Broken Bow - Diane Carey [20]
Archer stood up, offering the hot seat.
T’Pol’s eyes narrowed. She sensed a trap. Perhaps it was. Under the cloying eyes of the crew, she stood up and moved to the center of the bridge and took the command chair. What choice did she have?
“Good,” he said. “Why don’t you join me for dinner at change of watch? We can get to know each other. Put the crew at ease, if nothing else.”
She eyed him. Just who was suspicious of whom?
“Thank you,” she said, not giving anything away.
Choreographing his movements carefully, Archer stepped away from the center and moved to the exit hatchway. The tall, airtight swinging hatch was almost big enough to get through without ducking—almost. He paused before leaving the bridge, turned, and looked at the expanse of space spilling out before the newest Earth ship, named Enterprise, as she flashed along on her invisible racetrack.
“We made it, Dad,” he murmured. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”
And in his mind, the model spaceship streaked for the clouds.
CHAPTER 6
VISCOUS PINK FLUID twisted in a jar. Tiny corkscrew organisms flitted through the pink like birds in an eternal microsunset. The jar turned, but the liquid and the flitters pretty much stayed the way they were, enjoying their brainless dance.
“Love what you’ve done with the place. ...”
Jonathan Archer turned the jar again, watching the little life-forms squiggle.
“Those are immunocytic gel worms,” Phlox explained happily. “Try not to shake them.”
The quirky alien was in a perfect fantasy here in the ship’s minimal sickbay. He had ultimate say over everything. Suddenly he was the senior medical officer on a ship. That didn’t happen every day.
Archer paused and watched as the funny fellow arranged, like an old-lady apothecary, dozens of jars, tools, and definitely non-Starfleet-issue medical paraphernalia onto the Plexiglas shelving behind the doctor’s computer center. As he handed Phlox the pink jar, Archer turned his attention to the unconscious Klingon lying on the biobed. He wanted to ask how this fellow was doing. Alive? Almost alive? Would he be able to stand up and walk out of here when they reached Qo’noS?
Or would Archer be forced to hand over a semicorpse to the Klingon reception committee? Not his first choice. He didn’t think they’d much like it, either.
He held back the questions. The Klingon was stable, wasn’t going anywhere, and he wanted Phlox to feel at ease enough to do a good job. He’d pulled the Doctor out of a secure position at Starfleet Medical, where he had plenty of others making decisions to support him and he had a support system to lean on. Here, even though he didn’t seem to know it yet, things would get a lot harder, and fast.
“So, what’d you think of Earth?” Archer asked pointlessly, just to get things rolling.
“Intriguing,” Phlox said. Already the word was trite. Aliens always said intriguing when they didn’t know what else to say. Archer suspected it was being taught at the Customs Center, kind of like bowing in Japan or a lei in Hawaii. “I especially liked the Chinese food. Have you ever tried it?”
Handing off articles from the packing box on top of the desk, Archer shrugged. “I’ve lived in San Francisco all my life.”
Of course, San Francisco had a Chinese restaurant on every third corner, just like any other American city, but he sensed Phlox wanted to have something on him.
“Anatomically, you humans are somewhat simplistic,” Phlox said, probably not realizing he was being insulting. “But what you lack biologically, you make up for with your charming optimism. Not to mention your egg drop soup. Be very careful with the blue box.”
Gingerly, Archer passed him a funny-looking box with breathing holes punched in both lateral sides. Inside, something skittered that made him almost drop the container. “What’s in there?”
“An Altairian marsupial. Their droppings contain the greatest concentration of regenerative enzymes found anywhere.”
“Their droppings?”
“If you’re