Authors' Notes:

This series of drabbles are the writer's laboratory and playground - the exploration of the next chapters of "Highly Classified Mission." From these very sketchy beginnings a more cohesive story will eventually form. Thanks to Braxin, for conversation, support, patience, entertainment...and for all the prompt words in this first story.

And now, we join T'Pol, huddled against a crate of warp injector casings in the hold of Menos' ship...

Prompt words:





It's the smell that catches T'Pol's attention first. Injector casings have a distinct, acrid odor. That she's only registering it now is alarming. To be dismissive of the scent, and the risk of contamination, is not logical. To have come here without her scanner, or any means of testing for the biotoxins Menos is accused of smuggling, is foolish.

What plausible reason is there for coming here alone?

She hears the memory of the tea kettle screaming in her mind. She's become too forgetful of reality. Trip helped her, in the galley.

But he's not here in Menos' cargo bay.