Текст книги "The Good That Men Do"
Автор книги: Andy Mangels
Соавторы: Michael Martin
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“If we’re late for the ceremony, it will have farreaching consequences,” she said finally, clearly not content to leave the matter of the Aenar mass kidnapping alone until Archer had resolved it one way or the other.
Archer frowned, annoyed to be reminded yet again of the impending diplomatic event on Earth. “If Shran hadn’t helped us, I never would’ve gotten aboard the Xindi weapon. Have you forgotten that? This alliance is based on friendship and loyalty–exactly what Shran is looking for right now.”
After a beat of silence, she said, very quietly, “I don’t trust him.”
“You don’t trust Andorians,” he said, his annoyance escalating another notch. “The Vulcan Council is a little more enlightened. If they’rewilling to forge an alliance with Andoria, the least youcan do is give Shran the benefit of the doubt.”
Though her Vulcan poise seemed to remain in place, Archer sensed that she was shrinking from his words, rebuked. He tried to soften his tone somewhat as he continued, “When we met four years ago, I didn’t trust you. For that matter, I didn’t trust anyVulcans. You helped me get past that, remember?” He paused, struggling for the words that would best explain the decision he’d just made. “I can’t turn my back on him, T’Pol. Try to understand.”
“I’ll try,” she said.
Porthos chose that moment to leap up onto the bed and into Archer’s lap with an enthusiastic woof.The captain tossed the water‑polo ball aside and gave the beagle an affectionate scratch between the ears. T’Pol quietly edged away from Porthos, though she seemed to be making a concerted effort to be discreet about showing her persistent aversion to the dog.
Setting Porthos aside, Archer rose from the bed and crossed to the room’s small refrigeration unit, from which he extracted several small morsels of sharp cheddar cheese. He tossed them to Porthos, one at a time, and each piece vanished before hitting the deck, like skeet being launched and vaporized on a MACO phase‑rifle range. Porthos sat up, his tail thumping against the deck in gratitude, his dark eyes regarding Archer expectantly.
“That’s all for today. Phlox says you need to watch your serum cholesterol.”
The beagle half growled and half whined in disappointment as Archer walked to the wall‑mounted com unit beside which T’Pol was standing. He pushed the large button in the panel’s center.
“Archer to Lieutenant O’Neill.”
“O’Neill here, sir,”came the third watch commander’s crisp reply.
Archer’s eyes locked with T’Pol’s.
“Change our heading, Lieutenant. We’re going into Andorian space. Best speed.”
“Sir?”
“I want to follow the trail of that Orion slave ship. Ensign Sato will inform Shran and Theras. Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed will coordinate our efforts with theirs. Shran will provide us with the vessel’s warp‑signature profile for our sensor scans.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Archer out.” He pressed the button again, closing the channel, then headed for the door.
“Captain,” T’Pol said.
He turned to face her, pausing in the open doorway. “Yes?”
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Always.” He stepped back toward her.
“I can’t help but wonder whether you had already made your mind up to help Shran before you contacted Admiral Gardner.”
Archer allowed himself an enigmatic smile. “I can see how it might look that way.”
“Indeed. Especially given the fact that you never came right out and asked the admiral for his permission to investigate the mass Aenar kidnapping.”
“I suppose you also noticed that Gardner never exactly ordered me notto go after the slavers. All he said was that he couldn’t order me to do it.”
She raised an eyebrow and a look rather like a smirk twisted her lips. “I will remember to mention that when I appear as a character witness at your court‑martial.”
Archer couldn’t have been more stunned had she drawn a phase pistol on him and fired. “That’s remarkable, T’Pol. Did you…did you just make a joke?”
“For your sake, sir, I certainly hope so.”
Was that another one?he thought as he opened his door again. He let his enigmatic smile glide right into a mischievous grin as he walked back into the doorway.
“Sometimes,” he said over his shoulder as T’Pol followed him, “it’s a lot easier to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission.”
As he entered the corridor and headed toward the central turbolift that led to the bridge, he wryly considered one day proposing that aphorism as a new Starfleet regulation.
Ten
Monday, February 10, 2155
Enterprise NX‑01
MALCOLM REED WATCHED as Tucker raised the shot glass toward the broad crew mess hall window as though toasting the still mostly unexplored interstellar wilderness that lay beyond it. He drained it in a single swallow, appearing to relish the way it burned as it went down. He set the empty glass onto the tabletop with a resounding thwackbeside the bottle of Skagaran Lone Star tequila.
