Текст книги "The Good That Men Do"
Автор книги: Andy Mangels
Соавторы: Michael Martin
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“Then you still have some six days and twenty‑three hours in which to arrive,” T’Pol said, looking out the viewport, her expression changing from mischievous to calculating. “We are within a day of catching up with the ship carrying the Aenar. If all goes well, that diversion should prove to be a brief one.” She paused for a moment, then turned to look directly into his eyes. “Should you decide to makethat diversion, of course.”
“I’m sure we’ll still catch hell for this, but Gardner wasn’tall that precise in his orders, now that I come to think of it,” Archer said, tugging the waist of his jump‑suit down as he rose to his feet. “I don’t see any reason we can’t make a briefcourse diversion. We’ll just have to make up for the lost time double‑quick on the way back home.”
Archer pushed one thought into the back of his mind. All of this supposes that we’re the ones who come out on top in the fight to free the Aenar. Can’t assume that the Romulans on that ship will be pushovers.
On the bright side, if wedon’t win, I probably won’t have to worry all that much about the wrath of Sam Gardner.
Thirty
Friday, February 21, 2155
Rator II
TRIP STARED,GRIMLY FASCINATED, as the barrel of the disruptor pistol swung in his direction and remained leveled directly at his face. Switching his grip so that he held the weapon in both hands, Ch’uihv regarded him through narrowed eyelids.
This is it, Charles,Trip told himself. Time seemed to slow down precipitously, the way clocks did aboard space vessels that accelerated nearly to light speed without actually going to warp. He was hyperaware that within another elastic moment or two he would be just as dead as Phuong, whose still smoldering corpse he had to continue studiously ignoring in order to avoid becoming violently sick.
Soon, he would be as dead as almost everyone in his life already believed him to be.
He judged the distance between himself and his executioner–about two meters–and decided he had nothing to lose by leaping straight at him. Maybe Ch’uihv would be surprised just enough to give him a fighting chance. Of course, he knew that wouldn’t save him from the armed guards.
But what the hell,he thought. Trip tensed his leg muscles and bent his knees slightly, preparing to take what would very likely be the last long‑odds gamble of his life.
“Stop this!” came a shout from behind, disrupting Trip’s concentration and causing a look of mild surprise to cross Ch’uihv’s normally stoic features.
It took Trip a beat to recognize the frail Ehrehin as the source of the cry.
“Don’t take your foolish rage out on Cunaehr, you execrable coward,” Ehrehin said, his voice astonishingly calm and resolute. “There’s no reason for you to do any more killing.”
Ch’uihv chuckled and shook his head. “On the contrary, Doctor. There is indeed a very sound reason. I want something very badly, and unless you provide it immediately I will demonstrate precisely howbadly by killing your beloved Cunaehr–if that’s really his name–right where he stands.”
The new stardrive,Trip thought.
“Don’t do it, Doctor,” he said, turning toward the elderly scientist. Before he could react, a crushing blow came down against the side of his head, and he crumpled to the deck, stunned but still conscious.
“Give me detailed schematics of your avaihh lli vastamwork, Doctor. Or else I will apply more than the butt of my weapon to your aide’s skull.”
Sprawled prone on the unyielding hangar floor, Trip felt the cold barrel of Ch’uihv’s weapon pressing painfully into the back of his neck.
“Choose, Doctor,” Ch’uihv growled. “Now!”
“Ehrehin, don’t–” Trip said, his voice muffled by the deck and his words interrupted by a bout of nausea, no doubt caused by the blow to his head.
“I will begin counting now, Doctor. Sei.” Thanks to his internal translator, Trip recognized the Romulan word for “three.”
“This is absurd,” Ehrehin said.
“Kre.”
Two,Trip counted. The weapon continued jabbing painfully into the back of his neck.
“There’s no reason this has to happen.”
“Hwi.”
One.
