Текст книги "The Good That Men Do"

THE SWIRLING,BLUE‑GREEN CLOUD bands of Adigeon Prime displayed on Enterprise’s central bridge viewer abruptly gave way to the image of a vaguely humanoid creature. The being’s long brown wings, feather‑covered epidermis, and outsize, apparently lidless eyes gave it a more than passing resemblance to a gigantic barn owl.

“Universal translator engaged, Captain,” said Hoshi from the communications console located at the periphery of the bridge’s forward portside section. T’Pol stood at the station to Hoshi’s immediate left, attentively watching the readings on her science console.

“Captain Archer,”said the avian creature on the screen, the stridulations of its nonhuman vertical mouthparts rendered into intelligible speech by Hoshi’s linguistic algorithms. “I am given to understand that you have been trying to reach me.”

Archer tried his best to offer the Adigeon official a safely diplomatic smile, and to maintain at least the appearance of patience. Yes I have,he thought. The whole damned day.

Aloud, he said, “Thank you taking the time to speak with me, Administrator Khoulka’las.”

Archer heard the turbolift doors whisk open behind him, and a quick glance over his shoulder revealed the arrival of a stern‑faced Shran, who was followed out of the lift by Theras. The Aenar seemed intimidated by the very notion of being on the starship’s bridge, although Archer knew he was incapable of seeing it.

Turning back toward the Adigeon on the viewer, Archer said, “We’re trying to find a group of people who were recently kidnapped from Andoria by Orion slavers.”

“How unfortunate,”the administrator said, “that anyone should fall unwillingly into the hands of Orion slavers. How many Andorians were taken?”Archer thought he could hear a note of sympathy in the syn‑thetic voice, though he wasn’t certain whether to attribute it to the administrator’s goodwill or to the emotional subtext recognition subroutines Hoshi had written into her translation matrix software.

“Thirty‑seven individuals in all,” Archer said. “And strictly speaking, they’re not exactly Andorians as such.”

“Not Andorians? But from Andoria?”The administrator’s synthesized voice registered confusion, even though the creature’s body language, which largely consisted of many frequent, small jerky movements, remained obscure.

“The captives are Aenar, Administrator. A subspecies of the Andorian race. They’re pacifists, unable to defend themselves. And they possess strong telepathic abilities, which is probably what made them such attractive targets for the Orion slavers.”

“Indeed.”

“Administrator, we’ve obtained information indicating that the slavers transferred the Aenar captives to a ship bound for your world, and that Adigeon business agents were facilitating a sale of the Aenar to a third party.”

“Such third‑party business arrangements are commonplace on Adigeon Prime, Captain. Businesses in three sectors rely on our world’s customary unbreakable, duranium‑clad confidentiality agreements.”The note of sympathy Archer had heard earlier appeared to have faded away, if he hadn’t merely imagined it in the first place.

He took a deep breath, centering himself before speaking again. “I respect the confidentiality of Adigeon Prime’s brokers, attorneys, and business agents, Administrator. But a terrible crime has been committed, and we must investigate it. We need to learn the details of the slavers’ business arrangements–including the identity and location of the…final purchaser.”

“Kidnapping is indeed a terrible crime, Captain. However, so is breaching Adigeon Prime’s sacred veil of privacy.”

Archer’s patience was rapidly nearing its breaking point. “Administrator, there has to be someprovision in Adigeon law that permits you to access transaction records in a case like this.”

“Indeed there is, Captain.”

Better,Archer thought, swiftly damping his frustration back down. Aloud, he said, “What do I have to do, Administrator?”

“You must demonstrate reasonable suspicion that an Adigeon business agent has knowingly participated in a transaction that is either fraudulent or otherwise prohibited under Adigeon law.”

Now we’re finally getting somewhere,Archer thought as he nodded to the Adigeon official. “Administrator, a member of the Orion Syndicate has informed us that Orion slavers have arranged to ship a group of thirty‑seven Aenar telepaths to an anonymous client, using an Adigeon business agent as a broker. Because of a previous encounter between Starfleet and the Romulan military, we have good reason to believe that the Romulan Star Empire is the client slated to receive those telepaths. Unless the Adigeon agent brokering this transaction is found and stopped, Administrator, your world could be party to a serious crime against the Aenar people, and the world of Andoria.”

I knew those Stanford law courses would pay off eventually,Archer thought, proud of the case he’d just made.

After Archer had finished, the bird‑creature regarded him in silence for perhaps an entire minute; the administrator’s rapidly nictitating ocular membranes provided the only evidence that the avian being was still alive.

Finally the administrator said, “Do you claim that the Aenar telepaths procured by the Orions do not possess the abilities required by the brokerage agreement, or have not been delivered in the contractually mandated condition?”

