Текст книги "The Good That Men Do"

Автор книги: Andy Mangels

Соавторы: Michael Martin
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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

If only I had the courage to remove this mask, here and now,Lekev thought, wondering whether the humans would find his true face more familiar and less forbidding than the mask that duty and Coridanite tradition dictated that he never remove in the presence of non‑Coridanites. But he knew that such a blasphemous act of defiance would not only earn him dismissal and imprisonment on his homeworld–if not outright execution–it would also certainly fail to persuade his government’s headstrong chancellor to alter her decision to abandon the new interstellar alliance. Still, doffing the ritual mask that doubtless made Lekev appear so very alien in the eyes of once‑valued diplomatic partners might serve to remind at least somein Coridan Prime’s leadership hierarchy that these Terrans, Vulcans, Tellarites, and Andorians were far more like the Coridanite people than they were different.

Lekev’s eyes caught a hint of motion at the edge of the chamber, and he turned his gaze toward it. On the stairs that connected the edge of the council chamber to the gallery level above it, a group of blue‑uniformed figures was making a silent entrance, coming to a quiet halt at the railing that overlooked the tense proceedings. No one else in the room appeared to have noticed their arrival.

The hard, chiseled features and determined look of the foremost of the blue‑clad humans drew Lekev’s attention most keenly. Nowthere’s a man who probably has sufficient courage to remove whatever masks might stand in his way,he thought, recalling the words of inspiration that Captain Jonathan Archer had spoken here only a few Earth weeks ago–words that had kept this nascent, fragile Coalition of Planets from completely fracturing during the immediate aftermath of the Terra Prime crisis.

But circumstances had changed greatly since then, particularly for those who still clung to life on the infernal ruin that Coridan Prime had become. And Lekev knew he had no choice other than to face that grim reality squarely.

Turning his gaze back upon sh’Rothress, Lekev took a deep breath, gathered his scattered thoughts, and finally addressed the Andorian junior ambassador’s well‑taken question. “Coridan cannot presently afford to concern itself with external matters, Ambassador. More than half a billion Coridanites died as a direct result of the attack, and more than that have perished as a consequence of the hugely destructive dilithium fires that resulted from the collision–which our best energy and environmental experts estimate to have consumed at least half of our planetary dilithium reserves. Our science minister believes that Coridan Prime’s ecosystems will take at least a century to begin to recover, should a recovery actually prove to be possible.”

“You have just enumerated several excellent reasons for allowing the Coalition to stand with you at this time,” said T’Pau of Vulcan. She exuded concern, but also a steadfast, rock‑solid calm that Lekev could only envy.

Lekev shook his head. “Chancellor Kalev does not see matters that way, nor do the partisans in her government who comprise a majority within the Ruling Assembly.”

“But surely the people of your world will see the wisdom of accepting outside help during this crisis,” said Prime Minister Samuels of Earth. “Your chancellor can only put her leadership in jeopardy by failing to recognize that.”

For the sake of everyone who yet remained alive on his homeworld, Lekev could only hope that the Terran was right. But he knew all too well that the truth was far more complex than Samuels knew, perhaps even defying Lekev’s own understanding.

“That is certainly a possibility, Mister Prime Minister,” Lekev said, making no attempt to conceal the sadness underlying his words. “Though it is probably a good deal less likely than you believe. We are a proud people, Minister. Most of us would probably not be sanguine about accepting interstellar charity. In the eyes of many, such assistance would be indistinguishable from a military occupation–and if Coridanites feel that their world has been taken by outworlders, they will behave accordingly, driving out the perceived invaders by whatever means they deem necessary. I am certain that none of the remaining Coalition worlds would relish that prospect in the least.”

Lekev could only hope that such a scenario might motivate Coridan Prime’s many squabbling political factions to set aside their differences, at least temporarily. But he also felt certain that any pause in the steadily escalating civil war back home would endure only so long as the perception of an outside threat persisted, and not a day longer.

Lapsing into silence, Lekev once again raked his gaze across the faces of each of his diplomatic colleagues, eager to see and hear their reactions, while at the same time dreading them. After a seeming eternity of deceptive stillness, most of the diplomats present–with the exception of the characteristically stoic Vulcans–began airing those reactions, loudly and simultaneously. Nathan Samuels, the nominal chairman of today’s proceedings, banged his gavel impotently and all but inaudibly as the room descended further into high‑decibel rhetorical chaos.

