Title: White Heat, Blue Fire
By: Kylie Lee
Pairing: Malcolm Reed/Soval
Fandom: Star Trek Enterprise
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Set well after 2.15 "Cease Fire" and a bit before 4.07 "The Forge."
Beta: Kathy Rose and Sarah
Comment: This is a late response to a prompt Ad Absurdum posted to the EntSTSlash Yahoo! list on November 15, 2008, for the Fic-a-thing: "Reed and Soval are alone in a shuttlepod and Soval goes into Pon Farr. They have sex (because Reed's sense of duty probably wouldn't allow him to let somebody that's been placed under his protection die like that) and Soval accidentally—or not accidentally, but so that Malcolm is unaware—bonds them together. They go their own separate ways, but then one day Malcolm finally realizes and goes 'Blimey, I've got a Vulcan in me head.' (and Trip goes 'You too?' Well, that's a joke but it would be great if the writer—if there will be one—could incorporate Trip's relationship with T'Pol into the story)."
Summary: Only Reed, with his mysterious connection to Soval, can come to the rescue when the ambassador is kidnapped on Andoria.

***

"You look fine. Stop fidgeting," Hoshi Sato murmured to Malcolm Reed.

"Sorry. I think I need to let my dress uniform out." He tugged at the hidden fastening at his waist, but it did nothing to relieve his discomfort. Reflected light filtered through the huge windows of the executive hotel, cleared of guests for their delegation. "I'm all thumbs. It's the cold."

"Here. Let me."

Reed dropped his hands and let Sato pull on his collar and tug at his waist, realigning the fabric. She wore her hair in a complex upsweep, and she'd done something different with her eye makeup that made her look exotic. "You look very nice," he complimented her as she frowned at him.

"Thank you. Don't change the subject." She stepped back and surveyed him. "That's better." She gently slapped his hand as he reached to pull at the fabric. "Stop messing with it. One of your fasteners needs to be resewn." She gave his uniform one last tweak. "Just stand still and it'll be fine. And you." She turned to smile at Trip Tucker. "You look very nice too. It's good to see that we are perfectly capable of it."

Tucker gave a half-bow. "Thank you, ma'am. I'm less concerned with what I look like and more concerned about getting to work. Which I can do in this uniform as well as my everyday one. Speaking of which, these uniforms should have gloves. Why don't they have matching little fancy gloves?" He made claws with his hands and flexed them, then rubbed his hands together briskly.

"Andorians do like it cold. Anyway, the reception will only take a few minutes, and then you can put gloves on if you want." Sato craned her neck, eyes focusing on the door. "There's a commotion out there. I'll bet his aircar is here."

"Malcolm, are you looking forward to seeing the ambassador again?" Tucker teased. "After that quality time you spent on that shuttlepod trip two years ago—"

Tucker's jibe had hit a little too close to the mark. The anticipation he felt was so great that he was having trouble breathing. "Yes, I'm sure we'll have hours of catching up to do," Reed said, striving for dryly ironic. "We are the very best of friends now." He pointed at the windows, desiring nothing more than to change the subject. "Do you remember those on the schematics we received?"

Tucker obediently eyed the windows. "You would think I would, but I don't. Admittedly we've only been here a half hour, and we had to spend all that time putting on pretty uniforms." He pondered them for another second, then shook his head. "I really don't remember them. I'll take another look at the specs."

"Get another set from the hotel, rather than from the Andorian government," Reed advised.

"Good idea."

Just then, Travis Mayweather gestured from the inner doorway. Sato said, "He's here," and Captain Jonathan Archer said loudly, "Line up, everyone, please." The vaulted atrium ceiling muffled his words.

Reed gave his uniform one last tug, then forced his hands down as he settled in between Tucker and Sato. With the other members of the bridge crew, he stood at attention, eyes forward, gazing at the door, waiting for the ambassador to arrive.

He had felt a tickle in his brain, an undercurrent of almost-electricity, about an hour ago, and it had been getting more intense as the minutes passed. Now, as Mayweather held the door and the ambassador's retinue strode in, Reed realized that it wasn't an imminent allergic reaction, as he'd half wished. Nor was it simple anticipation. Though several robe-clad Vulcans preceded the gray-haired figure into the hotel, he hardly noticed them. He could not say afterward if they were men or women. Instead, his eyes were riveted the figure who was the reason they were all there: the Vulcan ambassador to Earth, Soval, back on Andoria more than forty years after brokering the last Vulcan–Andorian accord, to do it all over again.

Soval's head turned, and his eyes met Reed's. Reed's breath suspended, and he knew with certainty that he had been sensing Soval since Soval had landed on the planet—that he'd been sensing Soval before then, from orbit.

A flash of red and silver, a sensation of calm delight, and Soval was shaking hands with Archer in the human style. T'Pol got a formal nod and half-bow, but, per Vulcan custom, they did not touch. Soval moved easily down the line, greeting everyone by rank. "Commander," he murmured to Tucker. Then, "Lieutenant."

That was Reed. "Ambassador," Reed responded on cue, taking the extended hand.

There was no smile on Reed's face, or on Soval's, but Reed's mind shouted joy and his heart raced at the light, dry touch, Vulcan warmth against human chill. He hadn't known what to think when he had received Soval's formally worded note, but he'd hoped. Oh, how he'd hoped.

Hand in hand, mind to mind. At last.

***

"No, everything is under control, I assure you." Reed, pressing his earpiece into his ear, glanced up at Tucker, who had just found him in the corridor, near Ambassador Soval's suite. He held up a finger, and Tucker, who had been about to speak, closed his lips and nodded. In response to a query, Reed continued, "The Vulcan delegate is resting. He will be available at 1500 hours. No, it's on his itinerary. We're strictly adhering to it." He held Tucker's eyes as he gave his friend a rueful smile. "Yes. Fifteen hundred hours downstairs. He'll be there. Yes...yes, I'm sure he will. Yes. You're welcome."

He tapped his earpiece twice to deactivate it, then removed it. It was weighted incorrectly, and the wisp of wire that transmitted his voice kept brushing his cheek. He disliked wearing it, but it was a necessary evil to stay in communication with his security team, the hotel's Andorian contingent, and the Vulcan members of the ambassador's private staff, now downstairs with Captain Archer. He said to Tucker, "Someone from the Andorian press. She would like to speak directly to the Vulcan delegate. She wants a scoop on his identity, I think. She didn't seem too pleased about having to wait with everyone else for the press conference."

"Which is at 1500 hours downstairs," Tucker agreed. He had probably memorized the itinerary that Reed had prepared. "How can she bear to wait? It's hours and hours away."

"Exactly," Reed responded in the same sarcastic tone Tucker had used. "I do wonder about the Andorians' reaction when they discover that the diplomat Vulcan sent is Soval himself." He surveyed the earpiece for a long moment, stuck a finger in his ear and vigorously circled it, and popped the device back in with a heavy sigh. "The ambassador has three hours' rest scheduled. You must have come for something. Is there a problem? The windows, perhaps?"

Tucker waved a padd, a wry grin on his face. "The hotel has been renovated."

"No," Reed groaned. That was terrible news, but not unexpected: he really didn't remember those huge windows on the specs the Andorian government had provided.

"Yes."

Reed took the padd and activated it. "New specs, I take it?"

"Yes. I took your advice and got them from the hotel."

"Lovely new security features?" Reed asked hopefully as he began to page through documents.

"If only. No. Lovely new exit on the south side of the building. I think they added it because it links to a new public transportation node. And of course we have thrilling new five-story windows in the atrium."

"The view is quite spectacular," Reed murmured. The windows looked out onto a gorgeous vista of Andoria's capital city. He had thought that subterranean cities would be claustrophobic, but he hadn't counted on the sheer scale of the excavation. It seemed to always be twilight, but the buildings were colorful. The Andorians used lots of lights. "Bulletproof glass?" he wondered.

"Of course. And it's really plastic, not glass. And it's energy-weapons fire, not bullets. But bullets too, now that I think about it."

"Mmm." Reed skimmed through the specs. "Why did the Andorians send us old specs?" he wondered.

"Because they didn't have the new ones?" Tucker guessed. "It's just a failure to communicate, that's all. Probably the hotel didn't think to submit new plans to the Andorian government after the renovation." At Reed's look, he laughed. "Don't tell me you see a conspiracy."

"Of course I see a conspiracy. It's why I excel at my job." Reed found the relevant floor plan on the padd and hit his earpiece once. "Reed to Sullivan." He glanced at Tucker. "Anything else?" he mouthed. Just as Tucker shrugged, Sullivan came on the line. Reed issued orders, reconfiguring the security detail on the bottom floor to take into account the new south exit, then contacted another member of his security team and asked her to sweep the main level. "I need to think about the window," he opined as he deactivated the earpiece.

"I came to see if you wanted to grab some lunch," Tucker suggested. "We can talk about the window."

Reed frowned. He sensed Soval inside the suite, the link between them almost unbearably strong now that they were in close proximity, sparked by touch. When Soval had taken his hand as he went down the receiving line, murmuring his greeting, time had stopped. He realized, of course, that he could not have held Soval's hand and gazed into his eyes for more than a few seconds, but it had seemed longer—much, much longer, as Soval's mind, now anchored by touch, found his. Soval had wrapped his mind around Reed's, racing like flame, until he had removed his hand from Reed's and moved to greet Sato. Reed had simply stood there, feeling naked and exposed—and elated. He would never have suspected that Soval would greet everyone personally. It seemed out of character for the famously abrupt and distant man. He wondered if it had anything to do with himself—if Soval would merely have nodded his head at Captain Archer and swept through to his suite, if it hadn't been for Reed. Even now, he could feel Soval's mind, poised as if ready to swoop, completely focused, perfectly tuned. Reed realized the ambassador was meditating.

"I thought you were meant to eat with the captain and Hoshi," he temporized, because, excepting the incorrect floor plans, things had come together remarkably well. Soval had several hours' freedom on his itinerary, and the two of them needed to talk.

"The captain is downstairs with T'Pol and the rest of the Vulcans." Tucker alluded to Soval's three assistants whom Reed had barely noticed, although they'd entered with Soval. "Hoshi is practicing her Vulcan with them. And I agree. Those windows. Big security risk. Big, big security risk."

Reed gave Tucker a narrow-eyed glance. "Aha!" he exclaimed. "I see through you. Grab some lunch indeed. You would prefer not to eat with the captain and the rest of the Vulcan contingent."

