol needs a room with some privacy."

"She's not to leave this room.  Not until the trial starts," the guard replied.  Bonnie was no expert on Andorian facial expressions, but she was pretty sure the look on his face was one of disdain.

"She needs to change into her uniform," Bonnie explained.  Ever so respectfully.

"Then let her," the guard said.  And yes, he was leering at her.

Much as she would have enjoyed physically wiping that leer from his face, Bonnie decided a more prudent course of action would be escalating the issue.  She performed a quick scan of the room.  Other than Private Sandoval and the two Andorian guards, Deputy Chief of Mission Pickett seemed to be the only other person not currently occupied with a pressing task.  She approached him and explained the situation in succinct terms.

Pickett's brows furrowed.  "I don't know of any places where she could change," he admitted.

Bonnie had anticipated that response and was ready with a solution.  "No problem, sir.  I can clear this room and she can change in here.  With your permission, of course."

He nodded.  "Yes, that will work."

That was all she needed to hear.  "YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE."

A startled silence fell over the room and every eye turned toward Bonnie.  "Everyone needs to move out into the hall.  Now, please."

They stared at her.

"I said MOVE!"

They moved.

As a line formed at the door, Bonnie approached the two Andorian guards on either side of Commander T'Pol.  "You, too," she told them.  "Get out."

"We cannot leave the prisoner unattended," said the first guard, the one who had leered.

"I'll attend to her.  Now go," Bonnie growled.

"We have our orders," the second guard insisted.

There's no time for this.  "Sandoval."

"Yeah, Sarge?"  Sandoval approached, standing a head taller than either of the guards.  The grin on his face was not exactly friendly.

"Would you like to help these two leave the room?"

Sandoval cracked his knuckles.  "I would love to!"

The two guards regarded Sandoval with uneasy looks—even Bonnie had to admit he made for an imposing figure—but they showed no signs of backing down.  Damn.  A fight before the trial is the last thing I want.

Her eyes flicked from Sandoval to the the first guard and back; Sandoval responded with a barely perceptible nod.  Message received, Bonnie thought, I'll take out the first guard, he'll take the second.

Before Bonnie could act, T'Pol spoke, addressing the two guards, "Your orders were to get me to the courtroom on time for my trial," she said.  "By delaying my preparations you are violating your orders.  There is only one way in or out of this room so you should not fear I will escape."

The guards considered her words, then considered Sandoval looming over them and radiating menace.  "We will wait outside," the second guard announced.

Bonnie gave Sandoval a quick head motion:  Follow them out.  He nodded and fell in behind them.

"That was nicely done, Commander," she said, once Sandoval and the guards had left.

"They simply needed a reason to do what their pride would not allow."

"Yes, ma'am.  I'm Sergeant Doyle, by the way.  Bonnie Doyle.  We haven't been introduced, but Private Sandoval and I were assigned to be your shen... uh shen...'

"Shen kareth."

"Yes.  Shen kareth.  I apologize, but we just learned of this assignment a couple of hours ago.  We received a quick briefing on the basics, but we're hardly experts."

"You will do fine."

"I'll be out in the hall," Bonnie said, "just give a knock when you're done."

T'Pol nodded and began untying the belt around her waist while holding the bag in the crook of her arm.  It looked extremely awkward, and it was then Bonnie realized there was nowhere in the room to set anything down.  No tables, chairs, or hooks on the wall; just the floor, which would have benefitted from a good scrubbing.  "Let me help you with that, ma'am," she said, taking the bag from T'Pol.

Freed from her burden, T'Pol removed the belt and had her poncho off in short order.  Bonnie was surprised to find T'Pol without undergarments, though on reflection she shouldn't have been.  She took the poncho from T'Pol and turned away, allowing her a modicum of privacy.

"Where are you from, Sergeant Doyle?"

"Earth.  I was born and raised in Busselton, Australia."  She could hear Commander T'Pol rustling through the bag, then a thud that sounded like a pair of shoes being tossed to the floor.

"What led you to become a MACO?"

Is she engaging me in small talk? Bonnie wondered.  I thought Vulcans didn't do that.  "I enlisted right after the Xindi attack in '53.  I tried to join Starfleet first, but there was a waiting list and I'm not the waiting type.  Turned out for the best, though.  The MACOs are a good place for impatient hotheads like me."

"We've only just met, but you appear to be more level-headed than hot-headed."

