Текст книги "The Good That Men Do"

AS THE SLEEK TORPEDO CASING was launched into space, the majority of Enterprise’s crew who had assembled in Shuttlepod One’s launch bay stood silent, while some wept or sniffled. At the forefront of the crowd, near Captain Archer and the other command staff, T’Pol neither cried nor sniffled, nor even felt the strong need to suppress the emotions that were no longer battling within her.

The feelings that had so wracked her mental disciplines when she had been in Trip’s quarters had given way to an almost preternatural calm. She had wondered at first if she were in shock, but earlier in Trip’s memorial service, when she had touched the smooth surface of his metal coffin, another thought had sprung into her mind.

For some reason she couldn’t properly identify, touching the torpedo casing had given T’Pol a gnawing disquiet, a suspicion that something was not right. But the precise nature of that something, however, remained frustratingly obscure to her.

Now, as Trip’s casket drifted away into trackless space, T’Pol wondered idly if the decision to jettison his remains here, so far from his native Earth, was really what Trip would have wanted. But when she had brought this objection to the attention of Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed, they had both assured her that the action had been taken to honor one of Trip’s final requests. Apparently he had indicated in his will that he’d wanted to be interred in deep space, among the stars, should he happen to die in the line of duty.

Oddly, not only was Archer adamant about following Trip’s wishes, he also seemed particularly intent on carrying out the memorial ceremony and services quickly, weeks before Enterprisewas due to return to Earth. It seemed to T’Pol that the logical course of action would have been to wait until Trip’s remains could be taken to Earth, so that his family, friends, and colleagues could commemorate him, and then launch Trip into space afterward. But the captain had disagreed.

T’Pol looked to the side of the launch bay, where she noticed Doctor Phlox studying her intently. She stared back at him, and they locked eyes for a moment before the Denobulan physician turned away.

For some reason she could not identify, the doctor’s inquisitive stare made her apprehensive. She decided then and there that the best way to pursue these accumulated oddities might be to question the chief medical officer directly.

How much has she figured out?Phlox thought, more than a little concerned.

“Thank you for coming to see me, T’Pol,” he said, doing his best to sound casual as he gestured toward one of the sickbay’s biobeds. “I was going to request that you pay me a visit anyway, so I’m pleased that you’ve saved me the trouble.”

T’Pol leaned against the bed, keeping her hands at her sides. “Why did you wish to see me, Doctor?” she asked, one eyebrow slightly raised. She seemed to be making no effort to conceal her curiosity. “Might it be related to the reason you were staring at me during Commander Tucker’s memorial service?”

Phlox could have kicked himself now for having stared. He had clearly further roused suspicions that she had developed when she’d gotten close to the torpedo casing.

The casket that most definitely did notcontain the remains of Commander Tucker.

He chuckled, temporizing as he decided on the best way to allay T’Pol’s suspicions. “In addition to my role as a general physician, I often function as a mentalhealth practitioner, in lieu of any other officer aboard this ship acting in that capacity–other than Chef, I suppose.” He spread his hands and smiled widely. “I don’t know if that’s because of my bedside manner, or because doctors are bound by their medical ethics to hold anythingtheir patients tell them in strictest confidence, as long as it doesn’t endanger the ship.”

He paused, letting his words hang in the air for a moment, but T’Pol merely stared at him curiously, making no immediate effort to step into the conversational breach. After thirty seconds or so, she finally opened her mouth as if to speak, closed it again, then spoke at last.

“Are you saying that you believe that there is something confidential that I wish to share with you?”

Phlox tilted his head, returning her curious stare with one of his own. “I didn’t say that, Commander, but if you wereburdened with such a secret, I’d be more than willing to hear it–and I’d be obliged to be discreet about it.” He folded his hands in front of his stomach, waiting. Beyond his genuine concern, he also hoped to gauge exactly how much T’Pol might really suspect about the truth behind Trip’s “death.”

T’Pol dipped her head, then spoke again in a much quieter voice than usual. “I have had difficulty controlling my emotions ever since Trip’s death.” She began twisting her hands together, evidently unconsciously. “I had a very difficult…breakdown of my emotional barriers last week, while I was packing up Trip’s personal effects.”