"There must be some security issue—" Tucker began.

"There's not."

"—or some little detail I could help you with—"

"Sorry, no."

"—or something up on the ship you need that I could take the shuttlepod up and get for you—"

"Afraid not."

Tucker sighed. "Fine. I'm going." He started down the corridor as Reed reactivated the padd, then turned. "I could—"

"No."

"At least listen—"

"No."

"I'll just sweep the area—"

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Reed waved his friend away with a flick of his fingertips. "Fine. Sweep. I want sensor readings for the entire atrium. I find the floor plans insufficient. And those windows trouble me. I want to know all about them. Good-bye, Trip."

This time, Tucker made it all the way to the bank of lifts. He'd just disappeared inside one when Reed hit his earpiece to put Sullivan in charge during his absence.

"Where will you be, sir, so I can reach you in an emergency?" Sullivan was asking when the door to Soval's suite opened. Reed hadn't yet touched the chime. Soval had been waiting. His mind, no longer in meditation, was jagged and pure, the touch of his mind white-hot. It responded to Reed's mind by rippling, a brief spin of awareness.

Reed's eyes met Soval's. "My presence has been requested by the ambassador to work out some details of his itinerary," Reed said to Sullivan as Soval dipped his head slightly to one side, as if in ironic agreement. Sullivan seemed somehow far away, and very irrelevant. "I'll be in his suite. I'm unsure how long that will take. I'm also going to find some lunch. I'll contact you in two hours. I want the lower level secured by then. Have a status report ready."

"Aye, sir."

"Reed out."

Two taps on his earpiece, his eyes never leaving Soval's.

The ambassador stepped aside to let Reed through and shut the door behind him.

***

"Ambassador," Reed whispered as Soval's fingers—warm fingers, contrasting with the cold he'd felt when Soval had first touched his face two years before—touched, one, two, three points. He felt Soval's body heat. Vulcans were aptly named; they were like furnaces. The room had been prepared for Soval and had been heated to Vulcan specifications, making it too warm by human standards.

"Lieutenant." Soval, hands not leaving Reed's face, bent so their foreheads touched. "There," Soval said with satisfaction, and instead of a Vulcan just on the other side of his prime, an older, aristocratic man, Reed now saw Soval's essence. He perceived it as a mirror that not only reflected light but emanated it, rendering Soval in his mind's eye as an impossibly bright column of light. He felt Soval's joy at seeing him again, and he added his own joy to it. Touch helped the process immeasurably.

When they were like this, mind to mind, Soval was a tall, white column of impossible brightness and power, and Reed was a shorter, harder flame, red jumping over a center of steady blue. It was how Soval saw him: powerful, flickering, and brief, his relatively short life span ready to snuff out. They merged, and Reed overlay his short, hot red flame against Soval's long, white, eternal one, letting it stretch.

"I didn't know it was permanent," Reed said. He didn't have to say the words out loud, but he did. Words were better than the impressions they shared when mind pressed against mind. "I thought when it—when it was over, you would—"

It wasn't necessary to complete the thought. Soval understood. "Return to the way I was? That would not be possible, after being so touched."

Their bodies stepped close together. Reed's eyes were shut, but his mind gazed into Soval's essence, dazzled.

"I did you a great wrong," he heard Soval say. "I regret I was not myself."

"That was rather the point."

Amusement. "True."

"And the mission went forward. It was a success. T'Pol still does not know." It was somehow important that Soval knew that, Reed thought.

"Good. I would prefer she remained unaware of my...abilities." Soval meant the mind meld, which his culture held to be a violation of personal autonomy. Reed had personal experience of that aspect of it, just as he had personal experience of its obverse: psychic intimacy. "But you...you have not changed. You still flicker and bend. You still refuse to be caught." Yet at the center, so true. The implication hung there, unvoiced, unthought, still present.

"You have caught me." He lifted his red flame, stretching thin, matching Soval's height, and Soval flowed around him like mercury. He could flow away again just as easily, break the link, but he did not.

"It was not my intent."

"Nevertheless." Reed pressed his hand against Soval's, breaking the delicate three-point touch as Soval's hand smoothed against his cheek. He lifted his mouth to Soval's, and when Soval kissed him, the hot blue flame deepened, flared, and grew.

Coherent thought was no longer necessary. Nor was it possible.

***

He sometimes thought about what he and Soval had shared on that shuttlepod trip. But he'd gone over it so many times during the past two years that he had become inured to it. The memory of that transformational trip no longer seared. Other events now seemed more relevant: the Xindi missions, the loss of certain crew members, the change in his friend, Trip Tucker, who was only now returning to his old self.

Sometimes he thought he was aware of Soval, some muted terror or sadness or joy that came out of nowhere and yet colored his vision. Of course that wasn't possible, with light-years between them. It had to be his imagination. He'd returned to Earth a few times, but he'd made it a point to avoid Soval, going so far as to skip an event or two he knew Soval would be attending. He couldn't just show up at the ambassador's office or residence, and besides, what they had shared wasn't anything permanent. Reed had just gotten caught up in the demands of Vulcan physiology. He knew that. Soval had a wife and children, after all. His time on Earth was uncomfortable because Soval seemed so close, yet totally unobtainable. He was continuously aware of Soval's presence, like a burning light, whether Reed was in Malaysia or Great Britain or the Confederation of Africa or San Francisco. The only time he'd had peace was when he'd visited Earth and Soval was offworld. He'd felt relieved as he'd gone about his business, yet simultaneously disappointed.

Now that everything was different—now that Soval had contacted him, and not the other way around—Reed let himself revisit those days on the shuttlepod. At the time, Reed had found himself puzzled at Soval's extreme reaction to the series of circumstances that had stranded them together in the shuttlepod. Soval's schedule had been seriously thrown off, but that was really the least of their worries. When insurrectionists on the Mu Delta colony had broken into the government buildings on one of the outer colonies and taken hostages, Earth had requested the presence of Soval, who had brokered the original peace. Admiral Forrest had dispatched a nearby Enterprise to ferry Soval over, but their run-in with a Klingon ship scotched their best-laid plans, leaving Enterprise to mop up the Klingons' considerable mess, which had left Soval late for his meeting and even later for his long-scheduled visit home to Vulcan. Strangely—strange at the time, but not in retrospect—Vulcan had urgently recalled Soval and had assigned another arbiter to the colony planet, but Enterprise, acting on Earth's orders, had stuck Soval and Reed on a shuttlepod with several weeks' worth of rations, a small piece of hand luggage each, and a chemical toilet. Archer had ordered Reed to get Soval to the colony at any cost.

When they'd set out, Reed had been worried that the delay would result in loss of life on the colony. Then he had been worried for Soval, whose increasingly erratic behavior, uncertain temper, and tendency to flares of violence were interspersed with lengthy bouts of meditation. To Reed's confusion, Soval had taken off his shoes and scrubbed his feet into the hard metal deck plating of the shuttlepod, striving for sensation, he told Reed, that would permit him to regain control. And Reed had grown more and more terrified as this aristocratic older man, a figure familiar to everyone on Earth, lost that control by the hour.

He could still hear Soval's voice, now remembered in flashes like tableaux: "I do not want to do this. I will kill you. I will not be able to stop myself. Your life is in terrible danger. A few hours more, and I will be unable to exert even this level of control. You must fight me. Strike me." Then, when Reed had given in, "Harder. Again. Again. Again," until Reed, exhausted from long-term low-level terror, had backed away. "The rage! The madness! The lust! The blood fever!" Soval had screamed. "We fight to the death. Once every seven years. It is the pon farr."

But it wasn't the fight to the death at all. That was just a proxy, a form of ritual combat. Mate or die. And he hadn't understood that until Soval, eyes mad, had him pinned on the shuttlepod's floor, one hand pressed against his throat and the other pressed against his face. "Open to me," he'd murmured intensely. "You must understand. I do not want to kill you. Your red flame is already so small, so brief. I could snuff it out in an instant. Open your mind to my mind. For your life. For my life."

Fingers on his temple, jaw, cheek, and it had happened then: a blossoming outward, an opening up, and he sensed the flame within him that Soval had seen the whole time. It jumped as the laser intensity of Soval's clear, mad mind engulfed him. Heat ripped through his body, and he was suddenly incredibly aroused, hard and ready. He had not expected that, not at all.

Soval made him understand. They had fought each other as they coupled on the floor. Reed wouldn't have called it making love, because there was no tenderness. There was regard, but not what Reed defined as love. His hardness, the hardness of Soval's implacable mind and body—and years of self-denial had burned away in the face of need. Whose need wasn't exactly clear. Soval had taken him, again and again, but he gave freely, pleasure and terror and exhaustion clouding his mind. His own self had been subsumed to Soval's blood lust.

Now, two years later, he still fantasized about what it would be like to be with Soval. They had had four days together in the shuttlepod, two of them as lovers, and it had become a touchstone for his life. He could evoke the memory of what he chose to think of their lovemaking so sharply that it was as if Soval were literally present, mind tricking body.

He knew that he and Soval would be of an age for only a few years. Reed would race past him and die. Soval would soldier on, preternaturally, perennially middle-aged. They would walk side by side in gardens, admiring their formal elements, exclaiming at color and scent. They would dine together. Perhaps they would go to plays or concerts. They would sleep in the same bed. They would make love, properly this time, without the blood fever. He could imagine them tangled together, Soval's Vulcan reserve broken under Reed's hungry touch.

None of it could be real, of course. He didn't imagine the security forces and staff members that would follow the ambassador around, or the work required of the ambassador—the travel, the endless obligations. Nor did he think very often of Soval's wife, off on another planet, teaching music, or so Soval had said. He imagined a space with just the two of them, isolated, separate from the rest of the world, where he could lay himself bare and receive only acceptance—acceptance, and the gentle touch of fingers on his temple and cheek, the call of a clever, complex mind, the wonder that he'd captured this great man's attention, if only fleetingly in his centuries of existence, and always, the sheer pride and excitement in making a self-contained, utterly logical Vulcan give himself up in the most intimate way imaginable, crying out, calling his name, needing him.

All fantasies, until he got the note from Soval requesting a contingent from Enterprise to meet him on Andoria, with Reed to oversee security. The letter, Reed knew, was merely a formality: Soval had already requested, and gotten, Enterprise's mission assignment from higher-ups. That was par for the course with someone of Soval's stature. The letter, though, made it seem as though Reed had a choice. Soval wrote that he had valued Enterprise's support in the mission several years ago at Paan Mokar, and he wished to request their help again. He particularly wished the expertise of T'Pol to assist him, and Captain Archer's relationship with Shran could be helpful. His own head of security was detained on Earth; would Reed consider the task? Soval could think of no one better.

