by Dave Stern
“Fine.”
“You don’t look a hundred percent to me. Let’s just get Phlox down here to—”
“He said I was fine. Good to go.”
“He didn’t even examine you.”
“My point exactly.” Hoshi folded her arms across her chest.
Trip sighed again, and opened the shuttlebay door.
“I talked to the new governor. On Procyron,” he said over his shoulder, moving quickly across the upper-level observation platform and then starting down the gangway toward the bay proper. “The acting governor. They can’t promise anything, it all depends on what happens with the Armada, obviously, but assuming it’s safe to travel, they have regular shuttles back to Morianna. When you get back, they said it shouldn’t be more than a month before—”
“I understand, sir.”
Trip stopped on the ladder, and looked up at her. “You keep sayin’ that, but I’m not really sure you do.”
“I do. Enterprise is heading back to Earth, and I’m staying here.”
“Almost. Enterprise is heading back to Earth, and you’re going off to war.”
“That’s not entirely right, sir. The Kanthropians are not going to war,” she said, repeating what the Mediator who’d taken over for Elder Green had told her. They’d all learned then that in this sector of the galaxy, and most of the surrounding ones, the Kanthropians were officially recognized as noncombatants in much the same way the old Red Cross had been back on Earth.
“They’ll be right in the middle of it, though, if it starts,” Trip said. “And who knows if the Antianna are going to make much of a distinction between them and the rest of the fleet once the fighting starts.”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Hoshi said.
Trip shook his head, and started back down the ladder. She had to take the steps two at a time to keep up with him.
She understood his nervousness, at least partially, but she didn’t feel like she had a choice. The Kanthropians wanted her help translating the signal. They wanted to stop the war, just like Captain Archer had. He would have wanted her to do this, she knew that.
Trip reached bottom, and headed across the deck, past Shuttle One to where Shuttle Two was normally berthed, only now that craft was sitting at the far corner of the bay, near a number of unused cargo pods, and in its place was a sleek craft half its size, the Kanthropian courier ship, which to Hoshi’s eyes looked more like an old Earth fighter plane, at least the front end of it, a transparent canopy where the pilot now sat, its back to them.
Trip knocked on the canopy.
The pilot, who had refused all offers to leave his craft, preferring to “stay ready” instead, turned and saw the two of them. A second later, a hatch on the side of the craft hissed open.
Trip bent and peered inside.
“Kind of cramped,” he said.
Hoshi looked too. “Cramped” was the word all right; the passenger chamber was shaped like a little escape pod, a single seat in an oval-shaped space, barely enough room for her and her flight bag. Good thing she’d packed as sparingly as the Kanthropians had suggested—a change of uniform, her data viewer. She shoved the pack in as far as it would go, and stood.
“Time to go,” she said.
Trip stuck out his hand. “Time to go.”
They shook. Then, and with a final nod to the commander—the captain—Hoshi squeezed herself into the little courier ship, and contorted her body as best she could to fit into the seat. Her knees, though, were practically touching her chest, and her elbows jammed into her sides.
This isn’t right, she thought. Kanthropians were bigger than humans…taller for sure. There had to be a way to make herself more comfortable. But nothing in the cabin’s interior jumped out at her as a control surface. Most of the little compartment was covered in a textured gray foam, clearly intended to cushion the passenger. More than ever, this part of the ship reminded her of an escape pod, like one of those on the old passenger transports.
A com crackled to life.
“Ensign Hoshi Sato.”
The voice was relatively high-pitched, sexless. She didn’t recognize it. Probably the pilot, though she had no way of knowing, the passenger compartment was so completely sealed off from the rest of the ship, from the outside as well, save for a small viewport in the hatch door.
“Right here.”
“We are now clearing the docking bay of your vessel. Please look to your left. You will find a series of seat adjustment controls.”
