Star Trek: Enterprise: The Romulan War: Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Star Trek : Enterprise)

by Michael A. Martin

  And she also understood how hard it could be to cleanse Vulcan of V’Las’s lingering influence, given the furtive habits of his loyalists, some of whom still had to be embedded deeply in the intelligence trade.

  “I will presume that you wish to involve yourself in the intrigues you mention in order to assure Administrator T’Pau’s success,” T’Vran said.

  “A corrupted intelligence network is a liability to any government,” Ych’a said.

  “I see,” T’Vran said. It had not escaped her notice that Ych’a had not really answered her question. “Do you have direct evidence of corruption within the V’Shar?”

  Ych’a regarded her in a calculating manner, as though assessing how much she might safely reveal. “I do.”

  T’Vran found the intelligence officer’s answer surprising, both for its content and for its uncharacteristic probity. However, while affronts to logic such as the maladministration of the V’Las regime weren’t unheard-of on Vulcan, it was exceedingly rare for a Vulcan to succumb to simple greed. Ych’a had to be referring to something else entirely.

  “What manner of corruption?” T’Vran asked.

  “Infiltration,” the V’Shar agent said at length.

  “By whom?”

  Ych’a answered in a voice scarcely above a whisper. “The Romulans. Their covert influence may even extend beyond a few agents in the V’Shar, perhaps even reaching the highest echelons of the current government.”

  Although T’Vran had heard rumors that V’Las may have dealt in secret with representatives from the Romulan government, she had never given those stories much credence. The notion that Administrator T’Pau’s hierarchy might have similar flaws was all but unthinkable.

  “You cannot know this with certainty,” she said after a protracted moment.

  “Intelligence is not a science of certainties,” Ych’a said. “Only probabilities. However, I believe I know quite enough to justify being suspicious of anyone who presently works inside the Vulcan power structure.”

  “I assume this has some bearing on the reason you do not wish to return Commander Tucker to his home planet,” T’Vran said, already fairly certain she understood Ych’a’s objective.

  “Indeed,” Ych’a said with a brisk nod. “Commander Tucker could prove invaluable to my ongoing investigations on Vulcan.”

  T’Vran frowned. “How? How much could he possibly know of our world and our culture?”

  “Accumulated knowledge is not always as important as the capacity to learn and adapt quickly. In fact, it is what Commander Tucker lacks that may make him effective. He has no ambitions within Vulcan’s power structure, and he has already managed to survive for several months while working under deep cover in Romulan territory. Therefore he could prove to be uniquely qualified to root out whatever corruption—or Romulan influence—may presently be at work on Vulcan.”

  Although the idea had first struck T’Vran as absurd, she had to admit that it had some merit. In addition, she could easily see an energetic human like Tucker proving valuable to the cause of persuading a reticent Vulcan government to continue carrying out its current covert efforts to defend the Coalition from the Romulans—initiatives, like the Tezel-Oroko listening post that the late Kobayashi Maru would have helped to equip had the freighter not been destroyed recently, to which T’Vran was privy thanks to her working relationship with Ych’a.

  Despite the increasing appeal of Ych’a’s logic, however, she found that one fundamental matter still bothered her profoundly.

  “Could you not simply have asked me to alter the logs and reports, rather than doing it yourself?” T’Vran asked the agent.

  Ych’a appeared puzzled by the question. “There was no need to waste time consulting you in advance. I knew you would agree with me.”

  Though she couldn’t fault Ych’a’s answer solely on the basis of logic, T’Vran was anything but pleased by it—it seemed tantamount to surrendering to the notion of rule by spies. Rather than debate the matter further, however, she answered with but a single word.

  “Logical.”

  “I will speak to Commander Tucker,” Ych’a said, then rose from her chair and departed without waiting to be dismissed.

  Sitting alone in her quarters, T’Vran wondered if the V’Shar agent took Mister Tucker’s cooperation for granted, as she had that of the Kiri-kin-tha’s commander.

  Tucker wondered idly whether the Vulcan term for “efficient quarters” translated to “Starfleet brig” in English.

  For perhaps the fiftieth time, he took in the tiny confines of the quarters Captain T’Vran had issued him after Doctor Sivath had released him a few hours earlier. Although he thought he’d gotten used to cramped quarters during his nearly four-year stint as chief engineer aboard Enterprise, his current billet would barely have qualified as a closet aboard an NX-class ship. The spartan chamber came equipped only with a low, narrow cot, a small, rolled-up mat—he’d been told that Vulcans traditionally used them for meditation—and sanitary facilities that could be described as “bare bones” by only the most charitable of appraisals.

  I’d have to go out into the corridor to change my mind, Trip thought as he sat on the edge of the cot. These guys don’t believe in wasting a single cubic millimeter, do they?

  Of course, Trip’s impression that his quarters resembled some sort of penal holding cell had only been reinforced by his recent discovery that somebody had locked the room’s single door from the outside some time after the security guard had conducted him here.