It was a brief typed note, sent to his console, no video component, utterly mundane, a copy sent to Archer as well, and yet he saved it and read it again and again, as if Soval had handwritten the document on heavy rag paper. To Reed's eyes, it was as if he had written, "It has been too long and I find I still burn for you. Please come to me."

***

"I could sense you when you were on Earth," Soval said as they lay curled together, the flame between them momentarily quenched. Reed felt his breath puff on his cheek. His fingers stroked Reed's temple. "You never contacted me."

"No," Reed answered, turning his head to meet Soval's gaze. "No, I didn't."

"Ah. I see." Soval traced an ear.

"Do you?"

Soval seemed unmoved. "You may speak aloud if you like. Anything at all."

Reed briefly closed his eyes, enjoying Soval's touch. "You have all the power. You are the ambassador. You have a reputation to uphold. You are...married. It is not for me to come knocking at your door." Soval did not respond, but his fingers did not cease their movement. It was as if he knew Reed wasn't done.

There was more, of course, but Reed didn't want to say it. He didn't want to acknowledge the huge gulf that lie between them—age and species and rank and temperament, all of it. They'd managed to bridge it, together in bed, a blaze of white-hot lust that fused them together.

"I am too small," he finished. I am too small for you.

"I do not think that that is so," Soval said. "Perhaps..." He hesitated, as if choosing the perfect words. "Perhaps one might regret offering himself, not understanding the stakes. Perhaps one wishes to forget forced intimacy. Perhaps one remembers it as a kind of rape, of the body and of the mind."

Reed caught Soval's hand, stilling its restless touch. He had never thought of it like that, and it distressed him that Soval should think it. "No," he exclaimed. "Perhaps I made it mean everything." He leaned into Soval's chest and pulled his hand down, placing Soval's palm against his stomach. He curled his fingers around Soval's and pushed lower, until their coupled hands touched a newly stirring erection. "You asked for me on this mission."

Soval's hand tightened around him, then started to stroke. "I asked for T'Pol as well."

"And your security advisor remains on Earth?" Reed let incredulity touch his voice.

"She had personal reasons to stay behind." Soval reached down and cupped Reed's testicles, and suddenly Reed felt heavily aroused. "She agreed it was logical to find a replacement. She suggested you, in fact. I found her arguments...compelling."

"You knew I could not refuse."

"And then we could talk. While it is logical to create boundaries, I merely wanted to tell you that you need not go to such effort to avoid me. No feeling is attached."

"But it is," Reed murmured. He rolled onto his back, aching for Soval's touch.

"Humans are illogical," Soval reminded him.

"Yes," Reed said as he spread his legs. He pulled Soval down on top of him, white flame to red-hot fire. "Yes. We are."

***

"I strongly advise against it, Ambassador," Reed said doggedly.

"I would not inconvenience so many," Soval said, implacable as always, inclining his head toward the closed door to the next room, where a gaggle of journalists were waiting. Most were Andorians, although a Vulcan contingent was present as well. "You have had four hours to secure the site."

"And we have," Reed responded. "However, I have requested more information from the hotel regarding the atrium windows. If the specs indicate that the struts holding the glass in place are strong enough to withstand impact, then we can go forward as scheduled. Otherwise, we ought to move the press conference to the small auditorium on the third level. I estimate an hour's delay to secure the auditorium, no more."

"Such a delay is unacceptable," Soval said, steel in his voice. Reed did not need a psychic connection to Soval to tell that he was growing weary of this discussion. "I would not begin negotiations by setting such a tone." He glanced again toward the door to the atrium, where he was to speak with his back to the huge windows. "I believe the site was specifically chosen because of the dramatic view."

"The view is indeed dramatic, sir," Reed agreed, "but I am less concerned with drama and more concerned with your personal safety. The auditorium on the third level has a large screen that we can tune to the cityscape, if you wish."

"The auditorium will only seat a third of those present, if that."

Reed forced himself to calm. He couldn't believe that this was the same man who had been making love to him just an hour earlier. Yet Soval's touch still lingered: he could still feel Soval on his skin, and Soval's lightning-quick mind still brushed his. In fact, he could tell that Soval was ramping it back, perhaps to give Reed back his sense of self. He could sense that Soval was not particularly annoyed, only busy, which made Reed's own annoyance seem petty. Logic—that was the way to win Soval over.

Before he could construct an irrefutable, logical argument, Soval said reasonably, "Surely, in lieu of the manufacturer's specifications, you have analyzed the windows yourselves."

"Of course, sir," Reed acknowledged. "The struts are made of an unusual alloy, and we do not have time to fully model the effects of an impact."

He'd put in a request hours ago with the hotel's liaison to find the manufacturer's specs, but the liaison couldn't find anything on file. She'd promised to contact the manufacturer, but Reed was running out of time. Further, he couldn't task Enterprise's sensors to analyze the area, although Tucker had volunteered to go aboard and give it a try. The city was too far underground to scan from orbit. Tucker had walked around the atrium with a handheld scanner instead of going to lunch with the Vulcan delegation. He had commandeered a console on the third level to analyze the data, but he hadn't checked in with Reed yet.

Reed simply hadn't been given enough time to do his job properly, he realized. He shouldn't have gone to Soval's room or delegated so much work to his team, especially once he'd realized that he'd been provided with outdated specs. Such a lapse was most decidedly not like him. But these were unusual circumstances.

"You theorize that someone could smash through the windows, perhaps with an airship, and kidnap me." Soval raised his eyebrows slightly.

Reed squirmed. "That is one scenario, yes, Ambassador."

"Hmm. Such a tactic strikes me as illogical."

"Oh?"

"I could not fail to be injured. Surely the force of impact, even from a relatively small airship, would spray debris over a wide area."

Reed found he could imagine it all too well: an armored airship blasting through the windows, sending plastic, glass, and metal shrapnel throughout the atrium. For good measure, the airship could come in shooting. A quick landing, followed by a snatch and grab—it wouldn't be his first choice, were he in the mood to kidnap an important Vulcan diplomat, but it could work.

"Such a tactic strikes me as eminently logical, if death is the desired outcome, rather than kidnapping," Reed pointed out. "The Andorian negotiating team is here as well. You, your aides, the Andorians, all in one place..." He trailed off meaningfully, then turned as the door cracked open.

"Ambass—er, sir? Five minutes," the Andorian governmental liaison called. She wore an incongruously cheerful purple headset that contrasted with her white hair, and she deliberately shielded the door with her body so nobody in the atrium could see past her. Soval's presence was meant to be a spectacular surprise, although Reed had his doubts about the Andorians perceiving his presence as unalloyed good. Certainly Soval lent weight to the negotiations and symbolized Vulcan's regard for the seriousness of relations with Andoria, despite lingering resentment among some Andorians over previous agreements he had brokered with them.

Soval lifted his hand in acknowledgment, and the liaison closed the door. Soval's two aides stood stoically to one side of the door, waiting for Reed to leave so they could pounce on Soval.

"Lieutenant." Soval's tone let Reed know that he was about to be lectured. "I am aware that the renegotiation of the treaty between Andoria and Vulcan is fraught with difficulties. Andorians do not stand united on the issue, and they desire concessions that Vulcan is not inclined to grant. But I cannot believe that any of them would be so foolish as to place Andoria itself in jeopardy. Surely even a radical anti-Vulcan group would know that to harm me would be to bring Vulcan and Andoria to the brink of war—a war the Andorians could not possibly hope to win."

"They don't know it's you, sir," Reed pointed out. "For all they know, you're a low-ranking Vulcan diplomat."

"Whom they would scarcely wish to kidnap or kill," Soval said, as though Reed had just made his point for him. "I am confident your security measures are sufficient. I would prefer not to reschedule."

There was a long pause as Reed and Soval stared at each other. Reed was faintly aware of the white hardness of Soval's mind rippling, but Soval held his thoughts and emotions back. He still didn't have the trick of reading Soval. The hours they'd just spent together had strengthened the bond between them; Reed could feel it. But he wasn't able to pin Soval down if Soval didn't want to be pinned down.

"As you wish, Ambassador," Reed said at last, and as if a dam had broken, both of Soval's aides began speaking simultaneously.

Reed backed up and reached for his communicator. "Reed to Tucker," he said as he exited the room. He came to a halt near the scanning area, where the last stragglers, invitations prominently worn around their necks on lanyards, stood patiently while several of Reed's security team searched their belongings. He could easily spot the journalists—they carried transmission equipment—but at least two were just there to witness the show, probably family or close friends of high-up government personnel.

"Tucker," Tucker's voice said at last.

"Do you have anything for me on the atrium windows?"

A spurt of static, and Tucker responded with, "Yes. The struts will hold under impact."

"Good. Reed out."

"No, wait," Tucker said hastily before Reed could flip his communicator closed.

"Yes?" Reed let all his impatience leak into his voice. From his vantage point, he saw one of the high-ranking members of the Andorian government step to the podium. After a brief introduction, Soval would give his speech.

"You remember that we couldn't immediately identify the alloy."

That got his attention. "Yes." Reed sidled back as the Andorian man began to speak, his antennae waving gently. He dialed down Tucker's voice in an attempt to remain discreet, but everyone seemed rapt.

"Well, I think the alloy was partly chosen for tensile strength, but it's weird because the same alloy is under the floor. About a third of the floor was ripped up and replaced."

"The floor?" Reed repeated blankly. That made no sense. "What part of the floor?"

"From the window toward the center of the room. In a big oval shape."

Reed took in the curve of the window and sketched in the probable location of the odd alloy. The podium lay within that range, he immediately noticed, and unease quirked at the nape of his neck. "Any thoughts about why?" he asked Tucker.

"Nope."

"Where are you?"

"Pretty much across from you."

Reed, surprised, eyed the mass of people, finally picking Tucker out. Like Reed, he'd stepped back near a wall to remain unobtrusive. When their eyes met, Tucker waved.

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" Reed hissed.

"Because you were in a meeting with our Vulcan guest," Tucker hissed back. "And you were really hard to find today, in general. Plus, it's a little late now to call off the show. Look, can we talk later? People are looking at me."

"Fine. Reed out."

