Broken Bow - Diane Carey [17]
“Guess I’m not as nice as you.” Tucker shook his head. “You don’t know her, John.”
Archer sank onto the couch next to his dog, without really relaxing. “No, I don’t know her. Not yet.” Then a surge of conviction struck him, and his eyes flicked up to meet Tucker’s. “But, Trip ... she doesn’t know me either.”
With a sigh, Tucker indulged in a grim, daring smile. “Not yet.”
CHAPTER 5
THE SPACEDOCK OBSERVATION DECK was awash with dignitaries, invited guests, officers, ambassadors, muckety-mucks, and would-bes. Starfleet brass rubbed elbows with Vulcan emissaries, clusters of pundits, power-grabbers, and publicity wonks, all here on a day’s notice. Some showed obvious signs of jet lag and more than a little confusion at the sudden acceleration of launch.
Admiral Forrest was speaking already, even though not everyone was seated yet. They were really hurrying this along.
Jonathan Archer was glad of it. At least they took his determination seriously. He hadn’t even called sickbay to make sure the transfer of the Klingon had gone well and the guy was still alive.
He glanced at his sides. Trip Tucker was beside him, and after him was Lieutenant Reed.
On Archer’s other side were the newly arrived helmsman, Mayweather, and Hoshi and the Vulcan, T’Pol. He’d feel comfortable but for her presence among people he trusted. Even Mayweather was an associate from two of Archer’s previous ships. The only stranger was the Vulcan woman, and she made them all uneasy.
Archer tried to bury his concerns, doubts, and the sniggering insult at having her here with these people who had embraced the faster-than-light program with far more devotion than the Vulcans could muster. He tried to suspend his thousand immediate concerns and do his ceremonial duty—pay attention to Admiral Forrest’s bountiful pontifications from the podium.
“When Zephram Cochrane made his legendary warp flight ninety years ago,” the admiral was saying, “and drew the attention of our new friends, the Vulcans, we realized that we weren’t alone in the galaxy.”
The crowd obliged with applause, stretching moments into minutes.
“Today,” continued Forrest, “we’re about to cross a new threshold. For nearly a century, we’ve waded ankle-deep in the ocean of space. Now it’s finally time to swim.
“The warp five engine,” the admiral went on, “wouldn’t be a reality without men like Dr. Cochrane and Henry Archer, who worked so hard to develop it. So it’s only fitting that Henry’s son, Jonathan Archer, will command the first starship powered by that engine.”
Forrest nodded to Archer. The crowd applauded again as Archer and his command staff stood up and moved away from their seats. Archer kept his eyes from meeting anyone’s. The applause should be for Dad and nobody else. Archer knew he was catching the glory by reflection only, and wondered how many other bits of fallout from his father’s work had bolstered him in his own climb to command. That couldn’t be ignored, and it would be unfair of him to claim otherwise. Bitterness set in again. He would happily have become a shuttle conductor if only Dad had received the honors he deserved and the right to see his ship launched while he was still alive. This was too little, too late.
Damn Vulcans.
He led his crew toward a set of doors while the admiral kept talking.
“Rather than quoting Dr. Cochrane, I think we should listen to his own words from the dedication ceremony for the Warp Five Complex, thirty-two years ago. ...”
A large screen took over the crowd’s attention as it came alive with archival footage of a very elderly Zephram Cochrane, the father of warp drive, giving a speech in front of a throng of scientists, including Henry Archer, a long time ago. Ironically, Archer remembered being present at that speech, before he was even seven years old. Even then he had realized the import of what he was hearing.
“On this site,” the crotchety Cochrane began, “a powerful engine will be built. An engine that will someday let us travel a hundred times faster than