Ch’uihv’s pistol clicked loudly, sounding to Trip like the rattle of a guillotine blade being drawn upward. He tried to persuade his body to roll to the side, even though he still felt stunned and nauseated from the blow he’d just taken. Besides, he knew there was no way he could outrun Ch’uihv’s weapon, even if he were in perfect condition.
“Lliu.”
That’s “zero,”Trip thought. The stench of Phuong’s charred flesh assaulted his nostrils, like a portent of what was to come. He closed his eyes tightly, preparing as best he could for the inevitable.
“If you kill him, I shall kill myself,” Ehrehin said impatiently. “And my knowledge will die with me.”
Trip opened his eyes and saw that the scientist was now standing so close to him that there was no way to hit Trip without taking them both down.
“Is that what you want?” Ehrehin continued, haranguing their captors. “Or would you prefer that we all sit down like civilized people, so that I can properly satisfy your curiosity about my work?”
At first, Trip had thought that Ehrehin had stood up to Ch’uihv; then he suddenly realized that the old man had just done the exact opposite, though he clearly had little choice in the matter.
The pistol withdrew from Trip’s neck, and a pair of Ch’uihv’s men hauled him roughly to his feet, manacling his wrists behind his back without showing an excessive amount of gentleness.
Though he was grateful still to be alive, he knew that Ehrehin had just made an enormous mistake–and very likely the final one of his long career.
A trio of guards dragged Trip unceremoniously out of the hangar, into the now brightly illuminated corridor, and finally into a nearby conference room, which was equipped with a large table, a half‑dozen chairs, and several small desktop computer terminals.
Without exchanging any words with him–or so much as looking at him–the guards shoved Trip down into one of the chairs. He wasn’t sure whether the manacles that secured his wrists behind his back were making him more uncomfortable than the disruptor pistols that were now trained on him.
Scant moments after Trip’s entrance, the conference room door slid open to admit Ch’uihv and another pair of guards. The men, who were half carrying and half dragging Ehrehin between them, deposited their charge somewhat more gently into the seat beside the one Trip occupied.
Ch’uihv took the seat directly across the table from Trip and Ehrehin as the guards looked on vigilantly. The Ejhoi Ormiinleader turned one of the computer terminals so that it faced him. He quickly entered several commands, apparently activating both his own terminal and the one closest to Trip and Ehrehin.
“There is an electronic stylus attached to the terminal in front of you, Doctor,” Ch’uihv said, his intense gaze locked upon the elderly scientist. “You will use it to enter whatever formulae or diagrams my people will need to master in order to replicate your latest work on avaihh lli vastam.”
The elderly scientist sighed in resignation, though he didn’t seem quite able to pick up the stylus before him.
“Doctor. I thought I had made myself clear back in the hangar. Please do not force me to do to your assistant what I was forced to do to his associate, Terha.” To illustrate his point, he unholstered his weapon and set it down on the table before him, tantalizingly out of Trip’s reach.
He’s going to kill me anyway,Trip thought. Hell, he’ll probably give Ehrehin the very same treatment once he thinks he’s got what he needs from him. There’s just no trusting this bastard.
“Don’t do it,” Trip whispered, leaning toward the scientist. A large, rough hand shoved him hard against the back of his chair.
“I will be watching your every entry most attentively, Doctor,” Ch’uihv said.
You’re not the only one, pal,Trip thought, his engineering reflexes kicking in nearly as strongly as his instinct for self‑preservation.
Ehrehin looked at Trip, a deep sadness in his rheumy eyes. With obvious reluctance and a trembling hand, the old man took up the stylus, then began slowly sketching directly on the monitor screen on the tabletop in front of him.
Trip watched in growing fascination as a detailed technical diagram began to take shape on the screen–an image that Ch’uihv seemed to be studying intently on his own terminal. Trip hoped that before Ch’uihv finally killed him, he’d develop at least a partial understanding of this new technology that purportedly allowed star‑ships to reach warp seven.
