Текст книги "The Good That Men Do"
Автор книги: Andy Mangels
Соавторы: Michael Martin
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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
“A chance we’ll have to take, Malcolm,” Archer said, thinking of Theras, and the additional violence the Romulans would surely force upon him.
Then Archer heard Jhamel speaking very gently inside his head. “You are doing the right thing, Captain. Theras has just warned the Romulans to abandon their vessel, and they are leaving it now. I thank you for what you are about to do, Jonathan Archer. And Theras thanks you as well.”
The disembodied voice was steeped in the deepest sadness that Archer had ever known. I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t say, “You’re welcome” to either of you,Archer replied wordlessly.
“ Good‑bye, Theras,” Jhamel thought, prompting Archer to wonder if everyone else on the bridge had also heard her mournful farewell. He looked toward her and saw that her tears now flowed freely, if silently.
“I salute you,” Shran said, facing the viewer, his face frozen into a somber rigidity that seemed almost Vulcan.
A second voice spoke directly in Archer’s head. It took a moment for Archer to realize that it belonged to Theras. “The escape pods are launching, Captain. Please do what you must do.”Unlike Jhamel, Theras’s mind seemed to carry no excess of grief or regret. Instead, Archer thought the doomed Aenar’s telepathic essence radiated a sense of…vindication.
His throat dry, his eyes burning, Archer said, “Fire torpedoes, Malcolm. Then get us out of here, Travis. Maximum warp.”
A beat later the transport ship erupted in two spectacular conflagrations, one per torpedo. The molecular fires slowly began to spread, pulling the hull apart in several places. Archer saw the first of the escape pods launch moments later, just before the tableau of destruction vanished from the viewscreen as Enterpriseleaped to warp.
Jhamel slumped in her seat, weeping violently.
Archer could only hope that she wouldn’t feel the need to seek atonement the way Theras had.
Forty
Friday, February 21, 2155
Romulan space
TRIP WATCHED AS THE BLIP on the sensor display continued its slow, steady progress toward his stolen ship, which remained effectively dead in space. “Becalmed” was how his father–an avid Gulf Coast sailboater–would have described their current condition.
There’s got to be a way to get some wind behind our sails again,Trip thought, wishing he could feel as “becalmed” as their ship had become.
He turned his pilot’s seat toward Ehrehin, who still occupied the copilot’s position. The old man regarded him darkly through the faceplates of their twin environmental suits.
“You mind giving me a hand getting this beast flying again?” Trip said, feeling he had nothing to lose by asking.
The elderly scientist favored him with a drop‑jawed look of pure incredulity. “First you kidnap me, then try to keep me away from my would‑be rescuers, and now you ask for my help? I certainly have to credit you with audacity, my young friend. Whoever you reallyare.”
Trip paused for a moment, still struggling to calm himself, though it wasn’t easy at the rate their pursuer continued to gain on them. “When did you figure out I wasn’t really Cunaehr?” he finally said in a quiet voice.
Wondering if his helmet had muffled his words too much to allow Ehrehin to have heard him, Trip was about to repeat his question when the scientist said, “Frankly, it was always difficult to accept you at face value, although I must confess that you dobear an astonishing resemblance to Cunaehr. But it was far too convenient for Cunaehr to reappear precisely when I needed his encouragement the most.”
Trip sighed, feeling like an utter failure. So the only people I’ve managed to fool on this spy mission of mine are all the people back home who think I’m dead. Peachy.
“If I really wereCunaehr, Doctor,” he said aloud, “I think I’d still ask for your help. We need to get the com system back up at least.”
“Why? So you can bargain with Valdore for your life? I must caution you: The admiral is not renowned for his willingness to take prisoners.”
You’re afraid of him,Trip thought. He’d noticed a new tremor in the scientist’s voice that couldn’t have been attributable to old age alone.
Aloud, he said, “I’m actually thinking about yoursafety, Doctor.”
Ehrehin smiled, and Trip saw an amused gleam in the old man’s eye. “ Mysafety? I should think that the arrival of one of Valdore’s ships should more than ensure that.”
“Unless Valdore decides to kill you because he believes he’s caught you in the act of defecting.”
“The admiral would never believe such a story–especially if it were told by a spy.”
Trip tried to summon up everything he could remember from the briefings Phuong had given him on Romulan politics. “The question isn’t whether Valdore believes meor not, Doctor–it’s what he alreadybelieves about you.”
Ehrehin’s smile collapsed, swept away by another dark, forehead‑crumpling scowl. “What are you talking about?”