“No, Administrator Khoulka’las,” Archer said, his frustration roaring right back to where it had been moments ago, just beneath the surface. “And I don’t understand the relevance of any of that. What I amclaiming is that the abduction of these people is what constitutes the crime needed as a pretext to allow us access to the relevant business records.”

The administrator assayed a barn owl’s version of a shrug. “That is as may be, Captain. But it is also irrelevant. So far you have described no crime that has occurred within the bounds ofmy jurisdiction. You have presented no evidence that an Adigeon broker has misrep‑resented his services to a client, nor committed any other act of business malfeasance or misfeasance. Adigeon Prime’s sacred veil of privacy must therefore remain in place. I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

“Administrator Khoulka’las, if you’ll just–”

“Good day, Captain,”the administrator said, interrupting. His image vanished from the screen half an instant later, the connection broken from the other end.

“Dammit,” Archer muttered as he stared at the viewscreen’s depiction of the blue‑green world that continued making its stately rotation hundreds of kilometers below.

“I should have mentioned the Coalition,” Archer said, half to himself. “Complicity in an attack against one member world is the same as complicity in an attack against all the member worlds. Khoulka’las might have ice water in his veins, but I doubt that even hewould want to get sideways with fiveother planets all at once.”

“Unfortunately,” T’Pol said, “the Compact’s mutual defense provisions will not be in force until afterthe document is signed. The Aenar abduction, and all crimes related to it, have so far been committed prior to that time.”

Archer suddenly remembered exactly why he’d decided to change his major from prelaw after his freshman year at Stanford.

“Perhaps you should simply have offered him a bribe.” Archer was momentarily startled by Shran’s voice, which had come from directly behind him. “I hear they like platinum here. As well as something called latinum.”

Archer turned to face the Andorian, who stood beside Theras in the bridge’s upper aft section. “I’m surprised to hear you say that, Shran. I thought you’d have preferred that I offer him a brace of photonic torpedoes instead.”

Shran appeared somewhat stupefied by that remark, as though he himself had just realized that he had indeed said something out of character for him. “Perhaps I’ve finally begun to take your incessant calls for ‘restraint’ to heart, pinkskin,” he said at length as a smirk played at the edges of his mouth.

“Or it may be that Jhamel’s agreeable nature is influencing you,” Theras said to Shran. “That’s a good sign.”

“I’m delighted that Shran is finally starting to mellow,” Archer said, addressing Theras. “It might even make life around here a bit more pleasant for the duration. But it won’t go a long way toward helping us find those missing telepaths. And without the help of Adigeon Prime’s authorities, we’re at an impasse.”

“I certainly hope not, Captain,” Theras said, his blind eyes settling eerily upon Archer’s sighted ones, no doubt guided by the Aenar’s telepathy. “I have to allow myself to hope that Shran’s…attitude adjustment may mean that we may be closer to Jhamel and the other captives than we think.”

Archer found the blind telepath’s elliptical remark both confusing and intriguing. “I don’t understand, Theras. Are you saying that you’ve begun to…home in on her telepathically?”

“No, Captain.” Theras turned his milky eyes upon Shran. “But I believe that yourmind may have begun to react to the presence of hers,if only unconsciously.”

Shran’s face abruptly lost its prior, almost convivial expression, immediately collapsing back into a far more familiar frown. “Ridiculous, Theras. Ipossess no telepathic talents.”

“No,” Theras said. “But such gifts aren’t necessary for one to share a permanent mind‑link with a true telepath.”

“That is true,” T’Pol said in a voice that sounded almost wistful to Archer’s ear.

“Theras,” said Archer, “Are you telling us that Shran and Jhamel are telepathically linked somehow?”

Theras nodded. “Yes. I believe they are.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Shran said flatly.

“You love her, Shran,” Theras said, though his tone remained even, matter‑of‑fact, and completely nonaccusatory. “You’ve already admitted as much.”

Shran flushed a deep indigo. “Theras, it isn’t wise to put Jhamel’s allegedly calming influence over me to the test.”

Theras continued, undeterred by color cues and body language that he couldn’t see. “You share a bond with her, Shran. And it’s deeper than anything she and I could ever share.”

“You are a part of her shelthrethquad, Theras. And that is something that Ican never share.”

“Only because our shelthrethwas arranged long ago, Shran. Before another conflict involving the Romulans brought the two of you together, binding you in shared loss and shared triumph.”

The “why” of the notion made some degree of sense to Archer, even if the “how” still eluded him. Jhamel had lost her brother Gareb during the Romulan drone‑ship crisis, while a Tellarite diplomat had killed Shran’s beloved Talas; Jhamel and Shran had also worked in tandem to help Archer’s crew stop the Romulan drone affair.

“Even if you’re right, Theras,” Shran growled, “the bridge of a pinkskin starship is no place to discuss the matter.”