“That isn’t surprising,” Phlox said gently. “Losing a compatriot is difficult enough, and losing a…lover is wrenching, to say the very least. But when one factors in the extraordinary emotional strain you’ve been under lately, on Vulcan, and on Mars, this…event might be–as the humans put it–the proverbial ‘straw that broke the camel’s back.”’

She stiffened, as though offended. “I am a Vulcan.”

“T’Pol,” he continued, “Vulcans are most certainly not devoidof emotions, however adept you have become in the practice of suppressing them. Vulcans experience feelings as full and rich as those of any species. But suppressing emotions tends to put them under pressure. And when something is under too much pressure for too long, it can erupt unexpectedly, sometimes with rather alarming results.”

He turned and grabbed one of his handheld medical scanners, then approached T’Pol more closely. “Lift your head, please.” He began scanning her, holding the glowing, whirring device next to her temple. “Were there any physicalside effects to your…breakdown? Other than your eyes, I mean.” He had noticed that her nictitating inner eyelid had suffered multiple broken blood vessels, which gave their normally clear membranes a slightly lime‑colored tint.

“Ironically, I have been having difficulty getting to sleep,” T’Pol said.

Phlox understood that she was referring to more than a year earlier, when Trip had been unable to sleep after his sister had died in the Xindi attack on Earth. Phlox had referred Trip to T’Pol for Vulcan neuropressure; since that time, the two had become increasingly–if sometimes combatively–involved with one another romantically.

“I can prescribe a mild sedative for you,” he said, sidestepping the neuropressure issue. He backed away slightly to study the readings on his scanner, then set it down on a countertop and turned back to her.

“Beyond recent events in your life, I can think of another possible causal factor for your recent…emotional lapse,” he said. “The aftereffects of the trellium.” While Enterprisewas searching for the Xindi in the hazardous unknown region known as the Delphic Expanse, T’Pol had become addicted to a mineral known as trellium, a substance that had enabled her to escape the restraints of logic, at least temporarily. Phlox had helped T’Pol end her addiction, but the physical repercussions of her chemical dependency were still measurable.

“I havebeen able to control my emotions since that time,” T’Pol said, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. “Until now.”

Phlox nodded. “Have you? Or were you strugglingto control them on a deeper level?” He approached her again, staring into her eyes. “I’ve seen you fighting your emotions, T’Pol. More and more. Understand that Idon’t consider emotions to be a negative thing. Denobulans revel in them, as do humans. So I cannot compare my situation to yours. But if you are susceptible to emotional outbursts due to a residual chemical imbalance in your body, it may be more harmful to you notto give in to your emotions, at least from time to time.”

T’Pol nodded, but Phlox could see that she had discarded his advice the instant he had voiced it. He stepped away and pretended to tidy up his counter.

“There is something else,” T’Pol said, her voice clearer. “Something that I do not believe can be blamed on the trellium, or on my present lack of emotional restraint.”

Phlox stiffened slightly. This is where she tells me her suspicions,he thought. He turned back toward her.

T’Pol crossed her arms across her chest and shifted her weight from foot to foot. Despite these telltale signs of nervousness, her face remained an all but inscrutable mask.

“I believe that Commander Tucker is still alive.”

Phlox carefully masked his own responsive body language, glad that the first officer was only a touch telepath and couldn’t read his thoughts just now.

“That’s an interesting notion,” he said at length.

“I know that it’s a logical impossibility,” T’Pol said, gesturing with one hand. “If Trip isn’t dead, that would mean that you and the captain, and perhaps Lieutenant Reed as well, would have to have faked his death for some unknown reason. An alternative possibility is that I am becoming delusional.”

Phlox clasped his hands behind his back tightly. “Putting aside the absurd notion that there has been a conspiracy to make Commander Tucker only appearto have died, the second notion strikes me as equally absurd. At least until you exhibit other symptoms of having experienced a break with reality.

“I must also point out to you that denialis one of the stages of mourning that people commonly experience after the loss of a loved one.” He paused, and modulated his voice. “Why do you think he isn’tdead?”

