by Dave Stern
“I get the picture,” she said, standing. “I’m able now. Let’s go find out what they want, shall we?”
They cleared their trays, and headed for the lift.
The bridge was as busy as she’d ever seen it. Busier. Rodriguez was at the com station, seemingly doing about eight things at once. Riley was on the helm, Yamana at weapons, T’Pol at the science station, and Commander Tucker—Captain Tucker—at engineering, talking to someone on the com. Well, yelling to be more precise.
“…you have to give her something else then. We need her. It’s been a week and…”
“It may be another week.” Hoshi recognized the voice. Phlox. “Ensign Parker is very susceptible to this virus.”
“Yes. I understand that,” Trip said. “But our engines are very susceptible to breaking down, especially when they’re not maintained properly. When the people who are supposed to maintain them properly are themselves not being maintained properly.”
“There is nothing I can do in this instance,” Phlox said, and now he sounded a little perturbed himself. “The best thing for the ensign is rest.”
“There has to be something else you can do,” Trip said again. “I need another body down there. Lieutenant Hess needs help.”
“You could, of course, order me to pump the ensign full of stimulants so that he would be capable of performing his duties. You have that authority, Captain.”
“Forget it,” Trip said, closing the channel. He stood up, his features frozen into an expression of disgust.
His eyes fell on Hoshi, and the disgust changed into a big, broad smile.
“Hey,” he said, and crossed the upper deck of the bridge in about two strides, and took her by the shoulders. “It’s good to see you up and about. You sure you’re all right?”
“Yes. I feel fine.”
“Well enough to come back?”
“Yes, sir.” She studied Trip for a moment. There were dark circles under his eyes. Lines on his face that hadn’t been there, she could swear, the last time she’d seen him. Hardly surprising, though.
His best friend was dead.
“I’ve been meaning to come down to see you—check on you,” he said. “There just hasn’t been time. One thing after another.”
“It’s all right, sir. I mean, Commander. Trip.”
He smiled again.
“I understand the Kanthropians were looking for me too.”
“Right.” Trip frowned. “I forgot all about that. But now that you’re here…”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “I’ll contact them.”
She started toward her station before seeing that Carstairs had taken over for Rodriguez and was already there, working, and even though he stood up at her approach, ready to yield his seat, she could tell at a glance that he was in the middle of doing about twenty different things, so she waved him back down, and went to the auxiliary com station on the other side of the bridge.
She tied in to the main system, and requested a channel to the Kanthropian Trade Legation. She was told to stand by; there was a lot of com traffic. Listening in for a moment, she found out why.
The fleet was leaving. The Armada. Heading off to find, confront, and destroy the Antianna. There were a lot of last-minute preparations going on. Supplies being loaded, plans being made, personnel shifted among the hundred-odd vessels that comprised the war party.
Procryon was on the viewscreen, reddish brown against the black of space. Looking closer, she saw that every square meter of orbital space was filled with a satellite or ship of some kind, gleaming silver metal that twinkled on the screen before her.
The com sounded.
“Commander, I have the Kanthropians. Channel is open.”
Trip took the captain’s chair as on the viewscreen, the image of Procyron cleared and was replaced by that of a Mediator.
Definitely not either of the ones Hoshi had spoken to at Sen’s reception. This one had much darker skin, looked much older, had much more—for lack of a better word—gravitas. The two Mediators she had spoken to earlier had reminded Hoshi of librarians, or academics. This one reminded her of Admiral Forrest. Whom she hadn’t thought about in a long time. Since his death, in fact. His funeral.
A funeral. She hadn’t thought about that—had there been a service for Captain Archer? There must have been, and she’d missed it. She’d have to find out.
She didn’t even know, Hoshi realized, if they’d found a body.
Trip rose from his chair. “I’m Charles Tucker, acting captain of the Earth ship Enterprise.”
The Mediator nodded.
“I am,” the translator sputtered, “also known as Elder Green, chief delegate to the Thelasian Trading Confederacy. We have been trying to reach you for some time, Captain.”
“I’m sorry,” Trip said. “It’s been a busy…”
“I need to speak with you regarding one of your crew. An Ensign Hoshi Sato.”
Trip frowned.
If there was one thing he hated, Hoshi knew, it was being interrupted.
“Can I ask what this is about?” the commander asked.
“She was injured in the blast, I understand,” Green said, ignoring the question. “Has she recovered?”
“She has.”
“Then I would like to speak with her.”
Trip frowned again. At that same instant, the com sounded again.
“Excuse me, sir,” Carstairs interrupted. “I have Lieutenant Reed on another channel. He says it’s urgent.”
Trip turned and shook his head. “Tell him to hold on a minute.”
“He’s very insistent, Commander.”
“He’ll have to wait.”
“Life or death, he says.”
Trip sighed, and turned back to the viewscreen.
“Elder Green, could I ask you to—”
“Ensign Hoshi.” The Elder glared.
Trip’s mood changed from apologetic to peeved.
“You’ll have to wait one minute,” he snapped, and gestured to Hoshi. She switched the channel to standby. The screen went dark, just as the elder’s mouth opened to say something. The Kanthropian communications facility began yelling in her ear almost immediately, demanding to be put back through.