Another glimpse of the fast‑approaching blip on the console sent a large bead of sweat racing down Trip’s back, and pushed his words out somewhat faster than before. “It’s no secret that you have differences with the Romulan military. You’ve even been known to criticize the Praetor himself from time to time. But I suppose that’s one of the privileges of being too important to the Romulan war machine–whose goals you haven’t been all that happy with over the years–to make you worry too much about ending up with somebody’s nice, shiny Honor Blade sticking out of your back.
“And then there’s what your military is about to do to Coridan Prime. I might not be Cunaehr, Doctor, but I think I’ve gotten to know you well enough to believe that you wouldn’t want anything to do with that.”
Trip could see that he had finally gotten Ehrehin’s full attention. He had no choice other than to press on, keep pushing any advantage he could find. “You don’t haveto be a part of that. You don’t haveto keep looking over your shoulder. You don’t haveto live in fear of what will happen to you after the Praetor finally decides that you’ve outlived your usefulness to the Empire’s expansion plans.
“You could live among mypeople instead. Balance out the Empire’s need for conquest by helping us stand against their military machine. You know what will happen if you don’t: More planets will get rolled over by Valdore. Millions of people could end up dead, or as slaves. And it’ll be because youhelped make it happen. In fact, maybe it can’t even happen at all withoutyour help. Can you live with that?”
He fell silent then, and simply watched the play of emotions that crossed the old man’s deeply lined face–or at least as much of it as Ehrehin’s stubborn self‑discipline and two sturdy helmet faceplates would reveal.
Trip seriously doubted that he had completely convinced Ehrehin to throw in his lot with him. But the thoughtful look in the old man’s dark eyes made it clear that he had upset the scientist’s earlier pretense of equanimity about going back to work for the Romulan military machine.
Ehrehin reeled his gaze back in from the middle distance where he seemed to do his deepest thinking, then stared at Trip with large, soulful eyes. “Cunaehr or not, you have been kind to me, whoeveryou are.”
“You can call me Trip.” He started to extend a gloved hand, but stopped himself, remembering that Vulcans, being touch telepaths, disliked being touched. He decided to assume that their cousins, the Romulans, might have similar habits.
The old man nodded, an awkward maneuver in the bulky pressure suit. “Very well, Trip. I will see what I can do about assisting you in getting this vessel up and running again.”
For the very first time, Trip began holding out a real hope that Ehrehin would voluntarily offer to protect the billions of innocents who lived on Coridan Prime, as well as Earth and the rest of the Coalition worlds. The notion buoyed Trip’s spirits greatly, because he knew it meant that he might soon have the opportunity to return from the dead to see his parents, his brother, T’Pol, and the rest of his Enterprisefamily again.
Trip glanced again at the pilot’s console, where the blip that represented Valdore’s doggedly pursuing ship was growing dangerously close to its quarry.
“We’d better get busy, then,” he said, then rose from his seat and headed for one of the tool kits he’d seen earlier in the aft section, moving as quickly as his bulky environmental suit would permit.
Forty‑One
Friday, February 21, 2155
Enterprise NX‑01
SHRAN STOOD AT THE FOOT of the biobed, feeling an overwhelming sense of familiarity as he watched Jhamel sleep. Other Aenar were resting throughout sickbay, while some recuperated in the makeshift medical facilities in Enterprise’s two shuttlepod launch bays, or in hastily rearranged crew quarters; the ship’s guest cabins were still uninhabitable because of the hull breach sustained during the recent battle.
Enterprisewas currently hurtling toward Earth at top speed, so repairs, and a return to Andoria for the Aenar, would have to wait. Archer had apparently already jeopardized his command by undertaking the mission to rescue the Aenar, but Shran felt sure that the compassionate human leaders would forgive him.
He studied the face of the beautiful zhenwho lay on the biobed, heartened to see her condition had visibly improved, even in the last six hours. With the nutrients and medications Jhamel and the other Aenar had taken in since their rescue by Enterprise,they were beginning to lose their color once again. Excepting the bluish highlights she normally had, the only rose‑colored portions visible on Jhamel’s skin were the fatigue‑generated wrinkles and pouches around her eyes.
He looked over to the neighboring beds, where Shenar and Vishri both slumbered, thanks to some sedatives and dream suppressants provided by Doctor Phlox. He wondered idly how the three surviving bondmates of Jhamel’s shelthrethgroup would get along in life now. Without Theras, the thaanof the group, they would be unable to reproduce. Given the declining population on Andoria, and the even sharper decline of the Aenar people’s numbers, the loss of any member of a potentially fertile shelthrethquad was unutterably horrible and tragic.
