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

by Michael A. Martin

  “The very conflict from which Vulcan has just publicly withdrawn.”

  “Precisely, Chief Investigator Silok.”

  “You could contact Administrator T’Pau vis subspace,” Silok said. “And confer with her directly.”

  Kuvak slowly shook his head. “Such a long-distance communication cannot be secured as reliably as can our domestic comm lines. Until she returns, I must act in her place to avoid any chance of letting the Romulans know what the V’Shar has discovered.”

  “I understand, Minister Kuvak.”

  “I trust that the V’Shar stands ready to employ the ‘subtler means’ to which you have already referred?”

  It seemed to Silok that the importance of the intelligence agency in his charge had just increased exponentially, not only for his own world’s peace and security, but also for that of all of Vulcan’s allies.

  “The V’Shar can do whatever is required,” Silok said. “However, the necessary preparations could take as long as half a year to complete.”

  “By which time the Romulans’ mass-production efforts will be unlikely to have come to fruition. Correct?”

  “Correct, Minister. I trust that I need not remind you that Administrator T’Pau will have returned long before the full preparations are complete.”

  Kuvak appeared to frown ever so slightly, as though irritated. “But not before the relevant personnel are assigned and the appropriate orders are issued—in the subtle manner we have all come to expect from the V’Shar, of course.”

  Silok nodded very slowly, taking in Minister Kuvak’s meaning. “I understand, Minister.”

  “And I understand the logic of thoroughness and stealth,” Kuvak said, his expression growing even sterner than was customary. “However, I trust I need not caution you what a mistake it would be to underestimate the capabilities of the Romulans. Including their alacrity. You must do everything possible to expedite your handling of this matter, short of compromising its success.”

  An idea suddenly occurred to Silok as he recalled a report he had just received from a field operative working in the Gamma Hydra sector. “I agree completely,” he said. “And I believe I may already have the ideal intelligence assets nearly in position and ready to deploy. You can trust my agency to treat this problem with the utmost urgency.”

  And secrecy, he thought as Kuvak’s image vanished. It was clear to him that no one other than himself, Kuvak, and the field operatives involved needed to know anything at all about the Achernar affair, including the very fact of its existence. The list of personnel with a “need to know” was to be a short one indeed.

  And it had not escaped Silok’s notice that Kuvak had pointedly excluded Administrator T’Pau from that list.

  FOURTEEN

  Vulcan Cargo Ship Kiri-kin-tha

  “THINK HE’S GONNA MAKE IT, Doc?” Trip asked.

  Doctor Sivath turned her steely gaze upon the unconscious Vulcan man who lay supine upon the infirmary bed, then checked a reading on her handheld scanner before nodding once in apparent satisfaction. “He seems to be recovering well from his crash injuries,” she said. “As well as from the stunning he received during his ‘rescue.’”

  Ych’a, who was standing beside Captain T’Vran on the opposite side of the bed from where Trip and Sivath stood, responded before Trip could get out a word. “Unfortunately, circumstances forced us to fire our weapons, Doctor. He appeared to be preparing to open fire on us when we encountered him.”

  Sivath looked unimpressed by Ych’a’s story, though Trip was prepared to back it up completely, having wielded one of the phase pistols in question. T’Vran displayed an unreadable, typically Vulcan expression, keeping her own counsel.

  “Nevertheless,” the doctor continued, “I expect this man to make a complete recovery.”

  Ych’a nodded, then focused her gaze upon Trip. “Commander Tucker, Doctor Sivath has confirmed your contention that this man is indeed a Romulan rather than a Vulcan. As is our previous... guest.”

  “Like I already told you, he’s a centurion in the Romulan military,” Trip said, hiking a thumb toward the insensate man. “His name is Terix. And I’d make damned sure never to let him out of my sight if I were you.”

  “I never doubted you, Commander,” the V’Shar agent said. “And I fully acknowledge your warning.”

  Trip favored her with a sidewise grin. “Glad to hear it. I know trust doesn’t come easy to you folks, especially when you never know when you might find a Romulan hiding in your midst.” Or a human who’s been hiding among the Romulans, he added silently.

  He focused his attention back upon the pointed-eared man slumbering on the infirmary’s sole occupied bed—which, Trip suddenly realized, meant that all the other beds were now empty, a fact that he confirmed with a couple of quick turns of his head.

  “What happened to Sopek?” he said, all at once unsure whether to root for the double agent’s recovery or for a new notch on the grim reaper’s holster.

  “Our other... guest regained consciousness during your extravehicular excursion, Commander,” Captain T’Vran said. “He has since been released from Sivath’s care, and therefore has passed into mine. I have placed him in guest quarters, under guard.”