Bonnie laughed.  "Yes ma'am, I guess I am now.  Let's just say I was uh, encouraged to change after I got my sergeant stripes."

"Responsibility for others can be an effective impetus for personal growth," T'Pol said, her tone more sober than before.

Bonnie considered her statement.  "I've got no room to complain," she said, "not compared to you.  At least the MACOs in my section are the same species as me.  You commanded a ship full of Humans.  That must have been hard for a Vulcan."

There was a brief silence broken only by the sound of a tunic being zipped.  "It was... challenging.  Yet also greatly stimulating."  There was another pause, then, "I am ready."

Bonnie turned.  Commander T'Pol was indeed ready, looking very impressive in her dress blue uniform.  Bonnie read the ribbons on her chest and found herself even more impressed.  They served to remind her that Chosin, under T'Pol's command, had inflicted more damage on the rommies than any other Coalition warship, Human or otherwise.  Too bad most of the Andorians in the courtroom won't know their meaning.

Bonnie walked to the door, but didn't open it right away.  From the muffled noises filtering through the door, a commotion of some sort was brewing outside.

She looked back at T'Pol, who stood in a relaxed pose with her hands clasped behind her back.  "Sounds like they're getting a little rambunctious out there," Bonnie noted.  "Should I let them back in?"

T'Pol nodded.  "I suppose we must.  They will only grow more agitated over time."  Bonnie smiled at that, but opened the door.

Private Sandoval was the first one through, and he gave Bonnie a rapid update on the source of the commotion.  "A bunch of Andorians just showed up and I think they want to take over the Commander's defense or be involved in it or something like that.  Whatever it is, it's got them all bickering like school kids."

Bonnie could see that for herself.  There were more people streaming back into the room than had originally left, and the newcomers—all Andorians—were engaged in vigorous debate with the others.  And they were ALL headed for Commander T'Pol.

"Keep them away from her," she snapped, giving Sandoval a tiny shove to start him moving.  Then she filled her lungs and bellowed, "QUIET!"

In the silence that followed, she stepped to Sandoval's side.  He stood like a granite pillar between T'Pol and the others, glaring ominously.

"Sir, who are these people?" Bonnie asked, looking directly at Deputy Chief of Mission Pickett.

"They claim to be—"

"We are her clan," said one of the Andorians, stepping forward.  He stopped when Sandoval took a half-step in his direction, but continued talking.  "I am Imperial Guard Commander Shran of Clan Gharal.  Just this morning Commander T'Pol was confirmed a daughter of Clan Gharal by consent of the Table of Elders and decree of the Eldest.  We claim blood-right to defend her honor and protect her life."

Bonnie, at a complete loss for words, could only stare at him.

T'Pol came to her rescue, stepping forward and placing a hand on her shoulder.  "There is no need for alarm, Sergeant," she said, "Commander Shran is a friend."

"And a brother, now," he added, grinning.  "And I'm one of your shen kareth."

Bonnie started to say something, but stopped herself.  This is way above my pay grade, she realized.  She stepped aside and motioned for Sandoval to join her.  I'm gonna let the big guns sort this one out.

#####

Imperial Chancellery, Laibok, Andoria, 7 April 2159

"This is... this is incredible!"  Chancellor Shalin read through the message on his desk, and certain he must have overlooked something, read through it again.  Its content did not change between readings.  "This is simply incredible.  Does Clan Gharal not understand how they will be perceived by other clans?  They will be despised and ridiculed.  They have adopted a Vulcan.  A Vulcan criminal, who is being tried for murder in Imperial Court... this can only lead to their downfall and destruction."

Dellev was reading the same message, with a similar degree of astonishment.  Unlike Shalin, he was not so certain of its impact.  "I think you may be overestimating the degree of outrage this will generate," Dellev said.  "She is only a criminal if she is convicted."

"Which you have assured me will happen."

"And which I believe," Dellev confirmed.  "But apparently Clan Gharal believes otherwise."  They would not do something as drastic as adopting the Vulcan T'Pol without some hope of gain or profit, he mused.  What do they hope to gain?

"Once she is convicted, Clan Gharal's shame and dishonor will be boundless," Shalin gloated.  "No other clan will have anything to do with them for fear of sharing their taint."

