Kobayashi Maru - Michael A. Martin [148]
Trip looked toward the back of the command chair that was positioned just forward of the rooms central pillar. A male Romulan officer sat there, as still as a marble sculpture, perhaps transfixed by the large forward viewer before him. The screen displayed an image of the Drolae, adrift and broken. Rode hard and put away wet, Trip thought, grateful that the battered little ship hadnt given up the ghost at an earlier, less opportune time.
“The scout vessels warp-core pressure is still heading toward critical, Commander, said a young woman who was posted at one of the portside consoles.
The captain, who still faced away from Trip, nodded. “Retreat to a safe distance, Decurion.
I know that voice, Trip thought, startled.
A moment later the image of the Drolae vanished, replaced first by a brilliant if short-lived bloom of orange molecular fire, which quickly gave way to a rapidly expanding sphere of sun-dappled metal shards. Within a few seconds, the debris cloud grew nearly as diffuse as the vacuum surrounding it. The Drolae disappeared, as though it had never existed in the first place.
“Put us back on our original course, the captain said, still staring straight ahead.
“Yes, Commander, said the young male officer who was posted at what Trip assumed to be the helm panel. The star field displayed on the viewer smeared into multicolored streaks as the warp drive engaged. The subaural vibrations transmitted into Trips boots via the deck plates increased sharply in frequency, marking the vessels quick transition from station-keeping velocity to warp five or thereabouts. And the brief sensation of lateral acceleration Trip felt before the inertial dampers fully engaged told him that they were headed away from Romulus.
Trip could barely contain his astonishment. Theyre not going to take me the rest of the way to Romulus? This is definitely not going according to Hoyle.
When the man seated at the rooms center turned his chair toward the bridges aft section, Trip finally had an inkling as to why.
He also had about a thousand new questions.
“Take the prisoner to my office, the captain said, apparently in anticipation of those very questions.
“Sopek! Trip said after the guards had finally left him alone with the man in charge.
“I prefer Chuihv, if you please, Commander Tucker, said the erstwhile Vulcan captain. “At least while Im operating in Romulan space.
Trip sat heavily in the chair that his captor had offered, gently flexing his sore, badly manhandled shoulders. “This galaxy is getting way too small, he said, his mind still reeling.
“You are no doubt referring to the apparent element of coincidence underlying our present meeting, the other man said, steepling his fingers before him and planting his elbows atop the small transparent desk behind which he had seated himself. “But people in our profession are frequently drawn together by common circumstances, Commander. Particularly when their mission objectives overlap as much as ours do.
Trip knew that even if he lived to be a hundred, he would never rid himself of a few truly ghastly memories. One such indelible recollection was the swath of indiscriminate devastation that an experimental Xindi particle weapon had wrought upon his Florida hometown, where his little sister Lizzie had died a little over two years ago.
Another equally ineradicable mark on his psyche was the image of Sopek, or Chuihv, murdering Trips original bureau partner, Tinh Hoc Phuong, in cold blood. With a single disruptor blast, Sopek had reduced a brave but helpless human being into a smoldering pile of ash and gristle.
“What the hell makes you think you and I have anything in common? Trip said, glowering.
Either unaware of or unconcerned