  “The captain has also agreed to expedite his delivery to the proper authorities by putting the Kiri-kin-tha on a direct course for Vulcan,” Ych’a said. “Once there, Mister Ch’uivh will be processed and interrogated, and thereafter a magistrate will determine his long-term disposition.”

  Tiny spiders with liquid-nitrogen-drenched feet trod quickly up and down Trip’s backbone in reaction to Ych’a’s euphemism-couched words. Considering the brutal meat-hook realities of what he already knew about the inner workings of intelligence services, he couldn’t help but wonder whether Sopek/Ch’uivh was in fact being interrogated surreptitiously right now in some soundproofed chamber deep in the bowels of this very ship. But whatever Sopek might be doing presently—or whatever someone might be doing to him—Trip could at least console himself with the thought that the man wouldn’t pose an immediate threat to anybody so long as he wasn’t running around loose and unsupervised.

  A low groan from the bed abruptly forced Trip’s train of thought onto a different track.

  “Centurion Terix is regaining consciousness,” Sivath said, stating the obvious.

  The Romulan groaned again and began to open his eyes, which were blinking rapidly in protest against the harsh ceiling lights before coming fully open. Once they opened, he began to make a close study of the faces of each of the four people who stood surrounding his bed.

  “Where am I?” Terix said as he tried to force his elbows to support his weight.

  “You are aboard the Vulcan cargo vessel Kiri-kin-tha,” T’Vran said. “I am Captain T’Vran. My ship’s physician, Doctor Sivath, is treating your injuries.”

  Terix stared at the captain, his mien radiating incomprehension. “Injuries?” He reached up and touched the neat swath of bandages that wreathed his skull just above his pointed ears.

  “You have sustained some minor cranial trauma,” Sivath said as the injured man made another attempt, successful this time, to draw his body up into a sitting position.

  “It may have occurred when your escape pod crashed,” Ych’a said. “After you left the Romulan ship.”

  “Escape pod?” Terix said, still confused. When the only response Ych’a made was a silent nod, he turned slightly and looked straight at Trip. “Romulan ship?”

  Trip braced himself for the angry outburst that was all but certain to follow; after all, Terix’s last memory of him would have been their confrontation on Taugus III, during which the centurion had very nearly succeeded in killing him.

  But he saw no recognition whatsoever in the Romulan’s dark eyes, only a confusion that bordered on desperation.

  Apparently Sivath had made much the same observation as well. “Can you tell us your name?”

  “No. No, I can’t,” Terix said at le
ngth, his eyes wide, reflecting his no doubt disconcerting self-discoveries.

  “Do not be overly concerned,” Sivath said as she slowly ran a scanner past her patient’s head. “The blunt-force cranial injuries you have sustained appear to have induced some memory loss.”

  “Head-bonk amnesia,” Trip said, finding the whole notion just a little too convenient to believe. Romulans were nothing if not clever. It wouldn’t be hard for a soldier as determined and wily as Terix to have faked his disorientation enough to trick a freighter’s doctor and even her instruments. Hell, he thought, God only knows how many Romulans I fooled into accepting my fake Romulan bona fides.

  “Is this memory loss permanent, Doctor?” T’Vran said.

  “It is too soon to tell, Captain,” said the doctor, shaking her head. “I must run several more tests.”

  “Please proceed,” said T’Vran.

  A staccato series of beeps distracted Trip at that moment, drawing his attention toward Ych’a, who was removing a palm-sized device from the inside of her jacket.

  “Captain T’Vran,” she said, pocketing what was evidently a small communications device. “I have just received a priority message from Vulcan. If you will excuse me...”

  T’Vran nodded, and Ych’a immediately exited the infirmary.

  As Sivath began fetching various diagnostic instruments, Trip took a step toward her. “If you don’t mind, Doc,” he said, “I’d like to have a few words with your patient here while you’re running your tests.” If he’s just faking this and knows how to trick your equipment, he thought, then I want to find that out sooner instead of later.

  Sivath paused in mid-motion, setting aside a blinking medical gadget that Trip didn’t immediately recognize. “In point of fact, Commander, I do mind. This is a place of healing, not an interrogation room.”

  T’Vran stepped between him and the doctor just as the infirmary hatchway opened behind him. Trip heard heavy footfalls as at least one person entered the chamber from the corridor beyond.

  “Security will conduct you back to your quarters now, Commander Tucker,” T’Vran said in a tone that invited no debate.

  I guess I’m a “guest” here in exactly the same way Sopek and Terix are “guests” here, Trip thought. As he had come to expect, his door remained locked from the outside.

  He continued pacing back and forth, imagining he was wearing a groove in the duranium-steel deck plating of the small quarters T’Vran had issued him. If I keep at this long enough, he thought wryly, maybe I can turn that groove into an escape tunnel.

  According to the chronometer on the room’s tiny worktable, he had been cooling his heels for only an hour when the door chime finally sounded.