His grim duty finally discharged, Lekev bowed respectfully toward the chairman’s podium, then turned and exited the chamber. Outraged shouts and cries for order echoed and competed behind him.

Archer paused beside the spiral railing, and his senior officers stood quietly behind him on the stairs overlooking the small amphitheater where the delegates to the prospective Coalition of Planets were debating nothing less than the future political alignments of five solar systems.

The discussion–if the tumultuous gabble of indistinguishable shouts and cries that filled the chamber really qualified as such–was going every bit as badly as Archer had feared. We can’t afford to lose Coridan,he thought glumly. Especially not while the Romulans are so hell‑bent on smashing the Coalition.A sense of utter helplessness descended upon him as he watched Ambassador Lekev turn and exit the room through one of the lower‑level doors.

“It appears you’ve arrived in the proverbial nick of time once again, Captain,” said Doctor Phlox, who was standing slightly behind Archer. He was leaning toward the captain’s ear, almost shouting to be heard over the raised voices of the diplomats.

Archer bristled reflexively at the Denobulan’s remark. “Phlox, are you expecting me to just leap in there and make everything right?”

Phlox appeared unfazed by Archer’s surly tone. “You havedone it before, Captain.”

“I’m an explorer, Phlox, and sometimes a soldier. But I’m no diplomat.” He couldn’t help but wonder, however, whether he could do a worse job than the alleged diplomats who were trying to shout each other down while the meeting’s chairman looked on impotently.

“Frankly, I think Admiral Gardner expects you to contribute something substantive to this meeting,” Phlox said, apparently undeterred.

Archer scowled. “How do you mean? He ordered me to be present for the Coalition Compact signing. That’s not until Wednesday.”

“Well, of course he didn’t order you to be here today,Captain,” Phlox said, his avuncular smile widening until it took on vaguely disconcerting proportions. “He knew it wasn’t necessary. He’d have had to lock you up to keep you away.”

Archer couldn’t help but wonder if Phlox was on to something there; after all, the moment Enterprisearrived in Earth orbit, he’d expected Gardner to call him on the carpet because of his unauthorized attempt to reach Coridan Prime ahead of the disaster that had since struck there.

Or maybe Gardner hasn’t gone after me because he regrets orderingEnterprise to head for Earth instead of Coridan.Archer knew that he would always wonder if he might somehow have intercepted the vessel responsible for the assault against Coridan, if only he’d had a little more time. It was easy to imagine that the admiral, whose sphere of responsibility was much larger than Archer’s, was now second‑guessing himself in the very same manner.

He imagined that Trip, who’d risked more than anyone else to try to prevent what happened on Coridan, must also be tying himself into knots of misplaced guilt and self‑recrimination at this very moment. That is, if he’s even still alive.

The only consolation Archer could find for any of them–Gardner, Trip, or himself–was his own bedrock certainty that the enormity of the Coridan catastrophe, as terrible as it was, would have been far worse had Trip not gotten his warning through, and had Archer failed to relay that warning to the Coridanites as quickly as he did.

“I can’t believe that Chancellor Kalev really thinks that withdrawing from the Coalition is a good idea,” said Malcolm Reed, who stood beside Hoshi Sato and Travis Mayweather on the steps immediately behind and above Phlox.

“Kalev has more to face than a planetary disaster,” Travis said. “His people have also been in a low‑grade civil war for years.”

“Maybe the disaster they’re dealing with will help them pull together,” Hoshi said. “Unite them politically, as one people. Maybe then they’ll be ready to enter long‑term alliances with other worlds.”

Watching the ongoing and still quite loud squabble on the debate floor, Archer wondered what that “readiness” really consisted of–and if it was really possible to maintain it. Even Soval seemed downright furious, and T’Pau appeared to be considering breaking someone’s neck with her bare hands. Right now, none of the usually dignified, patrician Vulcans appeared particularly ready for–or deserving of–interstellar goodwill, even though they had achieved domestic political unity centuries ago.

And on that score, what arewe compared tothem? Archer thought, dispirited. Earth’s political unity was only around fifteen years old, dating from the time that Earth’s last holdout, the Independent Republic of Australia, grudgingly and belatedly followed the rest of the planet’s nation‑states in joining Earth’s global federated government.

