by Star Trek
Archer quickly put the napkin over his mouth to avoid reflexively spitting out his coffee. Regaining his composure, he coughed and asked, “Come again?”
“There’s every possibility that I could be captured,” Trip said. “But since I’ll be surgically altered, identifying me will be difficult. Especially if Charles Anthony Tucker III is dead.”
“Now you’re talking crazy talk,” Archer said, frowning.
“No, think of it as a kind of witness protection plan. If I’m dead, it insulates Enterprise, and Earth—and my family and friends—from any sort of retaliation or repercussion. Politically or otherwise.”
Archer closed his eyes, trying to damp down the mental warning klaxons that were going off inside his head. “So you intend to fake your own death?”
“Just until this assignment is over,” Trip said, his tone earnest. “Or until its repercussions die down.”
“That could be years, Trip,” Archer said, unable to filter the exasperation from his voice. He opened his eyes again, fixing his subordinate with a hard gaze. “If the Romulans are a threat now, and we manage to stop them, what makes you think that threat is simply going to go away in the future? The Romulans aren’t the schoolyard bully who becomes your friend after you give him one hard punch in the nose.”
“I know,” Trip said, his voice low. “But, if the Romulans succeed…it won’t be like the Xindi attack. It will be every world that loses billions of lives. The Coalition will die…I need to do this. I need to be…someone else for a while. Some where else. I need to feel like I’m accomplishing something more than I’m doing here and now.”
Archer knew that Trip hadn’t meant the statement as a slur on his captaincy or on the accomplishments of Enterprise’s crew. But the comment still stung. “You’ve accomplished a lot here, Trip. You can still accomplish a lot here. Hell, I don’t know what I’d do without you half the time, and the other half I’m just glad you’re by my side.”
Trip turned his face away, but said nothing.
“What about your family? They’ve already lost your sister.” Archer hesitated for a moment, knowing he was treading on shaky ground, then decided it would be better to forge ahead. “And what about T’Pol? Are you really ready to give up on her? Do you think they’ll all really be happier waiting and wondering if you’re safe, or if you’re rotting in some Romulan prison, or worse?”
Trip wiped the palm of his hand across one cheek, and then the other. His voice was tremulous. “They won’t know,” he said. “They can’t know. The more people know, the more they’ll be at risk of reprisals if I somehow screw the pooch on this thing. The more at risk Earth will be. They all need to think I’m dead. They need to believe it.” He raised his hand again, covering his eyes with his palm, and let out a deep, unsteady breath.
Archer felt tears welling up in his own eyes, and he closed them tightly. They sat together in silence for several minutes, the ever-present thrum of the deck plating making the only audible sound in the room.
Finally, Trip looked up at Archer again and spoke. “There are two people who will have to help me with this, besides yourself. Malcolm is the one that got me into this, for better or worse—better, I hope, eventually—and given his past experience with covert operations, he might figure it all out on his own and try something foolish if I were to try to hide this from him. And he can help make sure that any investigation into my…demise gets wrapped up as neatly as it needs to be.”
“And Phlox,” Archer said, nodding. “He’ll have to be the one to sign the death certificate.”
“Yep.”
“What about…? Are you sure?” Archer let his words trail off, trusting that Trip knew exactly who he was talking about.
“She can’t know,” Trip said, his face creasing as if he was about to weep again. “She’ll be fine. She’ll control her emotions and meditate and move on. Hell, after what we just experienced together on Vulcan, I think maybe she’s already starting to move on.”
“How are you going to do it?” Archer asked.
“That’s another area I could use your help with, along with Malcolm and Phlox. It has to happen soon. And it ain’t gonna be suicide.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “And to think I actually worried I might have committed career suicide in front of Admiral Gardner yesterday.”
Archer smiled gently in response to Trip’s valiant attempt to find humor where there really wasn’t any. “Should I call Phlox and Malcolm now?”