Because of that tragedy, he took small comfort in the fact that nearly every one of the other Aenar had been rescued, with the exception of the one who had run afoul of a transporter malfunction…and, of course, Theras.
He realized only now how completely he had misjudged Theras. I was as blind as he was,Shran thought, but in a completely different way.The gentle Theras, who had seemed to be such a melting icicle throughout the entire abduction ordeal, had instead shown himself to be the furthest thing from a coward that Shran had encountered among the Aenar. He had overcome his very nature,the pacifistic ideals by which he had always lived, in order to help free his fellow Aenar.
Shran had never enjoyed apologizing, but he sincerely wished for a chance to do so to Theras. He’d treated Theras abominably; he’d acted like a bully, intimidating a mild, gentle being every chance he’d gotten. He was trained to be a warrior, and was therefore used to putting himself into harm’s way. There was no heroism to much of what he did; it was mostly done out of duty, or a love of the accompanying adrenaline rush, or perhaps just plain orneriness.
“You’re wrong, Shran.”
Jhamel’s voice was speaking inside his mind. He turned to see her looking toward him, her sightless eyes now open, but as blind as always. “Youcan be a hero when you want to be. It wasn’t that long ago that you helped me defeat the Romulans that first time. As well as my grief over Gareb’s death.”
“Just as you helped me lay the ghost of Talas to rest,”Shran thought back to her.
But he wasn’t interested at the moment in rehashing the past; he was already far too focused on the future. He moved closer to the bed, and took her pale hand in his. “How are you feeling?” he asked aloud.
She smiled weakly, and spoke aloud as well in a voice that was hoarse from disuse. “Tired. Hungry. Relieved. Sad.” She turned her face toward his. “We have to stop meeting when one or the other of us is confined to a bed.”
Shran allowed a short laugh to escape his lips. Their attraction to each other had first sparked when she’d visited him while he’d been recovering from being impaled on an icicle and was troubled by the death of his beloved Talas, and she was still hoping beyond hope for the rescue of her doomed brother, Gareb. He had been lying in bed, and awakened to see her then. Later, when Jhamel was recuperating after having used the telepresence helmet in an effort to help her brother, he had watched over her as she slumbered in a different biobed, and had held her hand, just as he was doing now.
“I’m glad you’re well,” Shran said.
A troubled look crossed her face. “And Vishri and Shenar? How are they?”
“Resting comfortably,” Shran said, casting another glance in the direction of Jhamel’s bondmates.
“ They’re only resting because their minds aren’t linked with yours,” Jhamel said inside his mind. “Lucky for them: the agitated state ofyour mind could wake a hibernating frost boar!”
“I’m sorry,” Shran said, even though he saw her smile, and felt her affectionate, unvocalized laughter. “I can leave if it will help you rest.” He started to pull his hand away.
“No, stay!” Jhamel said aloud, pulling his hand back to hers, though weakly. “I was only teasing.”
“I liked what you were thinking about Theras a few moments ago,”she told him with her mind. “Please forgive me for eavesdropping.”
He smiled gently. “I have no secrets from you, Jhamel,”he thought in reply. At least, he didn’t wantto keep any secrets from her. How she felt, of course, would have to remain to be seen.
“ The path Theras chose was agony for him,” Jhamel thought. “But he did it to save us, and ultimately, to preserve the essence of himself.”
“I think I understand that now,” Shran said aloud, his voice soft.
“ I’m not certain you do,” Jhamel thought. “Even I don’t think I understood it until the very end. He provided a future for me…for us.”
“ What do you mean?” Shran thought back to her.
“We spoke aboard the transport ship, Theras and I, mind to mind. He said that during the entire time of our…captivity, he studied you quite closely. Mentally, physically, emotionally.”
Shran was alarmed, and lapsed back into speaking aloud. “Why? For what purpose?”
“It is possible that he had some inkling of what was to come,” Jhamel said, opting to use her voice again, perhaps in an effort to calm Shran. “He sometimes had premonitions. Perhaps he even saw his own death coming.”
Shran shuddered. He’d certainly stared death in the face many times, and had come away stronger each time. But he didn’t know the hourof his death, and would never want to.
“ In his last moments, he told me,” Jhamel said, moving very gently back inside his mind.
He looked down at her, aware that his antennae had been unconsciously mimicking the movements of hers. “ Told you what?” he asked.