  Maybe there’s a metal cup in here somewhere, he thought as he eyed the small stainless steel washbasin in the corner. I could start banging it against the walls to get somebody’s attention.

  A sharp buzzing tone sounded, startling him. He realized a heartbeat later that it might be some sort of door chime, signaling a visitor.

  “Come on in, I’m decent,” he said.

  The room’s small, lone hatchway abruptly unsealed itself, sliding obediently open. Captain T’Vran and her silent shadow Ych’a walked into view on the other side of the open hatchway. As Trip got to his feet out of respect for the captain, he noted the presence of another dour armed guard out in the corridor a few paces behind the women. The presence of the guard convinced Trip that the door that had kept him contained in his quarters had not been locked by accident.

  “Circumstances have forced a change to the ship’s itinerary,” Captain T’Vran said without preamble.

  “I’m fine, Captain,” Trip said. “Thank you for asking.” Vulcans. Cripes.

  “Pardon me?” T’Vran said, raising an eyebrow in a way that reminded him of T’Pol.

  He shook his head impatiently. “Never mind. I hope your schedule change won’t delay my getting back to Earth by very much. I’ve got a life I’m itchin’ to return to, not to mention a whole pile of Starfleet back pay.”

  For several seconds, T’Vran’s face became a study in silent perplexity. Then she said, “Ych’a will explain the particulars.”

  Trip felt a scowl starting to darken his face, and he didn’t try to stop it. “All right. Come on in and let’s talk. There’s plenty of room, as long as we don’t all try to exhale at the same time.” If this place had mice, they’d be hunchbacked, he added silently.

  Once both women had cleared the room’s inner threshold, the hatch closed smoothly between them and the guard in the corridor, assuring the privacy of their conversation. Neither Vulcan seemed concerned by the closeness of the walls, any three of which Trip could have touched simultaneously.

  “First things first,” Trip said, trying to seize a measure of control of the situation. “When do we get under way for Earth?”

  “Not for some time, Commander,” Ych’a said.

  Trip could feel his scowl beginning to deepen. “Let me give you a refresher on what’s already happened today,” he said after a moment’s pause to compose himself. “My cover’s blown, all right? So my mission’s over. That means there’s no reason for me
to stay out here in the ass end of nowhere.”

  “I have no desire to disseminate your real identity, Commander, either to the Romulans or to the Vulcan government,” Ych’a said, apparently not fazed in the least by what he’d just said. “Nor do I wish to unduly delay your repatriation.”

  Trip found that only mildly reassuring. “Then take me home.”

  “Before I can do that, Commander, I will require your help,” Ych’a said.

  Trip folded his arms before him, forcing her to take a step backward and into a near collision with one of the walls. “Lady, it sounds like you’re trying to set a pretty big obstacle in my path. Why the hell should I help you?”

  She answered with confidence, as though she had rehearsed what she was going to say. “Because the security of both our worlds is at stake, Commander. And because I suspect that you would show little hesitation in offering your assistance freely had the same request come to you from our mutual associate, T’Pol.”

  “You know T’Pol?” Trip asked, suspicious but definitely intrigued.

  “We worked together in the V’Shar for many years,” Ych’a said with a curt nod. “We renewed our acquaintance much more recently aboard this very ship, which took her part of the way into Romulan space—in an effort to rescue you, I am told.”

  So she’s calling in whatever markers she thinks she has to get what she wants, he thought, mentally preparing himself to modify his initial position of flat refusal, at least a little.

  “All right. I’m listening. Make your pitch.”

  Ych’a nodded again. “In light of the dire threat the Romulan Star Empire presently poses to both our worlds—and to the entire Coalition, by extension—Vulcan’s government is in great need of your covert services while you are still officially considered dead by your own people.”

  Most of my own people, he thought.

  Shaking his head, he said, “The only problem with what you’re asking is that my espionage days are over. Besides, I’m an engineer, not a spy. And Starfleet needs me to help build and maintain its ships right now more than Vulcan needs me to listen in on the Romulans’ phone calls.”

  “You will be sent home, Commander Tucker,” T’Vran said. “Eventually. But not yet.”

  “I have crafted the new cover identity you will use until that time,” Ych’a said. “You will adopt this identity after undergoing some supplemental plastic surgery to enable you to pass as a Vulcan, at least visually.”

  Trip touched his forehead and moved his fingertips across the sharp terrain created by his surgically implanted Romulan brow ridge. His pointed ears and upswept eyebrows would attract no attention on Vulcan if he left them exactly as they were now.

  He didn’t object to another round of relatively painless cosmetic surgery per se. He had just hoped to have his ears bobbed at the same time his forehead was restored to its normal contours.

  “You will become a man named Sodok, one of my oldest associates,” Ych’a continued. “Your new persona will be that of a Vulcan frontier merchant whose diverse dealings encompass such commodities as dilithium, kevas, and trillium—as well as, on occasion, information.”