Unfortunately, it was a technology that would soon be in the hands of a breakaway Romulan faction that was probably at least as dangerous to Earth and her allies as all the military power of the Romulan Star Empire itself.
Thirty‑One
Friday, February 21, 2155
Enterprise NX‑01
ARCHER LEANED FORWARD in his command chair, staring straight ahead at the screen. The long‑range scanners were showing him exactly what he wanted to see.
“You’re certainthey haven’t detected us?” he asked.
“They’ve shown no sign of it so far,” Reed said from his station to the captain’s right. “They apparently aren’t making any active proximity scans, and they’ve neither sent nor received any outside messages since we found them.”
Ten minutes earlier they had finally almost caught up with the transport ship–thanks to Shran’s continued use of the telepresence unit–only to discover that what they were chasing was not an Orion ship, as they had assumed, but rather a completely unfamiliar class of transport vessel, presumably one of Romulan design. The prevailing theory among the bridge crew was that the Romulans had picked up their Aenar cargo from the Orions somewhere outside of Romulan territory, and had then headed back toward their homeworld.
“Cocky bastards,” Archer said. “They think that because they’re in their own space, they won’t have to worry about being brought to book for their crimes.”
“They may well be correct,” T’Pol said. “While we appear to be the only other vessel in the vicinity, we should remain alert for other countermeasures the Romulans may have deployed nearby.”
“We’re already scanning for cloaked mines,” Reed said. Archer saw him shudder, and knew he must have been recalling the time he’d been impaled by a Romulan mine attached to Enterprise’s hull, just months into the lieutenant’s tenure aboard the ship. Reed very likely would have lost his life in that incident, had Archer not rescued him.
“There could be other Romulan weapons of which we are unaware,” T’Pol said.
“Are we sure that the Aenar are aboard that ship?” Archer asked.
T’Pol studied her scanner’s readings, the bluish light from its hooded display brightening the area around her eyes. “We are still too far away for our sensors to identify individuals, but I can confirm the presence of several dozen humanoid life signs, some of them Aenar and some unidentified.”
Archer sighed heavily, considering whether to tell Shran the news. Better to keep him in plain sight so he doesn’t try to use his own ship to ram the Romulans, or do something else equally stupid,he thought. He looked to Hoshi. “Call Shran up here to the bridge, Hoshi. Make sure he’s escorted. Unobtrusively.”
He turned back to face the forward viewscreen. “All right, people, we’ve planned this out, now let’s make sure we pull it off perfectly. Travis, make certain that we’re on top of them before they know it. Malcolm, transfer as much energy as you need to our ventral hull plating. And ready all weapons.”
He turned his chair toward the other side of the bridge. “Hoshi, be sure to keep that translation program running, just in case we need to use it. But we are notgoing to announce ourselves or give them time to find a way to hang onto the Aenar.”
He raised his voice so that everyone on the bridge could hear it clearly. “Everyone, stay on your toes. We get in, we get dirty, we get the Aenar out, and we head back home. No mistakes.”
He tapped the intercom button on his chair arm. “Ensign Moulton, are you ready with the transporter?”
“Yes, sir,”the young officer said crisply. “We’ve calibrated the transporter to retrieveonly live Aenar. Anything else will be left behind.”He could hear the excitement in her voice; a transporter specialist, she was one of the new crew members who had come aboard after the conclusion of the Xindi crisis.
“Excellent,” Archer said. He kept the com channel open, and leaned forward again.
In his peripheral vision, he saw the others looking at him expectantly, as if they all stood poised at the starting blocks of a foot race, and he was the odds‑on favorite.
“Take us in, Travis,” he said. “Full impulse.”
The ship trembled slightly beneath his boots. Archer stared at the viewscreen. He knew that this maneuver was physically dangerous for both the ship and the Aenar, and also represented a serious political risk for Earth’s Starfleet, which he represented. But he also knew that it was the rightthing to do.