Dellev stared at the message while he pondered its significance.  Unlike Shalin, he was convinced that Clan Gharal had ulterior motives for their action.  He could not rest until he knew what they were.  "What am I overlooking?" he murmured.  Shalin did not hear, already considering who he might endorse for the seats in Parliament currently held by Clan Gharal.

Has he always been this impetuous and short-sighted, Dellev wondered, or am I growing impatient in my old age?  He was about to caution Shalin that his plans might be premature, but as he opened his mouth to speak, the reason why Clan Gharal had adopted T'Pol came to him.

"Shalin..."

That got the Chancellor's attention.  He stopped and looked at his old advisor.

"I know why they adopted her," Dellev said.  "It was for Ushaan."

"Ushaan?  Don't be ridiculous.  She's a foreigner.  A Vulcan.  Ushaan does not apply."

"She is of Clan Gharal.  Ushaan is her right.  Her blood-right.  She will issue the challenge... to you."

If Shalin had been standing, his knees might have buckled.  As it was, the blood rushed from his face and left him deathly pale.  "She... she cannot." he stammered.  "This cannot be allowed... this adoption must be overturned.  No Vulcan can be Clan!"

"By what authority will you overturn it?" Dellev asked.  "The Charter of Clans is silent on the matter of bloodlines.  It's an internal matter that each clan must decide on its own."

"Her blood is green.  Green!  It's absurd to permit this!"

"I ask again:  By what authority will you prevent it?"  To emphasize his point, Dellev quoted a well-known catch-phrase, "The Charter ends at the Clan's door."

"There must be another way, some other statute or law we can invoke..."

Dellev was growing uneasy at the direction the conversation was taking.  "We cannot stop this," he replied.  "She has the right of Ushaan and she will challenge you."

"I... I will find a champion."

"You will let someone else fight in your place?  What of your honor?  What of your clan's honor?  What champion would agree to be a part of this?"

"What of your nephew Jannek?  He served in the Imperial Guard..."

Dellev's expression hardened.  "Jannek fights his own battles.  Find your champion from the ranks of your own clan.  Even better, fight her yourself."

"Dellev, I haven't touched a weapon since childhood.  You know this.  My battles were fought on the floor of Parliament.  She is a warrior, a... a remorseless murderer.  She would kill me in a fight!"

"If T'Pol brings the challenge, you must fight.  If you choose a champion, it may save your life but you will lose everything else.  Everything."

Shalin's antennae twitched at the sharp edge in Dellev's voice.  "There must be something we can do!"

Dellev hesitated.  Part of him was disgusted by Shalin's reaction, but part of him remembered the years spent advising and encouraging Shalin.  The decades spent assisting him in his climb to power.  Dellev remembered the political victories and the electoral defeats.  He remembered the long days and sleepless nights when Parliament was in session; the strategy sessions; the lobbying, bargaining and arm-twisting.  It had been hard, but it had also been exhilarating.  Shalin is no saint, Dellev reflected, but he has accomplished much that is good.  WE have accomplished much that is good.

"Perhaps there is something..." Dellev said.

"Yes, yes!  Tell me!"

"First, I must know what you will do if challenged."

Shalin licked his lips and stared down at his hands.  He was silent for a long moment before murmuring, "I will fight."

It was exactly what Dellev had hoped to hear.  "Good.  Good.  You make me proud, Chancellor."

Shalin could not contain a nervous laugh.  "Yes.  You will be proud and I will be dead.  Dellev, she is a former agent of the Vulcan Security Directorate, the V'Shar.  I cannot hope to defeat her."

"Then we must see that she does not challenge you."

"How?" Shalin asked, but there was a new note of hope in his voice.

"We threaten to expose her Trellium-D addiction if she invokes Ushaan."

Shalin considered his proposal and could find no flaw.  "No one can know of this, Dellev.  You must talk to her yourself, and quickly.  She goes to court this afternoon for the reading of charges.  That's when she will claim her blood-right."

Dellev stood.  "I'll go now.  Have a directive sent to the courthouse granting me full access, and I'll take care of the rest."

"Thank you, old friend."

"Thank me when this is behind us," Dellev replied.  He left the room, striding as purposefully as his aging legs would permit.

#####

Imperial Courthouse, Laibok, Andoria, 7 April 2159

Dellev approached the courtroom doors and tried to keep the dismay he felt from showing on his face.  I'm too late!