“Let’s just hope that the Coridanites eventually decide that cooperation means strength and not weakness,” Reed said. “Maybe then they’ll finally join us. If they don’t get co‑opted in the meantime by the Klingons, or the Romulans.”

Reed’s last comment sent a slow shiver down Archer’s spine. He hated to think about it, but he knew that Coridan’s conquest by either the Klingons or the Romulans–who would end up controlling what still had to be the largest known dilithium reserves in several sectors of space–would mean certain disaster for every planet represented here today, including Earth. And the effect of that disaster would be multiplied by orders of magnitude should the representatives of the remaining worlds of the still‑unformed Coalition of Planets–which now seemed to be fracturing before his eyes like an over‑stressed dilithium crystal–were to succumb to the fear engendered by Coridan’s abrupt withdrawal by failing to sign the official Coalition Compact document.

And that signing was scheduled for a mere two days from today. If this thing falls apart now, the Klingons and the Romulans will find usall pretty easy pickings,Archer thought.

He realized then that Phlox had been absolutely right. He couldn’t simply stand by and watch this happen. He had to do something,regardless of what he thought of his own diplomatic skills. Even if he were to fall flat on his face, no one could possibly be any worse off for his efforts.

Archer turned to face his crew. “Wait here,” he said, raising his voice so he could be heard above the shouts reverberating across the chamber and beyond.

Then he turned again and strode purposefully down the stairs and straight into the center of the bedlam that reigned below.

Nathan Samuels was happy about only one thing: that he wasn’t carrying a phase pistol at the moment. With the Coalition literally falling apart before his very eyes, he was certain that he wouldn’t have hesitated to use the weapon on himself, and at its most lethal setting.

Once again, he vainly banged his gavel on his lectern. But no one was listening, or could even hear above the tumult.

Then he heard a high‑pitched whistle that pierced the wall of noise, startling every raised voice in the room into silence. The Vulcans, whose hearing was no doubt more acute than that of anyone else present, all appeared to be in some real physical pain as a result of the sound.

Samuels was only slightly surprised to note that it was an extremely grim and resolute‑looking Jonathan Archer who had stepped into the wide breach that his whistle had torn in the curtain of dismay and raised voices.

“The chair recognizes Captain Jonathan Archer,” Samuels said with a slowly spreading smile. He hadn’t forgotten the words of encouragement Archer had delivered the last time the Coalition of Planets’ debating practices had nearly become lethally contentious, in the wake of John Frederick Paxton’s recent acts of terrorism.

Archer took several more steps into the chamber, stopping when he reached the center, around which were arranged the long, semicircular tables occupied by the delegates.

“Thank you, Minister,” he said, nodding respectfully toward Samuels before returning his steely gaze to the assembled delegates, who had nigh miraculously remained quiet but for a few murmurs. Everyone present evidently had respect for this man–even the argumentative Tellarites, apparently–and seemed genuinely curious about what he intended to say.

“In spite of what’s happened here today, I still believe this Coalition is going to work,” Archer said, addressing the room in a strong, resounding voice.

Respect or no, the senior Tellarite delegate Gral rose to his feet, clearly unable to contain his reaction. “Hah! How can you be so certain of that, human?”

Archer displayed his even, white teeth. Following Tellarite etiquette to the letter, he said, “Because, Ambassador Gral, not even one so socially maladapted as yourself is stupid enough to allow this Coalition to fail.”

The Vulcans raised surprised eyebrows while Minister Haroun al‑Rashid grinned and Ambassador Thoris glowered. Gral folded his arms before him and nodded, but hurled no invective in the captain’s direction. Samuels breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Gral quietly took his seat again, evidently having taken Archer’s Tellarite‑style harangue as amicable, and not ironic or hostile.

“All of you are probably far better equipped than I am to imagine the consequences to all of us should this Coalition fail,” Archer continued. “And nothing illustrates that better than what has just happened on Coridan Prime.”

Archer began pacing slowly across the room’s center, gesturing broadly with his hands as he spoke. “When I first took command of Enterprise,I expected to be surprised by whatever we might find out there. I also expected that we would make some new friends. I knew that we probably wouldn’t be able to avoid making a few new adversaries as well. So far, we’ve encountered more than our share of the latter. The Suliban. The Klingons. The Tandarans. The Xindi.