“You are athaan. Your genetics are compatible with those of ourshelthreth . He gave us his blessing.”
Shran felt the wind rush out of his lungs in one great whoosh, and he sat down quickly at the edge of the biobed.
“Are you…are you asking me to join with the three of you? To bond?”
He couldn’t believe he was allowing himself to thinkthese words in Jhamel’s presence, much less say them out loud. In all his years, he had never entered a shelthrethquad, having devoted himself instead to his homeworld’s defense. His relationship with Talas, a similarly isolated soul, had been the most intimate one of his life, even though they both had known that without another pair of compatible bondmates, procreation–as well as social acceptance on Andoria–would forever be denied them.
“Yes. If you will have us,” Jhamel said, a hint of apprehension in her voice.
Shran bent over and nuzzled his forehead to hers, their antennae wrapping around each other.
He whispered in her ear.
“Yes. If the three of youcan stand me.”
Forty‑Two
Friday, February 21, 2155
Romulan space
“ALL FLOW REGULATORS are finally showing orange,” Ehrehin said, his breath slightly fogging up his faceplate as he pulled the hydrospanner out of the open relay‑circuitry drawer located near his booted feet. “Try it again now.”
Orange is good,Trip thought, reminding himself yet again that the instrumentation on Romulan ships differed from that of Earth vessels in sometimes unsettling ways.
“It’s now or never,” Trip said, glancing nervously down at the console’s tactical display, which showed that what they’d both assumed was Valdore’s lead ship was almost right on top of them, with a trio of other pursuers–the first vessel had evidently summoned rein‑forcements–trailing very close behind. The closest of these ships could drop out of warp at any moment, perhaps with Trip’s vessel already within range of its weapons.
Trip held his breath and engaged the throttle lever, pulling it slowly and deliberately toward him so as not to overload it.
The starfield ahead of the ship immediately smeared and turned slightly blue. The deck plates vibrated and shuddered violently before quickly settling down to a familiar subaural frequency that Trip supposed reassured warp engineers all across the galaxy.
Once the velocity gauge had finished climbing back to where it was before the engines had failed, Trip turned toward Ehrehin and said, “Think maybe you can spare a moment to help me with our subspace transmitter?”
The elderly scientist stared at him inscrutably, and Trip thought he saw the slightest of smiles flicker across his face. He hoped it wasn’t just a trick of the starlight he saw reflected in the man’s helmet.
Although the gap between pursuer and pursued remained too narrow for comfort, Trip was relieved to note that Valdore’s ships–there were still four in all–were no longer gaining on them. If we don’t have any more engine trouble between here and home,he thought with no small amount of trepidation, we both might actually get out of this alive.
Trip was also thankful for another uncanny stroke of luck: the damage the subspace transceiver had sustained hadn’t been nearly as serious as he had feared. Nevertheless, getting the thing back into operational condition–with audio only, at that–had involved more than a little jury‑rigging and swearing, as well as the diversion of precious power reserves that he was loath to divert from the drive systems while Admiral Valdore’s forces were still nipping at their heels.
But there was no alternative. He had to send a warning about the specifics of the coming attack on Coridan Prime, even if doing so landed both him and Ehrehin right back in Valdore’s lap.
Trip patched an optical cable that led from his suit’s com system into the microphone/speaker jack he had just discovered on his pilot’s console. He then punched in a particular subspace audio frequency and boosted the gain as much as he dared. At that moment, he noticed Ehrehin watching him from the copilot’s station, his once rheumy eyes now brimming with undisguised, almost youthful curiosity.
“Whom are you contacting?” the old man asked, apparently almost succumbing to his old habit of addressing Trip as Cunaehr before catching himself and changing his next utterance to “Trip.”
Trip smiled at the scientist. “I’m calling the one man who’ll do whatever it takes to help us.”
Touching the control on his chest that opened his helmet microphone, he said, “Lazarus to Captain Archer of Enterprise,Priority One and Coded. This is Lazarus, calling Captain Jonathan Archer….”
Forty‑Three
Friday, February 21, 2155
Enterprise NX‑01
“CAPTAIN, I HAVE A PRIORITY audio communication for you,” Hoshi Sato said, swiveling in her chair and touching the com device she sometimes wore clipped to her ear.
Archer looked over to her, his attention diverted from the padd onto which he’d begun entering his speech. After the events of this week, he didn’t know if he’d even be allowed to present it at the Coalition Compact ceremony, but he wanted it to be ready nonetheless. “Who’s the message from, Hoshi?”