“Mister Carstairs,” Trip said, gesturing to the ensign. A second later, Reed’s face came on the viewer.
Hoshi was shocked at his appearance. He hadn’t shaved, for one thing, and for Malcolm, spit-and-polish as he was, not to have shaved…
“Malcolm,” Commander Tucker said. “What do you have?”
Reed shook his head, and frowned. “I’m not entirely sure.”
Trip frowned back. “But you said it was urgent.”
“Oh it is. It most definitely is. It changes everything.” He leaned forward, and spoke more quietly. “Is this channel secure?”
Trip turned and exchanged a questioningly glance with T’Pol. He turned back.
“Malcolm,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Quite fine.”
The Kanthropians stopped yelling in her ear, and abruptly cut the channel.
Hoshi wondered if she should tell Commander Tucker. Better wait, she decided. Maybe if she got them back, and tried to apologize…
“Malcolm, come on,” Trip said. “Just tell me what you have to report.”
The lieutenant nodded. “I’m fairly certain Governor Sen is still alive.”
The bridge fell silent.
“Say that again?” Trip asked.
“I believe Governor Sen is alive. I believe, in fact, he staged the explosion that took place himself, in order to cover his disappearance.”
T’Pol walked down from her station and stood next to Trip.
“That seems highly unlikely.”
Trip nodded. “I have to agree with T’Pol, Malcolm. What makes you think that?”
Carstairs’s com started beeping frantically.
Trip cast daggers in his direction. Hoshi signaled the ensign to put his c
onsole on silent. Whoever it was, most likely the Kanthropians, would have to wait.
“Information I’ve obtained regarding his activities over the last few weeks,” Reed said. “Specifically, his interactions with some of the financial—”
Hoshi’s console started beeping, too.
“Ensign. Would you kindly inform the Kanthropians that they will just have to wait?” Trip said.
“Sorry, sir,” she said. “Captain, it’s not the Kanthropians. It’s General Jaedez. From the Armada.”
“What does he want?” Trip asked. “Never mind. Malcolm, I’d better talk to him. Why don’t you get back up here, and we can discuss all this in person?”
“I’m on to something here, Trip,” Reed said. “Returning to Enterprise isn’t—”
“We talked about this yesterday,” Trip said, more than a hint of irritation in his voice. “Didn’t we?”
“That was yesterday. Given what I’ve discovered—”
“Lieutenant, get back up here and let’s talk about it.”
“Sir,” Reed said, sounding a little irritated himself, “I—”
Hoshi cleared her throat, and caught Trip’s eye. General Jaedez, she mouthed.
“Hold on,” Trip said.
He nodded to Hoshi, and Reed’s image disappeared in midsentence, and the Conani general, looking even more fearsome than Hoshi remembered, thanks in large part to the full body armor he wore, appeared.
“Archer?”
“I’m Commander Tucker. Captain Archer is dead.”
“General Jaedez. I command the fleet.”
“Yes. I know.”
“I order you to speak with the Kanthropians immediately.”
“Now, wait just—”
“That is all. Jaedez out.”
The screen went dark.
Trip was left standing in the middle of the bridge.
“Who the…we don’t report to the Confederacy, last I heard.”
He was glaring at Hoshi as he said it.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “I mean, no, sir. We don’t.”
“Damn right,” he said, and sighed heavily. “Okay. Put the Kanthropians back on.”
“One second, sir,” she said.
“Excuse me Captain,” Carstairs said. “I have—”
“Ensign,” Trip turned and glared at him. “I’ve just been given a direct order by the Conani general. Didn’t you hear?”
“Yes, sir. I did, sir. It’s just that—”
“Tell Lieutenant Reed to have a little patience please. I don’t take orders from him either, last I checked.” Trip pinched the bridge of his nose, and exhaled loudly.
Hoshi’s console flashed. “I have the Kanthropians,” she said.
“Captain Tucker,” Elder Green said. “If Ensign Hoshi is healed from her injuries, I need to speak with her immediately.”
“In a minute,” Trip said, rising from his chair. “I just—”
“Ensign Hoshi,” the Mediator snapped. “There is no time to waste.”
Trip visibly tensed again.
“Elder Green,” he said, stepping closer to the screen. “A little tip on human beings. We respond much better to—”
“Stop wasting time, Mister Tucker. I…”
“That’s Captain Tucker,” Trip said. “And I just want to make clear…”
“The Armada is leaving,” Elder Green interrupted. “I need to talk to her now.”
Trip seemed about to say something else, but then took a deep breath.
“Hoshi…” he said, waving her forward.
She nodded, switched her station to standby, and walked to the center of the bridge, catching Carstairs’s eye as she did so. He still had a com earpiece in, and looked very pale.
Reed must be giving him hell, she thought.
“I’m Ensign Hoshi,” she said to the Kanthropian.
“You are as Younger Emmen described you,” Green said. “But I have no time for pleasantries. At this very moment…”
The screen went dark.
Hoshi frowned.
Trip frowned.
Even T’Pol frowned.