“I think that stuff might do a better job of scrubbing your plasma conduits than whatever it is you’re using now, Trip,” Reed said. Besides Commander Tucker, Reed thought he might well be the only other off‑duty soul still awake at this ungodly hour. Malcolm had also ceased filling his own shot glass perhaps ten minutes earlier, leaving it upended before him in a silent gesture of surrender.
“I think maybe I’ll pass your suggestion along to Lieutenant Burch,” Trip said, making a sour face as he pushed both the bottle and his own glass closer to the center of the tabletop. “Besides, a hangover probably won’t make me any more persuasive to Admiral Gardner, or anybody else in Starfleet Command. Hell, T’Pol didn’t want to hear me out even when I was sober.”
Reed thought Trip’s decision to forgo the remaining tequila was a wise one. But he also knew that the decisions that lay ahead would require a good deal more than just wisdom.
“For whatever it’s worth, Trip, I think your analysis of the Aenar kidnapping is spot on, T’Pol notwithstanding. Are you going to keep trying to persuade the brass that the Romulans are the ones behind it?”
“What choice do I have?” Trip said, sounding almost belligerent. “You’ve done the math the same way I have, Malcolm. What the hell would youdo in my place?”
Reed held up a placating hand. “I’m on your side, Trip. Remember?”
Trip slumped back into his chair and released a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Malcolm. I know you are. It’s just that we’ve shown Gardner that the Romulans pose what could be the biggest threat that Earth or any of our new allies have ever faced–and he just doesn’t want to hear it because it’s inconvenientfor him.”
Reed completely agreed with the commander’s assessment, and he shared his friend’s frustration, if not his present level of inebriation. “Do you suppose there’s any chance of changing his mind?”
“Not very damned likely. The captain says the only thing that’s likely to persuade Gardner is the kind of evidence that swoops in from space and blows up whole cities.”
Reed nodded quietly. “What about contacting other admirals in Starfleet Command? Like maybe Douglas or Black? Or even Clark or Palmieri?”
“You mean make an end run around Gardner?” Trip didn’t sound very happy at that prospect either. “Well, I suppose career suicide is oneoption, Malcolm. Maybe it’ll turn out to be the onlyone.” He leaned forward morosely and very deliberately grabbed both the bottle and his shot glass, dragging them toward him across the beads of alcohol he had left on the otherwise spotless tabletop.
Gardner is a blind man,Reed thought as he watched his friend pour himself another drink. Thank goodness Captain Archer is at least conducting a low‑profile investigation. But what if next time it’s someone who isn’t willing to buck the system? It looks like other players will have to become involved in this game if Starfleet Command is going to wake up in time.
Reed decided the time had come to play what might turn out to be Earth’s hole card. Speaking quietly, he said, “Before you seriously contemplate charging into Starfleet Headquarters and wrecking your career, I think you’d be wise to call somebody else I know.”
Trip paused in mid‑swallow, setting his drink down half intact. “Who?”
Reed spared a moment to glance around the dimly lit mess hall, confirming again that no one else was present. When he turned his gaze back upon Trip, he spoke in a voice that was scarcely louder than a whisper.
“Someone who’ll probably listen to your warnings very attentively. And might even be able to act on them.”
Even though itis somebody I swore I’d never deal with again if I could help it,Reed thought. But desperate times need desperate deeds.
Trip pushed both the bottle and his half‑consumed drink away again. “I’m listening, Malcolm.”
Reed nodded, drew a deep breath, settled back into his chair, and told him.
And hoped all the while that he hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of his entire life.
Taking a seat behind the desk in his quarters, Trip looked blearily up at the wall chronometer over the door to his quarters. His shift was to start in just under three hours.
He adjusted the angle of the data terminal before him so that he faced it directly, activated it, and inserted the data card Malcolm had given him. Time stretched for several seconds as the black screen briefly turned sky blue while the ship’s com system followed the data card’s protocols for establishing a secure connection with the particular subspace frequency the tactical officer had provided.
A dark‑haired, middle‑aged man appeared on the screen, apparently seated in a perfectly ordinary office. Trip could see the man clearly only from the chest up, noting that he wore a tailored deep brown jacket made of a leatherlike fabric. The man appeared far too rested to be completely believable, prompting Trip to wonder which Earth time zone the other man called home.
The face on the screen displayed a look of mildly surprised recognition upon seeing Trip’s face. “Commander Tucker.”