“Twenty‑five seconds to our mark,” Mayweather said, the tension in his voice almost palpable.
“Readying weapons,” Malcolm said.
“Scanners are resolving addition life‑sign data,” T’Pol said. “Thirty‑seven Aenar, and twenty‑two others.”
As if on cue, Archer heard the turbolift doors open behind him. He turned and saw Shran walking somewhat unsteadily onto the bridge, escorted by Corporal David McCammon, one of the MACOs. Theras accompanied Shran on his other side, a hand placed supportively on Shran’s shoulder.
“Five seconds,” Mayweather said. “Four, three, two–”
“Fire!” Archer said. An instant later, two reddish directed energy blasts lanced out in unison from the forward ventral phase cannons. The image on the viewscreen showed the beams striking the aft end of the Romulan transport vessel, causing a pair of silent explosions.
“Targeting again,” Reed said, then depressed a button.
The viewscreen image changed to a reverse angle as a quartet of phase cannon blasts ripped into the Romulan ship even as Enterprisezoomed past the other vessel.
“Their engines have been crippled,” Reed said, his tone exultant. “Their defensive hull plating is down to twenty percent of capacity and is failing quickly.”
Archer flashed a grin at Malcolm, then shot a quick glance in Shran’s direction. Despite his apparently depleted condition because of his repeated use of the telepresence apparatus, the Andorian was smiling broadly as well. Theras wore a stricken expression, no doubt unused to being in the presence of such violence.
“Bring us about, Travis,” Archer said, then looked down at the intercom on the arm of his chair. “Ensign Moulton, prepare to beam out the Aenar.”
“Aye, sir,”Moulton said.
“Captain, I’m showing two other ships coming into range, closing fast.” T’Pol’s voice rose. “They’re Romulan war vessels.”
Damn,Archer thought. That’s what I get for letting myself get cocky.
“On‑screen,” he said.
Even as the image on the viewscreen showed two sleek, greenish craft arcing quickly toward Enterprise,Hoshi called out.
“Receiving a transmission, Captain.”
“You have made an illegal incursion into territory controlled by the Romulan Star Empire,”a woman’s voice said menacingly, her words rendered into precise English by Hoshi’s translation matrix. “And you have fired upon a Romulan vessel. That was your final mistake.”
“They’re charging their weapons, Captain,” Reed said. He hit the tactical alert alarm with his left hand, and klaxons began to blare throughout the ship.
Simultaneously, a pair of energy bolts lanced out of the forward sections of both of the Romulan vessels.
“Reinforce dorsal hull plating!” Archer yelled, bracing himself for an impact he could only hope wouldn’t vaporize them outright.
Thirty‑Two
Friday, February 21, 2155
Rator II
AFTER EHREHIN HAD laboriously completed his fourteenth diagram, Ch’uihv–whom Trip thought had been listening and watching both patiently and attentively until now–began to look distinctly restless.
“Is this presentation of yours really going anywhere, Doctor?” the man Trip had once known as Sopek asked Ehrehin flatly, the outer edges of his slanted eyebrows rising steeply in clearly evident anger. Trip still found it odd to see emotions displayed on such an apparently Vulcan face.
Despite the danger he was in, Ehrehin displayed an exasperated expression, looking like a college lecturer being asked yet another in an endless series of stupid questions by a none‑too‑bright undergraduate. “ Whereverthis presentation is going,” the old man said in a waspish tone, “it would get there a good deal faster were you to refrain from interrupting again until I finishit.”
Ch’uihv scowled deeply. “I know something about engineering, Doctor. And if I didn’t know better, I might think you were merely stalling for time.”
The hard‑faced guards posted around the prisoners looked skeptical as well, making Trip–still seated beside Dr. Ehrehin with his hands bound behind his back–decidedly more nervous than he already was.
