Last Full Measure - Michael A. Martin [28]
Reed suddenly remembered exactly where he’d seen it before. An almost volcanic wave of outrage surged deep within his chest.
“You’re going to take us to them,” Archer said, his gaze boring into Trahve like a pair of mining lasers.
Trahve looked mortified, and lost even more of his scant coloration. “I can’t do that, Captain. I already told you, I don’t know where their homeworld is located.”
“Assuming that’s true, you can still take us to your Xindi business contacts,” Reed said. He glanced again at the energy signature displayed on his padd, and a growing sense of certainty raced to catch up with his escalating anger. The two emotions seemed to fuel one another. “They’ll know how to reach the Xindi homeworld.”
“I can’t simply…sell out my clients like that,” Trahve said, looking distressed. “Discretion is very important to them.”
Archer’s smile was quickly becoming a transparently angry rictus. “The Xindi committed a massacre on my homeworld, Trahve. I can’t afford to let them launch any further attacks.”
“I don’t know anything about any of that, Captain.”
“Captain, he’s lying,” Reed said. “I believe he knows a good deal more about the Xindi attack than he’s admitted to.”
Archer turned toward Reed. “Why do you say that, Malcolm?”
Reed pushed the padd across the tabletop toward Archer. “This is from a chemical trace scan of Trahve’s clothing, Captain. Look at this energy signature. Do you recognize it?”
Archer studied the diagram on the padd for a lengthy moment. His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed again in barely restrained fury.
Trahve stood, pushing the table over and knocking Reed’s chair onto its side, along with Reed, who landed in a winded heap on the dust-caked floor, along with his padd and scanner. Taking advantage of the group’s collective surprise, Trahve leaped over the scattered furniture and made for the rear of the tavern as though the entire Andorian Imperial Guard were right on his heels.
Rekna approached menacingly as O’Neill helped Reed get to his feet; Reed could see that Chandra was already chasing after the fleeing alien, and Reed quickly moved to follow.
“Let him go!” Archer said, grabbing Reed’s elbow. A few meters ahead, Chandra stopped and stared in shock at the captain. Trahve ran for the exit like a man being chased by the Furies.
“What?” Reed felt every bit as incredulous as Chandra looked.
Archer produced a fair approximation of Trahve’s carefree grin. “You heard me.”
Rounding the corner and cutting across the alley, Trahve thought his lungs might burst at any moment; he was unaccustomed to such bursts of extreme exertion, especially in the relatively high gravity of this thrice-cursed frontier world. He spared a moment to glance over his shoulder. No sign of pursuit.
He grinned as he caught his breath. These strangers were evidently neither as dangerous nor as competent as they seemed to fancy themselves. There was apparently little reason to take them seriously.
But had they really been telling him the truth about the mass fatalities their home planet had sustained, allegedly because of the Xindi?
There was no time now to worry about such things, however. He had a ship to get ready for launch, and he knew it would be prudent to do so quickly.
But if he were to turn up alone to meet with his Xindi contacts, what would he have to say for himself? He decided he’d simply explain that the humans must have gotten sidetracked searching one of the smaller spaceport towns. Or perhaps they would simply follow him to the appointed place in one of their own vessels.
Trahve ducked around another corner and the back side of Hangar 43 immediately hove into view. Moments later, the automated retinal scanner verified both his identity and his clearance credentials, and admitted him to the secure portion of the launch bay, where his small vessel patiently awaited his return.
Seven million people. Did the Xindi really murder seven million people?
And were they actually planning on doing it again? Or were they simply acting to protect