“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 something illicit 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 contact you 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’ plans directly. 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 an ideal 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’m your man?”
“Whether you realize it or not, you are already 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 even more 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.
“All that 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 your Enterprise colleagues other than us 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, and with 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 hims
elf 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 crepes 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 crepe 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 point is 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 communiques 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 do it?”
“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 know what 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’ll just 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 on the trail of the Orions. If this is all real- which I believe it is, and I think you do 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 is sanctioned 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 what you’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. Especially if Charles Anthony Tucker III is dead.”
“Now you’re talking crazy talk,” Archer said, frowning.
“No, think of it as a kind of witness protection plan. If I’m dead, it insulates Enterprise, and Earth- and my family and friends- from any sort of retaliation or repercussion. Politically or otherwise.”
Archer closed his eyes, trying to damp down the mental warning klaxons that were going off inside his head. “So you intend to fake your own death?”
“Just until this assignment is over,” Trip said, his tone earnest. “Or until its repercussions die down.”
“That could be years, Trip,” Archer said, unable to filter the exasperation from his voice. He opened his eyes again, fixing his subordinate with a hard gaze. “If the Romulans are a threat now, and we manage to stop them, what makes you think that threat is simply going to go away in the future? The Romulans aren’t the schoolyard bully who becomes your friend after you give him one hard punch in the nose.”
“I know,” Trip said, his voice low. “But, if the Romulans succeed… it won’t be like the Xindi attack. It will be every world that loses billions of lives. The Coalition will die… I need to do this. I need to be… someone else for a while. Some where else. I need to feel like I’m accomplishing something more than I’m doing here and now.”
Archer knew that Trip hadn’t meant the statement as a slur on his captaincy or on the accomplishments of Enterprise’s crew. But the comment still stung. “You’ve accomplished a lot here, Trip. You can still accomplish a lot here. Hell, I don’t know what I’d do without you half the time, and the other half I’m just glad you’re by my side.”
Trip turned his face away, but said nothing.
The Good That Men Do Page 10