“There are…things we shared, which have forever linked us,” T’Pol said.

He could tell that she was holding something back, and wondered if she was talking about a mind‑meld between Trip and herself. He stayed silent, though, and resolved not to pry into that deeply personal aspect of their relationship, even though he found the Vulcan practice of telepathic linkage and fusion a fascinating concept, one that he hoped to explore for a future medical paper now that mind‑melders were becoming more socially acceptable on Vulcan under Minister T’Pau’s new government.

“Beyond that, perhaps it is because I was not allowed to see the body–”

“At Commander Tucker’s request,” Phlox said, interrupting.

“And today, when I touched the torpedo casing that contained Trip’s remains, I felt nothing but…cold. Absence. Though I know it is not logical, all my instincts told me that he was notinside the torpedo.”

“He wasn’t,” Phlox said.

T’Pol looked at him inquisitively.

He stepped closer to her. “The body that was in that tube was notCommander Tucker. The essence of what Trip was still exists out in the universe. He isstill out there,” he said.

“More importantly, Trip is also here,” he said, touching a finger to T’Pol’s forehead. “And here.” He touched the right side of her ribcage, where he knew the Vulcan heart to be located. “And he willbe with us forever.”

T’Pol stared at him, the area between her eyebrows twitching and wrinkling as she struggled with the maelstrom of emotion that was clearly roiling within her. And then, abruptly, her forehead smoothed, and she nodded.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said.

Half an hour later, alone in sickbay, Phlox looked up from feeding his Aldebaran mud leeches. He realized, in a flash, that although he had managed to talk to T’Pol without telling her any bald‑faced lies, she, too, might have pulled a canny maneuver on him.

Not only had she never said whether she actually believed that he, the captain, and Lieutenant Reed really had conspired to fake Trip’s death and conceal the truth from her, but she had also avoided revealing whether her discussion with him had allayed her fears, or confirmed her suspicions.

He considered the conundrum that T’Pol presented for several more minutes, then smiled.

“Whatever she knows or believes, I think I can trust her to do what’s best,” he said to the hungry leeches squirming in the liquid‑filled container below his fingers.

Twenty‑Six

Friday, February 21, 2155

Rator II

“THE GOOD DOCTOR IS IN HERE,” Ch’uihv said, pressing his thumb on the biometric keypad mounted on the wall beside the door. The door slid open obediently.

Beside himself with anticipation, Trip stepped toward the open door, with Phuong a step or two behind him, when the Vulcan double agent suddenly stepped into the open aperture, blocking their path.

“I must caution you, Cunaehr: Ehrehin has been rather withdrawn of late, and he has been only…intermittently rational. I fear that he has begun having second thoughts regarding his defection.”

Trip nodded, not much liking the way the other man seemed to be scrutinizing his face. Had he finally noticed that he wasn’t actually Cunaehr?

Or worse, was he finally remembering him, the way Trip had remembered Captain Sopek?

“I understand,” Trip said at length. “Perhaps seeing me again will help Doctor Ehrehin become…better grounded emotionally.”

Ch’uihv–or Sopek–nodded, though his expression remained as grave as any Vulcan’s. “That is my hope as well,” he said before stepping aside.

Trip led Phuong through the open doorway and into the darkened chamber that lay beyond. The door whisked closed behind them, and Trip squinted as his eyes slowly adjusted to the lower light levels inside the room, which carried the heavy scents of medicines and cleaning chemicals.

He came to a halt as he saw the silhouette of what appeared to be someone seated in a chair that was facing obliquely toward the small room’s far corner.

“Doctor Ehrehin?” said Phuong, who had come to a stop beside Trip.

The form in the chair stirred slightly, but made no move to rise to greet his visitors. A gruff, aged male voice emanated from the corner. “Who wants to know?”

“My name is Terha,” Phuong said.

“Never heard of you. Go away.”

Phuong continued in a gently insistent tone. “Sir, I’ve brought someone with me whom I believe you will be very pleased to see.”

