Broken Bow - Diane Carey [50]
“A butterfly flaps its wings in Africa,” Archer murmured, “and there’s a typhoon in China the next spring. This idea that anyone can engineer the future by screwing up the past—”
“John,” Tucker interrupted, “could it be possible they want to screw up their own time? Are they insane, maybe?”
Archer didn’t have the answer, but the question made him think of something else. “Or ... are they reacting to something? Are these people from the future being forced to action, the way Vulcans and humans are forced to put weapons on our ships because there are hostile powers out there? Are they being forced to tamper with the past to stop somebody else from tampering?”
“Sure seems insane.”
“I wish I could talk to these people for five minutes ... if we have no way of knowing, how can we act?”
“With you laid up, there won’t be any action. T’Pol—she’ll just say since we have no basis on which to act, then you should do nothing.”
“That’s the difference between us,” he reminded. “Since we have no basis, I’ll act on what I do know. They took the Klingon, they have no right, and we’re taking him back.”
Archer bristled at his own conclusion and looked at Tucker for the support he knew would be there. This whole episode had been anything but proactive. Instead of making things happen, they had been involved in a scheme of making things not happen.
He wanted to change that.
“I just have one thing,” Tucker slowly added. “What’s the moral imperative to protect the future?”
“None,” Archer said with a jolt of enthusiasm. “It hasn’t happened yet.”
The ship shuddered under them suddenly, cutting off the conversation.
“Captain ...” Tucker made a tentative step toward the door.
“Sure, Trip, go mind your engines. Thanks for helping me work through this. If we know some questions, we’ll have a way to recognize the answers when they come.”
“I love the concrete! Call if you need me.” Embracing that which he could control to some degree, Tucker was gone in a flash.
When he was alone, Archer looked out the window at the streaks of stars they were passing at remarkable new speeds. We’re here, Dad ... warp four point five.
He cleared his throat and touched the nearest computer link. “Enterprise starlog, Captain Jonathan Archer. April sixteenth, 2151 ...”
Starlog.
“No, no—delete that. Begin recording ... Captain’s log, April sixteenth, 2151. We’ve been tracking the Suliban’s ship for ten hours, thanks to our science officer, who came up with a way to tweak the sensors—computer, pause.”
He let his head drop back and spoke aloud to the nearest sympathetic ear. “I save her life ... and now she’s helping us with the mission. One good turn deserves another? Doesn’t sound very Vulcan.”
He stopped mumbling, thought about what he had just said, what he and Tucker had talked about before, and about the future—all the different possible versions.
“Resume log.”
The computer bleeped to assure him it was recording.
“I have no reason to believe Klaang is still alive. But, if the Suliban woman was telling the truth, it’s crucial we try to find him. Computer ... pause.”
His back was aching in this position. He pulled Tucker’s pillow out from under his leg and sat up. Sitting down just wasn’t getting him in the right frame of mind. With care, he pushed off the chair again and put new pressure on his leg.
He moved across the room to where Porthos lay digesting a fine nonvegetarian meal. He scratched the dog’s nose thoughtfully. “Have you ever known a Vulcan to return a favor? No, neither have I.”
So he and Tucker were right—there was more going on with T’Pol than just guilt about his risking his own life to save hers. Officers, soldiers, shipmates did that for each other all the time. He couldn’t believe selflessness was so new to Vulcans that they had only found it here. They’d been in space a long time, and you can’t do that without a scaffold of cooperation and generosity toward each other, whether you admit it’s there or not.
He scratched the dog