“Back aboard his ship,” Williams replied in his Iowa drawl. “Babel security’s taking his statement there.”
Archer furrowed his brow. “What was he even still doing here? He should’ve headed off for his next campaign stop hours ago.”
Williams worked his lantern jaw. “Seems like they had some engine trouble. Had to lay over for repairs.”
“That seems oddly convenient for whoever wanted to take a shot at Thoris.”
“The thought occurred to me as well.” Archer turned at the new voice, seeing the serene Vulcan visage of T’Rama, Solkar’s aide and daughter-in-law. “I trust Babel security will investigate the matter.”
“I’ll make sure they do,” Archer said. Over T’Rama’s shoulder, he noticed Hemnask’s arrival, arranged to come a comfortable interval after his own and from a separate direction. Their eyes met briefly without overt acknowledgment.
He caught a snatch of conversation from the nearby cluster of Planetarist-leaning ambassadors. As usual, Mikhail Kamenev was raising a fuss to make a Tellarite proud. “Mark my words, this has Federalist fingerprints all over it,” the Martian exclaimed.
Avaranthi sh’Rothress tilted her antennae skeptically. “You aren’t seriously proposing they attempted to kill him.”
“Scare him off, maybe. Intimidate him, intimidate us into backing down.”
“Al-Rashid himself wouldn’t dare try it,” Ysanne Fell put in. “But perhaps some deranged supporter. You know how fanatical some of their followers are. Or maybe some Rigelian gangster trying to guarantee admission.”
Archer tried to tune them out. “I take it the shooter hasn’t been found yet?” he asked Williams.
The captain shook his head. “The station’s been locked down. No ships are allowed to leave, and shields went up automatically as soon as the station’s sensors detected the weapons fire.”
“So the assailant is still present,” T’Rama said. She quirked an eyebrow. “Not a reassuring insight.”
Archer’s gaze went to her belly. “Maybe you should hang back.”
“Your concern for my embryo is appreciated, Admiral, but I judge the risk to be minimal,” T’Rama said, striding toward the security contingent. “The sniper targeted Councilor Thoris specifically,” she went on as Archer followed, “and he, she, or other would not risk capture by firing at another target with security already on the scene. Not to mention that if there were an active shooter, this crowd would not have been allowed to assemble.”
“You make a good argument,” Archer conceded.
“I am a Vulcan,” she replied, though he caught the same kind of deadpan teasing in her voice that he’d learned from long experience to recognize in T’Pol’s. “Additionally, I had eleven Vulcan years of experience as an investigator in ShiKahr prior to joining Administrator T’Pau’s security detail.”
“I imagine such crimes were more common before the Kir’Shara reforms.”
“Not particularly; it was mostly the High Command that was prone to aggression for what were deemed logical reasons. But violent crimes did occur among immigrants or visitors. And on occasion, the policies of the High Command provoked political assassination attempts by Andorians, Mazarites, and the like.”
They reached the security contingent as she spoke, and its head, a gray-uniformed lieutenant commander named Astellet ch’Terren, turned to them, holding a scanner he’d just been handed by a subordinate. Looking up from it with a solemn expression, the young Andorian gazed at Archer for a moment before turning to T’Rama. “Ma’am, you say you have investigatory experience?”
“That is correct.”
“We could use your assistance, then,” he said, eyes still darting to Archer. “It may have now become a rather sensitive matter, and it might be preferable to have a non-Starfleet investigator involved to avoid a conflict of interest.”
T’Rama studied him. “What have you found, Commander?”
Ch’Terren hesitated. “My people identified the rooftop from which the shots were fired. The ledge around it shows radiation traces consistent with a Starfleet phase pistol, matching the burns on the street below. And . . . well, see for yourself.”
The Vulcan diplomat took the scanner he offered and studied its readings. Raising her brows, she turned to Archer. “Admiral. This says that hair and skin cells found at the shooter’s position are consistent with your DNA.”
Archer did a double take. “What?! That’s ridiculous!”