Trip nodded. “Harris, I presume?”
“The very same, Commander. What can I do for you? And why areyou contacting me?”
“As opposed to Malcolm, you mean.”
“Lieutenant Reed and I have had a long relationship. Since you’re on this frequency, I’m assuming he’s taken you into his confidence about me.”
“According to Malcolm, that ‘relationship’ is strictly past tense, Harris.”
Harris’s lips curved upward slightly in an ironic smile. “I’ve heard that from him on more than one occasion. It’s become quite a familiar refrain by now.”Then his dark eyes narrowed and focused on Trip as though he could see him directly, without the intermediary of a subspace transceiver. “But I’m sure you aren’t contacting me in the middle of your ship’s night just to talk about the past. In fact, I happen to know that you’re a great deal more concerned about the future.”
“Concerned” is a nice understatement,Trip thought. Aloud, he said, “It’s about the Romulans.”
Harris’s expression turned grave as Trip struggled to organize his thoughts. “Go on, Commander.”
Here goes,Trip thought, taking a deep breath. “Earth and all the other Coalition planets are in serious danger. The Romulans are planning to move against us in a big way. And soon.”
Harris displayed a degree of emotional control that T’Pol probably would have admired. “Do your colleagues aboardEnterprise concur with your opinion?”
“Malcolm is with me on this. And so’s Captain Archer.”
“But not Starfleet Command, I gather.”
“You must have been eavesdropping on us, Harris.”
Harris smiled benignly. “You’re quite the flatterer, Commander. But it isn’t all that hard to guess that the brass hats might not want to look too closely at any inconvenient truths for the next few weeks. At least not until the Coalition Compact is finalized and signed. I’m sure Admiral Gardner doesn’t want to be responsible for spooking the various Coalition delegations.”
“That’s my take on things, too,” Trip said, nodding. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Harris had never explicitly denied his charge of eavesdropping–and the idea was making all the small hairs on the back of his neck slowly rise to attention even as he continued speaking. “Are you aware of the mass kidnapping of Aenar telepaths from Andoria last week?”
“We are, Commander. And we clearly see a Romulan hand in that action, even though they tried very hard to cover their tracks by going through intermediaries. We have no doubt that the Romulans plan to use those telepaths to revive their telepresence drone warship program, and on a considerable scale.
“But that isn’t the end of it. Our intelligence sources show strong indications that the Romulans are on the verge of perfecting a new generation of starships, vessels capable of reaching speeds of at least warp seven.”
Trip couldn’t keep his jaw from falling open. “Warp seven,” he said quietly. Five years after the launch of Enterprise, Earth was still working the remaining kinks out of Henry Archer’s warp fiveengine. “That puts them even with the Coridan shipyards.”
Harris nodded. “Even Coridan will be hard‑pressed to counter a Romulan invasion of Coalition territory, which we believe is coming soon.”
“A warp‑seven drive would use one hell of a lot of power,” Trip said, running power‑curve calculations in his head.
“Agreed. And that means that the Romulans will need to get their hands on huge quantities of dilithium–which the Coridan system planets have in far greater abundance thanany of the other Coalition worlds do.”
“So Coridan must be the Romulans’ first target,” Trip said, swallowing hard. “For lots of reasons.”
“Once the Romulans annex the most productive dilithium mines in known space, the Coalition wouldn’t stand a chance of resisting strikes from a Coridan beach‑head. Tellar, Andoria, even Vulcan would fall like dominoes following a long war of attrition, bolstered by Coridan’s captured resources and the Romulan expansion ethic.”
“And then Earth.” Trip’s voice was pitched barely above a whisper.
“It certainly isn’t a pretty picture, Commander.”
Trip gripped the sides of his desk tightly. His head was spinning, and only in part because of all the tequila he’d just consumed with Malcolm.
“How do you know all this, Harris?”
When Harris responded, his tone remained patient, almost like that of a college professor conducting an introductory lecture. Or perhaps, Trip thought, like a very slick salesman.
“As Lieutenant Reed has no doubt already told you, Commander, I am part of an organization that has access to numerous intelligence networks and other resources, including some not immediately available either to Starfleet or most of the other agencies of United Earth’s government.”
“And is that who you represent? Earth’s government?”
“I suppose the answer to that question depends upon whom you ask. Let’s just say we represent Earth’s long‑term interests.”
Harris’s words weren’t doing anything to allay Trip’s nagging suspicions. “That sounds to me pretty much like what John Frederick Paxton said about Terra Prime.”
