Broken Bow - Diane Carey [28]
Archer turned to Trip. “I want a complete analysis of that disturbance.”
Trip responded by heading for the door, and Archer returned to Reed.
“Where do we stand on weapons?”
“I still have to tune the targeting sensors,” Reed admitted unhappily.
“What’re you waiting for?” Archer snapped at them.
Reed joined Tucker and hurried off the bridge to do the work that should’ve been done before they left Earth.
“Captain,” T’Pol began, crossing toward him.
He ignored her and swung instead to Hoshi. “The Klingon seemed to know who they were. See if you can translate what he said.”
That word ... Suliban. Was it a Klingon word? An accusation or warning? Or was it what Archer thought it was—the name for those creatures?
“Right away,” Hoshi said, and also turned to go.
“Captain,” T’Pol attempted again.
Finally, with no one else to chew out, order around, or grouse at, he turned to hear what she had to say.
“There’s no way you could have anticipated this. I’m sure Ambassador Soval will understand.”
“You’re the science officer,” Archer blurted. “Why don’t you help Tucker with that analysis?”
“The astrometric computer in San Francisco will be far more effective.”
“We’re not going to San Francisco, so make do with what we’ve got here.”
“You’ve lost the Klingon,” she said. Though she sounded reasonable, he still heard that familiar superior attitude in her voice as she finished, “Your mission is over.”
He leaned toward her, broiling under the surface. “I didn’t ‘lose’ the Klingon. He was taken. And I’m going to find out who took him.”
“How do you plan to do that?” she asked reasonably. “Space is very big, Captain. A shadow on your sensors won’t help you find them. This is a foolish mission.”
“Come with me.”
What he really meant was something along the lines of getting her ass in here, but luckily he still had a little hold on the reins of decorum. He stepped into his ready room and almost instantly whirled on her.
“I’m not interested in what you think about this mission. So take your Vulcan cynicism and bury it along with your repressed emotions.”
“Your reaction to this situation,” she protested, “is a perfect example of why your species should remain in its own star system.”
He closed the small distance between them in an openly hostile manner. Did they have body language where she came from?
“I’ve been listening to you Vulcans tell us what not to do all my life,” he fumed. “I watched my father work his ass off while your scientists held back just enough information to keep him from succeeding. He deserved to see that launch. You may have life spans of two hundred years. We don’t.”
T’Pol was affected by his words, perhaps more by his passion, but she didn’t back down.
“You are going to be contacting Starfleet,” she said, “to advise them of the situation.”
“No, I’m not,” he said with a warning glower. He hoped his message was clear, because clarifying further wouldn’t be either polite or pretty. “And neither are you. Now get the hell out of here and make yourself useful.”
With nothing more to say, she had no choice but to simply leave. He couldn’t imagine Reed or Tucker welcoming her help or even her presence in their work. That was her problem, something she had set up for herself with her own lack of manners.
Archer stalked the ready room—which wasn’t much of a stalking space at all, but only a tiny excuse for an office where the captain might be able to be alone once in a while. He didn’t really like it here, but was determined to get used to it. The space came in handy just now, as a good place to chew out the sliver under his fingernail—namely, T’Pol.
Bitter and impatient, he struck the com on his desk. “Sickbay, Archer. Phlox, I’m coming down there and I want some answers ready when I arrive. Make them up if you have to, but give me something.”
Sickbay never responded. He never gave Phlox the chance.
Within moments he was stalking the corridors instead of his ready room, thumping down through the tubes and access ways directly to the sickbay deck. It wasn’t exactly faster than the turbolift,