“Ridiculous,” Ehrehin said with the sneer of an eminent academic who was growing weary of casting pearls before swine. “Now, if I may resume?”
Ch’uihv gestured toward the computer terminals on the tabletop. “By all means, Doctor.”
Of course, Trip knew very well that Ehrehin was indeed stalling for time, though precisely what the old man hoped to accomplish by continuing to do so eluded him. Whether it happened in the next ten minutes or was delayed for another two hours, the scientist was marked for death.
Just like me,Trip thought, eyeing the disruptor pistol that Ch’uihv had left lying on the tabletop beside his computer terminal, still well out of Trip’s reach. Though the weapon might as well have been a parsec away, Trip couldn’t help but wish for telekinesis, imagining the gun making a swift leap into one of his manacled hands.
After deleting his current technical diagram–which had no doubt been captured along with all the previous ones by Ch’uihv’s information network–Doctor Ehrehin quickly began constructing another, which made Trip grateful for the interruption to his fruitless reveries. He wondered how much longer the old man could keep Ch’uihv at bay by essentially restating information that any competent novice engineer would already have known.
Then he noticed that this latest diagram was entering what appeared to be entirely new territory–at least to Trip, who was well aware that his own knowledge of the intricacies and nuances of Romulan technology was far less voluminous than Ehrehin’s.
The diagram at first appeared to be a flow‑chart description of a fairly standard method of continuum distortion propulsion, which was catch‑all engineer‑speak for every variation of warp drive known to Earth’s science and engineering experts. But the drawing had taken an abrupt left turn, forcing Trip to work hard to find any familiar reference points.
Okay, that’s the space energy/matter sink,Trip thought, his mind reeling in a way it hadn’t since his first grueling year of Starfleet training. Andthat dingus has to take care of the warp drive’s magnatomic flux constriction functions, and maybe most of the other asymmetrical peristaltic field manipulations.
But he knew that this explanation didn’t take into account the large numbers of warp‑field layers Ehrehin’s rapidly growing string of marginal equations were postulating. Trip found it next to impossible to visualize that many cochranes of raw power coursing through the system without violently shattering every piece of dilithium hooked into it.
Continuing to watch in silence from his chair, Trip ignored the escalating discomfort of his manacled hands, mentally returning to the beginning of the flow chart as Ehrehin continued his deliberately vague and circuitous lecture. As before, the old man wasn’t showing enough to give away his secrets entirely. But he was handing over some tantalizing hints, assuming that either Ch’uihv or any of his people were bright enough to pick up on them.
There’s the deuterium supply. Standard stuff. It goes into the matter reactant injector, then into the magnetic constriction segment. Easy‑peasy. But the dilithium crystal articulation frame ought to come next, and it’s missing. What the hell?
To Trip’s surprise, the next destination for the drive’s deuterium fuel and its reaction products was a black box that would have corresponded to a standard matter/antimatter reaction chamber were it aboard Enterprise–except that thischamber apparently wasn’t equipped with the high‑gauss magnetic bottle that was alwaysused to prevent stored antimatter from experiencing a catastrophic, mutually annihilative reaction with the positive matter out of which the entire ship was composed. Instead, the reaction chamber contained something that yielded a mysteriously powerful stream of tightly focused particles that Trip figured for either high‑energy gravitons or chronitons, or maybe even both, which was apparently being deposited into yet another intermix chamber.
From the look of this thing, it ought to go “boom” big‑time right after the “on” button gets pushed.
But there had to be more to it than that; after all, Trip was well aware that his knowledge of Romulan technology was far from complete. And Ehrehin’s presentation would have to ring true enough to prevent Ch’uihv from picking up his disruptor pistol, which he would do if the old man were just weaving a tapestry out of pure, extemporaneous gibberish.
He’s not Scheherazade, for Christ’s sake, just making all this stuff up as he goes,Trip thought.
