Archer couldn’t resist returning Ramirez’s smirk-like expression, albeit with increased wattage, as he took the seat between Ramirez and Hernandez. “As my grandmother used to say, Carlos, ‘Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.’ Anyway, wasn’t your weapons officer the trigger-happy maniac who left that big scratch on the starboard side of my shuttlepod?”
Ramirez affected a look of wide-eyed innocence as he began to fill a beer mug for Archer. “The phase cannons were set at one-percent intensity, standard war-game protocol. So that scratch ought to buff right out.”
“Please, Lieutenant,” Captain Narsu said to Reed, gesturing toward the last empty chair. “Join us.”
Although Malcolm still appeared reluctant to mingle with so many senior command officers, he took the proffered seat and joined in the conviviality of conversation, appetizers, drinks, and the communal Chinese meal that followed. The discussion seemed to have started winding down almost before Archer realized it—partially a result, he decided, of a decidedly non-Einsteinian alcohol-fueled time-dilation effect—though a glance at his wrist chronometer told him that more than three hours had passed since he and Malcolm had arrived.
I really have become isolated from most human contact lately, haven’t I? he thought, in a poignant emotional leitmotif that reprised itself each time one of his peers—Uttan first, followed by Ramirez, and finally Shumar—stood up to say a collegial farewell.
Now Erika and Malcolm were Archer’s only company. Spread across the tabletop that separated them was a veritable Gettysburg of empty mugs, bottles, and pitchers.
Reed rose. “If you don’t mind, Captain—Captains—I really ought to be heading out now.”
Belatedly, Archer realized what his ever-magnanimous tactical officer was trying to do.
“Relax, Malcolm,” Archer said. “Don’t feel you need to rush off.”
“But I do, sir. It’s getting quite late, and there’s a, ah, scratched shuttlepod that desperately needs some buffing out.”
And with that, Archer found himself sitting alone in the private dining area with Erika.
“So,” she said.
“So,” he echoed, chuckling. “Here we are at long last.”
She took a sip of tea that couldn’t have been more than lukewarm by now. “Just the way we planned it last June.”
Of course, he might have planned on a different restaurant, since this was the same restaurant where his other old flame, a waitress named Rebecca, still worked. Had Erika known that when she had first suggested this place? Or was it simply one of her favorite haunts by simple coincidence?
The image of the two most significant loves of his adult life meeting here for drinks and conversation—mostly about him—immediately gave the captain pause.
“How long will you be staying on Earth?” he asked.
Erika scowled slightly. “Not nearly long enough. For a lot of things.”
He nodded. “When do you have to ship out?” he said quietly.
“Columbia breaks orbit at oh seven hundred tomorrow.” She glanced at her wrist. “Today, I mean.”
“Back to patrolling the civilian shipping lanes?” he said.
“And protecting supply lines, and escorting mining convoys, and fighting pirates whenever the Romulans aren’t keeping us too busy. Starfleet still has too few ships on the frontier to give Columbia much downtime. In fact, my crew will have to rush through a long list of repairs and skip a few scheduled upgrades if we’re going to reach the Onias sector in time to do any good there.”
“Next time we’re both in the same town, then,” Archer said, trying to keep the regret out of his voice.
“Next time we’re both in the same sector.” She leaned toward him and gave him a single chaste kiss on the cheek by way of farewell before she stood up. “Let’s hope this damned war is over by then. Where are you taking Enterprise next?”
He rose too, and was grateful that the world remained steady and level beneath his boots. Archer’s eyes were briefly drawn to the ship patch on Erika’s upper left arm, with its Latin motto, “Audentes fortuna juvat.” Drawn from Virgil’s Aeneid, it translated to “Fortune favors the bold.” As he recalled the one and only truly surprising portion of his post-war-game debriefing, he hoped the sentiment expressed on that patch would apply to Enterprise.
“Enterprise will be taking the point when we take Starbase One back from the Romulans.”
FORTY-ONE
Middle of the month of Z’at, YS 8765
Tuesday, March 9, 2156
Outer ShiKahr, Vulcan
T’POL STOOD in the immaculate garden that her old friend had tended so diligently since her mother’s death. Her inner eyelids closing against the sunlight, she drew the still, hot air deeply into her lungs, pausing to appreciate the blend of plomeek and g’teth blossoms it carried. She decided there was no point in putting off saying what she needed to say any longer.
“Denak, we have already made fifteen diligent attempts to locate Ych’a,” T’Pol said. “Nine of those attempts involved interstellar voyages. And yet we have not found any reliable information as to her present whereabouts.”
Nodding, the gray-haired former spymaster said, “This is so. Just as it is so that we have yet to obtain any conclusive evidence of Ych’a’s death. The link tells me my wife is still alive. We should continue the search.”