  Thanks to his recent “posthumous” occupation as a deep-cover intelligence operative, Trip knew well that information was a commodity that was often infinitely more valuable than merchandise of any other type. But he was also sure that he wanted nothing further to do with trafficking information, even as he realized that any chance he had of returning to Earth was contingent on the goodwill of these Vulcans, to whom he still owed a debt for his rescue.

  My dying, for real this time, was just about guaran-damned-teed, he thought bitterly. Until they swooped in and plucked me out of TezelOroko’s Kuiper belt.

  Trip felt as though the entire universe had begun shifting around him again, just as it had during the moments immediately preceding his passing out during his first meeting with Captain T’Vran. He had grasped the slender reed of hope that he might soon regain his old life and career, only to have that lifeline summarily cut, and for God-only-knew how long. And all to adopt yet another fake identity on the fly, in the service of alien puppet masters who could decide to keep stringing him along indefinitely, parsecs away from anything he really recognized and understood.

  And the bitterest part of it was the realization that there was nothing he could do but accept it.

  He took a couple of steps backward and dropped onto the edge of his cot to contemplate his painfully altered circumstances. After a measureless interval, he looked up at the two Vulcans, both of whom were regarding him with something that resembled curiosity.

  “All right,” Trip said. “Let’s start by filling in some of the gaps in my knowledge.” If the spy trade had taught Trip anything, it was that it’s the things you don’t know that are likeliest to catch you unawares and kill you. “Just what the hell is kevas anyway?”

  “You will be given ample training in the various trade goods your cover vocation will require you to handle,” Ych’a said. “And, of course, we will make certain both of your ears are implanted with the most advanced universal translator units available. Doctor Sivath discovered that only one of your ears was so equipped.”

  He nodded. “Okay. You Vulcans are nothing if not thorough. Which reminds me, I’ll need a bit more than superficial plastic surgery if I’m going to live among you green-blooded folk undetected.”

  Ych’a and T’Vran exchanged a brief look that Trip instantly translated to mutual puzzlement.

  “I do not understand,” Ych’a said.

  Remember, it’s always best to be as literal as possible with Vulcans, he reminded himself.

  Aloud, he said, “My blood is red. Your Doctor Sivath might call it a copper deficiency. Anyway, when I was working in the belly of the beast on Romulus, I was taking a special sulfatriptan drug from Earth to turn my blood green. But I’m fresh out of the stuff at the moment.”

  Ych’a finally appeared to understand. “And you are hoping to acquire additional supplies of the drug on Vulcan.”

  “I seriously doubt that anyone on Vulcan ever developed a drug specifically designed to turn blood green,” T’Vran said. “I assume I needn’t point out the redundancy inherent in such a thing on a planet of green-blooded people. However, I will ask Doctor Sivath to research it for you.”

  Ych’a nodded. “If Doctor Sivath cannot secure the drug for you, perhaps one of your trade missions as Sodok will yield a supply.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Trip said. “And I hope it happens before anybody figures out where ‘Sodok’ really came from just because I accidentally cut myself shaving.” He rubbed his long-neglected chin, and noticed only then that it felt about as rough as a wire brush.

  “Until then, Commander Tucker,” Ych’a said without a trace of irony, “I suggest you consider growing a beard.”

  Before Trip could deliver a rejoinder, a high-pitched tone sounded, nearly beyond the range of human hearing. Trip noticed immediately that it wasn’t out of the Vulcan aural spectrum, however, when both T’Vran and Ych’a reacted to it, the captain by engaging the small comm device she was carrying and Ych’a by giving the captain her undivided attention.

  “Captain T’Vran, this is bridge watch officer Sinak,” said the tinny voice that issued from T’Vran’s comm device. “You instructed me to alert you about any significant findings in the Tezel-Oroko system.”

  So we definitely haven’t left the system yet, Trip thought. Are they searching for survivors from the Kobayashi Maru? Or looking to salvage whatever she was carrying on her way to the listening post the Vulcans were trying to set up here?

  He decided there was no reason that the Vulcans couldn’t be doing both at once.

  “Yes, Altern Sinak,” T’Vran said. “Have you detected any Romulans?”

  “No, Captain. But we remain ready to leave the system at maximum warp should any appear, per your orders. However, we have found a strong duranium signature coming from the surface of one of the o
uter system’s cometary bodies.”

  “Could it be an escape pod?” T’Vran said, even as Trip wondered if somebody had made it off the Kobayashi Maru before the Romulans destroyed it, or if someone besides Sopek and himself managed to escape from Sopek’s ship just prior to its demise.

  “Our scans have been inconclusive so far, Captain,” Sinak said. “We have detected the presence of kelbonite precipitates in the object’s surface layers.”

  Trip blinked. “Kelbonite. Is that anything like kevas? Or trillium?”

  A subtle narrowing of the eyes was the only reply either woman deigned to offer Trip for his impertinence.

  “Kelbonite would tend to interfere with the ship’s sensors, would it not?” T’Vran said to her subordinate.