“Hardly,”Harris said with a gentle chuckle. “Paxton is a xenophobe and a terrorist. And he’s exactly where he belongs right now–in prison. He saw Earth’s contact with other sentient races as something to be feared, and therefore curtailed.We see that contact as inevitable and beneficial–but we’re not so naive as to believe there won’t be dangers that have to be managed very carefully along the way.
“My group is part of Starfleet, Commander, and it’s keeping an extremely watchful eye on what’s left of Paxton’s network, to prevent terrorist acts like those committed by Terra Prime from ever happening here again. But we’re keeping even closer tabs on Earth’s many potential interstellar adversaries. Most notably the Romulan Star Empire.”
They’re part of Starfleet,Trip thought, still having a little difficulty digesting the concept, even though Malcolm had already told him as much in the crew mess.
“You say you’re an arm of Starfleet, Harris,” he finally said aloud. “But you seem to be operating independently of Starfleet’s direct control. How is it you can get away with that?”
“You seem to be implying that there’s somethingillicit about my group’s activities, Commander.”
Trip shrugged, and restrained himself from commenting on the trouble Harris’s clandestine organization had caused Malcolm a few months back. Malcolm’s activities on Harris’s behalf had very nearly gotten him court‑martialed.
“I’m just saying it’s damned irregular,” Trip said.
“Perhaps. But it’s also authorized by Starfleet’s own charter.”
“Come again?”
“I refer you to Article Fourteen, Section Thirty‑one. You’ll find that it establishes an autonomous investigative agency that holds nonspecific discretionary power over certain security‑related matters. I’d say that incipient aggression by the Romulans certainly qualifies as one of those matters.”
Trip was still digesting the surprising revelation that Harris’s spy bureau might have been hidden right out in plain sight, buried in the text of Starfleet’s own founding document, when Harris’s last remark finally registered.
“So…are you saying you can help me do something about the Romulans?”
Harris put on an ingratiating smile that almost convinced Trip there was some real warmth behind it. “I am, Commander. Our best analysts have already confirmed that the Romulans present a clear and present danger to Earth and her Coalition allies. We’re already conducting operations intended to throw a monkey wrench into the Romulans’ warp‑seven drive program, while also trying to learn as much about it as possible.”
“It’d be nice to use the Romulans’ own research to jump‑start a Starfleet version of the same thing,” Trip said, nodding. He wondered just how much warp‑seven technology Starfleet already had on the drawing board, and hoped it wasn’t as sketchy as he feared it was.
“Exactly, Commander. In fact, I was just about to approach Lieutenant Reed again regarding this very matter. Things are going to begin happening very quickly, and very soon.”
“I wouldn’t bother calling Malcolm again if I were you. He’s still not very keen on working with you folks.”
“So you’ve both already said. Regardless, we were also planning to contactyou as well. I must thank you for saving me the trouble.”
Trip blinked in surprise. “Why contact me?”
“Because your skills could prove invaluable to us, Commander. We need engineers capable of neutralizing the Romulans’ plansdirectly. People like you who already have a hands‑on grasp of the inner workings of Romulan technology. I read your reports on the Romulans’ cloaked mine field, their flirtation with stealth ships, and their remote‑control drone‑ship experiments. Very impressive work. It helped convince me that you are anideal candidate for field work.”
Trip immediately felt flattered, then reminded himself of Malcolm’s repeated warnings that Harris was a master manipulator. “Thanks. But those reports must have been evaluated by better engineering minds than mine. Besides that stuff, what makes you think I’myour man?”
“Whether you realize it or not, you arealready a citizen of the coming galactic confederation. You are a human being ahead of his time, Mister Tucker. You have demonstrated an ability to empathize with and understand the minds of aliens, like the Tellarites and the Andorians.”
“Wow. Malcolm warned me that you lay it on a little thick sometimes to get what you want.”
Harris’s brow furrowed. “I’m not speaking about your gifts hyperbolically, Commander. People skills are just as important to a field agent’s success as engineering talent. Perhaps evenmore important. Case in point: You may be the first human ever to have a serious romantic relationship with a Vulcan.”
“In case you missed it, that relationship crashed and cratered.” Whatever might lay ahead between him, Harris, and the Romulans, Trip hoped for a smoother trajectory than the one he had shared with T’Pol.
