With Porthos lying across Archer’s lap comfortably unaware of the events of the day, the captain scrolled faster and faster and the images rolled endlessly by his searching eyes. Casually petting the animal with his free hand, Archer found no comfort in the dog’s presence.
As images of dozens of colonists continued to scroll by, his thoughts briefly flashed back to the words of Keyla, the mysterious Tandaran woman he had met while vacationing on Risa.
I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re naming schools after you back on your world.
At the time he thought she was flirting with him, but in reality, the flattery was part of her plan to get him to reveal information on the Suliban. Whatever the motive for her words, they had been pleasant to hear. For Archer to think that children would look up to him in the way he had [41] regarded the heroes from his youth—including his own father—was more than he had ever imagined. He had never been a glory hound and it certainly hadn’t been the motivation for his joining Starfleet, but it had been a nice thought.
Now he would consider himself lucky if future history would forget Jonathan Archer. But it was far more likely that the name would instead be long remembered and associated with one of the greatest failures in the archives of humanity. Or was it possible he would not be remembered as a failure at all, but as a murderer—a man who had been willing to conquer space at the cost of innocent lives? It was not farfetched to believe that his legacy could be seen that way not just on Earth, but throughout the galaxy as well.
The com chirped, abruptly pulling Archer from his thoughts. The images on the screen stopped moving as he tapped the companel. “What is it?”
Hoshi paused on the other end of the comlink, temporarily caught off guard by the anger in Archer’s voice. “It’s Admiral Forrest, sir.”
An almost immeasurable pause.
“Thank you.”
Archer tapped a control, ending contact with the bridge. Another button and the screen went blank as the thousands of colonists disappeared back into the void. He took a deep breath before tapping a third control, opening the transmission with Earth.
* * *
[42] Trip watched as the bridge crew continued scanning every piece of information gathered from the sensors. He knew that, like himself, they were trying not to speculate over the conversation their captain was having with Admiral Forrest. T’Pol, Hoshi, and Mayweather were at each of their stations, while Trip joined Reed at his position.
“The atmospheric analysis from the probe is coming through,” Hoshi announced.
“Put it up here, would you?” Reed asked, referring to his monitor.
As Hoshi sent the data to his screen, Trip leaned in so he could also review the data. A look of grim confirmation was apparent on both their faces.
“What is it?” Mayweather asked.
Reed double-checked the data. “The air near the surface is filled with traces of boro-carbons.”
The look on the helmsman’s face indicated that he did not understand what that piece of information proved.
Trip explained with the help of the research he and Reed had performed earlier, “When tetrazine is ignited by plasma exhaust, there’s only one outcome you can be sure of ...”
“Traces of boro-carbons,” Mayweather concluded correctly.
“You got it.” Trip was resigned to the fact that their first and only real clue seemed to point in the direction of their guilt.
Reed, however, was not ready to make that jump. “I don’t care whether that probe picked up traces of bread pudding. Both our plasma ducts were locked down and [43] there were no leaks in the system. Not unless they miraculously mended themselves afterward.”
The captain entered from the turbolift at the end of the outburst. Slowly he crossed the bridge, heading for his ready room. “T’Pol. Trip.” He couldn’t even bring himself to look at the crew as he asked his senior officers to follow him.
Trip took a moment to shoot a questioning look to his fellow crewmembers as T’Pol walked across the bridge. Together, they entered the ready room and found the captain literally staring into space.
“Sir?” T’Pol asked once the door hissed shut.
Archer couldn’t bring himself to say the words.
“Everything okay with Admiral Forrest?” Trip covered his nervousness with questions. “I assume he understands that we ...”
“We’re going home,” Archer said in almost a whisper as he turned to face them. “The mission’s been canceled.”
“Canceled?” Trip couldn’t begin to imagine the full meaning of the word.
T’Pol just stood in contemplative silence.
“Our purpose was exploration,” Archer said simply.
Trip saw that explanation to be a contradiction. “Exactly!”
“In less than a year,” Archer interrupted before his friend could go further, “we’ve had firefights with over a dozen species. We escalated the conflict between the Vulcans and the Andorians, which included the destruction of one of the Vulcans’ most sacred monasteries. We helped eighty-nine Suliban escape from detention. And [44] we just killed thirty-six hundred innocent colonists.” To Trip, he sounded more like Ambassador Soval than Captain Jonathan Archer. “Doesn’t sound much like exploration to me.”
“You put it that way, we sound like a band of outlaws,” Trip fought on. “But we’re not and you know it. We’ve had to defend ourselves a few times, but we’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.”
Trip’s argument fell on deaf ears.
“From what the Admiral tells me,” Archer pressed on, numb, “Ambassador Soval will use this to convince Starfleet that we need another ten or twenty years before we try this again.”
“Twenty years!” For Trip, things just kept getting worse. “Starfleet won’t buy that for a minute.”
“Won’t they?” Archer asked, trying not to shoot a look at T’Pol. They all knew that she could easily contradict Trip on the persuasive powers of the Vulcan High Command.