And there they were—a worn series of reddish circles embossed on a plain black metallic surface, so worn that she had at first mistaken it for the gray material that coated the rest of the cabin’s interior.
“Found them.”
“Please make yourself as comfortable as possible. Inform me when your adjustments are complete.”
She touched one of the reddish circles, and the back of her seat gave beneath her weight. Gave a good three inches, giving her room to breathe easier. She did the same with a half dozen other controls, until she was as close to comfortable as she supposed she was going to get.
“Okay.”
“Stand by.”
“Stand by? For what?”
“Substantial acceleration velocities, necessary in order to reach trigger velocity for FTL operations.”
“FTL operations? As in faster-than-light travel? As in…this little ship has a warp engine?”
“No.”
Of course not, Hoshi thought. That would be ridiculous. A ship this small with a warp engine.
“We have Type-Two FTL engines,” the pilot said. “Accelerating…now.”
And with that, the ship suddenly rocketed forward. Hoshi’s entire body was forced back into the seat, and the stars to her right melted into a puddle of black and white.
Fifteen
Malcolm stood by, waiting for Trip to get back to him, as long as he could—he’d been up all night, and kept nodding off on the restaurant table—before closing the circuit, heading back to the guest quarters and going to sleep. He slept for four hours—the most sleep he’d allowed himself in a week. It was a bad idea. His body woke up—or rather, didn’t wake up—hungering for more. He forced it out of bed and into a shower. Marched it right back down to the same restaurant, ordered the same food, and coffee. Lots of coffee. Halfway through eating, the caffeine kicked in. Sen was alive. That was not the issue. The issue was, where had he gone? Where was he hiding? On the planet, off-planet…he must have had help with a plot of this scale. Who? Step number one, in Reed’s mind, was a trip back to the government complex, a search for clues. Talk to Poz and Verkin—see if they’d found anything else. Get hardcopies of the network usage they’d marked. Try and get to Sen’s personal files. A lot to do. Not a lot of time to do it in. The peace conference.
He drank more coffee. He switched on his communicator. It started beeping instantly.
“Reed here.”
“Enterprise. Carstairs here, sir.”
“Ensign. Good to hear your voice again.”
“And yours, sir. We’ve been trying to locate you for some time.”
“I was asleep.”
“Yes, sir. Hold on, Lieutenant. Captain Tucker wants to talk to you.”
“I’ll bet he does.” There was a pause. Then,
“Lieutenant. It sounds like it was a productive night.”
“An interesting one, that’s for sure.”
“Well come on up here and tell us all about it. About Governor Sen still being alive.”
“Not much to tell. Yet. I’m going back to his office. There are some people—”
“Malcolm. I need you back aboard Enterprise.”
Silence.
“The peace conference, remember?”
“I remember. That’s still a few days off, isn’t it? We have time.”
“No, we don’t. Admiral McCormick wants us to make a detour first. Barcana Six.”
“Stall him.”
“Not poss
ible.”
“Captain. Trip. You know I’m not given to wild-goose chases. And I’m telling you I can’t leave just yet. I’m on the verge…”
“If it was up to me, we’d stay till you were satisfied, Malcolm. But it’s not up to me. Admiral McCormick gave a direct order. Just like the one I’m giving you one now. Come back to the ship.”
Reed was quiet for a moment.
“You know, if Sen is alive, there’s a chance…” Reed hesitated. He didn’t want to say the words out loud, didn’t want to speak the thought that had been lurking at the edge of his consciousness ever since earlier this morning, but now…
“Don’t,” Trip said quietly.
“But…”
“Tell the Thelasians what you’ve got,” Trip said. “They’ll keep us informed. They’ll…”
“They’ll bollix it up entirely!” Reed said, louder than he’d intended. Everyone in the restaurant turned to stare at him.
“I’m sorry, Malcolm.”
Reed felt a familiar tingle, and cursed himself for an idiot. He opened his hand to drop the communicator, which was of course providing a transporter fix, his exact location, a spot to focus the matter-transference beam on, but it was too late.