  “Come.”

  The hatchway that led out into the corridor slid open, admitting

  Ych’a.

  “Do you mind asking the captain if she’ll issue me bigger quarters?” he said. “I’m gonna need a little more room if I’m gonna entertain visitors properly.”

  Ych’a spoke as though she hadn’t heard a single word he’d said. “Commander, please accept my apologies for having been called away back in the infirmary.”

  “If you only got off the comlink just now,” Trip said, “then there must be some big news brewing in the home office.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You are perceptive. I have received new orders because of a newly discovered development deep inside the Romulan Star Empire.”

  Trip’s eyes narrowed involuntarily. “What kind of ‘development’ are you talking about?”

  “One that suits the unique background and skill set of your old Romulan persona,” she said. “As well of those of your new Vulcan identity.”

  Sodok, the Vulcan trader, Trip thought.

  “I’m listening,” he said, though he’d have far preferred to hear her say, “you’ll be back on Earth by next week.”

  “Operating as Sodok, you will have two essential functions. The first of these, as I envision it, is to assist me in exposing and neutralizing the corrupt elements and spies we suspect are operating inside Vulcan’s intelligence community.”

  “That sounds like old news,” Trip said, folding his arms before him and leaning against one of the room’s too-close walls. “I take it you’re breaking things down for me this way because your bosses just handed you a brand-new directive.”

  She nodded. “Again, that is perspicacious of you, Commander.”

  “I hope that’s a good thing,” he said with a shrug. “Unless what you really just said is that you think I sweat a lot.”

  “Your new medium-term mission,” she said, again stepping effortlessly around his banter, “involves an assignment of critical importance.”

  “How critical?”

  “Critical enough to ensure the security of Earth, Vulcan, and every other member of the Coalition of Planets.” Her voice never deviated from glacial calm, and Trip could almost believe that her pulse had done likewise.

  He couldn’t say the same of his own. “That sounds pretty damned critical.” After a contemplative pause, he added, “And just how long do expect this thing to last?”

  She looked upward and into the middle distance of one of the blank, disconcertingly near walls, apparently performing a brief mental calculation.

  “It is always my preference to err conservatively in making such estimates,” she said.

  “Which would make you a fine engineer,” he said, an edge of irritation creeping into his voice. “How long?”

  “This operation could take upwards of a Terran year to come to full fruition.”

  The weight of her words struck him right in the belly with the force of a flying anvil.

  Once he’d recovered his breath, he said, “No. God. Damned. Way.” A recognizable emotion finally broke the placid surface of her countenance: mild surprise.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me! You’re asking way too much of a guy who’s just trying to get home.”

  “Even though what is being asked of you could assure the security of your home planet for decades to come?”

  He tossed his hands into the air. “How do I know this delicate operation of yours really has anything to do with that?”

  Taking a single defensive step backward, she said, “I understand the intensity of your desire to return to your former life and career, but—”

  “You have no idea, so don’t go down that road,” he said, stomping firmly on her words. “Listen, I was willing to pitch in for a few weeks on my way back to Earth, if that meant I’d be helping out one of T’Pol’s old friends.”

  “How very magnanimous of you,” Ych’a said.

  “But I have absolutely no intention of squandering an entire year of my life—or however much time this goddamned spy business is gonna use up—to yet another deep-cover adventure behind enemy lines. Sorry, but as Sam Goldwyn once said, you can include me out.”

  Trip’s rant seemed to have stopped her short—but only for a moment.

  “Are Agent Harris and Captain Stillwell aware of how strongly you feel about returning to Earth?” she said very quietly.

  Trip had to work hard to keep his jaw from falling open at her casual mention of his ultrasecret—and supersecretive—Section 31 superiors. Then he decided that playing games with her by pretending ignorance would probably be an exercise in futility.

  “How do you know about the bureau?” he asked at length.

  Ych’a now seemed to display traces of another emotion, or at least something that looked to Trip a lot like self-satisfaction. “I know that the strategic goals of your Terran intelligence services are congruent with those of the V’Shar—at least insofar as Vulcan and Earth’s mutual Romulan problem is concerned.”

  It seemed very strange to Trip that Vulcan’s leaders didn’t try to take a far larger share of the ownership of this particular “mutual” problem than they had allowed Earth and Starfleet to assume. After all, humans weren’t the Romulans’ genetic and cultural cousi
ns as the Vulcans were.

  But how many Vulcans are even aware of that? he wondered.

  “And because of our shared interests,” Ych’a continued, “your superiors have already agreed to... loan your services to us, at least for the duration of the new mission the V’Shar must undertake inside Romulan space.”

  If she was telling the truth, her superiors were acting in a pretty damned high-handed fashion. On the other hand, his superiors had talked him into colluding with them in faking his own death—which made them equally high-handed, almost by definition.