He pocketed his communicator, unease knotting his stomach. At least his scenario of an airship crashing through the window was untenable. That was something. And it was true that the only Andorians who knew Soval was the Vulcan diplomat were high-ranking governmental officials or military personnel—all vetted, all safe, all known.

He was too far back to hear properly; the magnified voice of the speaker sounded distorted. He watched as Tucker shouldered his way through the crowd, coming to a halt next to Captain Archer and T'Pol. Archer and Tucker's heads leaned together in a quiet exchange, one that T'Pol must have overheard, because her eyes began scanning the area. When she saw Reed, she inclined her head in graceful acknowledgment, then turned her attention back to the podium as a smattering of applause sounded.

The Andorian official made an expansive gesture with one hand, then turned as, right on cue, the door opened and Soval stepped out, serene, even noble in his pale robes. He walked to the podium and stood quietly. Voices rose in surprise as the audience members recognized him, and when the hubbub had died down, he began to speak.

Reed didn't pay attention to Soval's words. He was aware, as he now knew he must always be, of Soval's proximity and of his state of mind: calm, but with a tinge of tamped-down excitement. He knew Soval could sense him as well, his heightened anxiety and concern. They stood, separated by the width of a huge room, but it was as if they pressed themselves together, body to body. That awareness meant that it took Reed a few moments longer than it should have to judge that something was wrong. Several of the Andorian journalists stopped paying attention to Soval and started paying attention to their equipment, tapping casings, pulling small cameras off their tripods and examining them, pressing a hand to an ear and shaking their heads.

Reed flipped open his communicator to contact Tucker, except it didn't chirp when he opened it. He altered the frequency, to no avail. He understood now: some force was definitely damping communications, which was why people were poking at their transmitting equipment.

He edged over to the entrance, where Sullivan had been overseeing the searches. "Lock the doors," he ordered quietly. "Process the last few people through. Do not let anyone leave. Something's wrong."

"Aye, sir," Sullivan said.

"You." Reed pointed at a crewman. "Communications are down. Run to the south exit and tell McCarthy to lock down the atrium. No one leaves. Then disable the lifts. Do it quickly."

He glanced up as Soval, perhaps responding to the restlessness of the audience, or perhaps responding to Reed's spike of anxiety, lifted his arms, as if in benediction. Perhaps he was merely calling for silence. The serenity of his mind flickered, then roiled into active movement. Still, light flowed from his mind, mirroring his robe's flash of white and gray, and then light streamed out, impossibly bright, mind and matter transubstantiated into a column of white. Reed heard a high-pitched, fast-cycling sound, as of a weapon charging. It cut out abruptly just as he threw up his arm to shield his eyes, and the light faded abruptly.

"Soval!" he yelled, because Soval was gone.

***

"Three journalists," Reed heard Sullivan say grimly. "They had their equipment triangulated. I think that was the targeting array. They had to get it through security. Anyway, they're gone too."

"—the entire area, from there to there," Tucker was telling an Andorian official, pointing at the floor. "I'd noticed it but didn't realize the significance of it. Of course I thought it was odd. I didn't think it was a transporter."

"It's all completely destroyed," an Andorian journalist complained. "Brand-new transmission equipment, and it may as well be junk."

"That was Soval, right?" another Andorian said excitedly. "Did any of it get broadcast? Any of it?"

"—cannot detain me. I demand that you let me leave—"

"I can't contact anyone at all! Communications are totally down."

"—Weytahn, maybe? I don't know—"

"Some rogue faction in the military. That's got to be it."

"What do you mean, no? The story of a lifetime and you—"

Reed turned when someone pounded on the doors, letting the voices recede. He still felt dazzled from the blindingly bright light, and although his link to Soval there, it was tenuous and uninformative.

"Let him in," Archer ordered. "I'm expecting him."

An Andorian strode in, closely followed by two others, all wearing the uniforms of the Imperial Guard. "I see I'm missing all the fun," he said.

"Commander Shran," Archer said. "What took you so long?"

Shran clapped Archer on the shoulder. "Pink skin," he said with a smile. "I'm to understand that Soval was taken from under your very nose? That's Andorian ingenuity for you." He shook his head sadly. "I despair, I really do. At every turn, the Vulcans are up to something. If they're not sneaking around spying, they're getting kidnapped. Endless trouble." He rubbed his hands together. "I suppose we'll just have to find him and avoid yet another unpleasant interplanetary incident."

"That would be ideal," Archer agreed gravely.

"Luckily, I have some influence with my superiors. I should be able to expedite...certain matters. Although why anyone should go the trouble of kidnapping a Vulcan is beyond me, especially one as dull as Soval. Vulcans' dietary restrictions alone are enough to drive anyone mad. A distinct lack of appreciation for ale." Shran eyed the melee in the middle of the atrium. "Well, you seem to have this well in hand," he said brightly. "Why don't you brief me?"

"After you," Archer invited. "Up that staircase—we've locked the lifts down. We have a room prepared on the third floor. It's quieter there."

"Excellent."

"Lieutenant?" Archer said to Reed. "Are you coming?"

"I believe Commander Tucker can speak for the both of us, sir, if you don't mind." Reed indicated the knot of people in the center of the atrium, just as a journalist whapped one of Enterprise's security personnel over the head with a tripod. "I think I can do more good down here just now, quelling an incipient riot."

"All right, Malcolm. Brief me when you get a chance. I want a report about how and why this happened."

"Yes, sir."

Reed watched Archer, Shran, Shran's two associates, Tucker, and Sato head up the stairs. T'Pol wasn't with them. She was off acting as Enterprise's go-between with the Vulcans in Soval's party. Meanwhile, the Andorian liaison had been dispatched to her government's offices to let them know what had happened, as all the communications equipment in the structure had been slagged by the energy pulse. If the Andorian government received a ransom demand, she would return and tell them.

Tucker hadn't been able to guess at the range of the energy pulse that had transported Soval. Reed realized that the Vulcan ambassador could be offworld by now, whisked away by an orbiting ship.

Was Soval's life in danger? His kidnappers could hardly have expected such a prize—a prize too big, too important, perhaps, for their needs.

Reed didn't have time for self-recrimination. A high-ranking Vulcan diplomat had been snatched on his watch, and it was his responsibility to get him back. He was all too aware that his personal feelings could get in the way. He needed to make sure that didn't happen. He had let Soval hold the press conference in the atrium although his instinct had told him something was wrong. Had Soval ensured he got his own way by touching Reed's mind? Reed found that he wouldn't put it past the ambassador.

Still. Mind to mind. The answer lay there. He needed to find somewhere quiet to sort through his confused impressions of Soval.

***

"Commander," Reed said.

T'Pol swung around. Unlike the other Vulcans in the room, she did not wear the traditional robes; rather, she wore her usual skin-tight modified uniform. "Lieutenant. May I help you?" she responded.

"I need to talk to you," Reed said urgently. At her look, he added, "Somewhere quiet. Private." Before she could demur, he said, "It concerns Ambassador Soval. I believe I might have some useful insight."

T'Pol inclined her head in the Vulcan gesture of acquiescence.

"Through here," Reed invited, waving her into the room where Soval had waited before his speech. It was just off the atrium, but the door muffled the din. He clasped his hands nervously together behind his back. "Do you remember, about two years ago, when I shuttled the ambassador to negotiations at the Mu Delta colony? Enterprise was detained by Klingons."

"I remember," T'Pol said immediately.

"Something happened during that trip." We do not speak of it to outsiders, he remembered Soval saying. There was a fine line between discretion and confusion. And it was best to not let T'Pol know how much he knew, either about Vulcan mating physiology—or Soval's ability to mind meld. "Something happened that caused me to be, er, connected to Soval."

"Connected?" T'Pol repeated.

"Connected," Reed said firmly. "Perhaps you remember that the ambassador was urgently recalled to Vulcan, with another diplomat to be sent in his place to Mu Delta, even though they had requested him." Soval had performed the initial negotiations, years earlier, just as he had with Andoria. "Apparently he makes the trip home every seven years. It was quite important that he return to Vulcan, but he was not able to do so."

He let the ensuing silence stretch.

"I believe the ambassador returns to Vulcan more frequently than that," T'Pol said distantly. "But do continue."

"I was hardly aware of the connection myself, until today. When we saw each other again—" He pushed down the memory of their hands touching in the reception line, then their bodies tangled together later. "—I realized that proximity played a role. I had been aware of the ambassador's presence before, but he was light-years away." He knew now that he hadn't imagined those bursts of terror or joy. Nor had he imagined Soval's burning presence on Earth. He simply hadn't realized he'd been linked to Soval.

"And now?"

"Now he is not light-years away."

T'Pol's eyes held his. She was not one to look away in the face of shocking news. Reed knew that his very existence—the fact that Soval hadn't murdered him on the shuttlepod—told her everything she needed to know: mate or die.

"That is good news," she responded blandly.

"I agree."

"Can you find him?"

"I think so. Yes. He was unconscious briefly, after the flash."

T'Pol raised her eyebrows. "Flash?"

"The flash of light, when he was transported out."

"There was no flash," T'Pol said calmly. "The ambassador was briefly in the sights of three green targeting lasers, that is all. He disappeared via transport, and then the kidnappers stepped in front of the lasers and were also transported, right before the EM pulse."

Reed stared. "That's—not what I saw," he said lamely.

"What did you see?"

"A bright white light. It blinded me. I threw up my arm, like this, to shield my eyes." Reed demonstrated. "And when I lowered it, he was gone."

"I saw no such light."

"I had black spots afterwards," Reed told her. "Like when someone takes a flash picture."

"I do not doubt your word," T'Pol said, but Reed had the feeling he had surprised her. "Is the ambassador now conscious?"

"Yes." Reed closed his eyes and tried to focus, then opened them again to look apologetically at T'Pol. "I'm not very good at this. The mental touch got much stronger after we—that is, after we, er, touched. In the receiving line." Reed subsided in confusion.

"I understand. I have my own...experiences with this sort of connection. It ought to fade if physical touch and psychic intimacy are withheld."

"Fade when?" Reed asked.

"Perhaps a few months."

Well, the connection had certainly lasted much longer than that. Reed couldn't help but think of the mind meld in the shuttlepod, Soval's rapt face, and the jarring connection that had briefly fused their consciousness. It was the only explanation for the duration of the bond, yet Reed had thought that physical touch was required to revive it.