“Your ears only, sir.” She frowned slightly. “The only other word in the subspace burst is the name Lazarus.”
Archer immediately stood and moved toward his ready room. “I’ll take it in here,” he said.
Trip’s alive,he thought, trying hard to stifle a big grin as he breezed past several of the bridge crew. He hoped that the message would contain good news, perhaps with the engineer telling them he was ready to come in from the cold of his spy mission. He slid into his chair in the ready room and tapped the console on the desk in front of him.
“ Lazarus to Captain Archer ofEnterprise,” the voice said over the speakers. The sound was full of static, and distorted slightly, but it was undeniably Trip’s voice.
“Archer here. It’s good to hear your voice. You ready to come home?”
“Thanks, Captain, but not quite yet. There’s been a wholemess of complications.”
“Are you all right?” Archer asked, frowning with concern as he leaned forward. He wished there was a visual component to the message, so that he could see his old friend’s face again.
“I’m okay, but Coridan’s in trouble. The Romulans aredefinitely targeting the planet. But it doesn’t seem to be an invasion. It’s more of an annihilation.”
Archer was stunned. “You’re sureabout this?”
“Absolutely. Some time in the next seventy‑two hours, they’re striking Coridan. You’ve got to warn them.”
“Any idea how they’ll attack?”
“No, sir. What I–”the rest of Trip’s reply was cut off in static.
Archer hit the com button. “Hoshi, I’ve lost the signal. Boost our reception.”
“Aye, sir,”Hoshi said.
The wait for Trip’s signal to be regained was torture. Archer’s mind reeled with the news. The annihilation of Coridan in the next seventy‑two hours.The thought was ghastly almost beyond imagination.
“ I can’t reestablish the signal,” Hoshi said. “Whoever it was, they’ll have to start sending to us again.”
“Okay, thank you.” Archer couldn’t wait any longer. He knew that he had to warn the Coridanites, andinform his superiors on Earth. “Hoshi, raise the highest Coridan government official you can, and pipe them onto my screen.”
While he waited to speak to the Coridanite government, he tapped in the emergency code to contact Admiral Gardner on Earth. At the moment it was 4:50 A.M. Pacific time on Earth, but the news he’d just received certainly qualified as an emergency.
Archer’s desktop screen jumped to life as a weary Gardner appeared on it, yawning as he pulled on a robe. Archer saw the ready light that Hoshi had sent from the bridge, and his finger hovered over the appropriate button.
“ This had better be damned important, Captain,” Gardner said grumpily. “I have some crucial meetings first thing in the morning.”
“It’s vitallyimportant,” Archer said. He tapped the button, and the screen split in two. Half of the screen now showed the face of a Coridan official, someone in the diplomatic corps, Archer thought, judging from the Coridanite’s ceremonial mask. “Admiral Gardner, I’ve patched us in on a conference transmission with the Coridan official…” His voice trailed off.
“ Legate Hanshev,” the Coridanite said. It sounded like a female voice, but Archer couldn’t be certain that the mask wasn’t electronically altering Hanshev’s speech.
Gardner composed himself quickly, his bearing changing almost instantly. “All right, Captain Archer. You have our attention.”
Time to put on my best game,Archer thought. “We have been given intelligence indicating that the Romulans are planning some kind of strike against Coridan in the next seventy‑twohours. We’ve been told that this will notbe an invasion, but rather an attempt to destroy as much of the planet and its resources as possible.”
The Coridanite’s face was completely hidden behind the inhuman‑looking mask, but her body language clearly registered shock. “How did you come upon this information?”
“We had heard rumors of such an attack being planned,” Archer said. “I aided in arrangements to send…trustworthy people to investigate the rumors firsthand.” He leaned forward, trying to look as serious as he could. “Let me be plain. I trust the person who gathered this information implicitly. I would stake my life on the truthfulness of this person’s data.”
Gardner seemed to be gritting his teeth, and his eyebrows had both furrowed down into a deep scowl. “And what are you proposing to do about this, Captain Archer?”
“Well, my immediate step was to contact you both,” Archer said. “This will give Coridan Prime’s government as much time as possible to evacuate its people, or mount an attack, or erect defenses. I’d recommend all three. Secondly, I request permission to divert Enterpriseto the Coridan system immediately. Perhaps we can help Coridan Prime stop this attack, or at least provide support for Coridan’s defense and evacuation efforts.”
Gardner’s eyes narrowed. “We need you back here at Earth, Captain. I thought I had made that crystal clear before.”