Trip closed his eyes and let out a long, stuttering breath, his hands clenching into fists, then unclenching. He opened his eyes and looked to Archer, then gave a slight nod.
Archer rose from his chair and tapped the button on the wall-mounted com panel nearby. “Archer to Lieutenant Reed and Doctor Phlox. Please join me immediately in the captain’s mess.”
As both men responded, each confirming his pending arrival, Archer stared at Trip, who rose from his seat. He still wasn’t at all certain that the engineer was doing the right thing. But given the same set of circumstances, he wasn’t sure he would do anything differently himself.
“Thank you, Captain,” Trip said, his eyes glistening. “For everything.”
Seated in the command chair in the center of Enterprise’s bridge, T’Pol stopped reading the report on the padd in her lap, and glanced at the turbolift behind her.
Captain Archer had been in some kind of secretive meeting in his private mess for some time this morning, leaving her to take over command of the alpha shift. She certainly didn’t mind—as first officer, it was her duty, after all—but it seemed strange that Archer had opted not to include her in the meeting, as he had included her in his consultations the previous day regarding the kidnapped Aenar and the possibility of an impending Romulan military incursion.
She wanted desperately to ask Ensign Sato who was in the meeting with Archer, but didn’t want to appear to be snooping. Instead, she moved over to her own station and slid her hands swiftly across the controls, accessing the ship’s computers.
What she found surprised her. Archer was currently meeting with Commander Tucker, Lieutenant Reed, and Doctor Phlox. She had expected him to be in consultation with Shran, and perhaps one or two of the others. But the Andorian was currently in the ship’s mess hall, as was the Aenar telepath Theras.
What could they be discussing? She anticipated that she would find out soon enough; it was certainly illogical for Archer to keep secrets from her.
Mayweather’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Commander, we have a definite lock on at least one Orion ship that shows the same warp-signature profile that Shran gave us.”
T’Pol returned to her seat. “Very good, Ensign Mayweather. Increase speed and set a pursuit course, but keep us just out of their sensor range.”
Now she had a reason to speak with Archer, though she resisted the urge to leave the bridge to do so. She tapped the communications console on the arm of the command chair.
“T’Pol to Captain Archer. We’ve found the Orions.”
Twelve
Friday, February 14, 2155
Enterprise NX-01
IT WAS NOW FOUR DAYS since they had last met here, in the captain’s mess, for a much more intensely emotional exchange than they were having at present.
Today, however, all Trip wanted was to spend some informal downtime in the company of someone he’d counted as a friend for the past two decades. One last drink before marching into the abyss, he thought, trying to prepare himself for what lay ahead with a little gallows humor.
He hoisted a glass of whiskey poured from Jonathan Archer’s own personal stores. “So, you think this alliance is going to hold?”
Archer examined his glass. “We’d better hope so. There are thousands of planets within reach. We’ve got to start somewhere.”
“Who would’ve guessed: Vulcans and Andorians in the same bed.” He put his glass down on the table.
“The Tellarites were never big fans of the Andorians, e
ither,” Archer said, nodding slightly.
They both sat in silence for a moment, as the light from the warp-refracted stars skimmed by outside the room’s viewport. Despite his enjoyment of this rare, relaxed moment, some part of Trip still felt that they should discuss his “situation” further, even though they had both been strategizing and making contingency plans separately—and together—for much of the day already. Trip knew that the rest of the crew must have really begun to wonder exactly what was going on between him and the captain. They’d all have to be blinder than Theras if nobody’s noticed all these private meetings yet, he thought.
And there was probably nobody aboard Enterprise more observant than T’Pol.
“This is a special bottle of whiskey,” Archer said, finally breaking the silence that had settled between them. He lifted the bottle again and refilled the bottom two centimeters or so of Trip’s glass. “Zefram Cochrane gave it to my father the day they broke ground at the warp five complex.” He poured himself more as well.
“And here we are,” Trip said, hoisting his glass, “toasting the future.”