"Yes, well." Reed inhaled and deliberately shut his eyes. He pushed aside his memories of Soval and let his mind wander free, searching for the beacon of brightness. "He's being held somewhere enclosed and dark. It's more like a storeroom than a residence. I sense large wooden boxes around him. Perhaps shipping containers? He hasn't been moved since he was transported in. He's conscious, but only just—I believe from the aftereffects of transport. Perhaps not. They may have drugged him." He shook his head in frustration. "I don't know."

"The three journalists who transported after him?" T'Pol prompted.

Reed concentrated. "He's alone," he reported. "And he's definitely not on board a ship. The air...feels wrong for a ship. Or Soval thinks it does." He tried reaching out again, then frowned. Soval's mind felt more like a candle flame flickering than a roaring pillar of white fire. "He isn't afraid," he added. He encircled the flame with his own blue-red flame, and it immediately straightened and grew taller. "He knows we're looking for him." He felt tension in his temples from his concentration, and regretfully, he released Soval's mind. "I realize this sounds ridiculous, but I think we ought to get an aircar and drive around. He has no idea where he is. If he's in the city, I can sense him. I suggest the spaceport first, and then any commercial districts with warehouses."

T'Pol nodded. "It would be better if the captain were not appraised of this."

"I think you and I can handle it, don't you, Commander?" He gave her a significant look. "After all, I'm sure that the captain and Commander Shran will find him sooner or later."

"I think we can arrange to make it sooner," T'Pol agreed. "I must make my excuses to the Vulcan delegation. I will obtain an aircar. I suggest you obtain the camera equipment that concealed the targeting device."

Best to just go along with her. "Aye, sir," he agreed.

***

"Armory officer to captain."

Reed looked sideways at T'Pol as he held the aircar's communication device close to his mouth. T'Pol seemed to have no trouble piloting the unfamiliar aircar. She dodged in and out of traffic like a seasoned pro. Reed had strapped himself in once he realized that T'Pol had no compunction about driving very, very fast—or about sending the aircar into a spin or roll to avoid slower-moving obstacles in her way.

"Captain here."

Reed briefly closed his eyes as T'Pol swooshed around another aircar, narrowly missing it. "Sir, we have requisitioned a room with equipment at the spaceport. I have begun tests on the devices. I'm hopeful that I can recover our target's destination." The insecure communications meant they had to speak in code. They certainly couldn't mention Soval's name over the airwaves.

"Good. Thank you." Archer's voice sounded tinny through the insufficient speaker. The circuitry of his communicator, like Reed's and everyone else's, had been destroyed during the electromagnetic pulse that slagged all the recording equipment—an artifact, Tucker thought, of site-to-site transport. It made it hard to communicate; they had to schedule transmissions on devices that were little better than antique telephones. "The chief engineer is securing the site. Everyone at the hotel is being given accommodations, but they aren't being allowed to leave. Our favorite Andorian and I have moved to a nearby hotel."

"I hope to have something for you soon," Reed promised.

"Put the science officer on."

"He wants to talk to you, Commander." Reed extended the handheld communication device to her, pulling at its cord. He knew very well why he had been the one to make this check-in call: Vulcans didn't lie.

"I am here," she said briefly. Reed, who had taken the opportunity to extend his mind out again in an attempt to locate Soval, missed Archer's query, but he caught her response. "The armory officer has hit on a novel approach. I believe it is our best chance of acquiring our target within the time parameters requested."

Hah, Reed thought. That was one way to word "as soon as possible." He was also impressed by her ability to speak the absolute truth.

"Yes, sir," T'Pol continued. "Out." She held out the transmitter, and Reed took it from her and mounted it on the dashboard.

Reed cast his eyes into the back seat, where the silver case containing the laser targeters lay. "It's been hours. Perhaps our time would be better spent examining the devices."

"They are completely fused," T'Pol reminded him.

Reed sighed. "I know."

"How is the ambassador's state of mind?"

"Fine." Reed stared out the window. "It seems to always be night here."

T'Pol didn't pick up on his attempt to change the subject. "Were you able to gather any more clues about the ambassador's possible location?"

Reed shook his head. "No. It's not like he thinks in words or sentences. It's more impressions—color, smell. A feeling of claustrophobia, of things looming around him—the crates." He shifted restlessly in his seat. "Are there any other tactics you might recommend?" he asked. "You said you had...experience with this."

Lights flashed across T'Pol's face as she darted around a slower aircar. "Beginning sweep of grid E4," she said, then, "I was struck by your remark about Soval disappearing in a flash of light."

"Yes—you said you didn't see the flash."

"Tell me, when you see Soval in your mind's eye, what does he look like?"

"A tall white column of flame."

"White flame?"

"White hot. Molten."

T'Pol's eyes flickered to look at him. Then she returned her attention to her driving.

"What?" Reed demanded. "You want to analyze it, don't you." He was sure Vulcans had their version of Freud.

"I want no such thing," T'Pol said, very quickly. "It is not the Vulcan way to share such things with outsiders."

"There were mitigating circumstances."

Soval, barefoot, grinding his feet into the deck plating; Soval, crouched against a bulkhead; Soval demanding to be struck, over and over again; Reed's mind catching fire from Soval's blood lust. And what came next. Reed shied away from the memory. Two years had passed, and yet he remembered every touch viscerally.

T'Pol said tartly, "So I gather."

"You only need to know that I am very, very interested in ensuring Ambassador Soval's safe return."

"That is my wish as well."

"Good." Reed fiddled with the heat controls. Andorians liked it cooler than humans, and definitely cooler than Vulcans. It was hard to get it warm enough for comfort in the aircar without causing the windows to steam up. Further, Andorians apparently hadn't thought to invent seat warmers. "So. You are interested in the flash of light that apparently only I saw."

T'Pol squeezed her hands on the control sticks to tap the brakes to avoid rear-ending an airvan, then darted underneath it, arms pushing smoothly. "Yes. If you would be willing, I could direct the remnants of your gestalt with Ambassador Soval to access the metaphorical construction you have devised and strengthen your connection. If you saw a great light once, you can do so again."

Reed thought about that. "You do realize that what you said makes no sense to me," he told T'Pol.

"I believe it is our best chance of finding the ambassador."

"Then do it."

"It may prove...uncomfortable for you," she warned him.

Soval, reclining on the bed in the hotel, reaching for him, his mind pure and joyful. Reed wanted that again.

"Do it," he said firmly.

***

"Take off your shirt and sit with your back to me," T'Pol ordered.

Reed hesitated only briefly before shrugging off his jacket and pulling his shirt and undershirt over his head. He balled them up in his hands and sat awkwardly sideways in the aircar's passenger seat. The aircar bobbed gently on its tether.

"Neuropressure?" he guessed as T'Pol's warm fingers brushed his back.

"Yes."

"He is safe and not afraid," Reed noted.

"And Captain Archer told me that no ransom has been requested, either of the Vulcan High Command or the Andorian planetary government."

Reed had a theory about that. "Their prize was too rich and now they must regroup."

"I believe so." T'Pol fingers landmarked his back, angling toward his right shoulder blade. "Inhale. Good." The heel of her hand pressed into his shoulder, then began to push inexorably. "Now exhale." Her hand followed him. "Find him," she said as she shifted her weight to push harder yet.

It was hard to concentrate with the dull pressure, but Reed closed his eyes and sought the candle flame. He had opened his mind repeatedly that evening, searching for proximity. It wearied him to do it again.

"I have him," he heard himself say as he became aware of Soval. "I do think he's been drugged. He still seems weak."

"Find that aspect of him that creates the great white flame." The pressure crushed his upper right side. "Find it, so we may find him."

He remembered how he had made the candle flame burn brighter, and once again, he surrounded the small flame to coax more from its flickering. He added the strength of his blue center to the tiny white spark, and it grew. The pressure in his back, nearly unbearable, somehow gave him strength that he in turn lent to the spark. He twined around the flame as it began to grow. He thought of the strong, mirrored mind that reflected pleasure back on him, as it had when he and Soval had lain together in the big bed in Soval's suite. It had only been hours ago—no more than a day, in this land of perpetual twilight, light glinting white off the distant ice caves. They had danced together then, bodies and minds twining together, touching briefly and then moving away, only to touch again and again, until self had been subsumed under sensation, and there was only hard-edged ecstasy and completion.

Soval's mind sharpened as it grew taller, Reed surrounding him, and there it was: the column of white light that Reed knew to be Soval's essence, hard and pure and implacable. Yet there also was the aspect of him that lost control. Every seven years. The madness. The lust. The blood fever. Soval had taken him out of need, but the need lay deeper than that. Heart, mind, self, completion, as they moved together in bed, lust tinged with acceptance and inevitability. Reed had made a Vulcan break, arch, cry out in completion.

"Soval," Reed said, throwing his head back as the white light exploded up, a Catherine wheel of fizzing sparks, a power his small blue-red essence could never hope to match. Under T'Pol's inexorable pressure, something broke and shifted inside of him, moving from his right shoulder down his back.

He was so hard it hurt.

"Find him. Tell me where he is," T'Pol commanded.

"Every seven years," Reed repeated—the words Soval had said in the shuttlepod. "The madness. The lust. The blood fever." Pon farr. They did not speak of it. He felt it anew, the wash of red lust. Mate or die.

"Tell me where he is," T'Pol repeated urgently.

Reed opened his eyes, turned, saw it. "There," he said, pointing to the gout of white flame piercing the twilight like a searchlight. "There. Do you see it?"

"No." T'Pol's free hand grasped his shoulder, to stop him from twisting. "Align yourself to it."

"I have it."

"Is it far?"

"Not far," Reed gasped. The pressure made it hard to breathe.

"I will now release you." Her hand released slightly, then moved. She did something to his back, rubbing in toward his spine. It made him think of Soval's spine, ridged and complex. He'd run his tongue down that spine, stroked it, alien and yet welcoming his touch. "There may be aftereffects. You must inform me if you feel anything amiss. It is very important that you do so."

"Yes," Reed agreed, suddenly able to inhale freely. "How did Commander Tucker do this regularly?" he wondered aloud.

"Badly," T'Pol said briefly. "Your mental control is...impressive. That could not have been easy for you."

"Soval is very bright, very clear to me." Reed pinched the bridge of his nose, striving for control. His body seemed to have a life of its own, allowing him to voice words he wouldn't have dreamed of speaking before. "If you walk around with your lovers in your head, it must be difficult to cope, Vulcan control notwithstanding."