The doors were shut and a guard posted, indicating that the legal proceedings were already underway.  The trial had not yet started when he left the Chancellery, so it couldn't have been going on for very long.  The first item on the court's agenda would be the seating of the judges, and only after that could the right of Ushaan be invoked.  There still might be time, he thought.

He hurried to the guard, showed him his authorization from Chancellor Shalin, and slipped through the door into the courtroom.  It was large and richly appointed, with polished stone floors and a high, vaulted ceiling; altogether a fitting place where Andorian justice could be dispensed.  Over the course of his long career Dellev had been in many such courtrooms, and had always taken a moment to drink in their timeless majesty and reflect on the principles and traditions they represented.

Today he did not; his eyes going straight to the large triangular table at the head of the room.  The vertex of the triangle pointed toward the public gallery where Dellev now stood.  The left side of the triangular table had four seats for the defense and the right had four seats for the prosecution, all of which were occupied.  But it was the base of the triangle that concerned Dellev.  That was where the three trial judges who would hear the case and rule on its merits were seated.  One judge was appointed by the defense, one by the prosecution, and one by the government.  And all three seats were occupied.  Not good...

He located a vacant seat in the gallery and slid into it.  "They have already selected the judges?" he whispered to the spectator in the seat next to his.

"Yes. None were disputed, so the seating went quickly."

"What of the Ushaan-kareth?

"The Vulcan waived her blood-right."

Dellev sank back in his seat, his mind spinning with the ramifications of what he had just heard.  It was good news.  No, it was very good news.  Too-good-to-be-true news.  Am I overlooking something?  Why would Clan Gharal adopt her, if not to invoke Ushaan?

He left his seat and exited the courtroom through the same door he had entered, heading directly for the office of the court's Chief Administrator.  He knew what he had to do.  I must talk to her at the next recess.  Alone.

#####

T'Pol was led to a room adjacent to the one where her legal team had waited before the trial.  In fact, it was an exact duplicate of that room, both in size and lack of furnishings; one of several such staging areas where prosecutors and defendants made last-minute preparations before going to the courtroom.

The door sighed open and she entered, flanked by two guards and followed by her two shen kareth, her Human embassy lawyer, and her principle Andorian advocate.

The room's only occupant was an Andorian male, quite elderly judging by his wrinkled skin and gray hair.  He introduced himself without preamble.  "Commander T'Pol, my name is Dellev.  I am Chancellor Shalin's personal advisor, and there is something you and I need to discuss."

"As you wish."

He glanced at the others.  "It would be best if everyone else waited outside."

"That might be problematic," T'Pol pointed out.  "The guards will want to guard me, my shen kareth will want to protect me, and my legal counsel will want to advise me."

"The guards are no problem.  They've been informed that I speak for the Chancellor," Dellev said, and spoke to the guards:  "Wait in the hall."  They left without hesitation.  "Now the rest of you can leave."

"I am going nowhere.  My duty is here with my shan keth."  The speaker was Commander Shran, who had replaced Private Sandoval as T'Pol's second shen kareth after a heated discussion that T'Pol had been forced to moderate.  She had chosen Shran, since he was a brother of her new clan, and much more familiar with the traditions and protocols of Ushaan.

Shran had also wanted to replace Sergeant Doyle but T'Pol had overridden him, citing the symbolism of both a Human and Andorian acting as shen kareth for a Vulcan.  Nor had she forgotten how thoughtful and considerate Sergeant Doyle had been at their initial meeting.  Shran and his clan-brother may have been better versed in Ushaan, but ultimately their primary concern was the good of their clan, while Sergeant Doyle—Bonnie—seemed motivated solely by concern for T'Pol's well-being.

"I would prefer they stay." T'Pol told Dellev.  "You may speak freely in front of them."

"I advise you to reconsider, Commander.  We will be discussing the various uses of a substance known as Trellium-D."

T'Pol froze.

"Commander?" Dellev prompted.

T'Pol managed to suppress the panic that had seized her at the mention of Trellium-D.  "I would like you to wait outside," she told her escort.  She was pleased at how steady her voice sounded.

Shran's antennae flattened against his head.  "T'Pol, I'm not leaving you alone with this... this... swamp-crawler."

Dellev chuckled.  "I'm so old I can scarcely walk.  I'm certainly not a threat to her."

"He is correct," T'Pol agreed.  "Please, wait in the hall.  Dellev and I must speak alone."  Her entourage heeded her request and left the room, though reluctantly.

