Last Full Measure - Michael A. Martin [30]
T’Pol crossed over to his station. “Would you care to be more specific, Ensign Marcel?”
He pointed to the numbers that were scrolling across the screens atop his station. “It’s from one of our long-range probes. Telemetry is showing significant residual quantities of the Xindi compound. A highly refined isotope, to be specific. It lies along a straight line that might be light-years long. My guess is that it’s an exhaust trail from a warp-driven ship.”
But whose ship?
T’Pol glanced back at her own console display, where the snowflake pattern—the energy signature of the fuel residue found with the wreckage of the first Xindi weapon on Earth—continued its slow rotation. Turning forward again, she studied the data that were scrolling across the ensign’s station. There could be no doubt that the probes had discovered more of the same substance, and that it formed a trail—a trail that might lead to a Xindi base, or perhaps even straight to the Xindi homeworld itself.
But she could also see that the trail might not be easy to follow, according to the coordinate data. “The Xindi isotope trail doesn’t appear to intersect either with Kaletoo, or with the trajectory of the captain’s shuttlepod.” Enterprise had taken up a long orbit about Kaletoo’s distance-dimmed sun, hiding her presence in the far reaches of the system’s Kuiper belt; the apparent Xindi trail seemed to begin much farther into the depths of interstellar space.
“No, ma’am,” Marcel said. “The probe picked up the trail nearly six light-hours from our present position. Enterprise could be there in minutes.” The ensign gazed up at her expectantly. “Should I lay in a course?”
“Not yet,” T’Pol said, having no desire to scuttle the entire Xindi hunt by leading Enterprise right into the jaws of a trap.
As she considered her course of action, T’Pol crossed over near the captain’s chair, though she didn’t sit in it. She preferred to stand when she had command of the bridge; taking the captain’s chair always felt a bit presumptuous, regardless of her rank or position.
“Is the chemical signature remaining constant?” she asked, addressing Marcel.
Marcel studied his screen for another moment. “No, ma’am. It appears to be diffusing and fading, just like the exhaust trail of a moving vessel.”
A Xindi vessel, T’Pol thought. Unless it turns out to belong to a different civilization that happens to use precisely the same propulsion method. Though she found herself doubting the latter scenario, T’Pol had to concede that it was certainly possible. Even after having spent more than twelve weeks in the Expanse, Enterprise’s crew still knew precious little both about the region and about the many races that traveled it. They didn’t even know what the Xindi called the compound they were seeking, much less whether any other starfaring species utilized it. For all she knew, the energy signature that the probes had found could lead them to some vacationing family’s pleasure yacht.
Instinct was not a trait that T’Pol was fond of considering; her Vulcan background told her that decisions should be based on logic and fact, and instinct was based on feelings and suppositions. But in this matter, she had little factual material to go on. And with the trail decaying, she had little time to gather more data.
Compounding the issue was her inability to discuss the matter with key members of the command staff. With Captain Archer, Lieutenant O’Neill, and Lieutenant Reed currently off-ship—and unavailable because of the com silence that Archer had ordered—as well as Tucker and Sato incapacitated, she had few options. Lieutenant Hess was in engineering, but she had her hands full with Tucker out of action, and Lieutenant Salvatore’s astrophysical talents had proven disappointing of late. She resigned herself to making this decision all on her own.
T’Pol crossed over to the captain’s chair and pressed a button on the armrest, opening a channel to a particular set