Making an intuitive leap based on Ehrehin’s deliberately incomplete presentation, Trip could see that such immense energy flows–assuming they were possible–might indeed accelerate a starship to warp six or seven. But how that could be done with neither a textbook matter/antimatter reaction nor a dilithium crystal array through which to channel it lay beyond his grasp.
Until the epiphany hit him with the intensity of an old‑fashioned Louisville Slugger swung straight at his forehead. All at once, he understood what hadto be in the black box that was spilling forth so many gravitons and chronitons. As weird as the notion was, there was no way it could have been anything else.
Oh, God. It doesn’t even use dilithium,Trip thought, fighting down his incipient panic but failing utterly. He suddenly felt light‑headed, and hoped nobody in the room had noticed, especially the guards. The Coalition worlds willhave to change their entire approach to defending themselves against this thing now. If they have the time, that is.
Though he was securely planted in his chair as Ehrehin droned on before the increasingly fidgety Ch’uihv, Trip felt as though he was about to pitch forward, rolling right over a precipice of utter despair.
Because once he was dead, there would be no one left alive to warn Coridan Prime’s billions of inhabitants of the horrors that awaited them.
Thirty‑Three
Friday, February 21, 2155
Enterprise NX‑01
THE BRIDGE ROCKED VIOLENTLY, and Archer clutched the arms of his chair to avoid sprawling onto the deck. Shran, Theras, and McCammon, standing beside a science station console, were all thrown into the railings, as was Reed at his tactical station. Fortunately, no one appeared seriously hurt.
“Hull plating at eighty‑three percent,” Mayweather said, urgency in his voice. “We managed to reinforce hull plate power by the time they hit us.”
“They’re charging weapons for a second salvo,” T’Pol said.
“Head right for them, full speed, and reinforce all forward hull plating,” Archer ordered, then turned toward the tactical station. “Malcolm, target their engines.”
Back on his feet, Reed studied his console, his hands trembling slightly from battle‑generated adrenaline. Archer studied the viewscreen and watched the image of the two ships grow ever larger as the enemy vessels continued their approach. He could see that the ventral hulls of the warships were adorned with a garish design that resembled a predatory bird.
“Targets locked and…firing at full power!” Reed exclaimed.
The viewscreen image tracked their progress as Enterpriseflew past the two ships, her phase cannons blasting away in rapid bursts. Archer was happy to see that several of the blasts were having demonstrable effects on the nacelles supported by struts on either side of the Romulan ships’ horseshoe crab‑shaped central hulls.
“Bring us back about,” Archer said. “Divert power to our aft starboard plating.”
Even as Enterpriselooped back toward the crippled transport ship, Mayweather yelled “Incoming fire!”
This time the volley of shots rocked the ship harder, but a quick look around the bridge showed Archer that nearly everyone had secured themselves into chairs this time, including Shran and Theras. Only Reed remained untethered, standing at the firing controls, his knuckles white as he gripped his console for support.
“Plating at sixty‑two percent,” Mayweather said.
“We’ve partially crippled their propulsion,” Reed said, a touch of triumph in his voice. “They can’t go to warp, but they still have impulse capability. And weapons.”
“Charge ourweapons again, but don’t fire just yet,” Archer said. “If we can get out of here with the Aenar withoutdestroying any of the Romulans’ vessels, maybe we can keep the political fallout down to a minimum. And if they can’t follow us once we’re at warp, all the better.”
He spoke into the intercom unit on his chair. “Ensign Moulton, have you been able to beam over any Aenar?”
“I got five of them,”Moulton said. “All males, apparently, and they all seem to have been sedated. But I can’t seem to get a lock on any of the others.”
Archer scowled and looked toward T’Pol. “What’s the problem?”
“It would appear that the Romulans have employed some kind of sensor shroud aboard their vessel,” T’Pol said, frowning slightly at her scanner. “It is preventing our maintaining a transporter lock. We cannot beam anyone else out unless they’re carrying a signal enhancer of some kind.”
