The Good That Men Do

by Michael A. Martin

  Gardner stroked his salt-and-pepper beard as he leaned forward toward his own screen. “Captain, you will proceed back to Sector Zero Zero One, where you will assist in preparing a defense of Earth. There may be any number of attacks against us in the days leading up to the signing of the Coalition Compact. That event could be a lightning rod for the discontented across the quadrant. We need you here .”

  The Admiral leaned back again in his chair. “The Coridanites have ample ship and weapon resources to repel any Romulan attack. These… rumors you have heard may well be a feint by the Romulans intended to draw Starfleet resources to Coridan, thereby leaving Earth largely vulnerable. I’m certain that I don’t need to remind you what happened the last time we let ourselves get caught with our pants down because our flagship was parsecs away.”

  “Sir, Earth’s defense systems have been significantly improved since the Xindi attacks,” Archer said, irked by Gardner’s cheap shot.

  “They’ve not been improved anywhere near enough to suit me ,” Gardner said brusquely, barreling forward before Archer could say anything further. “At this juncture in the Coalition’s development, now is definitely not the time to put our faith in rumors and scraps of information about Coridan, or to second-guess Romulan intentions in a way that leaves our flanks exposed.”

  He pointed toward Archer. “Let me be blunt, Captain. You are to get Enterprise back to Earth, double-time and posthaste. Do I make myself clear?”

  Archer wasn’t happy with Gardner’s decision, nor with his chiding tone, but he nodded his assent to a superior officer, as he was trained to do. “You do, sir.”

  “Good. Then I will expect to see you by this time next week. Gardner out.” A moment later, the viewscreen replaced the admiral’s frowning image with the blue-and-white logo of Earth’s Starfleet.

  Archer’s stomach churned as he examined his ever-narrowing set of options. Because of everything they’d learned so far, he was convinced that the Aenar were indeed en route to the Romulans- if they weren’t already in the clutches of their military- and that one way or another, they were going to be used as deadly weapons against the Coalition. Beyond those concerns, and his debt to Shran, he was also keenly anxious about Trip’s covert spy mission into Romulan territory.

  A part of him fantasized that Trip would find out some vital piece of information, break protocol, and contact Enterprise, and that they would swoop in not only to save the day, but to save Trip as well. He smiled ruefully at the thought, knowing it was as implausible as the plot to any bad holovid adventure he’d watched as a boy.

  The door to his quarters chimed.

  “Come in,” he said. He was surprised to see that it was T’Pol. “I didn’t expect to see you quite so soon. How’s Shran?”

  “Still recovering in sickbay, Captain, though very quickly, according to Phlox,” T’Pol said.

  “That’s good news,” Archer said, feeling real relief at the news. He hadn’t realized until this moment just how important it was to him to see the Andorian survive and succeed in his personal quest.

  “His capacity to recall stellar cartographical details is evidently quite prodigious. He was also determined to relay the information to us as quickly as possible, regardless of the pain he was experiencing. Most importantly, he was able to pinpoint for us the exact region through which the transport ship was traveling when he made contact with Jhamel’s mind.”

  She handed him a padd that displayed a navigational heading. “My calculations show that the slavers are less than a day ahead of us at our maximum speed. If Shran is correct, we should have little difficulty catching up with them.”

  Archer rubbed his chin as he considered his next move. “The heading they’re on takes them right toward the heart of the Romulan Star Empire. In another day, they’ll be even closer. Going after them is incredibly risky.” He put the padd down on the table and looked up at T’Pol. “But that’s not the worst of our problems.”

  The Vulcan first officer raised her eyebrow inquisitively, but said nothing.

  “Gardner just ordered us back to Earth,” Archer said. “Now.” He related the rest of his conversation with the admiral, while T’Pol listened without comment.

  “This puts us in a bit of a bind. We know that the Orions took the Aenar, but we have no solid proof yet of why. The only clear information we have on the Aenar’s current whereabouts comes from Shran’s psychic link to Jhamel.”