The restaurant, and Procyron, disappeared around him.
When the world came back in focus, he was standing in the transporter chamber of Enterprise, back aboard his ship for the first time in a week.
Shannon was manning the transporter. Chief Lee stood next to him.
“Lieutenant. Welcome back.”
“Can’t say I’m glad to be here.”
“Sir?”
Reed stepped off the platform and headed for the bridge.
“Where is he?” Malcolm asked as he stepped out of the lift. Heads—Travis at the helm, Carstairs at communications, T’Pol at science—turned to face him. The captain’s chair was empty. “Where’s Trip?”
T’Pol stepped in front of him. “Captain Tucker is in the ready room, engaged in a private conversation with…”
“Thanks,” Reed said, sliding past her to the ready room. He hit the com button. No response. He hit it again.
“Lieutenant,” T’Pol said, and he turned his head to see her standing directly behind him. “As I said, Captain Tucker is currently engaged in a—”
Reed hit the com again. And again, a couple more times, until the door opened, and he stepped through.
Trip was sitting in Captain Archer’s chair, glaring at him. Behind him, on the monitor screen, was Captain Hernandez from the Columbia.
“Hold on a minute, Erika,” Trip said. “My crew appears to be mutinying.”
“Sorry. I’ll come back,” Reed said, instantly regretting his decision to barge in.
Trip shook his head. “No, no,” he said, and waved Reed closer. “We were just talking about you.”
Malcolm moved into the room, moved into the monitor’s point of view so Hernandez could see him too.
“Hello, Lieutenant,” she said. “Not so much about you, actually, as about what you found.”
Malcolm looked at Trip.
“Governor Sen?” Trip prompted.
Suddenly the evidence that had seemed so definitive to him just a few hours ago felt—as Verkin had pointed out—circumstantial. Like nothing at all. A lot of hot air.
He felt, all at once, very, very stupid.
“Nothing definitive,” he said. “Just a lot of loose ends that don’t tie up the way they should.”
He explained.
“Loose ends, all right,” Hernandez said. “Stay on it. From what Trip tells me…this Sen was—maybe is—a real sonuvabitch. Something like this wouldn’t be past him at all.”
“No,” Malcolm agreed. “I don’t think it would.”
Hernandez’s gaze hardened. “You’ll let me know if you find anything, won’t you?”
“Of course,” he said.
“We’ll keep you posted,” Trip said.
“Do. Columbia out.” The little monitor went dark. Trip swung around in his chair. His eyes looked a little glassy. A little red. Malcolm wondered if this was the first chance he’d had to talk to Hernandez; the two of them had been close, he knew. Not as close as she and the captain had been, if the scuttlebutt was correct, or as close as Trip and the captain, but—
“Sorry I had to pull you out of there ahead of schedule,” Trip said. “But McCormick—”
“No need to explain,” Reed said, holding up a hand. “I understand.”
“I know you do.” He shook his head. “You know who this important person is we’re supposed to pick up at Barcana?”
“No.”
“A vice-ambassador. The Tellarite vice-ambassador for economic development. Can you believe that?”
“The one the captain almost…”
“Yeah.” Trip shook his head. “Unbelievable. I bet he’s looking down right now at us and laughing.”
“He’s laughing, all right,” Reed said, and then both men fell silent.
“So,” Trip said, “you’ll tell the Thelasians what you found? See what else they can dig up?”
“Of course.” For all the good that’ll do, he added silently. Some of his skepticism must have shown on this face.
“Yeah. Well.” Trip shrugged. “Maybe we’ll luck out.”
“Maybe,” Malcolm agreed.
The com beeped.
“Captain?” That was Carstairs. “I have the Tellarite Embassy on Barcana for you.”
“Tell them to hold on a minute.” Trip looked up at Malcolm. “If they don’t find anything—”
“The Thelasians.”