Archer raised his drink as well. “May it bring safety from the Romulans, the rescue of the Aenar, the unlocking of the warp seven mystery, the successful launch of the Coalition of Planets…and your swift resurrection.”
They clinked their glasses together and sipped the amber liquid.
“Written your speech for the Coalition Compact ceremonies yet?” Trip asked, putting his glass down on the silver tabletop. “I heard that Starfleet Command decided to make you the show’s opening act.”
Archer nodded, frowning. “That was Admiral Gardner’s doing. I guess it proves he actually does have a sense of humor after all.”
“Or maybe he just wants to keep you from missing any of the pomp and circumstance,” Trip said, grinning over his glass. “He’s probably still afraid you’ll get sidetracked out here, chasing after those Orion slavers.”
“I still think we’ll catch up to them in plenty of time, Trip. We’ve only been on the trail for the past five days.”
“I know you will, Captain. So…how about that speech of yours?”
“I always crammed before exams,” Archer said, answering Trip’s grin with one of his own. “You know that. Besides, I’ve still got nearly three weeks left.”
Trip’s grin became a smirk. “Some things never change. It’s the biggest day of your life, and you’re going to wait until the night before.”
“The biggest day of our lives,” Archer said, raising an eyebrow slightly.
“Well, it’s doubtful I’ll be there to see it,” Trip said. “You’ll have to make sure to get me a vid recording of it to watch later. And I’m sure it’ll show that you were the man everyone there really came to see.”
Archer was about to respond when a loud boom reverberated through the ship and the deck rocked and shuddered beneath their chairs. Archer tipped back slightly in his seat, grabbing his glass to keep it from sliding off the table.
As the captain hurried over to the wall-mounted com panel, Trip retrieved a padd from where he had left it on the tabletop and quickly studied the readout on its small display. Reed had carefully blocked certain frequencies from Hoshi’s station earlier that afternoon, and the padd was one of the few devices aboard now capable of receiving a particular prearranged set of signals.
“Archer to the bridge. What’s going on?”
T’Pol’s voice crackled over the speaker. “We’re under attack, sir. A small vessel.”
Archer looked to Trip, and the engineer held up the padd, nodding.
“Who are they?” Archer asked, speaking into the com panel. None of them actually knew the answer to that question, but with Trip’s confirmation just now, at least four members of the crew now clearly understood the purpose of the intruders.
“We don’t know yet,” T’Pol said.
Enterprise shook again, and a high-pitched, ululating klaxon sounded.
“Intruder alert,” T’Pol said, her voice rising slightly in pitch and urgency. “Unauthorized personnel on E deck, near the starboard docking bay.”
That’s convenient, Trip thought. We’re on E deck, too. Good thing I won’t have to keep my ride waiting while I’m in the turbolift.
Trip headed for the exit, but the captain put a restraining hand against his friend’s chest before he reached the door. “Whatever we do, we have to make it convincing. Malcolm’s already keeping security as busy as he can, but outside of this room, the ship’s computers will still record everything we do or say.”
“Agreed,” Trip said. “I think I’ve got the script memorized, Captain. And we’re both pretty good at improvising when we need to.”
They exited the room and ran down the corridor. Ten steps out of the room, Trip realized that neither of them had thought to grab a weapon. Although a couple of phase pistols probably would have made their play more convincing, it was too late to make a run for the armory now.
As they rounded a curve in the corridor, three tall aliens stepped out toward them.
They had most definitely not forgotten to bring their weapons.
“We’ve come for Shran and the Aenar!” the tallest alien snarled, his long dirty hair and gray-green, chalky skin making him resemble a zombie extra from one of the twenty-first-century flatvid horror films Trip enjoyed. His two companions both appeared to have been cut from the same unsavory, not to mention hostile, cloth.