  T’Pol moved one of the ready room’s other chairs out and sat down in it. “Captain, given everything we now know about the Aenar abductions, and the information you obtained on Rigel X about the Adigeons, the only logical answer is that the Aenar are being delivered to the Romulans. The Romulans have only one purpose for the Aenar: to pilot their telepresence drones in attacks against their enemies.

  “So the question becomes, which world will be their first target? Will they attack Earth, in an attempt to disrupt or even destroy the Coalition? Or will their initial target be Coridan, a prospective Coalition member that possesses more dilithium wealth than the rest of the Coalition combined, and which reportedly has much faster ships?”

  “Which do you think it is?” Archer asked.

  “The answer to that remains unclear, given our current information,” T’Pol said. “But we are relatively certain that stopping the delivery of the Aenar to the Romulans could greatly hamper whatever plans the Romulans are making, whomever they are making them against. Securing the Aenar would therefore be an offensive tactic rather than merely a defensive one.”

  Archer interlaced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “If we go to rescue the Aenar, we’re disobeying a direct order. Which could have serious repercussions, even if we’re right.”

  T’Pol tilted her head slightly, and the merest hint of mischief crept into her eyes. “Did the admiral give you explicit directions to begin your journey to Earth as soon as you broke contact?”

  Archer smiled broadly. “Not explicitly. He said it would be in our best interests to do so, and noted that he’d see me within a week.”

  “Then you still have some six days and twenty-three hours in which to arrive,” T’Pol said, looking out the viewport, her expression changing from mischievous to calculating. “We are within a day of catching up with the ship carrying the Aenar. If all goes well, that diversion should prove to be a brief one.” She paused for a moment, then turned to look directly into his eyes. “Should you decide to make that diversion, of course.”

  “I’m sure we’ll still catch hell for this, but Gardner wasn’t all that precise in his orders, now that I come to think of it,” Archer said, tugging the waist of his jump-suit down as he rose to his feet. “I don’t see any reason we can’t make a brief course diversion. We’ll just have to make up for the lost time double-quick on the way back home.”

  Archer pushed one thought into the back of his mind. All of this supposes that we’re the ones who come out on top in the fight to free the Aenar. Can’t assume that the Romulans on that ship will be pushovers.

  On the bright side, if we don’t win, I probably won’t have to worry all that much about the wrath of Sam Gardner.

  Thirty

  Friday, February 21, 2155

  Rator II

  TRIP STARED, GRIMLY FASCINATED, as the barrel of the disruptor pistol swung in his direction and remained leveled directly at his face. Switching his grip so that he held the weapon in both hands, Ch’uihv regarded him through narrowed eyelids.

  This is it, Charles, Trip told himself. Time seemed to slow down precipitously, the way clocks did aboard space vessels that accelerated nearly to light speed without actually going to warp. He was hyperaware that within another elastic moment or two he would be just as dead as Phuong, whose still smoldering corpse he had to continue studiously ignoring in order to avoid becoming violently sick.

  Soon, he would be as dead as almost everyone in his life already believed him to be.

  He judged the distance betwee
n himself and his executioner- about two meters- and decided he had nothing to lose by leaping straight at him. Maybe Ch’uihv would be surprised just enough to give him a fighting chance. Of course, he knew that wouldn’t save him from the armed guards.

  But what the hell, he thought. Trip tensed his leg muscles and bent his knees slightly, preparing to take what would very likely be the last long-odds gamble of his life.

  “Stop this!” came a shout from behind, disrupting Trip’s concentration and causing a look of mild surprise to cross Ch’uihv’s normally stoic features.

  It took Trip a beat to recognize the frail Ehrehin as the source of the cry.

  “Don’t take your foolish rage out on Cunaehr, you execrable coward,” Ehrehin said, his voice astonishingly calm and resolute. “There’s no reason for you to do any more killing.”

