Last Full Measure - Michael A. Martin [39]
Hayes apparently wasn’t having it. “But the chemical trace scans—”
“Only prove that he’s been in contact with the same material that powered the weapon the Xindi used in their first attack,” Reed said tartly.
Hayes seemed none too pleased about being interrupted. “This man works for the enemy, Lieutenant. Why are you defending him?”
“If I’m defending anything, Major, it’s simple decency. We still have to stand up for that, whether this man can help us find the Xindi or not.”
“Not finding the Xindi is simply not an option, Malcolm,” said the captain.
“I never suggested that it was, Captain. But using methods like this…” Reed trailed off, momentarily at a loss for words. “Frankly, it’s beneath us, sir.”
“You are out of line, Lieutenant,” Hayes said, holding his weapon in a death grip.
“I’ll thank you to leave that to the captain’s judgment, Major.” And you’d better hope you never find out just how much further “out of line” I’m capable of getting.
“I have, Lieutenant. And the captain has judged that current circumstances warrant applying a degree of coercion.”
“ ‘Coercion.’ That’s a fine euphemism for a rifle butt in the belly. Where will you apply your ‘coercion’ next? To his skull?”
Hayes turned menacingly toward Trahve, who flinched in response. “He’s in bed with the Xindi—the murderers of seven million human beings. We haven’t come all this way to put on a high tea for our enemies’ friends, Lieutenant.”
Reed certainly understood the anger Hayes harbored toward the Xindi; he shared it, after all. But the brutality he had just witnessed had ignited within him another kind of anger that was perhaps every bit as primal.
“Overcoming the Xindi doesn’t mean we need to become as bad as the Xindi,” he said.
The cockpit fell silent then, except for the low moan that escaped from Trahve.
“Let’s hope you’re right about that, Malcolm,” Archer said finally. “But overcoming the Xindi also means we’re going to do whatever we have to do to find and destroy the Xindi weapon. For the sake of everyone on Earth. Is that clear, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir,” Reed said, clenching his jaw tightly.
Reed saw that tears stood in the captain’s eyes as he grabbed Trahve by the front of his shirt and hauled him roughly to his feet.
“No more. Stop. Please.”
Archer felt an enormous sense of relief sweep through his soul, though it only partially cleansed him of his mounting feelings of guilt and self-disgust. Still, he was thankful that he’d only had to strike Trahve four times—twice in the abdomen and twice across the face. Hayes, however, had hit the man at least that many times, while Kemper and Money stood by mutely, their weapons at the ready, their youthful faces carefully schooled into emotionless masks that T’Pol might have envied.
But T’Pol would probably do a much better job of keeping her hands from shaking, Archer thought as he glanced aftward, where Malcolm stood by watching. He looked pale and ill. Disgusted with me. Archer couldn’t blame him.
“Why should we stop?” Archer said to the prisoner, hoping that his own face was as inscrutable as those of the MACOs.
“Because I’ll tell you what I know.” His hands still manacled together before him, Trahve used his palms to wipe a trickle of orange-hued blood away from his chin.
“I’m listening,” Archer said. So you do know where the weapon is being built. Damn you straight to hell for forcing me to do this just to make you tell me that much.
Trahve nodded. “Perhaps twenty daycycles ago, I delivered some electronic targeting components and fuel to the Xindi arboreals and insectoids.”
Arboreals, Archer thought. Insectoids. The words sparked his curiosity on some very deep level. Thanks to a Xindi humanoid named Kessick, a former slave who had died from injuries sustained during an escape from the slave-labor camp on Tulaw, Archer knew that the