Trip held up the padd, a gesture that not only emphasized the fact that he was unarmed, but also allowed the intruders to see the padd’s display, if they looked closely enough. He hoped beyond hope that these were indeed the “pirates” that Section 31 had promised to send to help him fake his death. They certainly looked the part, particularly since they had a pair of what appeared to be energy rifles, as well as a pistol of some sort, trained directly at him and the captain.
If these guys aren’t from Harris’s outfit, Trip thought, then the captain and I are both in one hell of a lot of trouble.
The lead “pirate” peered at the padd, then nodded and pulled a device of his own from the sash around his waist. After the alien had depressed a few buttons, Trip heard a telltale beep from his own padd, which was evidently receiving signals from the intruder’s device.
“You must take us to them, or we’ll have no choice but to cause some damage,” said the leader as Trip checked the code his padd had received. It checked out. He gave Archer a subtle hand signal to apprise him of that fact.
Archer nodded, then puffed up his chest in a conspicuous show of bluster. “Shran left six hours ago. You’re too late.”
“You’re lying. His shuttle is still in your launch bay,” the leader said. He stepped forward, his weapon trained directly on Archer. “Kill him,” he ordered the subordinate to his right, who responded by raising his rifle.
“Hold on!” Trip said, holding up his hands. “Wait a minute!”
“Trip, I’ll take care of this,” Archer said, putting out an arm to stop him from advancing on the “pirates.”
“The hell you will,” Trip said, pushing at his old friend’s arm. To the lead invader, he said, “I’ll bring you to Shran. I know where he is.”
Archer turned and brought his hand up to Trip’s chest. “I gave you an order, Commander.”
Trip ignored him and continued to address the leader of the intruders. “You heard me. I said I’d bring you to Shran.”
“Trip!” Archer pushed his friend against the bulkhead.
The alien leader muttered something about them turning around, but Trip wasn’t really hearing him. For that moment, his gaze locked with that of his oldest friend, and absorbed a myriad of emotions. Love, regret, anger, fear.
“Hey, this guy’s the captain,” Trip said, shouting to the “pirate” leader, breaking the moment.
“That’s enough,” Archer snarled.
Trip faced the chalk-skinned alien. “He’s my boss. If I’m gonna disobey his order, I don’t wan
t him coming along.”
“Trip, that’s enough!” Archer repeated, shouting this time, shoving Trip again.
An errant thought flickered across Trip’s mind. Everyone’s playing their parts a bit too well. But he knew they had to. When the security logs were reviewed, this had to look real. Still, it bothered him that the fingers of these “pirates” really were poised to pull their triggers.
“Listen…I won’t do this if you kill him. But could you please shut him up?”
Trip fully expected one of the boarders to stun Archer with a blast, but instead, on a nod from the leader, one of the other two aliens crashed his rifle’s stock into the back of Archer’s head. The captain immediately crumpled to the deck, unconscious.
Trip winced. They really didn’t need to do that. Still, he had his part to play, and they were running out of time before Malcolm’s security teams would arrive from the armory on F deck.
He began leading the “pirates” down the corridor, trading barbed words with them as they went, all of it concerning the specific whereabouts of their quarry, and the Orion slavers who had supposedly paid these men to bring Shran and Theras to face “justice” for the deaths of some of those who had participated in the recent raid against the Aenar city. Trip felt as though they were being almost too arch with these exchanges, but hoped that upon a close investigation of Enterprise’s security logs, no one else would notice just how dunderheaded this entire piracy scenario really was.
“Take me to Shran now, or I’ll send one of my men back to kill your captain,” the lead alien said, making a show of his mounting impatience.
Trip affected a nearly panicked tone, but wasn’t completely sure he was only acting. “Okay, okay! I’ve got a better idea. I’ll bring Shran and Theras to us. We won’t have to go any farther.”
“Be very careful,” snarled the pistol-wielding alien.
They went on a short distance until they reached a narrow hatchway, which he and Malcolm had already rigged for precisely this sort of situation.