They all turned to Carstairs, who said, “I’m sorry, sir. Commander Tucker, but I…”
“Did you just cut off the Kanthropians?” Trip asked, and this time there was steel in his voice that reminded Hoshi instantly of Captain Archer.
“Yes, sir, but—”
“No buts,” Trip glared. “You’re relieved. Hoshi, please take his station and get Elder Green back. As quick as you can.”
The viewscreen came on again and she and everyone else on the bridge but Trip, who was still glaring at Carstairs, got it, why the ensign had cut the Kanthropians off, why he’d looked so nervous before, and it had nothing to do with Lieutenant Reed.
“Commander,” T’Pol said quietly. “Perhaps you’d better…”
He turned and glared at T’Pol, sat back down in the captain’s chair, looked up at the screen, and jumped immediately to his feet.
Admiral McCormick glared down at him.
Hoshi had never seen McCormick in person before. She’d heard his voice any number of times—deep, resonant, commanding. She’d pictured a big man—Yamana’s size, at least. Stouter, though. The kind of man who took charge of a room when he entered. But McCormick was little. Not much bigger than her. Thin, intense-looking. A shock of straight white hair combed back from his forehead. Uniform creased so sharp it looked like you could cut yourself on the seams. Ramrod-stiff in his chair, the Starfleet flag prominently displayed behind him.
McCormick was also angry. Very, very angry.
“Admiral,” Trip said, in a very small voice.
“Commander. I don’t recall ever having to wait five minutes for a subordinate to find the time to speak to me. I don’t ever want it to happen again. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
McCormick was not done yet.
“You don’t seem to be handling the pressures of command very well, Mister Tucker. I’m regretting my decision to bypass Commander T’Pol. Have you left Procyron, Commander?”
“No, sir. We’re still waiting for some of our personnel to return from…”
“You’re getting them back on ship, I trust? Making all necessary preparations to leave immediately?”
Trip hesitated.
“That’s a yes or a no question, Commander.”
“Yes, sir,” Trip said.
“Good. Because as I believe I mentioned yesterday, I need you at Barcana Station by twelve-hundred hours, day after tomorrow. There’s a passenger there I want you to pick up and transport to the conference. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
McCormick continued to glare at him. “Let me make it clear how critical Enterprise’s presence is at this conference, Commander. You and your crew are the only thing the vast majority of the races attending will have in common. You represent something. Jonathan Archer’s life’s work, for one. His life’s work matters to you, I assume?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Then be there. Barcana, twelve-hundred hours, day after tomorrow. McCormick out.”
The screen went to black for a split second, and then filled again with the image of Procyron.
Trip slumped back in the command chair, and exhaled loudly. After a moment, he turned to Carstairs.
“Ensign, my apologies.”
“Our friends are calling again, sir,” Hoshi said. “Elder Green, I think.”
We need Malcolm back here, ASAP. You tell him that. Hoshi…” The commander turned back to her.
“Aye, sir,” she said, and opened the channel. Stood directly in front of the viewscreen.
But it wasn’t Elder Green who came on.
It was a different Kanthropian. A much younger one, who seemed not angry, as Hoshi might have expected, but nervous.
“Mister Captain Tucker?” he asked.
“No,” Hoshi said.
“I’m Tucker.” Trip stepped alongside her. “Wh
ere’s Elder Green?”
“He is aboard S-12,” the Mediator said.
“He and I were talking,” Hoshi said. “Our conversation was interrupted.”
“You are Ensign Hoshi Sato.”
“Yes.”
“We have sent a courier ship for you. It should be arriving in a moment.”
Trip and Hoshi looked at each other.
“What?”
“We have sent a courier ship,” the Mediator said again. “So that you may join Elder Green aboard S-12.”
“Commander.”
That was T’Pol.
“We have an inbound ship, requesting permission to land in the shuttlebay.”
“Back up a second,” Trip said. “I’m a little lost.”
“You are lost? I don’t understand.” The Mediator frowned. “Is there a problem with your translator?”
“No,” Hoshi said. S-12, courier ships—this all sounded familiar to her, and a second later, she realized why. The conversation she’d overheard between Theera and the Mediators at the party.
“Why does Elder Green want me to join him aboard S-12?”
“So you may aid in the translation efforts, of course.”
“What transla—the Antianna?”
“Yes.”
“Wait. What is S-12?” Trip asked.
“S-12 is our mediation vessel.”
“And where is it?”
“Outbound,” the Kanthropian answered, “with the fleet.”
“The Armada,” Hoshi said, and she got it then. “You want me to join the Armada?”
“Is that not what I just said?” The Mediator frowned. “Are you sure there is no problem with your translator?”
They got all the way to shuttlebay before Commander Tucker—Captain Tucker—started in again.
“Just so we’re clear,” he began. “I can’t promise—”
“I understand, sir,” Hoshi said.
Trip sighed. “Captain Archer was still alive, he’d kill me for letting you do this.”
“No he wouldn’t.” Hoshi shook her head. “He’d want me to go. To make sure we were doing everything we could to prevent a war.”
“Hmmphh.” Trip smiled, looked her over. “You sure you’re all right?”