Sergeant Doyle was last to leave.  "Ma'am, you sure about this?" she murmured.

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Okay...  I'm right outside if you need me."

T'Pol waited until the door was closed and they were both alone, then she addressed Dellev.  "What is it you want to tell me?"

"Just like a Vulcan," Dellev remarked, "going straight to the point.  Very well, I'll refrain from congratulating you on your adoption into Clan Gharal and get to the heart of the matter.  After all, the sooner we're done here, the sooner I can find a place to sit these tired old bones."  He looked around the unfurnished room to emphasize his point.

T'Pol said nothing, regarding him with a wary expression.

"We are aware of the effects of Trellium-D on Vulcan physiology and in particular on the Vulcan brain.  We are also aware that you were exposed to Trellium-D during an away mission while serving as Enterprise's First Officer on her mission to the Delphic Expanse.  You suffered a severe psychotic incident as a result of that exposure."

"That is no secret."

Dellev smiled.  "No, that is no secret.  The secret, dear Commander, is that you continued injecting yourself with Trellium-D at regular intervals, to the point you became addicted to the substance.  You were unable to stop without medical intervention."

T'Pol's eyes widened with shock as her worst fears were confirmed.  *Trip!*

Sensing her urgency, his response was almost instantaneous.  *T'Pol?  What is it, what's wrong?*

*Shalin knows about... about my Trellium addiction in the Expanse.*

*What?  How?!*

*I do not know...*

Dellev continued, unaware of the conversation taking place between T'Pol and her bond-mate, "We know that you were secretly addicted for over three months.  We know that you never bothered to inform Starfleet of your condition, not while you were addicted, nor after the fact.  Finally, we know that you were under the influence of Trellium-D while commanding Enterprise at the battle of Azati Prime, where fourteen of your crew lost their lives."

T'Pol staggered as if struck, her arm seeking the support of the wall.  She was nearly overcome by a wave of bitter emotions:  Despair and anguish to be sure, but mostly?  Shame.

Trip was on the bridge making preparations for Task Force 2.1 to depart Rho Virginis when he was hit by T'Pol's unfiltered emotions.  He winced, but recovered his equilibrium long enough to mumble "I'll be in my quarters" and hurry from the bridge.

*Trip, he knows.  He knows everything!*

*Okay, okay.  Take a deep breath, T'Pol.  I'm here with you.*  Trip slipped into her mind, lending her his strength, helping her regain composure, all the while trying to ignore the sick feeling growing in the pit of his own stomach.

Looking on, Dellev was so astonished by T'Pol's reaction that he momentarily forgot what he intended to say.  He had not been expecting anything so dramatic, certainly not from a Vulcan.  As he watched, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then another.  Only then did she push away from the wall and stand upright again.

"What is it you want," she asked.

"Ah, yes, what do I want?  Once again, Commander, you get right to the point.  It's simple really; I want the same thing you want.  I want this shameful secret of yours to be buried deep, so deep it is never revealed.  I want you to never have to explain to Starfleet why you would take a mind-altering compound before leading your crew into combat.  I want you to never have to explain to your new Clan elders why you would bring such disgrace and dishonor on them.  In exchange, all I ask is that you not contest the charges you face."

Fury welled up inside T'Pol, but this time she was not caught off-guard.  She managed to suppress the feelings while she dispassionately considered Dellev's proposal.  What he asks is no more than what I expected when I first surrendered myself to the Andorians, she reflected.  So why do I now feel such anger?

The answer was she did not.  On inspection it was clear that the anger originated from Trip's side of the bond.  He was seething with rage and making no effort to control it.

He raged at Shalin for bringing baseless charges against T'Pol, he raged at Dellev for his under-handed attempt at blackmail, he raged at his powerlessness and inability to help, and he raged at the universe for conspiring to keep him from his wife and soul-mate.

In all the years T'Pol had known Trip, she had never before felt such anger and bitterness from him, and she found herself in the unusual position of trying to help him control his emotions.  A task made doubly difficult because Trip had no desire to control them.

*Trip!  I cannot help calm you if you will not assist.*

*Yeah?  Well maybe I just don't see the point of 'calm' right now.  Maybe I'm tired of 'calm'.  Maybe I don't give a rat's ass about 'calm', because it didn't helped before and it sure as shit won't help now!*

T'Pol cringed at his angry tirade, but he was not done.  *You're still dealing with your emotions, and mine too I guess, and I'm sorry about that—no wait, I'm NOT sorry about that, I have every right to be mad as hell—so maybe you haven't seen where this is all going yet, but I have, goddammit, and I sure as HELL don't like it!*

But T'Pol had seen where it was going; where she was going:  to an Andorian prison.  And she could see no way around it.