“Allthat proves is that there are no guarantees in this life.”Harris paused to close his eyes and rub the bridge of his nose with a steepled pair of index fingers. “Frankly, I’m a little surprised at your ambivalence about us, Commander. Need I remind you that no one outside of yourEnterprise colleagues other thanus has been willing to listen to your warnings about the Romulans? We, on the other hand, will not only listen, we’ll also provide you with whatever resources, cover, and contacts you’ll need while working covertly in the ‘off‑channel’ sector. With our resources at your disposal, you will finally have a real opportunity to protect Earth and her allies.”
Trip sat in silence for a lengthy time, evaluating Harris’s words as the other man continued studying him from across the light‑years. While he thought Harris’s praise of his alleged exodiplomatic skills was highly overblown, he knew he couldn’t remain on the sidelines while Starfleet continued to do nothing, Malcolm’s warnings about Harris notwithstanding.
He’s not the devil,Trip told himself. If he were, then why would Malcolm have suggested I talk to him?
“All right. I’m in,” Trip said at length. “At least until we get done neutering this Romulan invasion.
“Just tell me what I have to do.”
Eleven
Monday, February 10, 2155
Enterprise NX‑01
JONATHAN ARCHER SIPPED COFFEE from a tall metal mug as he shuffled down an E‑deck corridor toward the captain’s mess. He wasn’t a stranger to exhaustion–it often seemed to be a prerequisite for a captain–but last night he’d gotten even less sleep than usual. Something wasn’t sitting right with what was going on with the ship, andwith Shran. He suspected that getting Shran off the ship might help him sleep better for a night or two, but the consequences of that action might be problematic for the crew at a later date. And not just because of the suspicions shared by Shran, Trip, and himself about the purpose and destination the Orions intended for their Aenar captives.
He rounded a corner and was surprised to see Trip waiting for him outside the captain’s mess. The commander looked haunted; not a huge step down from his demeanor ever since the Terra Prime incident and the death of his daughter, but he definitely looked wearier than he had when he’d gone off‑shift yesterday.
“I need to talk with you, Captain,” Trip said, his voice plaintive.
“Sure, Trip,” Archer said, patting his old friend on the shoulder. “Come on in. Have you had breakfast yet? I can have Chef whip something up for you.”
Trip took the first seat at the round metallic table, opposite the viewport. “No, thanks, Captain. I’m not really very hungry right now.”
Archer seated himself at his regular spot, glad to see a covered dish already waiting for him. “Suit yourself,” Archer said, lifting the cover. Chef had prepared eggs Florentine and crкpes today, along with three wedges of the multigrain toast that Archer preferred.
Unfolding his napkin, Archer asked, “Now then, what can I do for you?”
“I want to get this all out before you say anything, Captain,” Trip said, splaying his hands across the table in front of him. “It’s going to be difficult enough to get through this without interruptions–no offense–and I really want to finish.”
Archer smiled wanly and cut a bite of crкpe with the edge of his fork. “The floor is yours.”
The captain wasn’t quite sure what he expected Trip to say, but several minutes later, when the engineer’s tale seemed to be winding to a close, Archer’s meal had gone cold, and he hadn’t eaten anything past the first bite. He’d expected something related to Trip’s relationship with T’Pol–perhaps a heartache‑heavy request for another transfer–or some news of a discovery about Shran or the Aenar, or even some minor conjectures about the Romulans, but this…
“Are you finished?” Archer asked.
Trip sighed. “More or less. For the moment.”
Archer fixed his chief engineer with a steely gaze. “So they want to send you into Romulan space as a field operative. Okay, it’s a tactic as old as Homer. But even supposing that Harris’s intelligence about the Romulans is correct, along with all our suppositions about how they plan to use the Aenar against us, what real pointis there in having you infiltrate the Romulan Star Empire?”
Trip looked puzzled. “We’ve got to sabotage their war plans somehow.”
“‘Somehow’ is pretty damned vague, Trip.” Archer felt he had to persist with a few admittedly merciless questions before he allowed his old friend to go any further down such a dangerous road. “How exactly could one agent in disguise stop any attack against Coridan Prime? I’m pretty sure you never took a course in conversational Romulan.”
“Maybe I should ask Harris to consider asking Hoshi to go instead,” Trip said wryly.
Archer raised a placating hand. “I’m not trying to shoot you down, Trip. But there’s a lot to consider here. For one thing, no Coalition ship is likely to be within range of the most powerful transmitter you could carry while you’re in Romulan space.”
