The Expanse - J.M. Dillard [10]
Archer took the thought to its logical conclusion. “Annihilate us ... before we can annihilate them.” The realization was chilling ... but another question remained. “Why are you telling me this?”
“The Xindi were not supposed to learn about their future ... If they deploy this weapon, it will contaminate the time-line.” It seemed as though the figure faced him and fixed its gaze on him directly. “You mustn’t let that happen.”
Archer felt deep frustration. It was like being caught in a spiderweb; once any time traveler intervened in the past, strands were bound to become tangled, broken. How did the humanoid know that he wasn’t contaminating the past even more by informing Archer about the Xindi? “Why should I believe you?”
The answer, for once, was straightforward and simple. “You have no choice but to believe me.”
Inside his ready room with T’Pol, Archer was angry and quite unable to keep it from showing.
Silik had, for once, kept to his word and returned Archer to his ship; the Suliban vessels had already sped away. Once again, the Enterprise was slicing through space at warp five, and the stars were streaming past the window.
And T’Pol was utterly skeptical of Silik’s story. She was in full Vulcan mode; eyebrows lifted, expression cold, arms folded across her chest, a physical symbol of her mental rejection. “If this ‘time traveler’ is trying to protect humanity, why didn’t he tell you all this before millions of people were killed?”
The question had occurred to Archer as well. Frankly, it troubled him, but he had come up with an answer of sorts. “He didn’t think we’d believe him.” Much to his surprise, his tone was furious, filled with frustration; even more to his surprise, he didn’t try to edit the anger out. Millions of people had died, and he was trying to sort the situation out. Damn it, he was trying to do something, and he didn’t like the fact that in order to try to help the situation, he had to trust Silik and his mysterious leader. So he took it out on T’Pol. It didn’t help matters that she was disbelieving. “He’s probably right.”
The more heated Archer’s tone became, the cooler T’Pol grew. “I’m sure Starfleet and the High Command will find a far more logical explanation of who attacked Earth.”
That was it; Archer raised his voice. “He may be telling the truth. If he is, I need your support, not your damn skepticism.”
She lifted her chin at that.
It was pure instinct, at last, that had convinced Archer, and that was all he had to go on: pure instinct, that the time traveler was telling the truth.
And if he couldn’t convince his second-in-command, how was he ever going to convince anyone at Starfleet?
Captain’s Starlog, April twenty-fourth, twenty-one fifty-three. The journey home has been very difficult. We’ve learned that over seven million people have been lost.
“Captain,” Mayweather said from the helm, glancing back over his shoulder. The ship had slowed to impulse, now that they were nearing their solar system.
Archer clicked off his recorder and let his gaze follow to where Mayweather pointed. On the viewscreen, one white star shone some three times more brightly than the rest.
“That’s our sun,” Mayweather explained softly. Child of starfarers though he was—he’d grown up on a space freighter—even the helmsman couldn’t keep the sentimentality from his voice. Earth was home, a fact embedded in every human’s DNA, even if they hadn’t been born on the planet’s surface.
The bridge grew silent. Archer took a step forward. It’d been a long time since he last set eyes on old Sol; there was a sense of joy and wonder at seeing it again. When he’d left it behind, filled with excitement at Enterprise’s launch, he’d wondered whether he’d survive to see it once more.
There was also a sense of sorrow, greeting it under such circumstances. It was far from the happy homecoming he’d imagined.
His reverie was interrupted by the shrill sound of an alarm at Malcolm Reed’s station.
“A vessel’s dropping out of warp,” Reed reported tersely.
“Where?” the Captain demanded.