Trip, however, turned to T’Pol for support. “Tell him he’s crazy! Tell him that’s guilt talking, not Jonathan Archer.”
T’Pol, however, chose to remain silent.
Knowing she would not respond, Archer addressed her on another, more personal, matter. “A Vulcan ship will meet us in three days to get you and Dr. Phlox.” He handed her a padd with the corresponding data. “Please inform Mr. Mayweather to head for these coordinates.” He turned back to the port, unable to face them.
Trip’s outrage was increasing over the attitude of defeat that permeated the room. “I can’t believe you’re letting [45] them do this to us! You’ve waited all your life to command this ship.” Then he went in for the kill. “Your father wouldn’t have taken this sitting down.”
“Dismissed,” Archer said softly, staring out the port.
“But, sir—”
“I said you’re dismissed.” He spun on his friend—his friends. “Both of you.”
Trip held the captain’s gaze for a tense beat before accepting that the battle was lost. He left the ready room, with T’Pol silently in tow.
As the door shut behind them, Archer turned back to look out to space and the stars; he now believed that his lifelong dream was about to end. But not just my dream, he thought. I’ve failed my father as well. And that’s just the beginning of the list.
Moments later the stars began to move as Enterprise broke orbit of the planet and jumped to warp, heading for home in defeat ... and disgrace.
Chapter 5
Mayweather made his way through the corridors of E-deck, noticeably dragging a little due to lack of sleep.
“Travis!” a voice called from behind him.
Turning, he saw Crewman Rostov hurrying to catch up with him, and slowed his already lackadaisical pace. “Morning,” he said once the crewman had reached him.
“Morning,” Rostov said, falling into step with Mayweather.
The ensign noticed how neither of them had placed the traditional use of t
he word good before their greeting.
“Any news?” Rostov asked as they continued along E-deck.
“Not that I’ve heard,” he replied. “But I haven’t reported for duty yet.”
“But if something had happened, they would have called you to duty, right?” the crewman persisted. “I mean if there was some new information.”
[47] “Certainly,” he replied. “I mean ... I would imagine so.”
“Oh.” Rostov couldn’t hide his disappointment.
Mayweather stopped outside the mess hall, sensing there was something more on the crewman’s mind. “I’m sure if anything of note happens, the captain will make an announcement to the entire crew.”
“I know.” Rostov didn’t sound any more enthused. “It’s just ... how’s the captain holding up?”
There were two answers to that question—the truth and the one that would make the crewman more at ease. Mayweather simply decided to go with a third alternate. “I don’t know.”
“It’s weird,” Rostov continued. “Ever since we were linked in that alien creature together, I feel closer to the captain, like I understand him better.”
Mayweather could certainly understand what the crewman was saying. Rostov had the unfortunate experience of being caught up with Archer, as well Trip, Crewman Kelly, and a security officer, in the body of an alien that had come aboard the ship following their meeting with the Kreetasens a few months back. The weblike creature had trapped them in its tentacles, tapping into their nervous systems and linking their consciousness with itself and with each other. The captives had actually shared each other’s thoughts and feelings for a short time while linked.
“At any rate,” the crewman continued, “when you talk to the captain, can you let him know I’m behind him? The whole crew is, in fact.”
Mayweather was bolstered by the crewman’s [48] confidence. He often forgot how little interaction the rest of the crew had with the often busy captain, and had almost taken his own conversations for granted. It felt good to him to be considered a conduit for the crew to speak with their leader. “I will,” Mayweather replied. “I’m sure it will be appreciated.”
“Thanks,” Rostov said as he continued on down the corridor, presumably to share whatever little information he had gleaned from Mayweather with the rest of his friends.
Stepping into the mess hall, Mayweather wasn’t really hungry, but knew that he didn’t need to add malnutrition to the growing list of problems that had kept him up at night. Looking over the breakfast selections, he couldn’t help but suspect that even Chef was feeling the sting of their return home since the morning’s choices were rather limited. Without bothering to make a decision, Mayweather loaded his tray with whatever food was nearest him and topped it off with a glass of juice.
Lifting his tray, he went over to join Hoshi, who was already seated at a table. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, sitting down with her. “After spending most of the night tossing and turning, I overslept.”
“That’s okay,” she replied. “I can’t imagine many people have been having an easy time relaxing since we heard the news.”
He looked around the hall and confirmed that everyone else was looking a bit sluggish as well. “I thought Malcolm was joining us.”
“He took over from Trip. They have a team in the launch [49] bay and they’ve been at it all night,” she replied, pushing the food around on her plate. “They must have thirty diagnostic tools down there—three for each member of the team.”
Mayweather, too, was pushing the food around, not really in the mood to lift it to his mouth. “I heard Starfleet doesn’t want anybody touching Shuttlepod One until they can go over it centimeter by centimeter.”
“They’re not touching anything,” she clarified. “Just running analysis after analysis.” Mayweather could hear the concern in her voice. “If he doesn’t find something soon, Malcolm’s going to start believing that he was responsible.”