“Now we face the Romulans, who have already done more damage than all of the others combined. And we don’t even know what they looklike yet. Like the Klingons, they can bring each of our worlds to its knees if they manage to prevent us from trading with the Coridanites for what’s left of their energy reserves. Of course, that trade will be damned tough to manage without the common purpose of a broad interstellar alliance.

“And what happens next, with no Coalition for any of us to lean on? I’ll tell you what.” Archer pointed toward Gral as he continued to pace. “You Tellarites will start squabbling again with the Coridanites over trade issues, and that’ll mean war. It won’t be long before the Andorians get dragged into it.” He glowered at Thoris, then faced Soval and T’Pau with a very hard stare. “Maybe the Vulcans will have to send ships and troops at that point, too, since the Andorians have been your main competitors for dilithium for a long time, and since neither of you has ever had much reason to trust the other.”

Still pacing, Archer turned to face both Samuels and al‑Rashid, the latter having taken a seat near the chairman’s podium at one of the curved tables. “Earth will probably get swept into it by then, too.”

Archer paused as he made his way back to the exact geographical center of the room, from which he addressed everyone present. Samuels heard not a murmur from any of the delegates nor from their aides. The captain commanded everyone’s full attention in a way that Samuels couldn’t help but envy.

“But I don’t think you need any of this explained to you by an explorer–or by the soldier I’ll be forced to become if you lose your nerve and make the wrong decision here today. All of you know there’s only one way the Romulans can succeed. Each one of our worlds has had to learn the painful lesson that united we stand, divided we fall. Let us all stand together.” Archer walked back toward the spiral stairs at the chamber’s edge.

Gral slowly rose again from his seat and began applauding, establishing a slow, steady rhythm that echoed across the chamber. The echo intensified, and it took Samuels a moment to realize that Soval and T’Pau had joined him, followed by al‑Rashid and Thoris, a few moments later. Samuels himself added to the rising wall of noise, a sense of relief flooding him as he realized that the cause might not be entirely lost after all.

Samuels banged his gavel on his lectern and declared a brief recess.

“How do you dothat, sir?” Travis asked as he prepped Shuttlepod One for launch from the landing pad on the council building’s roof.

“I was just thinking the very same thing,” said Malcolm, who had just finished strapping into one of the seats positioned slightly aft of the cockpit, near those occupied by Hoshi and Phlox. “I have to assume that the Academy offers special command‑track speech courses.”

Archer grinned over his shoulder at Malcolm from the copilot’s seat beside Travis. “What exactly are you talking about, Malcolm?”

“I’m referring to that rousing little gem of extemporaneous persuasive oratory you just delivered to the delegates, sir,” Malcolm said, returning Archer’s grin.

“You don’t need to push so hard to get that promotion, Malcolm,” Archer said in a bantering tone. “What’s important is that everybody has agreed to go ahead and sign the Coalition Compact on Wednesday, just as originally scheduled.”

Everybody except the Coridanites, that is,Archer thought sadly, though he still hoped that Coridan’s chancellor would reconsider her decision sooner or later; Kalev would have to realize at some point that the Romulan Star Empire probably wasn’t finished taking shots at her homeworld.

“I’m sure T’Pol is going to be sorry she missed your speech when we get back aboard Enterpriseand tell her all about it,” Malcolm said.

Archer snorted dismissively. “You know how much T’Pol hates listening to speeches. She’s probably thanking her lucky stars that she drew bridge duty instead. Besides, all I did was say what I’m sure Samuels and al‑Rashid were both already thinking. If I hadn’t said it then, one or the other of them probably would have eventually.”

“You needn’t be so coy, sir,” said Malcolm, his words dripping with a degree of admiration that went way past Archer’s threshold of tolerance. “You were bloody brilliant.”

Archer tried to summon a stern frown, but found that it wouldn’t quite fit over his smile. “All right, Malcolm. Belay that, or you can forget about promotions altogether. One more word of hero‑worship and I might even consider busting you down to bilge cleaner.”

“If you ask me, the delegates were way overdue to have somebody read them the riot act,” Hoshi said. “None of the Coalition worlds can afford to have them squabbling. Not with the Romulans on the move.”

Archer nodded silently in Hoshi’s direction. They know they’d better hang together. Unless they want to hang separately.

“What aboutthe Romulans, Captain?” Travis said as he brought the antigrav thrusters on line and gently raised the shuttlepod into the cloud‑scudded, late‑afternoon sky. A heavy fog appeared to be rolling in from the bay.

