The Brave and the Bold Book Two - Keith R. A. DeCandido [12]
Tuvok fired the phaser at the hull of the Manhattan without bothering to take any measurements. DeSoto had no doubt that the resultant phaser blast was right where Voyskunsky instructed it to be in relation to another phaser scar.
“How goes the deception?” DeSoto asked.
“Almost finished,” Voyskunsky said. “Next one should be across the port bow, say a forty-five-degree angle.”
Tuvok turned to look at the lieutenant commander. “That would not be consistent.”
“I beg your pardon?”
DeSoto smiled. “Let me guess, Mr. Tuvok—you’re about to point out that the next logical phaser blast would be across the starboard bow, as that would be the standard Starfleet tactical procedure when firing on a small vessel taking a standard evasive course, yes?”
“That is correct. If we wish the Maquis to believe that I stole this shuttle from the Hood—”
“Then the phaser scarring should match the pattern that we’d follow. Not everything in the field is by the book. Commander Voyskunsky, Lieutenant Dayrit, and I sometimes improvise these things. Besides, we’d know that you, logical person that you are, would follow a textbook evasive course.”
“And we’re the kind of people who like to throw people off by reading the book backward,” Voyskunsky added with a smile.
“The Maquis would not necessarily be aware of your—proclivity for improvisation.” Tuvok hesitated briefly, and DeSoto suspected the Vulcan was searching for an appropriately diplomatic way of putting it.
Voyskunsky nodded. “Maybe. And it’s true, there are no known Starfleet defectors in the Maquis who served on this ship. A testament, I’m sure, to our fearless leader’s ability to inspire loyalty,” she said with a nod to DeSoto.
“If you’re trying to suck up after last night’s game, Commander, it won’t work,” DeSoto said with a chuckle.
“Noted, Captain.” Her face growing more serious, Voyskunsky continued. “On the other hand, for all we know they have informants in Starfleet, and even here on the Hood—or at the very least, someone I may have served with on the Excalibur or that Manolet served with on the Discovery. I’d rather we erred on the side of personal consistency.”
“And if Lieutenant Commander Hudson or one of the other Maquis examine the Manhattan and question this anomaly?”
DeSoto shrugged. “Then you tell them the truth. Adds versimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative.”
Tuvok raised an eyebrow. “Let us hope that, unlike Pooh-Bah’s, my narrative is believed.”
Laughing, DeSoto said, “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Gilbert and Sullivan fan, Lieutenant.”
“I am not. However, during my first tenure in Starfleet, I served under Captain Sulu on the Excelsior. He was—inordinately fond of The Mikado, and there were several performances of it on the ship during my time there.” Tuvok spoke with as much distaste as he could muster.
“In any case,” Voyskunsky said, “if you’d be so kind as to fire across the port bow at an angle of forty-five degrees?”
“Of course, Commander.”
As Tuvok took aim, Voyskunsky tapped the tricorder against her chin. “That raises an interesting question. Legend has it that Vulcans never lie.”
“Extreme generalizations are not logical,” Tuvok said after firing the phaser, “as it only takes one counterexample to disprove them. However, deliberate falsehood is frowned upon, yes.”
“And yet you’re going to have to tell the Maquis that your family was among those lost in that rockslide on Amniphon. Now, the rockslide itself destroyed most of Amniphon’s computer records—in fact, that’s the biggest argument that it was artificially induced by the Cardassians rather than natural, since the damage was so specific—but the fact is, your wife and children didn’t die there. Are you going to be able to say they did?”
Tuvok lowered the phaser rifle and regarded Voyskunsky. DeSoto noticed no change in his attitude or demeanor—but then,