If he doesn’t already, Mayweather silently added. He decided to change the subject to something marginally more pleasant. “You think they’ve replaced you in Brazil yet?”
“Even if they have, they’d take me back,” she said wryly. “I’m a prodigy, remember.” And they both thought how wasted that talent would be on Earth now. “How about you?” .
Mayweather had spent most of the sleepless night weighing his options. “After almost a year on Enterprise, the thought of a cargo ship is pretty unappealing.”
“What if they made you captain?” She tried to move the conversation in a more positive direction. “You’re going to be the most famous boomer around, you know.”
“Or maybe infamous.” He bristled at the thought. “From what Commander Tucker tells me, the people back home think we’re doing nothing out here but getting in trouble.”
[50] “Then it’s our job to let the ‘people back home’ know what really happened.” She was determined to make the truth be known, even though nothing could be done at the moment. “Anyone who tries to bad-mouth Captain Archer in front of me is going to get an earful ... in any language they want.”
A tense moment passed as they both continued to slide the food around on their plates.
Finally Mayweather broke the silence. “T’Pol’s got less than two days left. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m going to miss her.”
Hoshi nodded, indicating that she knew what he meant.
More silence ensued.
Mayweather had originally suggested meeting for breakfast as a means of brightening their mood. He had hoped that they could start off the new day with a better outlook. He had been wrong.
Giving up on his meal, Mayweather slid the plate to the middle of the table. “I think I’ll get to the bridge.”
“Me, too,” Hoshi agreed as they both rose and headed for the door.
The day continued in that manner all around the ship. T’Pol had noticed that the anger of the previous day had shifted to melancholy among the entire crew. She had never really seen humans give up so totally on anything before, but as the hours stretched on, the pervading mood became all the more unsettling. Even when the captain made his few appearances on the bridge, the general attitude hardly picked up. In fact, she noticed that his [51] presence appeared to make the crew feel worse, as if they had failed him. Lieutenant Reed seemed to be compensating for his feelings of guilt by overworking the crews in the launch bay.
Nevertheless, when Reed summoned T’Pol to the launch bay long after the day shift had ended, the Vulcan was surprised to find herself hurrying. Reed had not told her what was so urgent that it required her presence, and her systematic mind refrained from making guesses, but somehow getting to the launch bay quickly seemed ... logical.
She saw Reed with a half dozen rather fatigued crewmembers all hunched over various diagnostic tools scanning the pod. She was tempted to point out that they had been ordered to leave the shuttle alone, but the lieutenant was obviously aware of the fact, so she simply made her presence known.
“Lieutenant?” she said when he failed to look up upon her arrival.
“Over here,” he said, studying a portable monitor, and not bothering to make eye contact. He turned the monitor in her direction, indicating a collection of data. “It’s not exactly a smoking gun, but this EM signature doesn’t belong here.”
T’Pol ignored the curious “smoking gun” comment as she looked over his information. “Where did you find it?”
“On the outer hull,” he replied. “About twelve centimeters behind the starboard plasma duct.”
“It might simply be boro-carbons formed by the explosion,” she suggested, not wanting to rule out any [52] possibilities. Reed’s manner had been growing increasingly erratic since the accident. She didn’t want to give him false hope in case he responded with an overly emotional response.
“I already checked.” His body tensed. “There isn’t a carbon atom to be found. Whatever it is, its profile doesn’t match anything in our databas
e.”
T’Pol considered the data for a moment. Like everything else, it had only raised more questions, rather than presenting definitive answers. Still, it might be a valid discovery. “I’ll take it to the captain,” she replied. “In the meantime, I think it would be best if you let the team go and you got some rest yourself.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted.
“You have not been to bed since the accident,” she reminded him. “If this investigation is to continue, we are going to need the entire crew at their most alert.”
He remained silent.
“I could make it an order, Lieutenant,” she reminded him.
Reed gave her a look of resignation that confirmed he knew she was right. Turning to his team, he said, “That’s enough for today. Let’s wrap this up ... for now.”
In his quarters Archer banged a water polo ball against his bent knee. A match played on the monitor beside him, but he was not watching it, as he was lost in the would’ves and could’ves going through his mind. Out of his uniform and dressed in his civvies, he knew that sleep was still hours off, although Porthos seemed to be trying to get some rest curled up on his pillow on the floor.
[53] The door chimed.
“Come in,” he called out, without getting off the bed.
T’Pol entered, carrying a padd with the information she had collected in the launch bay.
“What was so important it couldn’t wait till morning?” he bluntly asked.
“If you’d prefer, I’ll come back,” she replied, turning back to the door.
“No, I’m sorry.” He hit a button to stop the playback of the game and sat up. “What have you got?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to sound interested, but he wasn’t going to be entirely dismissive.
She handed him the padd, explaining what Reed and his team had found on the hull of the shuttlepod.
Archer stared at the data, surprised by the fact that T’Pol seemed to be grasping at straws. “It could be anything.” He tossed her the ball.
“Mister Reed felt you’d be interested,” she insisted, tossing it back.
STAR TREK: Enterprise - Shockwave Page 4