"Meditation clarifies and strengthens the mind. It reduces the—the pull." T'Pol's fingers jerked, betraying a surge of emotion, and Reed wondered about her own personal experience—perhaps with Koss, her ex-husband, perhaps with Tucker. Did female Vulcans go through pon farr? He didn't know.

When T'Pol released him, he pulled his shirt on, but he kept his jacket in his lap, concealing his erection. She could probably sense it—arousal, body heat, a change in hormones or pheromones. His right shoulder blade felt simultaneously numb and warm. "That way." He indicated a direction. "I don't know what I did, but he's fully awake now."

T'Pol started the aircar and hit the tether's release. "We must hurry, before the gestalt fades."

***

He opened his eyes only occasionally, when T'Pol prompted him to point the way. The beacon of coherent light made everything around it seem even darker.

Meanwhile, Soval blazed inside his head. Soval twined himself around Reed in a kind of merging that fed Reed's physical reaction. He kept the jacket in his lap and throbbed, afraid to move lest he explode. He and Soval flowed together, yet Reed could not give himself wholly to it because T'Pol sat next to him. He knew his arousal was a side effect of their intimate merging, the remnants of their coupling hours ago; but it was also a side effect of Soval's anger. He'd been caught in that vortex of emotion before and been swept away. He remembered it all too well.

"We have emotions. We merely repress them." Soval had said that too.

Soval knew they were on their way. Reed didn't think he'd leave. He couldn't speak to Soval, only provide emotional cues, but it was hard to be specific through his generalized arousal. They needed to salvage this. An awake, enraged Soval could easily break free, but anything could happen: he could be shot trying to escape. Further, it was no easy task to navigate the subterranean city's infrastructure without an aircar or a backpack, and an instantly recognizable Vulcan attempting to use a public transportation system node was a political nightmare. No, Shran's crucial presence had to be arranged; he had the political clout to contain the situation.

"Lieutenant. Are you all right?"

"Yes," Reed gasped. Proximity did indeed strengthen the bond. "This is it."

"I assume this site is under surveillance."

"We can't scan the area for life signs," Reed realized. Their handheld scanners had been ruined along with the rest of the electronic equipment. "I can't localize it. The light is coming out of the roof along the left-hand side, there, near that antenna."

T'Pol piloted the aircar in a wide sweep around the left-hand side of the building. She didn't slow down. She kept pace with the scarce traffic in this clearly out-of-the-way area. Reed twisted his head to keep the light in sight, then shook his head.

"That's the best I can do," he said.

"You are in distress, Lieutenant," T'Pol stated as they left the building behind.

"I'm fine," Reed said tightly. "It's nothing to do with the neuropressure, if that's what you're thinking."

T'Pol peered ahead. "There is a market ahead. We must eat. I will obtain food." Before Reed could protest, she squeezed the brakes and parked the aircar in a dark corner a few meters from the market's entrance. "I will be back in ten minutes." She pulled a knit cap over her head and smoothed it over her ears. "Please wait here. I suggest that in my absence, you...meditate to lessen your distress. You cannot function optimally in your current state."

"Meditate," Reed echoed as T'Pol lifted the door.

"Ten minutes," T'Pol reminded him, and a second later, the door slammed shut. A quiet thud a second later informed him that she'd engaged the locks.

"Right. Meditate."

Reed unfastened his restraint and adjusted the jacket in his lap. T'Pol was right: he was in distress, and he very much needed to lessen it. A quick glance around revealed only a few other cars in the lot. It must be late. T'Pol, hands in the pockets of her bulky, concealing jacket, head bent, loped toward the lighted entrance, exhaling a plume of mist. The pink fabric of her trousers looked incongruously cheerful as she entered the building. He darkened the windows, further lessening the light in the already dim aircar. Behind him, he could still see the column of light that represented Soval.

He didn't have much time. Underneath the concealing warmth of his jacket, he undid his trousers. He fumbled through pockets but couldn't find anything suitable, so he ripped a scrap of fabric from the bottom of his blue undershirt. He hesitated, then adjusted his seat to further recline it. Despite the dark and the aura of privacy, he felt uncomfortably self-conscious. After all, T'Pol knew what he was about to do. She'd practically ordered him to do it.

He pressed the scrap of fabric against the head of his penis with his left hand, closed his eyes, and took himself into his right hand. He sent his mind searching. Soval's hard light had reduced somewhat when Reed found him again. T'Pol's neuropressure nudge was already fading. Still, it would last long enough for this. Reed broadcast his need, and Soval responded by bolstering his weary mind, their roles now reversed: Soval was once again able to command him. Reed let his blue-red flame flicker into Soval's white light, subsuming himself to it. He let the white fire permeate his blue. It reminded him of their first time in the shuttlepod: anger combined with lust, the heavy beating of his heart, and Soval taking what he needed.

Reed struggled for breath, already sliding on the edge of release, the flame of his mind begging for more. The mirror of Soval's mind reflected sensation back: in the shuttlepod, Soval had pulled him deep into his mouth first, until Reed cried out because he had to give in. Then he bent Reed's knees up so he could slide inside, one hand on Reed's slick cock. The jagged, heavy sensation wasn't enough. He'd rocked against every thrust, grunting while Soval panted wildly, lust and desire burning fiercely as they struggled against the tide that would sweep them away. He'd caught Soval's blood fever.

Soval, pressing inside him, blunt and thick—

The white, unbending strength of his mind blasting through the last tatters of Reed's self-control—

When he came, head thrown back, heavy gouts spattering against the insufficient scrap of fabric and onto his belly, he could feel the ecstasy streaming silver from his eyes and mouth, the interior of the aircar thrown into vivid relief in the long flash. He couldn't bear it; he would die of the light. His back arched as Soval pulled intense pleasure from him, then added his own. Soval surrounded him inside and out, caught up in Reed's ecstasy, the two of them once again sharing the moment when body and mind became one.

He collapsed onto the seat, panting wildly, the interior of the aircar very dark now that the silver glare that only he could see had faded. The experience had somehow affected him more than when they had made love while actually touching. He was suddenly aware of the cold: the heater had gone off when T'Pol had cut the engine.

"Meditate," he panted, heat radiating out from his body. He took a few deep breaths, struggling for control. "I'll have to remember that one."

He cleaned up as best he could, using a bottle of drinking water to good effect, fingers fumbling and thick as his body cooled and he felt the cold more acutely. When he looked for Soval's beacon of light, he saw that it had gone, although he could still sense Soval's presence. Apparently their shared orgasm had shorted out the gestalt connection between them that T'Pol had crafted via the neuropressure. Despite the cold, he cracked a window, in consideration of T'Pol's keen Vulcan sense of smell. He doubted it would help, but it was T'Pol's own fault. He supposed he'd been strobing arousal, and if this was her solution, well, so be it. Soval knew they were near; he knew Reed would not rest until he was safe.

His breathing had just returned to normal when a graceful figure exited the market, bag in hand. He fumbled with the door locks and managed to release the door just as T'Pol tapped the driver's side window. She handed him the bag as she took her seat to his right, the aircar bobbing as it hovered half a meter above the tarmac. Reed looked at her uneasily, but if she smelled anything untoward, she gave no sign of it.

"Food," she said briefly as he fumbled with the bag. "I ate in the market. That is yours. I also purchased utility tape. I thought we might have need of it."

"Plastic ties would have come in handy," he suggested. He pulled a hot, paper-wrapped item from the bag and examined it. "It smells a little...odd."

"The food items are edible by both Vulcans and humans." She started the aircar and released the tether. "They did not appear to sell plastic ties. I did not want to ask."

"Both will do." Reed took a tentative bite. The item turned out to be much like an egg roll, with a crisp fried coating. The rich smell of food permeated the aircar, masking, he hoped, any other scents. "Another drive-by, please, so we can spot the sentries."

T'Pol glanced at him as she ascended. "Are you still aware of the ambassador?" she queried.

"Yes." Reed closed his window, now that they were moving. "I don't see the light any more, though. Oh, that reminds me." He activated the switch that lightened the windows, which greatly improved visibility. "That's better." He downed half the egg roll and said, "Ought we go in, Commander? We could radio the captain and give him the coordinates."

"That is a possibility." T'Pol indicated a tethered aircar as they drifted past a mostly dark structure across from the warehouse Reed had targeted. "That is the most likely vantage point. Do you concur?"

"I do." Reed tried to catch a glimpse of movement through the windows, to no avail. "They have a clear view of the main entrance to the building where I sensed Soval—er, Ambassador Soval. And of course they'll have left someone at the entrance of the other building, and likely someone to guard him. They seem to be leaving him alone." He reached for the communications device. "Shall I contact Captain Archer?"

T'Pol hesitated. "That would be the logical thing to do," she admitted.

"You prefer not to? Why?"

"Vulcan has an interest in this matter. Neither Commander Shran nor Captain Archer is Vulcan."

"Ambassador Soval is," Reed argued. "I doubt he will fall through the cracks. We can't go in without revealing our identities. Whoever has taken the ambassador will be captured and questioned. Our presence would undoubtedly be discovered."

T'Pol circled around a building and headed back along a different route. "That is so. What do you propose?"

Reed finished the last of the egg roll. "I hate to let this utility tape go to waste. I propose I contact Captain Archer and give him the address of the building where I sensed the ambassador. You and I are supposed to be at the spaceport, which is less than five minutes from here. The captain is farther away. He and Commander Shran will not be surprised if we get here first. But instead of waiting for the captain to arrive, we strike immediately, in case the ambassador's captors are listening to the airwaves. They will only have a minute or two to react. We don't have weapons or communications, so we'll have to use stealth. One of us should take the sentries, and the other should enter the warehouse where Soval is being held. There is probably a third sentry site, but we can't help that. There are only two of us."

T'Pol thought for a moment, bright lights playing across her face as they passed a nightclub. Reed caught the raucous laughter of Andorians who had doubtless drunk too much ale. "The plan is acceptable," she decided. "I will take the sentries. It is logical that you find the ambassador. You will be able to sense his presence and find him more efficiently than I could."

Reed hoped his relief at the division of labor didn't feel too palpable. "Let's talk it through before we call Captain Archer. There's always the possibility I'm wrong, the building is empty, and the tethered aircar we saw is the night watchman's. But there's no way to confirm the ambassador's presence before we go in. I don't see any other way to do it."

"I concur," T'Pol said. "Is there a possibility you are wrong?"

Reed thought of the gout of white light emanating from the building—the same white light that had streamed from his eyes and mouth in his ecstasy.