“Can we take out the shroud?” Archer asked.
“The transport has deployed almost all of its remaining power to the device, including life support,” T’Pol said. “If we attempt to break the shroud, we could easily overload their warp core and kill everyone aboard.”
“Incoming!” Reed shouted.
The ship rocked again. One of the consoles at the back of the bridge whined, then shot out a volley of sparks. A nearby ensign quickly began spraying flameretardant foam on the console.
“Plating at fifty‑three percent and falling,” Mayweather said.
“We have a hull breach on D deck,” Hoshi said. “Guest quarters.”
“That’s also engineering,” Reed said. “They’re trying to cripple ourengines.”
Archer wasn’t at all pleased with the turn this mission was taking. “Travis, continue performing evasive maneuvers, but keep us as close to the transport ship as possible. We need to stay within transporter range.”
He tapped another button on his chair’s com unit. “Engineering, sorry about all the rough stuff. See if you can divert any extra power to the transporter.”
“Yes, sir, Captain,”said Burch. The young officer was Tucker’s obvious replacement, but Archer had yet to make the assignment official. He knew he would have to do so soon, or else find another permanent chief engineer, should Trip’s sojourn in the land of the dead continue much longer.
Archer turned toward his armory officer. “Malcolm, can we target their weapons systems? Keep them from firing on us for a while to buy us a little more time?”
Reed frowned, studying a newly mounted tactical viewer that now stood above his other control console screens. “I don’t believe so, Captain. Any serious attempt to disable their weapons tubes will more than likely destroy the ship outright.”
“ Doit, pinkskin,” Shran shouted from his seat at the back of the bridge. “They’re trying to destroy us!”
“Only because westarted it,” Archer shouted back. He looked over at Reed. “If we destroy their ship, the Romulans could use that fact as justification for mounting an attack against Earth, or even the rest of the Coalition.”
“But the Romulans have alreadycommitted acts of war against us,” Reed said.
“Technically and legally, they have not,” T’Pol said. “At least not yet. The Orionsabducted the Aenar, which makes themresponsible for those crimes. And the Romulans are legally entitled to regard us as invaders in their territory, and therefore as the aggressors.”
“Preposterous!”
Archer turned around in his chair. “Shran, shut up!” The azure‑hued warrior did just that, though he glowered angrily at Archer with eyes like blue‑white suns.
“Hold on to your chairs,” Mayweather said. “Incoming!” He pushed hard at several of the helm controls, and Archer felt Enterpriseturning hard to port as the inertial dampers and the artificial gravity running through the deck plates struggled to cope with the sudden velocity change. Archer held his breath and braced for impact, but none came.
“Good flying, Travis,” he said a moment later.
“Sir, we can’t evade their weapons forever,” Malcolm said, his tone plaintive. “And sooner or later reinforcements will arrive. We have got to withdraw.”
“Any luck on getting the Aenar, Moulton?” Archer asked, directing his voice toward the open‑channeled com unit.
“No, sir.”Moulton’s tone sounded stressed. “We still can’t break through their shroud. I thought I had a pattern lock on one of them, but it broke apart during transport. I…lost him.”
“I’m sure you did your best,” Archer said, feeling queasy at the idea that they had just killed one of the Aenar in the midst of what had begun as a fairly straightforward rescue mission.
He had to face the fact that they had run out of options. “Prepare to withdraw. We can’t stay here any longer.”
“No!” Shran unbuckled himself from the chair he had occupied and moved swiftly toward Archer.
“We don’t have much of a choice, Shran.”
“Yes, you do,” the Andorian said, his antennae ramrod stiff with anger. “You destroy both of the warships, we retrieve the Aenar, and then you destroy the transport as well. Leave no trace that we were ever here.”
“Do you really think they haven’t transmitted information about us back to their base already?” Archer asked. “If we destroy them, that willbe an act of war.”