The old man touched a control of some sort on the arm of his chair. With a faint mechanical whirr,the chair slowly turned to face Trip and Phuong. Trip could see the old man’s white hair and wizened features fairly clearly now, despite the obscuring semidarkness of the room.

“Do you know what I’d be very pleased to see right now?” Doctor Ehrehin said in a querulous tone. “The inside of one of my laboratories, for a start.”

Trip noticed that the old man seemed to be studying his face carefully. Looks like it’s finally showtime,he thought. Better knock him dead with the first performance, or else we’reboth liable to end up that way.

Aloud, he said, “Don’t worry, Doctor. Soon you’ll have all the lab resources you could ever want.”

Ehrehin responded with an almost cackling laugh. “You mean after I defect to one of those so‑called Coalition planets? Is thatwhat they’ve told you?”

Trip felt confused, and noted that his discomfiture was slowly escalating. This man wasn’t speaking like a defector. In fact, he sounded more like a prisoner. Of course, Ch’uihv had warned them that Ehrehin might not be entirely rational. But still…

He took a few more steps toward the aged scientist, as did Phuong. Trip saw that Ehrehin had continued squinting up at him all the while.

A look of recognition, mixed with equal parts hope and fear, crossed Ehrehin’s face as Trip came to a stop less than a meter away.

“Cunaehr?” Ehrehin said in a quavering voice. “Is that you?”

Trip swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s me.”

The old man looked toward the ceiling. “Computer, turn up the lights by twenty percent.” Fixing his gaze back upon Trip as the light level increased, he said, “Come closer. Let me get a better look at you.”

Trip knelt beside the old man’s chair and let the scientist examine his face more closely. With a tremulous hand, Ehrehin gently brushed his rough, gnarled finger‑tips across Trip’s cheek. Here’s hoping the Adigeons gave us our money’s worth,he thought, his heart in his throat.

“It isyou,” the old man said at length, leaning back in his chair so as to get a better look at his visitor. “But how is that possible, Cunaehr? I saw you die.”

Trip put on the most disarming smile he could muster. “Are you sure about that, Doctor? I’d like to think of my presence here as empirical evidence to the contrary.” Sure hope I sounded enough like a scientist tofool a scientist,Trip thought.

Ehrehin squinted up at Trip for another protracted moment, then shrugged. “I suppose I can’t argue with empirical evidence.” He pushed against the arms of his chair, rising to his feet with what Trip judged to be a good deal of pain. “Now help me get out of here.”

Trip rose and allowed the frail scientist to lean on his arm. “Ch’uihv says that a transport will be coming for you in just a few eisae.”

“A few eisae,” Ehrehin repeated, almost mockingly. “I suppose that bastard Ch’uihv thinks that’ll give him all the time he needs to finish getting what he wants out of me.”

“I don’t understand,” Trip said, though he feared that he did indeed understand what was really happening here all too well.

Ehrehin stared at Trip as though he were a willfully obtuse schoolchild. “You really don’t think he intends to just hand over my knowledge of avaihh lli vastamto others without first taking it for himself, do you?”

It took the electronics mounted in Trip’s inner ear an additional moment to process the unfamiliar term Ehrehin had used: avaihh lli vastam,which translated from the Old High Rihannsu still sometimes used by academics as “warp‑seven capable stardrive” in the current vernacular.

“You have to help me get away from these people, Cunaehr,” the old man continued. “Before they finally dosucceed in breaking me. It’s really only a matter of time, and Admiral Valdore’s forces might not find me before it’s too late.”

Trip exchanged a brief glance with Phuong, whose expression revealed as much perplexity as Trip himself felt. Focusing his gaze back upon Ehrehin, Trip said, “I don’t understand, Doctor. I thought you’d gone willingly with the Ejhoi Ormiin.”

Ehrehin’s eyes were now wide and pleading. “I’m sure that’s what they told you, Cunaehr. Just like they also must have said that I might start raving, saying things that don’t make sense.”

Trip nodded. “They warned me that you might not be…quite yourself.”