"I don't think so, no."

***

The thing he hadn't counted on, Reed thought as he scurried along the thin ridge of the building's base, was the cold. The wind whipped right through the heavy fabric of his jacket. He couldn't keep his hands in his pockets because he needed his arms for balance, but even with gloves on, he knew he would be at a disadvantage. Soval's captors would be armed and he wasn't, but their real advantage lay in their ability to operate in the cold.

He checked the time. T'Pol had told him to wait eight minutes to give her enough time to take out the sentries in the building opposite, and eight minutes felt like an agonizingly long time when counted out moment by moment, even though it took him a good five to move away from the area where T'Pol had dropped him off. He could sense Soval's presence inside the building, the white calm of his mind somehow disturbed. He had three minutes to go when Soval's mind jumped abruptly, and Reed knew something was wrong. He was just pondering the best way to gain access to the building—the two doors he'd found had both been locked—when the front door he was working his way toward cracked open, letting out a stream of blue-tinged light. Those inside would be blind for few long seconds when they looked into the dark. Reed dashed forward, keeping his eyes on the ground so he wouldn't be dazzled.

"—so something's clearly wrong," an Andorian woman's voice said. "Hurry!"

"Lorac isn't back with the prisoner yet," a man worried. "What's taking him so long?"

"The aircar isn't here either," the Andorian woman fretted as she exited the building. Reed recognized her as one of the journalists at the press conference. Incongruously—at least to a chilly Reed—she wore a bright miniskirt, a fashionable light jacket, and high heels. Her hair was perfectly coifed, poufed so high that it almost concealed her antennae. She certainly did not look like Reed's idea of a desperate kidnapper. "Where are they?"

"I think they ran into my colleague," Reed said conversationally.

"What?" the woman cried, a moment before Reed struck her in the face with an elbow. She went down in a cascade of blue skin and white hair. "Ow!" she yelled as Reed stepped on her on his way to the door, sending her sprawling. "That really hurt! I'm bleeding!"

Reed shook his head. Amateurs.

The second Andorian, a man, was apparently the muscle. He reached for a weapon as Reed grabbed the door and slammed it against him, pulling it back quickly so he could follow up with a blow to the jaw. He kicked the woman when she tried to go for his ankles, and she fell back immediately. He swept the man's feet out from under him and levered him to the ground. After a brief struggle, Reed managed to get hold of his opponent's weapon: a low-quality stunner. He pressed it against the man's neck and fired, and the man collapsed in a heap. He tucked the weapon into the back of his pants.

"Do be quiet," he advised the woman, bending over her next.

When she gave another shriek, he slapped a piece of tape over her mouth. He pinioned her arms behind her and taped them together, knee in the small of her back. Her legs were next; she was struggling too much to leave them free. He found a small communications device in her pocket, which he crushed with his heel. Despite the ruckus, nobody had appeared with guns blazing, so he assumed that T'Pol had successfully engaged the sentries across the way.

It was definitely nippy out. Reed dragged them both inside and shut the door. The activity had taken his mind off Soval, and he paused to check on the ambassador. Although the Vulcan's mind still seemed jagged, Soval did not seem actively distressed. Perhaps the smooth mirror brightness he associated with Soval's mind simply meant that Soval was meditating, which obviously he could not do all the time.

A room to his right seemed to be where they had set up shop: a stool was next to the curtained window, and food wrappers were scattered on a low table. It was warmer, but not appreciably so. Andorians really did like it cold.

He didn't have much time. He could sense Soval to his left and up.

"Better safe than sorry," Reed murmured as he efficiently trussed the Andorian man up. He was smaller and slighter than the woman—something Reed had noticed was true of many Andorian men. His captive had some training in hand-to-hand combat, but he hadn't been prepared for someone like Reed. He found and destroyed the man's communications device. "Now. You." He dragged the woman up and sat her on the stool by the window. "Allow me." He ripped the tape off her mouth with one fast movement, and the woman shrieked and glared at him, looking bedraggled despite her smart suit. One of her elegant shoes was falling off. She couldn't get it back on because her ankles were still bound. "I recognize you. You were one of the three journalists at the press conference. Journalist? Kidnapper? Which is it?"

"I am a journalist," the woman spat. Her hairdo had been damaged in the tussle and was now lopsided.

Reed contemplated her, arms crossed. "Are you perhaps undercover to infiltrate a kidnapping ring? No? How about this. You're a member of a radical Andorian splinter group that seeks a stronger Andoria, and breaking the treaty with Vulcan is the method you and your friends decided would win the day."

"No! I mean, I don't know!" the woman wailed, her antennae twitching nervously in the now tangled nest of her hair. "This did not go as planned!"

Reed clucked his tongue. "Ambassador Soval is a very, very important man," he pointed out. "If you want to ensure war with Vulcan, you have made an excellent start. I congratulate you."

"Not war." The journalist kicked off her dangling shoe. "A seat at the negotiating table for—for—"

"For your faction of Andorian separatists."

"Well, yes." She exploded next with, "You don't understand what it's like!"

"To live under the watchful eye of a paternal race that withholds technology and information because they wish to maintain their own supremacy?" Reed suggested.

The woman deflated. She moaned, "This has gotten way, way out of hand. A low-ranking diplomat! That's all we wanted! Someone we could use to position both the Vulcans and the Andorian government to take our concerns seriously! We had no idea it was going to be Soval himself. When he came out—well, it was just—it was just too late. We had to start the transport cycle several minutes beforehand, and the EM pulse that would wipe all electronic records was tied to the transport, and—oh, this is just a disaster."

"Do forgive me. Time is short," Reed apologized. "How many others are there? Here, I mean, at this site. My colleague has taken care of the others in the building opposite."

The woman's eyes widened. She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

Reed untucked the stunner from his waistband and waved it at her. "Do try to remember," he hinted. "Stunners result in dreadful headaches. I speak from experience. Let me remind you. Lorac is with the ambassador, of course. He was to bring Soval to the door so you could take him away. I assume you heard us call for backup. We were able to beat our estimated time of arrival. I'm sure you noticed that. In my line of work, we call that disinformation. You would be amazed—amazed—at how much we know about you already."

She bought his bluff. Now she looked terrified.

"Who else?" Reed demanded.

"No one else," she squeaked. "Lorac! That's it! Just Lorac!"

"So one other," Reed said, pressing the stunner against her neck.

Her eyes told her that he was right. Before she could respond, he depressed the trigger. He caught her slight body before she could crash to the floor and gently laid her out next to her unconscious partner in crime. Before he headed upstairs, he put her shoe back on.

He preferred the stairs to the lift. He paused at the first level, then the second, then the third, casting about for Soval's mind, until he felt the proximity he sought. He cracked the heavy third-floor door to survey the corridor before he slipped through, thankful that the doors were all manual instead of motion-activated. They had hooked handles a little lower than he was used to—Andorians tended to be shorter than humans.

He slid against the wall and peered around a corner to see an Andorian woman in the hallway. She wasn't one of the three journalists who had been at the press conference, but she looked familiar to Reed. The way she carried herself cued Reed that she had a military background. Unlike the pretty journalist he'd just knocked out, this woman would put up a real fight. He slid back when she turned in his direction, keeping his movement slow so quick motion wouldn't give him away, then peered back around when he heard her speak.

At the sound of her voice, memory clicked into place: it was Tarah, a former subordinate of Shran's who had been present during the negotiation of the cease-fire two years ago. She had been a member of the Imperial Guard—a formidable opponent indeed. Shran had had her arrested after she had tried to kill not only Soval but Captain Archer as well. Clearly she had lost her commission, but she had landed on her feet.

"The journalist isn't picking up," Tarah called to someone Reed couldn't see. He noticed that, in addition to a red communications device she held near her ear, she wore a blaster at her waist. "I knew I shouldn't have recruited her. She's not dependable enough to make up for the access she got us. I don't know if the aircar is here."

"We need to get out of here," a man—Lorac—responded from inside a room.

"Obviously," Tarah said tartly. "The question is, what do we do with him?"

"We could leave him," Lorac suggested.

"An excellent idea," another voice said, and Reed froze. It was Soval.

"They said estimated time of arrival ten minutes," Lorac said. "And that was what? Ten minutes ago!"

"Then we really need to get out of here." Tarah paced, then glared at the communications device as she switched it off. She thrust it into a pocket, clearly annoyed. "He can identify us."

"So you ought to kill me?" Soval suggested.

"You said it, not me." Tarah shook her head. "Again your life is in my hands, and again you decline to acknowledge my authority."

"Clearly I'm more valuable to you alive than dead," Soval said, ever the logical Vulcan. "You have shown me once again that you would rather fight than negotiate. I see the events at Paan Mokar continue to resonate."

"Weytahn," Tarah corrected. "It is called Weytahn. And, Vulcan—" She spat the word. "It is not yet over. Trust me when I tell you that you have not seen the last of it. We will keep what is ours."

Soval's response was pitched too low for Reed to hear.

"I don't have time to argue with you, Vulcan," Tarah said. She drew her weapon and aimed through the open doorway, and Reed knew she had come to a decision. "I should have done this two years ago."

She was about to fire, Reed could sense it. He acted before he had fully formed the decision to do so. "I shouldn't do that if I were you," Reed called, stepping into the corridor.

Tarah's head whipped around, her weapon still aimed into the room. Reed kept his hands in the air, reassuringly empty.

"I know you," Tarah said. "Sorry, I'm better with faces. I don't remember your name."

"Lieutenant Reed." He gestured with his head. "I strongly advise you to stand down."

From within the room that held Soval, Reed heard a thud. Soval's mind hardened. Reed knew Soval was shielding Reed from what was happening inside, trying to keep the roiling tempest at bay so Reed could concentrate.

"Vulcan nerve pinch," Soval called. "I assure you, he is not dead, merely unconscious."

"Stop," Tarah called, backing away as Soval stepped into the hallway. She kept her weapon trained on him.

"I am merely demonstrating to my rescuer that I am unharmed," Soval said soothingly. He held his hands in the air. "You need not take lethal action," he said to Reed, as though Reed were armed with an actual weapon, when in fact Reed had nothing at all.

"Your two colleagues are trussed up downstairs. I'm afraid I had to stun them." Reed kept his hands in the air. The stunner tucked into the back of his trousers seemed woefully inadequate: it wouldn't fire at a distance. It needed to touch flesh to work. "This entire affair has been rather a cock-up. Not very professional at all. I'm afraid that the ambassador has been kidnapped by people who are, quite frankly, not worthy of the honor."