“Yes. If the Thelasians don’t find anything, we come back here after the peace conference. You, me, Erika…we make a few inquiries on our own.”
“Unofficial inquiries, I assume.”
“That’s right.”
For the first time all day, Malcolm smiled. “I like the way you think, Commander.”
Trip didn’t smile back.
“If that sonuvabitch is still alive, if he’s responsible for the captain’s death…”
The words hung there a minute.
“I’d better get back to work,” Malcolm said finally. “Make sure the armory is still where I left it.”
“You should see engineering. Hess is—she doesn’t—” He shook his head. “Between you and me, I’d be surprised if Enterprise makes it back to Earth in one piece.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“It’s worse.”
Reed couldn’t tell whether or not he was serious.
The com beeped again.
“Almost as bad as the Tellarites,” Trip said, and then he did smile. “You should hear the things they want us to do—to prepare the ship for the vice-ambassador. A laundry list as long as…”
“I’ll leave you to it, then.”
He started for the door. Trip swiveled his chair back around.
“Put the ambassador through,” Reed heard him say.
“Actually, it’s Admiral McCormick’s office, sir,” Carstairs said.
Trip threw his hands in the air. “How is anyone supposed to get any work done around here?”
Malcolm assumed the question was rhetorical.
He let the door close behind him.
“Ensign Sato.”
Hoshi opened her eyes.
The voice came not from the com, but from the hatch to her right, which was now open, and through which a familiar face now peered in. One of the Mediators she’d met at the reception.
“May I assist?” he asked, extending a hand.
“Thank you.” She clambered out of the courier ship, and then reached back in for her kit. As she turned, she wobbled on her feet a bit. The Mediator steadied her.
“Sorry,” she said. “Guess I’m still a little woozy.”
“Disorientation after initial exposure to Type-Two FTL acceleration is to be expected.”
She nodded, taking in her surroundings—the Kanthropian version of a
shuttlebay, cramped as well, slots for four ships similar in design to the vessel she had arrived in, room enough for personnel to maneuver around those ships—and the Mediator, who wore the same plain brown robe she had seen him in at the party. Looked, in fact, exactly the same, except for a patch of slightly discolored skin along one side of his face, a souvenir of the explosion, she guessed.
“I’m all right now,” she said
“Then follow me, if you would. Elder Green is expecting us.”
They left the docking area and entered a narrow corridor, which they followed for several minutes as it wound crookedly through the ship. Along the way, the Mediator told her a few things, about S-12 (a state-of-the-art mediation vessel which she was not to judge by the amenities or lack thereof, though it was aware of the value that many species, including humans, placed on such things), his name (Younger Emmen), and the reason for both the rushed nature of Elder Green’s communiqué and the use of the Type-2 FTL drive (the nature of which he would not address, owing to the relative technological immaturity of her species, at which point Hoshi thought here we go again, level-four technology and all that).
“The Armada, with S-12 accompanying, was forced to depart several minutes ahead of schedule. FTL 2 was thus required for your rendezvous.”
“Why the rush?” she asked, as he led her into an elevator that started downward with a sudden lurch which made Hoshi’s stomach start spinning all over again.
“Because,” he began, and at that moment, the elevator stopped, the door slid open, and they stepped out into the single largest open space Hoshi had ever encountered aboard a starship.
It was the length of a soccer field, the solarium on Procyron cut in half, fully a hundred meters from where she stood to the far side of the room, where a transparent wall looked out on the stars.
Between her and that wall, the room was filled with a series of horseshoe-shaped consoles, at each of which several mediators—some seated, some standing, all dressed in the characteristic brown robes of their order—were busy working. There had to be dozens of them, but her attention was drawn immediately back to the space visible outside the glass. There, the ships of the Armada were on full display—perhaps as many as a hundred of them, surrounding a single Antianna vessel, identical twin to the ship Enterprise had encountered.