“If that’s true, then you can no doubt chalk that up to my having been kidnapped from what was supposedto be a secure military safe house, then interrogated night and day ever since. They’ve even been using psionic probes on me.” Ehrehin pulled back the sparse white hair that hung across his forehead, displaying a series of overlapping, vicious‑looking circular scars that were scabbed over with dark green blood.

“The Ejhoi Ormiinwant to take the secret of the avaihh lli vastamfor themselves,” Trip said, suppressing a horrified shudder at the repeated, brutal violations that the old man had revealed. How much more punishment could the fragile scientist take before his sanity–or perhaps even his life–was in real jeopardy? It came as something of a surprise to feel such compassion for a Romulan–until he realized that the impulse probably spoke rather well of his own humanity, even if no one in the Romulan Star Empire ever came to appreciate it.

Finger‑combing his hair back over his scars, Ehrehin scowled deeply and disgustedly. “Didn’t I just saythat?”

“We thought that the Ejhoi Ormiinwere primarily interested in keeping the new stardrive out of the hands of the Romulan military,” Phuong said, his brow furrowed almost as deeply as Ehrehin’s was. “In order to halt the Praetor’s plans for conquest and expansion.”

“That’s only about half right. They certainly don’t want the military to possess the advantage of the new drive, because that would interfere with their ownplans for conquest. Once the technology is in Ch’uihv’s hands, he plans to use it to oust the Praetor and have the Ejhoi Ormiinstage a coup that will place them firmly in control of the imperial government.”

“I thought you weren’t all that comfortable with the Praetor’s ambitions yourself, Doctor,” Phuong said.

“That’s never been a secret,” said the old man. “If the military hadn’t needed my expertise so badly, I would almost certainly have been imprisoned or executed for having spoken my mind on the matter. But at least the Praetor always had the virtue of a certain… predictability. There’s no way to know for certain exactly what the Ejhoi Ormiinradicals would do with my technology.”

Trip looked over to Phuong while Ehrehin was speaking. The Section 31 operative seemed almost to deflate before his eyes as he no doubt was coming to the awful realization that the intelligence the bureau had gathered concerning the Ejhoi Ormiinwas at best badly incomplete, or at worst flat‑out wrong.

It was easy for Trip to imagine what Phuong must be thinking, since the shock of the same realization was settling over him as well. I guess this is the kind of intelligence failure that’s toughest to avoid,Trip thought. Especially when you’ve got to run all your information through the filter of secondhand facts and bribable third‑party information brokers like the Adigeons.

“Help me, Cunaehr,” the old man said, almost begging. “Help me get out of here, and back to the protection of Admiral Valdore’s fleet.”

Trip exchanged another wordless glance with Phuong, who gestured with his head toward the door. He needs to talk with me, but he can’t do it in here,Trip thought, understanding that the room had to be crawling with listening devices.

“I promise you that we’ll do whatever we can to help you, Doctor,” Trip told the old man. “But first, I’d like to know exactly what you’ve revealed to Ch’uihv so far.”

With tears pooling in his eyes, Ehrehin nodded, then began speaking in a low, halting voice….

“I didwarn you that Doctor Ehrehin might not be entirely rational,” Ch’uihv said, his expression dour as he and a pair of his grim uniformed guards escorted Trip and Phuong back to the quarters they had been issued for the duration of their stay at the Ejhoi Ormiinfacility. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he blamed us for the harsh treatment the Romulan military visited upon him in order to ‘motivate’ his research.”

Trip nodded to Ch’uihv as they walked, but he schooled his face into blank impassivity. He simply wasn’t buying Ch’uihv’s story; the old man’s wounds had appeared far too recent to have been inflicted by the Romulan military to which he was so eager to return.

Trip was absolutely convinced that Ehrehin was indeed here entirely against his will, just as the old man had said.

And as he followed Phuong into the spacious guest suite they were sharing, Trip was just as certain that Ch’uihv–or Sopek–had listened to every word of their exchange with the elderly scientist, no doubt hoping that he and Phuong would unwittingly function as Ejhoi Ormiininterrogators, using Cunaehr’s privileged relationship with Ehrehin to entice him to divulge some previously hidden fact regarding the new stardrive.