The recent optimism of her legal team made this turn of events much worse than it otherwise would have been.  Trip and T'Pol had both believed the team's forecasts.  They had both believed she would be acquitted and that they would be reunited, perhaps in a matter of weeks.  Trip had even begun making tentative plans for her homecoming.  That hope had now been brutally extinguished by Dellev's disclosure.

T'Pol hugged herself, clinging to her control with all her strength in the face of Trip's fury.  She felt tired, desperately tired.  *Trip?*

This time, he answered, his incandescent rage marginally less incandescent.  *What?*

*I do not... I cannot think... Tell me what I must do and I will do it.  Please, K'diwa!*  Her need finally registered in Trip's consciousness, and his white-hot rage began to abate.

Dellev watched as T'Pol retreated into herself.  Her eyes were shut tight and tiny tremors shook her body.  "Commander?" he said.  There was no response.

"Commander T'Pol!" he repeated in a louder voice.  "You have heard my proposal.  What is your answer?"

*Trip, he wants an answer.  What will I tell him?*

*Tell him to shove his proposal up his ASS!*

T'Pol cringed again.  It was only then that Trip realized the toll his emotional onslaught was taking on her.  For her to admit she couldn't even think... that had never happened before, and it gave Trip pause.  only then did he realized that much of his anger was directed at T'Pol for something he'd thought he'd long since forgiven her for.

He recalled the time T'Pol had first told him of her Trellium addiction.  She had been apprehensive when she approached him, even a little frightened at how he might react when she revealed what she considered her most shameful secret.  Trip had done his best to reassure her, to let her know that it didn't change how he felt about her.  After all, the Trellium had affected her emotions, not her judgment, and Starfleet's after-action analysis of the combat at Azati Prime had found no issues with T'Pol's decisions or her performance as acting captain.  Trip had felt very good—noble, even—when he dispensed his forgiveness to her.  I guess it's easy to forgive when you're not expecting any negative consequences down the road, he thought.

*I'm sorry, darlin'* Trip sent, with overtones of gentleness that had been missing just moments before.  *I guess I kind of lost it there.  Ask Dellev what your sentence will be if we accept his proposal.*

She opened her eyes and tried to ask the question, but her voice failed her.  Trip immediately rushed to her support, filling her with his strength and apologizing again for his earlier thoughtlessness.

"What will my sentence be if the charges are not contested?"

It was a question Dellev had not had an opportunity to consider.  He knew that Shalin would demand life in prison, given a choice, but he did not want to make the sentence so harsh that T'Pol might reject it.  There was also the statistic that most Vulcans died before ten years in Andorian prisons.  Based on what he had just seen of T'Pol's reaction, he doubted she would last a year.

"Ten years," he said, after a moment's thought.

Now it was Trip's turn to cringe, while T'Pol waited patiently.  She's really going to make me decide, Trip realized.  He knew what he wanted to do:  he wanted to send Dellev packing with a resounding NO.  But if they rejected Dellev's proposal and T'Pol's substance abuse was revealed at the trial, it could change everything.  To Andorians, honor was paramount, and they would abandon her rather than risk being stained by her perceived dishonor.  To Vulcans, logic was everything, and the motives or judgment of anyone capable of such an illogical act could not be trusted.  Starfleet would see it as a violation of regulations that she had been covering up for years, and might even feel a court-martial was required.  Then there was the personal disgrace and humiliation that would be heaped upon her.

Even all that would be worth it if I knew she'd be acquitted, Trip thought, but what if we reject his offer, fight the charges, and lose?  Then she suffers disgrace AND goes to prison.  Probably for longer than ten years...

There was really no choice; T'Pol could not fight the charges.  At the realization, Trip could feel another round of bitter anger welling up inside him.  He could also feel T'Pol's tattered control failing her.  She could endure almost anything, but not the anger of her mate.  With great effort, he shunted his anger aside.  After all, it was hurting his T'Pol, and that he could not permit.

*Tell Dellev... tell him we will not contest the charges.*

 

Continued in Chapter Ten

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