T’Pol recalled how strongly her psionic link with Charles Tucker had motivated her to do everything in her power to rescue him from the dangers he was facing in Romulan space last year. She had allowed nothing to dissuade her from her commitment to pursuing Trip, not only through parsecs of interstellar space, but also across the political boundaries that separated Coalition space from Romulan territory.
“Perhaps,” she said at length as she moved toward the open entryway that led from the garden into the central living area of the house. “However, I have another mission as well, one to which I must devote my full attention now that Administrator T’Pau’s return to Vulcan is imminent.”
Denak followed her inside the house, his hands clasped meditatively before him. “I see. Perhaps if you had been as attentive to my search for Ych’a as you have been to your constant attempts to locate T’Pau—”
T’Pol interrupted him, though she took care not to sound nettled by his accusation. “Your criticism is unfair, in addition to being overly emotional. Ych’a was—is—my friend as well as your mate. And I am a trained Vulcan intelligence operative. Therefore there is no logic in assuming that I am incapable of performing multiple tasks simultaneously.”
“You argue my point convincingly,” Denak said, still stubborn even though his tone had softened somewhat. “That you are more than able to continue to assist me in finding Ych’a while you also act on your Starfleet orders.”
T’Pol reminded herself that one of the reasons Denak had been so effective in leading and motivating the operatives serving under him was his facility with rhetorical traps. “You are as aware as I am, Denak, that even the most capable person must focus and prioritize her tasks,” she said. “I am confident that Ych’a would agree with me, were she here.”
“You certainly have displayed no lack of focus on your Starfleet mission,” Denak said. “I must grant you that. And that focus has manifested itself for more than a tevun-krus now as obsessive clandestine scrutiny of T’Pau’s government.”
She raised an eyebrow, unsure where Denak’s rhetorical lirpa would strike next. “My thoroughness is only logical, considering that my purpose is to persuade T’Pau to fight the Romulans alongside Vulcan’s Coalition allies. A difficult task, made far more so by my inability to find her.”
“Fair enough, T’Pol. But what has your scrutiny—the surveillance and data-tapping tasks with which I assisted you without hesitation— yielded so far? I see only conflicting and inconclusive evidence of a ‘conspiracy’ that probably owes its entire alleged existence to two completely nonsinister factors: first, administrative incompetence
on some minor bureaucrat’s part, and second, excessive imagination on yours.”
T’Pol pushed her rising anger down with a conscious, though not yet strenuous, effort. She reminded herself that this was far from the first time that she and Denak had disagreed on matters of intelligence analysis.
“I can see only one valid interpretation of the intelligence we have acquired so far: the Vulcan government has been secretly using civilian merchant vessels to export weapons covertly through third parties, perhaps using business interests on Adigeon Prime as proxies. We already know that the Adigeons are willing to act as intermediaries for both criminal enterprises and hostile powers—including the Romulans.”
Denak shook his head. “I find it difficult to accept that one of my oldest friends—and the daughter of a committed, pacifistic Syrrannite like T’Les—would seriously entertain the notion that Administrator T’Pau would secretly arm the Romulans. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
T’Pol considered pointing out that neutrality was often an untenable position in a universe that was all too frequently binary in nature. It seemed to her that T’Pau’s decision to leave Earth and the rest of the Coalition to their own devices against the Romulans was only a short distance away on the very same continuum with actively assisting the Romulans in their war effort. It was all a matter of degree.
Instead, she decided to hew as close to the heart of the matter as she could. “I level no accusations at Administrator T’Pau. Her senior deputy, however, may be another matter entirely.”
Denak lofted an eyebrow. “Minister Kuvak? How so?”
“I... do not trust him, Denak.”
An expression that T’Pol could describe only as mild satisfaction settled upon Denak’s lined countenance. “Interesting. Living aboard Enterprise must have greatly honed your capacity for what the humans call ‘intuition.’ Who is being overly emotional now?”
“You were a field agent far longer than I was, Denak. You worked among races that valued logic far less than we do. Therefore you should understand better than anyone that certainty sometimes trumps measurable evidence. Or even logic. Your mind-link with Ych’a serves as a case in point.”
“I will grant you that,” Denak said. “However, I must point out that self-delusion is an ever-present pitfall, even for one as rigorously committed to logic as a Kolinahr master. Since our search for the actual weapons in question—not merely serial numbers cross-referenced with sealed shipping canisters—has been no more successful than your efforts to contact Administrator T’Pau, I could just as easily conclude that your ‘discovery’ may amount to nothing more suspicious than misfiled or corrupted computer records.”
“These data patterns are extremely unlikely to have resulted from mere coincidence,” T’Pol said. “Or simple incompetence.”
“Perhaps,” Denak said, spreading his hands in an almost priestly who-can-truly-comprehend-the-infinite? gesture. “Or it may be that you have indeed found evidence of a real conspiracy—but one that indicates that either T’Pau or Kuvak are secretly supplying Earth and the other allies with military aid. T’Pau’s resistance to bringing Vulcan overtly into the war could be merely a logical exercise in protective coloration—a political stance designed purely for domestic consumption. Meanwhile, Vulcan could join the fight against the Romulans under a cloak of... discretion.”