  Ch’uihv chuckled and shook his head. “On the contrary, Doctor. There is indeed a very sound reason. I want something very badly, and unless you provide it immediately I will demonstrate precisely how badly by killing your beloved Cunaehr- if that’s really his name- right where he stands.”

  The new stardrive, Trip thought.

  “Don’t do it, Doctor,” he said, turning toward the elderly scientist. Before he could react, a crushing blow came down against the side of his head, and he crumpled to the deck, stunned but still conscious.

  “Give me detailed schematics of your avaihh lli vastam work, Doctor. Or else I will apply more than the butt of my weapon to your aide’s skull.”

  Sprawled prone on the unyielding hangar floor, Trip felt the cold barrel of Ch’uihv’s weapon pressing painfully into the back of his neck.

  “Choose, Doctor,” Ch’uihv growled. “Now!”

  “Ehrehin, don’t—” Trip said, his voice muffled by the deck and his words interrupted by a bout of nausea, no doubt caused by the blow to his head.

  “I will begin counting now, Doctor. Sei.” Thanks to his internal translator, Trip recognized the Romulan word for “three.”

  “This is absurd,” Ehrehin said.

  “Kre.”

  Two, Trip counted. The weapon continued jabbing painfully into the back of his neck.

  “There’s no reason this has to happen.”

  “Hwi.”

  One.

  Ch’uihv’s pistol clicked loudly, sounding to Trip like the rattle of a guillotine blade being drawn upward. He tried to persuade his body to roll to the side, even though he still felt stunned and nauseated from the blow he’d just taken. Besides, he knew there was no way he could outrun Ch’uihv’s weapon, even if he were in perfect condition.

  “Lliu.”

  That’s “zero,” Trip thought. The stench of Phuong’s charred flesh assaulted his nostrils, like a portent of what was to come. He closed his eyes tightly, preparing as best he could for the inevitable.

  “If you kill him, I shall kill myself,” Ehrehin said impatiently. “And my knowledge will die with me.”

  Trip opened his eyes and saw that the scientist was now standing so close to him that there was no way to hit Trip without taking them both down.

  “Is that what you want?” Ehrehin continued, haranguing their captors. “Or would you prefer that we all sit down like civilized people, so that I can properly satisfy your curiosity about my work?”

  At first, Trip had thought that Ehrehin had stood up to Ch’uihv; then he suddenly realized that the old man had just done the exact opposite, though he clearly had little choice in the matter.

  The pistol withdrew from Trip’s neck, and a pair of Ch’uihv’s men hauled him roughly to his feet, manacling his wrists behind his back without showing an excessive amount of gentleness.

  Though he was grateful still to be alive, he knew that Ehrehin had just made an enormous mistake- and very likely the final one of his long career.

  A trio of guards dragged Trip unceremoniously out of the hangar, into the now brightly illuminated corridor, and finally into a nearby conference room, which was equipped with a large table, a half-dozen chairs, and several small desktop computer terminals.

  Without exchanging any words with him- or so much as looking at him- the guards shoved Trip down into one of the chairs. He wasn’t sure whether the manacles that secured his wrists behind his back were making him more uncomfortable than the disruptor pistols that were now trained on him.

  Scant moments after Trip’s entrance, the conference room door slid open to admit Ch’uihv and another pair of guards. The men, who were half carrying and half dragging Ehrehin between them, deposited their charge somewhat more gently into the seat beside the one Trip occupied.

  Ch’uihv took the seat directly across the table from Trip and Ehrehin as the guards looked on vigilantly. The Ejhoi Ormiin leader turned one of the computer terminals so that it faced him. He quickly entered several commands, apparently activating both his own terminal and the one closest to Trip and Ehrehin.

  “There is an electronic stylus attached to the terminal in front of you, Doctor,” Ch’uihv said, his intense gaze locked upon the elderly scientist. “You will use it to enter whatever formulae or diagrams my people will need to master in order to replicate your latest work on avaihh lli vastam.”

  The elderly scientist sighed in resignation, though he didn’t seem quite able to pick up the stylus before him.

