“But what will you—”
“I’ll lead them away. Once I have them occupied, you run. Fast as you can, no looking back. You understand? You have to get away.”
Mindlen nodded bravely, her lip quivering, and clutched the scanner to her chest. “I understand. Your box must be protected.”
Val reached out and stroked her cheek. “Yeah . . . that, too.”
She came out the door, knelt, and pulled a pair of fist-sized paving stones from the front walk. She jogged toward the skiff, crossing the street away from Mindlen’s family. “Hey!” she called, hurling one of the stones. It hit the side door of the skiff, its arc just too low to strike the driver. Williams cursed under her breath; she still hadn’t fully adjusted to the local gravity. But she’d gotten their attention. “Yeah, I’m talking to you! I have an urgent message from the United Federation of Planets!” She hurled the other stone, but the guards ducked this time. Still, she struck one on the shoulder.
That did it. Identifying herself as a Federation operative made her a high-value target, enough that the guards forgot about Mindlen and pursued Williams en masse as she ran down a side street. She dodged and weaved through the narrow streets, taking advantage of her much leaner cross-section and tighter turning radius to stay ahead of the skiff.
But then a second skiff descended in her path, the guards bringing their weapons to bear. She dodged as energy bolts tore past her, but the first skiff was blocking her retreat.
Williams took solace in that as stun bolts hit her from both sides and her consciousness faded. At least it meant that Mindlen had a chance.
10
Babel Station
“I’M SORRY, ADMIRAL, but it doesn’t look good,” Astellet ch’Terren told Archer. They were in Babel’s austere security section, Archer seated in front of ch’Terren’s desk while T’Rama stood alongside the lieutenant commander. A pair of Andorian guards hovered behind Archer’s shoulders. “Witnesses have confirmed seeing a figure in a Starfleet Command uniform and cap heading into that building before the shots were fired. Your backup uniform and cap are missing from your quarters, and we found a phase pistol power pack compatible with the model used to fire the shots.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Archer said. “I didn’t bring a phase pistol—this is a diplomatic conference! Obviously someone broke into my room last night, took my uniform, and planted the power pack.”
“Access logs show no unauthorized entry to your room—and one entry conforming to your voice key.”
“That must have been faked. I wasn’t even in . . .” He broke off.
T’Rama leaned forward. “Admiral, if you have an alibi, why not simply tell us?”
Archer was sorely tempted. But he had to believe that Hemnask wouldn’t hang him out to dry like this unless the consequences of revealing their relationship really would be as politically dire as she’d asserted. Not to mention that it simply seemed wrong to violate her privacy without her consent.
So the admiral chose another tack. “Do I really need an alibi? Think about it. Why would I wear my own uniform to sneak up to a rooftop and shoot at a presidential candidate?”
“It could be argued,” T’Rama countered, “that a Starfleet uniform would allow you to go anywhere without being questioned.”
“The esplanade isn’t exactly a high-security area. Besides, don’t you think a Starfleet admiral would have enough phase pistol practice to be able to hit his target?”
“Unless that admiral suffered from nerve damage that limited his manual dexterity.”
“Then that admiral would have the sense not to take the shot himself.”
T’Rama contemplated. “These are logical counterarguments. Yet your reluctance to provide an alibi remains an outstanding concern. It suggests you are protecting someone who has something to conceal.”
He rolled his eyes. “If I were, then I wouldn’t have let them go out on the esplanade in my uniform and use a Starfleet phase pistol.” Archer took a breath. “Look, there’s gotta be some other line of evidence you can pursue. Something that’ll clear me.”
“It is for us to determine the direction of this investigation, Admiral.”
Archer sighed, but said nothing more. After a moment, ch’Terren said, “I take it you have no further statement, sir?”
“You may take it and—yes, that’s correct.”
“Then I’m sorry,” the young Andorian told him, “but I have no choice but to confine you for the time being. We will continue to investigate, of course. But procedure must be followed.”