"The honor of kidnapping him?" Tarah said incredulously.

"Just so." Reed took a few steps closer. Her weapon was still trained on the ambassador, and she was too far away for him to disarm. "It's down to you. Your two colleagues downstairs will not be rushing to your aid anytime soon. A colleague of mine—a Vulcan colleague, I hasten to add—has dealt with your backup in the building across from us. I do believe she is not very happy with this situation. It's so hard to tell with Vulcans. And as you can see, the ambassador hardly requires my help." He did not look at Soval, although he was acutely aware of the ambassador's presence.

Tarah's laugh held a manic tinge. "I don't need advice from you."

"You should listen to him," another voice said—Captain Archer.

Reed didn't turn away from Tarah, but a knot inside him eased. The cavalry had arrived. Ten minutes? More like twelve.

"This is very disappointing, Tarah," Shran said as he and Archer stepped out of the shadows to stand by Reed. "For your years of service, I ensured that you were not executed. And this is how you repay me?"

"Repay you?" Tarah cried. "Stripped of my rank, thrown out of the Imperial Guard, for being a patriot?" She gave a half-sob, and before anyone could react, she seized Soval, her arm around his neck, weapon to his head. "Soval, the man who brokered the accord forty years ago! The man who ensured the dominion of Vulcan over Andoria! And to think my colleagues would have been happy with a minor diplomat!"

Reed froze when Tarah grabbed Soval, the result of Soval's mind rippling, sending Reed into alertness. He knew Soval could incapacitate Tarah, but likely not before she got a shot off. But something in his mind—something—

Archer and Shran drew weapons at almost the same moment. They were done talking, that much was clear.

Reed jerked his head toward them as Soval's thought coalesced. "Don't kill her," he said, pitching his voice low. "She's the brains behind this operation. She needs to be interrogated."

Tarah screamed as, a moment before she pulled the trigger, Archer's phase pistol fire, set to stun, hit her square in the head. Her own shot went wide, tracing a blackened arc across the ceiling, as she crumpled to the ground. Soval staggered against her dead weight and then went down, his mind splintering, and Reed realized he'd been holding himself under tight control, now released.

"Soval," he cried, rushing to the ambassador's side. He rolled Tarah to the side.

He knelt by Soval, and Soval's fingers gripped his shoulder. Their minds blended together, pleasure at seeing one another tinged with relief and fear. The white heat of their last encounter hovered in the background, as yet unacknowledged. Reed pulled back only when Soval's mind cleared and his fingers relaxed, indicating that Soval had regained control. Their exchange had felt intimate, but Archer, standing nearby, didn't seem to sense anything amiss.

"Pity," Shran remarked as he holstered his weapon. "I don't have a stun setting. Very fine shooting, pink skin. Ambassador, are you all right?"

"Quite well, Commander, thank you." Soval let Reed help him up. He was perhaps overplaying his frailty, Reed thought, but it did mean that Soval had to lean against him, which permitted their physical proximity to continue.

"You got here quickly, Lieutenant," Archer commented.

"Yes, sir," Reed answered blandly. "Just in time, sir," he added. "They were contemplating whether to kill the ambassador." He left out the information that it was likely the result of Reed's call to the captain with the coordinates of the building. They would probably have just moved the ambassador otherwise.

"Where's Commander T'Pol?" Archer asked.

"She was in the building across the street, neutralizing the kidnappers stationed there."

"Ah." Archer peered into the room where Soval had been held. "There's a man unconscious in here. Wasn't he one of the journalists at the hotel?"

"That's my fault, I'm afraid," Soval admitted. "He should awaken in a few hours. I suggest he be taken into custody. He has had military training as well."

Shran sighed. "I see I have my work cut out for me," he said. He nudged Tarah's inert leg with a toe. "A pity—such a promising officer. She was a lieutenant when I relieved her of her duties two years ago. Do we know anything of her motivation for this outrage?"

"I don't believe they specifically targeted Ambassador Soval," Reed said. Soval had regained his feet, and Reed reluctantly moved away. The lack of physical contact lessened the mental contact, which made it easier to focus. "The woman downstairs mentioned that they expected a minor diplomat. They weren't able to stop the transport. Apparently they represent a separatist cell that wants to renegotiate the Vulcan–Andorian treaty in favor of the Andorians."

"Ah, well, who doesn't," Shran mused. "Still, the changes made to the hotel were quite a lot of trouble to go to for a minor diplomat. Such a setup can only be used once. I will certainly be looking into the governmental offices for leaks. Perhaps not all members of this separatist cell knew of the ambassador's identity, but I suspect that at least one did."

"Tarah," Archer guessed.

"Very likely. I'll contact my men downstairs. They can take everyone here into custody. Meanwhile, much as I appreciate your presence, Ambassador, I feel that this event indicates that Andoria is not yet ready to negotiate. I suggest you go home to Vulcan and return at a later date. We'll skip the secrecy next time."

Soval inclined his head. "I live to serve," he said.

"I'm sure you do. You'll make yourself available for debriefing?"

"Tomorrow morning, perhaps?"

"Fine." Shran paced the corridor, then turned back. "No broadcast went out, correct?"

"Correct," Archer agreed. "The transport occurred about thirty seconds after the ambassador took the podium. A dampening field associated with the transporter coming online disrupted communications, but the feeds were on a standard one-minute delay. The EM pulse disrupted all electronic equipment. Nothing got out. There is no record of the incident."

"We'll simply have all the people present sign the secrecy act, upon pain of death, and then release them," Shran decided smugly. "I'll see to it myself."

"That is...acceptable," Soval said after a long moment. "I believe this incident has made it clear that Andoria and Vulcan are not yet ready to reopen negotiations. But people of good faith will always—"

"Yes, yes, yes," Shran interrupted. "I'm sure we'll be ready to talk when things calm down. Give it a few months. Or a year. Possibly two."

"The ambassador looks tired," Reed hinted. "Sir? If I may escort you. Do you wish to be taken to the hotel, or do you prefer to return to your ship?"

"The hotel would be adequate. Thank you, Lieutenant. Captain? If you have no objections?"

"No, of course not," Archer responded.

Reed said, "I'll stop at the spaceport and clear the room that T'Pol and I requisitioned. That will take a few hours." He had to come up with some story for the complete lack of a record about his supposed data resurrection from the slagged equipment utterly destroyed by the EM pulse—the equipment that had supposedly provided Soval's location.

"Right. Yes." It was clear that Archer had forgotten all about the admittedly imaginary room. "Just report to Commander Tucker when you're back."

Reed hinted, "Your aircar, Captain? I don't have working communications to call for another one."

Archer looked confused for a moment, then grasped the gist of Reed's request. "Right. Yes, of course, Malcolm. Here." He dug into a pocket and tossed Reed a key. "We're on the east side."

"T'Pol has an aircar across the way."

"Excellent. Thank you, Lieutenant. Well done."

"This way, Ambassador." Reed gestured to Soval, and he followed the silver-haired man to the stairwell.

He saw T'Pol and a few members of the Imperial Guard—Shran's men and women—heading for the entry as Soval got settled in the aircar.

T'Pol paused, watching them intently for a few long seconds, lifted a hand in acknowledgment, and continued on her way.

***

"It is nearly time," Soval said. He lay on his side, head propped up, one knee covering Reed's legs. He idly traced the edges of Reed's belly in a large oval.

"We have a half hour." Reed stretched lazily, enjoying the stroking. "I hadn't realized that Tarah was determined to kill you from the start. She just needed to sell it to her partners in crime."

That tidbit of information had been included in Soval's debriefing earlier that day. Reed's own debriefing had been hairy. The loss of the data and the electronic equipment in a bizarre accident at the spaceport had been unfortunate, the captain felt. Still, this loss was mitigated by Reed's success in finding the ambassador—and that was the only reason Reed wasn't being reprimanded. Further, Archer hadn't understood why Reed, not T'Pol, the superior officer, had submitted the report.

Reed continued, "Your mind felt...jagged, and I felt a persistent sense of unease. I felt it was important to hurry. I wasn't sure if it was the effect of your mind, or my own worries."

"Both," Soval said with certainty. "It was clear I could handle Lorac, but he was protecting my life. I preferred to let him underestimate me. Tarah was a different matter altogether. I thought it better to remain where I was, once you located me. How did you do that, by the way? The binding connection was...strong. It permitted me to increase my metabolism of the drug they had given me, shaking off its effects more quickly than they expected."

The binding connection had been strong? That was an understatement. "T'Pol," Reed admitted.

"Ah. Yes. I suspected as much."

"I am sorry about that. I hope it doesn't affect your relationship with her." Of course it would, but Vulcans did not speak of such things. Reed found that he trusted T'Pol to never bring it up. "I thought I could find you if I drove around the city, and I couldn't trust anyone else. But it took too long. I couldn't find your location. T'Pol used some neuropressure techniques that...enhanced our link."

"That explains much," Soval murmured. "You have had no ill effects as a result?"

"No. T'Pol was concerned about that too." Reed hadn't realized that neuropressure could be so dangerous, but both T'Pol and Soval treated it as a matter of the gravest importance. It didn't matter, Reed realized. Even if the procedure put his body or life into jeopardy, he would have gone through with it.

"That blaze, where we found each other." Soval sounded remarkably tentative for a man who was used to being obeyed instantly.

Reed remembered it: light streaming from his eyes and mouth, ecstasy extended interminably, more than a human alone could take. It had been the culmination of their neuropressure-induced gestalt. "It's faded now."

"The mental effects will persist, as before, particularly with proximity, but I can reignite that blaze." Soval moved his hand to touch points on Reed's head, and Reed understood that he meant a mind meld. "If you trust me." He left it there, an implicit question, and leaned down and kissed Reed.

They had so much more to discuss. What were they going to do? Did they have a future together? How did Soval's wife fit in, or was she irrelevant in this matter? Was it acceptable for Vulcans to take lovers? Different-race lovers? He didn't know the answer to any of those questions.

Reed would return to Enterprise and Soval would return to Earth. No doubt they would run into each other occasionally. And no doubt they would do just as they were doing now: carving out time together, an hour here, an hour there, to touch body and mind. Reed would crave more, but he knew that it would be enough.

"You know I trust you," Reed whispered, and he shut his eyes as Soval's fingers pressed down.

***

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