  “Doctor. I thought I had made myself clear back in the hangar. Please do not force me to do to your assistant what I was forced to do to his associate, Terha.” To illustrate his point, he unholstered his weapon and set it down on the table before him, tantalizingly out of Trip’s reach.

  He’s going to kill me anyway, Trip thought. Hell, he’ll probably give Ehrehin the very same treatment once he thinks he’s got what he needs from him. There’s just no trusting this bastard.

  “Don’t do it,” Trip whispered, leaning toward the scientist. A large, rough hand shoved him hard against the back of his chair.

  “I will be watching your every entry most attentively, Doctor,” Ch’uihv said.

  You’re not the only one, pal, Trip thought, his engineering reflexes kicking in nearly as strongly as his instinct for self-preservation.

  Ehrehin looked at Trip, a deep sadness in his rheumy eyes. With obvious reluctance and a trembling hand, the old man took up the stylus, then began slowly sketching directly on the monitor screen on the tabletop in front of him.

  Trip watched in growing fascination as a detailed technical diagram began to take shape on the screen- an image that Ch’uihv seemed to be studying intently on his own terminal. Trip hoped that before Ch’uihv finally killed him, he’d develop at least a partial understanding of this new technology that purportedly allowed star-ships to reach warp seven.

  Unfortunately, it was a technology that would soon be in the hands of a breakaway Romulan faction that was probably at least as dangerous to Earth and her allies as all the military power of the Romulan Star Empire itself.

  Thirty-One

  Friday, February 21, 2155

  Enterprise Nx-01

  ARCHER LEANED FORWARD in his command chair, staring straight ahead at the screen. The long-range scanners were showing him exactly what he wanted to see.

  “You’re certain they haven’t detected us?” he asked.

  “They’ve shown no sign of it so far,” Reed said from his station to the captain’s right. “They apparently aren’t making any active proximity scans, and they’ve neither sent nor received any outside messages since we found them.”

  Ten minutes earlier they had finally almost caught up with the transport ship- thanks to Shran’s continued use of the telepresence unit- only to discover that what they were chasing was not an Orion ship, as they had assumed, but rather a completely unfamiliar class of transport vessel, presumably one of Romulan design. The prevailing theory among the bridge crew was that the Romulans had picked up their Aenar cargo from the Orions somewhere outside of Romulan territory, and had then headed back toward their homeworld.

  “Cock
y bastards,” Archer said. “They think that because they’re in their own space, they won’t have to worry about being brought to book for their crimes.”

  “They may well be correct,” T’Pol said. “While we appear to be the only other vessel in the vicinity, we should remain alert for other countermeasures the Romulans may have deployed nearby.”

  “We’re already scanning for cloaked mines,” Reed said. Archer saw him shudder, and knew he must have been recalling the time he’d been impaled by a Romulan mine attached to Enterprise’s hull, just months into the lieutenant’s tenure aboard the ship. Reed very likely would have lost his life in that incident, had Archer not rescued him.

  “There could be other Romulan weapons of which we are unaware,” T’Pol said.

  “Are we sure that the Aenar are aboard that ship?” Archer asked.

  T’Pol studied her scanner’s readings, the bluish light from its hooded display brightening the area around her eyes. “We are still too far away for our sensors to identify individuals, but I can confirm the presence of several dozen humanoid life signs, some of them Aenar and some unidentified.”

  Archer sighed heavily, considering whether to tell Shran the news. Better to keep him in plain sight so he doesn’t try to use his own ship to ram the Romulans, or do something else equally stupid, he thought. He looked to Hoshi. “Call Shran up here to the bridge, Hoshi. Make sure he’s escorted. Unobtrusively.”

  He turned back to face the forward viewscreen. “All right, people, we’ve planned this out, now let’s make sure we pull it off perfectly. Travis, make certain that we’re on top of them before they know it. Malcolm, transfer as much energy as you need to our ventral hull plating. And ready all weapons.”