Not for the first time, T’Pol marveled at her old friend’s rhetorical gift for intertwining flawless logic with appalling cynicism. It was probably fortunate indeed that he had not opted to go into politics after the V’Shar had placed him on “inactive” status.
“I hope you’re right, Denak,” she said. “But I fear that the Romulans are the intended recipients of these weapons. I discovered another shipping manifest this morning, for a ship slated to carry several sealed cargo containers that match up with a weapons cross-check I confirmed just last night. They don’t indicate a final destination for the weapons, but they do show a heading for a rendezvous—deep inside Romulan territory.”
An almost-smile creased Denak’s lips, which surprised her. “ ‘Hope,’ T’Pol? ‘Fear’? I must ask you again: Which one of us is being overly emotional?”
“I have helped you search for Ych’a to the best of my ability, Denak. I need your help in resolving this covert weapons question. Just as I still need your help in persuading T’Pau to see reason regarding the Romulan War.”
“And that is to say nothing of your continued need for help in merely locating Administrator T’Pau,” Denak said.
And only then does the difficult part begin, T’Pol thought as a tense silence stretched between the two old friends. Convincing a zealous follower of the ways of Surak that peace requires a good deal more than a mere refusal to fight.
Denak was the first to disturb the quiet. “And what of Ych’a, T’Pol?”
“I never said I intended to cease trying to locate Ych’a,” she said. “I will pay Kuvak a visit shortly regarding T’Pau’s whereabouts and... other matters. I have begun to suspect that whatever I learn from him will also lead me to Ych’a.”
Denak scowled. “It is not logical to assume that the objects of more than one search will be found together merely because none of them have been found yet.”
“I agree,” T’Pol said. “It is not logical.”
“But it is intuitive.”
Government district, ShiKahr, Vulcan
Nevasa lay bloated on the horizon beneath vigilant T’Rukh, heralding evening’s imminent approach as Kuvak returned to his private office from what had been his final official meeting of the day.
He was slightly startled, though not at all surprised, to find T’Pol awaiting him in his personal meditation area after he had entered and closed the chamber’s heavy door after him. After all, today was the day he had told her she could expect Administrator T’Pau to return from the business that had occupied her for better than a tevun-krus now.
He was surprised, however, at what she had to say to him. “I am aware of the arms shipments, Kuvak. Does Administrator T’Pau know about them?”
Doing his best to cleanse his mien of all discernable emotion, Kuvak said, “You must not draw conclusions from whatever fragmentary information you may have stumbled upon, Commander T’Pol.”
“If I resist drawing conclusions,” T’Pol said, tempered Raalan steel in her voice, “it will not be because your reaction to my accusation has inspired my confidence.”
He answered only with silence. She took a single menacing step toward him.
Kuvak considered making a run for the security-alert button on his desk, but decided he’d never reach it before she intercepted him. Besides, even if he had his security personnel arrest her, she would be called upon to give testimony. That which he wished to withhold from the general public would come out too soon, unless he was prepared to bring the most permanent of sanctions against her.
But even though he had worked at the side of the corrupt V’Las during the previous administration, he was prepared to go only so far in the name of guarding the current administrator’s confidences.
Shunting aside a very real and mounting sense of fear, Kuvak raised a hand and said, “You may have misapprehended the situation, Commander.”
“Are you sending arms to the Romulans?” she asked. Though the question dismayed him, it also provided some reassurance; it made it clear that her knowledge was incomplete at best.
“I cannot give you any details about such matters, Commander.”
“Cannot?” Her eyes blazed with restrained fury. “Or will not?” When he did not answer, she added, “Are you aware that I am adept at the Syrrannite technique of the mind-meld?”
Kuvak had no idea whether or not this was true. However, he had no desire to put her assertion to the test. “Extracting information from me with a forced meld would be extremely unwise, Commander. Administrator T’Pau would not be pleased by such a violation, and I believe you still require her goodwill.”
To Kuvak
’s relief, his words seemed to bring T’Pol to a halt. But her determination did not appear to have diminished at all. When she spoke, her tone told him in no uncertain terms that she would remain dangerous to him, no matter how hard he tried to stall.
“Administrator T’Pau will not be pleased by your continued evasions, once she learns of them. And she will learn of them. Where is she, Kuvak?”
Keenly aware that she had backed him into a corner, he made a decision. “I still cannot tell you anything. I am not authorized to offer you any explanations for whatever you think you have discovered.
“However, I can show you something...”
FORTY-TWO
Wednesday, March 10, 2156
Challenger NX-03
The outskirts of the Procyon system (Andoria)
Star Trek: Enterprise: The Romulan War: Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Star Trek : Enterprise) Page 35