Archer wasn’t quite sure what to make of the question. “They’re still out there, Travis. And if we’re not extremely careful, they’ll be heresooner or later.”

“That’s exactly my point, sir. All the delegates are well aware of what the Romulans did to Coridan Prime–so why haven’t they discussed making a formal declaration of war against the Romulans?”

Archer sighed wearily. During the short recess in the proceedings just before he had returned to the shuttlepod with his officers, he had privately posed that very question directly to Prime Minister Samuels.

“They can’t,” Archer said, shaking his head in frustration. “Their hands are tied by the language of the Coalition Compact itself.”

“But I thought the Compact contained a clause that says an attack against oneCoalition member is the same as an attack against allthe Coalition members,” Malcolm said in unconcealed bemusement. “Just like the old NATO agreements from a couple of hundred years ago.”

“The Compact doessay that, Malcolm,” Archer said. “But Coridan won’t be signing the Compact on Wednesday, remember? They’ve dropped out. Therefore, the Coalition Council won’t be able to invoke that clause on their behalf.”

“There must be somethingthey can do, Captain,” Travis said, sounding as frustrated as Archer felt. “After all, we all know that the Romulans represent a clear threat.”

“Knowing something and proving it aren’t quite the same thing, Travis,” Archer said as he stared through the front windows, beyond which the cobalt sky had already given way to a deep purple, which in turn was quickly yielding to the blackness of space. “As far as we can tell, the projectile ship that wiped out half of Coridan didn’t leave a trace of itself behind. And even if it did, the Coridanites aren’t likely to let us turn what’s left of their home planet upside down searching for it. Besides, several parties other than the Romulans are claiming ‘credit’ for what happened on Coridan. And the Romulans themselves, of course, aren’t talking.”

A bright pinpoint of light hung over the Earth’s nightward terminator. Archer watched as it grew swiftly in brightness until it became recognizable as something far closer to Earth than any of the distant, fixed stars behind it. Its familiar saucer‑and‑twin‑nacelle shape continued growing steadily in the window.

Enterprise.Home.

While Travis continued making his characteristically graceful approach to the ship, Hoshi spoke in incredulous tones. “So without hard evidence that the Romulans were actually behind the Coridan Prime attack…”

Archer completed the thought for her, though he realized that everyone present had probably already done the geopolitical math. “The Coalition Council would be debating a preemptivewar declaration.”

Preemptive war, of course, was strictly forbidden by the Compact. Given the terrible consequences such wars had wrought upon Earth during the previous century–particularly during the Eugenics Wars–Archer saw this prohibition as a wise policy, at least in the abstract. He disagreed vehemently, however, with its present application to the Romulans, whose responsibility for the Coridan attack was really beyond doubt, at least so far as Archer was concerned.

On the one hand, he could certainly understand why the Coalition delegations from both Earth and Vulcan would be loath even to appearto be in violation of the charter before its ink was dry. On the other, he hoped he could count on the Andorians and the Tellarites to have the great good sense to stand on ceremony less than the rest of the Coalition would.

Like Section 31?Archer asked himself, not liking the answer in the least. But he had to face the sad truth of the matter, which was that another Coridan‑like disaster might strike anywhere within the Coalition, and at any time. Perhaps even right here on Earth, whose wounds from the horrendous Xindi attack of not quite two years earlier still had yet to fully heal.

As Mayweather adroitly maneuvered Shuttlepod One back into its launch bay, Archer thought, If the Romulans ever hit Earth as hard as they did Coridan, at least we’ll have the support of the other Coalition worlds.

Forty‑Eight

Tuesday, March 4, 2155

San Francisco

DRAWING THE HOOD of his dark traveler’s robe up so that it covered most of his head, Charles Tucker rounded the damp and deserted street corner, hugging the shadows of two of Grant Avenue’s most venerable brick buildings as he entered an even darker alley. Since this particular crevice between ancient pre‑Third World War structures was located just off Greenwich Street, Trip had expected to catch at least a glimpse of historic Coit Tower looming overhead; however, the evening fog’s omnipresence and the Moon’s utter absence conspired to render the familiar landmark effectively invisible.

A perfect night for a spy to be out and about,Trip thought, suppressing an absurd urge to giggle.