Archer had to agree. Noting Shran’s obvious discomfiture, he tried to steer the conversation away from the Andorian’s personal feelings and back toward the mechanics of Aenar telepathy.

“I still don’t quite understand this, Theras,” Archer said. “If we were actually anywhere near any of the Aenar captives, wouldn’t yoube the first to notice? After all, you’re the only telepath we have on board, if you don’t count T’Pol.”

Archer noticed that T’Pol had raised an eyebrow in response to his last remark. Though she was capable only of touch telepathy–and therefore possessed far less esper ability than Theras–it was certainly possible that she was miffed at being summarily excluded from Enterprise’s current extremely short list of psi‑gifted individuals. He made a mental note to apologize to her later.

“If we were extremely close to my fellow Aenar, I would almost certainly detect their thoughts,” Theras said. “I wouldn’t even have to be particularly close to them, for that matter. But I’m assuming that their captors would have drugged them to prevent them from revealing their location telepathically, particularly to other Aenar who might come looking for them.”

“That is a logical assumption,” T’Pol said.

Archer frowned in his first officer’s direction. “So wouldn’t those drugs also disable Shran’s link with Jhamel?”

Theras shook his head. “Only death itself can interrupt such a profoundly deep connection.”

“Then it’s a pity I’m not an Aenar,” Shran said. “If I were, I suppose I could telepathically trace Jhamel and the others straight to their exact location via this supposed mind‑link, whether the slavers had drugged them or not.”

“It’s a pity that I cannot test that idea with my own deep link to Jhamel,” Theras said sadly. “But if you were an Aenar, Shran, I think you probably could do just that.”

“But if I werean Aenar,” Shran said, hostility audible in his voice, “I’d have been captured right alongside you and everyone else the Orions took, because I wouldn’t have been able to put up enough of a fight to stop it.”

Theras quailed before Shran and even took a step backward. And although Archer sympathized with Shran’s obvious and justified frustrations–his ongoing inability to rescue Jhamel had to be hard for him to take, particularly now that he’d been informed that he possessed a mental connection to her that was tactically useless–he couldn’t allow the Andorian to get away with taking those frustrations out on the gentle Aenar any further.

“As I recall, Shran, the fight you put up didn’t end up making all that much difference, as far as the Orions and their business partners are concerned,” Archer said, stepping toward Shran. He hoped his body language was communicating the wordless pick‑on‑somebody‑your‑own‑size message he intended to convey.

Perhaps because he wasn’t a bully by nature, Shran seemed to receive the message without comment or complaint. He merely fumed in silence, his antennae lancing forward in undisguised but undirectable anger. Nowthat’s the Shran we’ve all grown to know and love so much these past few years,Archer thought before turning toward Theras.

Malcolm Reed, who’d been sitting in silence at his starboard station until now, chose that moment to speak up, raising the very question that Archer had been about to ask: “Theras, why haven’t you mentioned Shran’s mind‑link to Jhamel before now?”

“I suppose I never considered it relevant,” Theras said, turning so that his glassy eyes pointed in the tactical officer’s direction. “It had always seemed to me merely a personal oddity, and certainly nothing to worry about. Since I have always trusted Jhamel’s judgment, I had no reason to resent either her or Shran because of the link. And because Shran lacks sufficient esper capacity to even consciously sense the mind‑link’s presence, I could think of no practical way to use it to aid in our search. So I assumed that it wasn’t noteworthy enough to talk about.”

“That’s because it wasn’t,” Shran said flatly.

“Perhaps,” T’Pol said. “Or perhaps not.”

“You have something?” Archer said. He couldn’t help but notice that her reserved exterior was being betrayed by the slight olive flush that had risen in her cheeks. For a Vulcan, it was the equivalent of shouting “Eureka!”

T’Pol turned toward her science console and began punching in strings of commands with a dexterity that would have put the most nimble blackjack dealers on Risa to shame. “I’m not entirely certain yet, Captain.”

“Forget certainty,” Archer said, approaching her console and watching over her shoulder as she worked. “At this point, I’m willing to settle for wild speculation.”

“Very well, Captain. Shran can’t use his mind‑link with Jhamel to locate her. Correct?”

“So I keep hearing. Endlessly,” Shran said as he came up beside Archer, also clearly curious about T’Pol’s emerging hypothesis.

T’Pol turned her chair slightly so that she could look up at both Archer and Shran. Addressing the Andorian, she said, “I believe it may be possible to use your link to Jhamel as a means of actually locating her–by using some outside assistance.”

Archer thought he was finally beginning to see where she was going with this. “You’re proposing a Vulcan mind‑meld.”

Shran took a step back. Archer turned toward him, and saw an unmistakable look of dread cross his face. “You want me to open my brainup…to a Vulcan?”

“Settle down, Shran,” Archer said. “Hear her out first before you run away.”

