Last Full Measure - Michael A. Martin [51]
“I’m not—” Reed stopped and let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s not the Xindi I’m talking about. I’ll gladly tear them limb from limb when we find them, assuming that we can ascertain that they really were behind the attack on Earth. I’m talking about him.” He pointed in the general direction of the cockpit again. “La’an Trahve. He’s not Xindi. He’s a free-lancer, a smuggler. He’s not the enemy.”
Archer stepped closer, looking into Reed’s eyes with a steely gaze. “He’s a collaborator with the Xindi, Lieutenant. I wonder if you would feel differently if you knew that Trahve had delivered the very same batch of the Xindi compound that fueled their attack on Earth?”
Reed didn’t flinch. “Do you have any proof of that, sir?”
“Unfortunately, this stuff apparently doesn’t come with a serial number stamped on every molecule,” Archer said through clenched teeth. “But Trahve very well could have loaded the gun that killed seven million people back home. Whether or not he did, he’s been delivering war matériel that the Xindi could easily use in their next attack against us, or against some other world. And Trahve’s efforts will have helped make it possible.”
“So we respond by lapsing into savagery? Is that what all our training has taught us? Is that what we’ve learned these past two years exploring parts of the galaxy where no man has gone before?”
Archer’s nostrils flared wide as Reed’s invocation of Zefram Cochrane’s famous words sank in. Every schoolchild was required to memorize those words, which Cochrane had delivered more than thirty years earlier during the groundbreaking ceremonies for the Warp Five Complex, where the pioneering work of Cochrane and the late Henry Archer had eventually yielded the mighty superluminal engines that now powered Enterprise. For a fleeting moment, Reed was sure that the captain would actually strike him, but after several heavy breaths, Archer turned away. He stooped to retrieve his scanner, and stalked away toward the corridor.
The captain stopped abruptly and turned back in Reed’s direction. “Did you manage to complete the other task I gave you?” he asked, his voice sharp. “Or did you need to give me a critique of that decision as well?”
“Yes, I did,” Malcolm said, then corrected himself. “No. I—” He drew a quick breath, and exhaled it forcefully through his nose. “Yes, sir, I completed the task. And no, sir, I have no further comments.”
Archer spun on his heel and marched away, saying nothing further.
Reed exhaled sharply again, aware that his hands, at his sides, were balled tightly into fists. I can’t allow either the Delphic Expanse or the Xindi to turn me into a bully, he thought. And I can’t let it happen to the captain, either.
Leicester, England,
Wednesday, April 11, 2136
Malcolm Reed was skirting the outer edge of Grayton Hall when he heard the sounds. They were unmistakably the sounds of both laughter and weeping, and they were coming from behind the gardener’s cottage.
Clutching his monogrammed schoolbag to his shoulder, he crept forward as quietly as he could. Even before he had drawn close enough to the sounds to see what was happening, he knew who the laughter was coming from: Leslie Morris and his two thuggish friends. Why they hadn’t been expelled from Evington Academy before now was a mystery he couldn’t fathom. Like most of the other boys, he did his best to stay away from them.
“Eat it!” He heard Gerald Balinsweel shout, glee in his voice.
“No, please!” Malcolm didn’t recognize the voice, but he could hear that it belonged to someone younger, and its owner was clearly the one who was doing the crying.
“Hold him down,” Leslie said. “Hold his mouth open.”
Malcolm froze in his tracks, aware that with the sun in the position it was in, if he stepped forward any further, his shadow would crest the side of the cottage, and his presence would be revealed. But they’re tormenting one of the other boys, he thought. Although his flight instinct was in overdrive, he knew he couldn’t just leave. If I run