Trip nodded. “I admit, I may have to improvise. Commandeer some of their equipment. Live off the land a bit.”
“More than a bit, Trip. And have you really considered the danger? The Romulans can probably detect and destroy any ship you bring into their space fairly easily. And I assume they’re security‑minded enough to make it pretty difficult for you to ‘live off the land.’ I’m pretty sure you won’t be able to just pop in and out of Romulan space at will, or smuggle secret communiquйs to us when you can’t raise us over the subspace bands. So what’s the real advantage, given all the downside? And how are you even going to doit?”
“Harris plans on putting me under deep cover. From the sound of it, it’ll involve some surgical alterations, to make me look like a Romulan.”
That raised another point that Archer hadn’t even considered. “Do they knowwhat the Romulans look like?”
Trip shrugged. “Harris says they don’t. But they have connections with people who do. People who supposedly can make me look enough like one of them to pass.”
“Well, at least we know they’re humanoid,” Archer said, half under his breath. He’d often wondered how a race that was so feared throughout the known galaxy could have remained so secretive. But as he had learned over the four years he’d commanded Enterprise, every race–every society–had its secrets, at least to some degree. Like the Coridanites, who for some reason had never allowed outworlders to see the unmasked faces of their diplomats, and guarded their high‑warp technological secrets jealously, even from their interstellar allies and trading partners.
“I’ll be working alongside one of their most experienced operatives.” Trip said. “Our job will be to infiltrate their new stardrive project and sabotage it. They need someone with engineering experience to pull this off. That’s why they can’t use Malcolm.”
“And what about the telepathically piloted drone ships, and the Aenar, and the possible assault on Coridan? You’re going to stop those, too?”
Trip rolled his eyes, and breathed out heavily through his nose. “No, sir. It looks like those jobs will be up to you.”
Archer snorted. “So this secret intelligence group thinks that I’lljust do their bidding as well? We’re not a defensive first‑strike vessel, no matter how many MACOs or new weapons we’ve taken on since the Xindi attack.”
“I really don’t think it has anything to do with what Harris or his group wants, Captain,” Trip said, leaning forward. “You’re already onthe trail of the Orions. If this is all real–which I believe it is, and I think youdo as well–you know that events are going to pull you in. And one way or another, you’re gonna make sure that the Romulans don’t get their way.”
Archer spread his hands wide and looked toward the ceiling, as if appealing to a higher power. A tremendous weight seemed to settle squarely upon his shoulders. “‘Events are going to pull me in.’ Nice way to say either that I’m predictable, or that I’m easily manipulated by outside forces.”
“That’s not what I meant, sir.” Trip sighed and shook his head. “I’m just not saying it quite right.”
Archer rose and walked to the viewport and gazed out at the distorted, warp field‑streaked stars. At times like this, I sure could use a sunrise at breakfast time,he thought. Finally, he turned back toward Trip, who had remained seated, looking up at him with a mixture of trepidation and resolve in his eyes.
“You said it right enough, Trip. I don’t trust this Harris, but I’ve done a little digging, and I know his organization is real, and it issanctioned by Starfleet, even if only the upper brass seems to know anything about it. And the conclusions we’re all reaching on this ship seem to support the idea that the Romulans have got some very deadly schemes in the works right now.”
He rubbed his temple with one hand and reached for his coffee with the other as he took his seat again. Even lukewarm coffee would help him focus now that his head was spinning. A terrible decision faced him now. And though the likely outcome pained him, he knew there was only one choice he could make.
With no small amount of regret, he spoke that choice aloud. “If you feel that the threat is real enough for you to take a leap like this, Trip, I’ll do my best to make it easy for you. I’ll approve an extended leave of absence.” He tried to sound positive, though he wondered whether it was more for himself than for Trip. “An open‑ended leave, so you can return when the mission is over. Although God knows whatyou’ll look like by then, or even if you’ll want to settle for being a chief engineer once you’ve gotten a taste of the spy life.”
“Actually, Captain, I won’t need a leave of absence,” Trip said quietly as Archer took another swallow from his coffee cup. “Because I need to die first.”
Archer quickly put the napkin over his mouth to avoid reflexively spitting out his coffee. Regaining his composure, he coughed and asked, “Come again?”
“There’s every possibility that I could be captured,” Trip said. “But since I’ll be surgically altered, identifying me will be difficult. Especiallyif Charles Anthony Tucker III is dead.”
“Now you’re talking crazy talk,” Archer said, frowning.