“Don’t push your luck, pinkskin,” Shran muttered.

T’Pol shook her head and adopted a long‑suffering expression that was clearly intended for both men. “Actually, I am proposing no such thing.” She turned back toward her console and silently entered another command.

An image appeared on the monitor screen at the center of her console, a depiction of a small, delicate mass of improvised‑looking wiring and circuitry. Archer recognized it immediately, and understood. The device made him think somberly of Trip.

Archer glanced at Shran, whose approving nod showed that he understood T’Pol’s plan as well.

The Vulcan rose from her chair and stood for a moment at crisp attention beside her station. “If you’ll excuse me, Captain,” she said, “I have some work to do elsewhere.”

Archer grinned. “Agreed.” She nodded once, turned on her heel, and disappeared into the turbolift.

“Perhaps you won’t need to offer the administrator that bribe after all,” Shran said, his azure face split by a fierce gird‑for‑battle smile.

Archer chuckled, then headed back for his command chair.

Before he could settle into it, he noticed the look of horror that had colonized the death‑white features of Theras, whose antennae both sagged toward his shoulders, displaying his obvious emotional distress.

“Theras, what’s wrong?” Archer said.

“I fear I have erred grievously in not informing you earlier about Shran’s link to Jhamel,” Theras said. He appeared to be on the ragged edge of tears. “In the name of Infinite Uzaveh, what have I done?”

“What have you done?” Archer said as he laid a hand gently on the albino’s slight shoulder. “Theras, you may have just saved the day for us all.”

Twenty‑Two

Thursday, February 20, 2155

Somewhere in Romulan space

AN ALARM ON THE HELM CONTROL of the Bransonsuddenly began blaring, causing Trip’s sleepily drifting attention to focus like a mining laser.

“We’ve got trouble!” he yelled to the aft part of the vessel, where Phuong had lain down to rest several hours earlier.

Even as the other agent ran forward, the communications light flashed. Trip tapped a control in the center of the instrument panel.

“Ullho hiera, mos ih ihir nviomn riud ih seiyya!”The voice was stern and angry. The translator implanted within Trip’s ear immediately translated the warning. “Unidentified vessel, prepare to be boarded or destroyed!”

Phuong put a finger to his lips and tapped the communicator off as he sat down hurriedly in the main pilot’s seat. “We don’t respond to them,” he said. His newly elevated eyebrows enhanced his look of surprise.

Trip’s eyes widened, both surprised and alarmed himself. “What do we do,then?”

Phuong began manipulating verniers and toggles and tapped the buttons at the helm. “We polarize the hull plating and run like hell. And find a way to shake them.”

Trip felt the ship accelerate, and strapped himself into the copilot’s chair with the seat’s safety harness. He tapped the console, activating a small screen, which displayed an image of a semi‑familiar ship. It was gracefully curved, with two struts on either side holding up the engine nacelles. The hull of the ship was greenish and had an intricate design painted on its ventral surface: the stylized image of a swooping predatory bird.

“It’s a Romulan warship,” Trip said, remembering the encounter that Enterprisehad had with two similar ships two years earlier. “I don’t know where the hell they came from.”

“They’re opening fire,” Phuong said, sliding his hand over the controls. A moment later, the Bransonshuddered from what must have been at least a glancing impact, and the two men braced themselves against the helm as the hull plating and the inertial dampers struggled to keep the ship intact and level.

Trip’s eyes were drawn to a red warp‑engine warning light that began flashing urgently as the demands of the hull‑polarization relays began redlining the warp core. Realizing he had only seconds to act, he swiftly entered a command into his console.

“What the hell are you doing?” Phuong said, looking at him as though he’d just lost his mind.

“Taking us out of warp. Slowing to impulse until the warp core cools down.”

“ Now?” Phuong was beside himself.

“It’s better than redlining the antimatter containment system and blowing ourselves to quarks,” Trip said in the calmest tones he could muster.

“It’s not all thatmuch better, Commander. Look at the rate they’re gaining.”

“We can’t outrun them,” Trip said. “And we can only dodge them for another few seconds. So unless you’ve got some kind of new souped‑up hull plating folded up in your back pocket, what the hell are we going to do?”

Phuong paused momentarily to study some readings, then tapped another control. An old‑style aviation joystick rose up from a recessed panel at the helm in front of Trip.

“I hope you can steer manually,” Phuong said, a grim smile on his lips.

Probably not as well as Travis can,Trip thought. He grabbed the stick. “Where are we going?”

Phuong tapped on the controls, and a viewscreen located just below the forward windows magnified the section of space directly in front of the ship. “There,” Phuong said, pointing to a field of space debris that lay ahead, faintly illuminated by the glow of the nearby orange star around which the debris field orbited. “That’s where we’ll lose them.”