Theras stepped forward, his gray, blind eyes focused at some invisible point straight ahead of him. Although T’Pol knew that Theras couldn’t see in a conventional manner–his Aenar telepathy made a highly effective substitute for the normal visual sense–she thought he was being quite careful not to come into direct contact with any part of the nearby telepresence equipment, as though he feared it might shock him.

“Are you saying you can locate Jhamel with your device?” Theras asked, sounding even more anxious than usual.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking,” T’Pol said. “I believe that this equipment might succeed in enhancing the mind‑link that Shran evidently still shares with Jhamel, thus enabling us to follow it to her, as well as to the rest of the Aenar captives.”

“Assuming,” Phlox said from a corner of the alcove, “that the device proves safe to operate.”

T’Pol couldn’t help but notice the look of abject hurt that had crossed Theras’s face at her mention of the mind‑link between Shran and Jhamel; she could almost have sworn that the albino Aenar had just gone another half‑shade paler. It was obvious to her now that Theras had been less than truthful when he had claimed not to be bothered by the fact that Shran, an outsider to the Aenar people, shared a deep and intimate psionic connection with a member of Theras’s marriage‑bond group–a connection that Theras obviously had yet to forge with Jhamel, otherwise hewould be the one about to be strapped into the chair rather than Shran.

T’Pol could also see that Shran failed to notice–or perhaps didn’t care–about Theras’s discomfiture. His antennae pushing forward aggressively, the Andorian moved toward the chair and raised the helmet from its backrest, picking it up with both hands.

“Let’s stop wasting time and get started,” he said in a deep, almost feral growl.

Very carefully, T’Pol took the helmet from Shran in order to allow him to get into the seat without becoming entangled in the cables. Once he was seated, she set the headpiece onto his cranium, taking care not to restrict his antennae, which appeared to be recoiling instinctively from the edges of the helmet. She set about methodically attaching and tightening the straps that held the headgear in place, then turned to enter a series of commands into the adjacent console.

A faint hum instantly filled the air, which almost immediately carried the faint scent of ozone. T’Pol hoped she hadn’t already routed too much power through the telepresence unit’s relays.

“Please tell me everything you’re sensing, Shran,” T’Pol said.

“Nothing so far,” Shran said. “Perhaps you need to increase the gain.” T’Pol sincerely hoped she wouldn’t have to run much more power through the apparatus than it was already accepting.

“Do you understand,” Phlox said, addressing Shran, “that your nervous system will be at progressively greater risk as the power levels increase?”

“Of course, Doctor,” Shran said, and sounded irritated that Phlox would even ask that question. “But I want Commander T’Pol to use as much power as it takes to find Jhamel.”

Though T’Pol wasn’t prepared to go quite that far, she inputted the command to bring the power levels up higher still. She looked up from the indicators and saw that Theras’s chalk‑white face was a study in anxiety, while Shran simply seemed to be growing increasingly impatient. Phlox stood by, observing the proceedings in silence, reminding T’Pol of a vigilant ferravatbird of the Vulcan deserts.

“I’ve increased the power by ten percent,” T’Pol said.

The whine of the telepresence unit ascended a halfstep in pitch, and T’Pol thought she could smell something burning. A lengthy beat elapsed, after which Shran said, “Still noth–”

“Shran?” T’Pol said, moving closer to the Andorian. A combination of trepidation and anticipation swirled behind her brow, though a lifetime of Vulcan training kept it safely invisible.

Phlox had begun running a small medical scanner through the air above Shran’s head. “I’m reading some synaptic instability, Commander. It’s intensifying.”

“Understood, Doctor,” T’Pol said.

“I’m sensing… something,” Shran whispered.

“Jhamel?” T’Pol prompted.

Shran appeared to try to nod his head, but the helmet and the cables attached to it restricted his movements. “Yes,” he said finally.

“Can you tell where Jhamel is?” T’Pol said.

“A ship. Perhaps a cargo hold. So much…fear. Despair….”

“Can you tell us the ship’s location?”

“No. Light‑years away from here, at least. No.” Tears of frustration and pain were beginning to roll down Shran’s azure cheeks.

“His synaptic connections are in extreme danger, Commander,” Phlox said tersely as he continued to scan the Andorian. “He can’t sustain much more of this.”

“Acknowledged, Doctor.” T’Pol realized that Shran’s intense emotions were becoming increasingly difficult for him to rein in, which wasn’t a surprising phenomenon in such a violently passionate race as the Andorians. Keep the questions specific and to the point,she reminded herself.

“Can you estimate the ship’s range from our current position?” T’Pol asked, speaking slowly and with exaggerated patience.

“Raise…raise the power levels,” Shran said, now openly weeping. His body was beginning to shake, almost convulsing. “Then I might…might be able to…” His voice trailed off, as though he was in too much pain to continue speaking.

“That could very well damage you permanently, Shran,” Phlox said.

“The loss…of Jhamel…would damage me more, Doctor. Do it,Commander!”

“Very well.” T’Pol leaned across the console and deftly entered another command.

“Commander, I must advise against this,” Phlox said, his tone uncharacteristically prickly.

“Noted,” T’Pol said, choosing to ignore Phlox’s warning as Shran had demanded. “I have increased power levels another ten percent.”

The whine of the apparatus was rising inexorably into a frantic shriek. Alarm lights flashed on the console, and the acrid scent of ozone from the overheating power leads intensified.

“Jhamel!” Shran cried out, his shaking body tensing in the chair as though absorbing a lethal jolt of electrical current.

“Commander!” Phlox shouted, sounding utterly appalled.

T’Pol was about to cut the power back when Shran added, “I can see her!”

T’Pol’s attention was suddenly drawn to yet another alarm that had begun flashing on the console, this one warning of imminent neurological trauma, as well as the impending burnout of several key circuits in the telepresence system.

“He’s killing himself, Commander,” Theras said, his voice taut with fear.

“You have to stop this now,Commander!” Phlox said.

“Tell us Jhamel’s range and direction, Shran,” T’Pol said, working hard to keep her own rising anxiety levels out of her voice.

“Almost have it,” Shran said, his voice weak and strained. “I can… feelit!”

“Shran, I’m going to have to cut power soon.” Although recovering the Aenar captives was a vitally important military objective, T’Pol knew she couldn’t allow Shran to die, or be made a vegetable, in pursuit of it.

“No! Let me–”

Shran’s plea was interrupted by a sudden rush of sparks and flame, erupting simultaneously from both the console and the cables that trailed from Shran’s scalp. The Andorian screamed as T’Pol slammed the abort button with the bottom of her fist, abruptly engaging the breakers that cut the telepresence unit off from the ship’s power. The pyrotechnics instantly ceased, and Shran slumped forward in the chair, restrained from tumbling onto the sickbay deck only by the helmet and its attached cables. His eyes were rolled up into his head, displaying only a disconcerting blue against the more ashen hue his usually cerulean skin had begun to take on.

T’Pol and Phlox quickly unsnapped the helmet’s straps, pulled Shran free of the apparatus, and carefully carried him onto one of Phlox’s diagnostic beds, with some assistance from a very jittery Theras.