The all but impenetrable gloom all around made Trip distinctly uncomfortable, to say nothing of the ripe‑garbage smell that must have originated inside one of the local restaurants’ large, back‑alley trash bins. He smiled as he reminded himself that he had survived encounters with any number of far more dangerous things, particularly over the course of the past couple of weeks. Still, he couldn’t avoid considering how ironic it would be if he were to get killed by a street criminal–or maybe even by some nut‑job Terra Prime‑loyal Vulcan basher–in some dark and stinking alley on his own home planet, fresh from having survived a harrowing sojourn deep inside Romulan territory.

“Good evening, Commander,” intoned a quiet, even voice shrouded in darkness. The voice, which sounded uncomfortably close, made Trip jump involuntarily, though he recognized it immediately.

“Let’s meet in your office next time,” Trip said. “I’m not a big fan of these film noir locations. I want a bigger ship. And a pony.”

Harris stepped closer, chuckling as Trip finally glimpsed his silhouette. The other man’s unassuming shape seemed to devour whatever scant illumination was present; Trip decided this was because he was clad in the same dark, leatherlike garment he’d been wearing the last time they had communicated. According to Malcolm, it was almost a required uniform for bureau insiders.

“Sorry to have startled you, Commander,” Harris said.

Trip shook his head. “Nothing much really startles me these days.”

“I suppose not.” Harris chuckled again. “I’m eager to read your report. Coridan notwithstanding, I trust congratulations are in order for a job well done?”

“You tell me, Harris,” Trip said as he handed Harris a small cylindrical object. “For starters, here’s the data rod Phuong was carrying.”

Trip’s eyes had adjusted well enough to the darkness to see the wariness taking shape on Harris’s face. “ Wascarrying?” the spymaster said.

“When the Romulans killed him,” Trip said, nodding. “I’m sorry to have to bring you such bad news.”

“I trust you also have some better news, Commander. Please tell me you made Phuong’s sacrifice mean something.” The wariness in Harris’s expression had given way to unmistakable grief, making Trip regret having broken the news of Phuong’s death so bluntly.

Trip felt that grief quite keenly as well, having come to regard Phuong as a comrade‑in‑arms–and now one that had fallen in a battle that he, Trip, had survived, at no small cost in terms of self‑recrimination. Trip supposed he would never stop asking himself if he could have done more to save Phuong.

“I owe him at least that much,” Trip said at length. “I have good reason to believe that the Romulans won’t succeed in perfecting Doctor Ehrehin’s warp‑seven drive anytime soon. Here are the details.” He handed Harris a second data rod.

“Were you able to bring Ehrehin to Earth?” Harris wanted to know. “Or did you have to kill him?”

Trip shook his head. “Neither.”

Harris’s scowl pierced the darkness. “Then how can you have ‘good reason’ to believe anything,Commander?”

Trip responded with a wry smile. “I guess you had to have been there, Harris. You see, we discovered a huge gap in our intelligence about the Romulans. Starting with this.” He lowered the hood of his robe, turning his head so that Harris could get a good look at his elegantly pointed ears and gracefully upswept eyebrows.

Harris gasped, though he was clearly trying to contain his astonishment. “My God. The Adigeon surgeons made you look like a Vulcan.”

Trip nodded. “But only because Romulans and Vulcans are ‘kissing cousins,’ so to speak. I know, it surprised hell out of me and Phuong, too. Of course, we’re going to have to keep this under our hats.”

“Of course, Commander. This will have to become one of the bureau’s most closely guarded secrets. If this were to become public knowledge, it would probably shred the Coalition Compact.” Harris paused, sighing, evidently still reeling from what he’d just learned. Then he fixed Trip with a hard gaze, like a pair of searchlights lancing through the gloom. “We are both going to have to work harder than ever to manage the Romulan problem now.”

“ We,” Trip thought. As if my staying on this Romulan thing has already been decided.

Trip found it impossible to avoid making an accusation. “You never expected my ‘death’ to be temporary, did you, Harris?”

The spymaster paused, sighed again, then answered with surprising candor. “No, Commander, you’re wrong. I expected your demise to be entirelytemporary–unless, of course, you had gotten yourself killed by the Romulans, which you have to admit wasn’t all that unlikely a prospect, especially on one’s first covert assignment. What I didn’texpect was that, of the two of you, Tinh Hoc Phuong would be the one to die.”

To hell with this,Trip thought, and very nearly began walking away. “Thanks for that ringing vote of confidence in my abilities, Harris.”