Archer pushed his temper down. “That was when all I had was rumors. We now know them to be facts.”
“ Youbelieve them to be facts,” Gardner said, his voice rising in volume.
Before Archer could argue his point further, the Coridanite legate spoke again. “Admiral,I believe your captain’s words. We, too, have our sources, and the threat from the Romulans has been an ongoing concern for some time. Now, it would appear that the threat is finally imminent.
“As to your offer of aid, Captain, while it is generous, I believe that there isn’t anything further you can do that our own ships cannot,”Hanshev said. “If your superior says you’re needed on your own homeworld, I will release you from your promise to assist us.”
Archer’s mouth dropped open. He knew that the Coridanites were an intensely private and proud people, but refusing aid during such a time of crisis seemed beyond the pale.
“ Do you have any further information that might aid the Coridanites?” Gardner asked, a slight smile hidden underneath the edges of his salt‑and‑pepper mustache. “Or should we allow them to get on to thevitally important tasks ahead of them, while you fulfill yourown mission?”
Inwardly, Archer was seething, but he swallowed his anger. “That’s all the information I have. Seventy‑two hours.”
“I thank you for your warning and your offer,”Legate Hanshev said, bowing his head slightly. “We will make the best possible use of your warning.”The Coridanite’s image disappeared, allowing Gardner’s to take up the entirety of the screen’s frame once again.
“ That would have been an excellent play, if it had worked, Captain,” Gardner said, his expression returning to its earlier fury.
“That was no ‘play,’ sir, it was–”
“ It was an attempt to circumvent mydirect orders!”Gardner shouted, interrupting him.
Archer, his tone dangerously close to insubordination, countered, “People’s liveswill be lost. Waris on its way.”
Gardner glared at him for a moment, then finally spoke. “The Coridanites don’t want your help. And you are due back on Earth.”
On the screen, the admiral lifted his hand, clearly ready to end the communication, but paused just before doing so. “Let me make one thing clear, Captain. This stunt you just pulled…if anything remotely similarever happens again, I’ll have you cashiered out of the fleet.”
The screen went black for a moment before the Starfleet logo reappeared.
Well, that didn’t go all that well,Archer thought, his ire up and his ego bruised. He wished for a moment that Porthos were here beside him, instead of in his quarters. He could use some nonjudgmental canine company right about now.
Although his mind whirled with emotions and questions, he seemed to fixate on one thing: No matter how much Coridan Prime might not want Enterprise’s assistance, Archer felt that they could stop the oncoming devastation threatened by the Romulan attack.
But it all depends on exactly how I decide to spend the next seventy‑two hours,Archer thought. Gardner’s orders notwithstanding.
The door chime sounded, startling Archer out of his unhappy reverie. He pressed the comm button on his desk.
“Come in.”
The door slid open with a quiet hiss. T’Pol stood in the threshold, her hands behind her back and head tipped inquisitively. The intensity of her gaze, however, far exceeded mere curiosity.
She knows I’ve been keeping her out of the loop,Archer thought as she stepped inside the ready room as the door closed behind her. A frisson of guilt clutched at his heart as Archer considered how much he had kept from her. The fact that circumstances justified his secrecy made him feel a little better about having misled a first officer who had served him so loyally for the past nearly four years.
She raised an eyebrow. “‘Lazarus,’ Captain?”
Archer rose from behind his desk. Deciding that she deserved to know as much of the truth as possible, he said, “It’s the code name of a covert intelligence source working inside Romulan space. One that I trust implicitly.”
“Indeed. And I presume from the raised voices I heard through the door that this source has just imparted some rather important information.”
Her remark rattled Archer, until he reminded himself of the uncanny acuteness of Vulcan hearing–and that her frankly inquisitive demeanor meant that she probably hadn’t actually heard any of the details of the exchanges he’d just shared with Legate Hanshev and Admiral Gardner.
Speaking in quiet, even tones, he brought her up to date about the doom that now hung suspended, like some cosmic sword of Damocles, over Cordian Prime.
T’Pol sat on the low sofa near his desk, her back ramrod‑straight as she stared pensively through the ready room’s viewport at the warp‑smeared stars beyond. Archer remained standing, watching her uneasily.
“Seventy‑two hours,” she said finally, her gaze remaining light‑years away as she continued to consider the ramifications.
He nodded. “More or less.”
“And neither Admiral Gardner nor Legate Hanshev will sanction our involvement in trying to prevent it.”
He chuckled, but without any real humor. “That’s a wonderfully understated Vulcan way of summing up the situation.”
