The Expanse - J.M. Dillard [55]
Face contorted in a sneer, Trip pulled the miner forward by the collar, then shoved him roughly back against the wall. “You know, I’m not sure why, but I’m just itching to kick the hell out of you.”
Archer finally moved in and put a hand on his engineer’s shoulder. “Trip, take it easy.”
Tucker reluctantly loosened his grip, just as the Captain’s communicator beeped.
Archer stepped aside and flipped it open. “Archer.”
T’Pol’s voice filtered through the grid. “Captain, there are three warships approaching at warp. Their hull alloys match the mining towers on the surface.”
So, the weasel had been making plans all along, counting on a fresh supply of miners to replace those dying or dead from trellium exposure. “How long before they get here?” Archer asked.
The Vulcan’s voice was replaced by Mayweather’s. “Two hours, sir.”
Archer pondered it for a second. “Go to Tactical Alert. We’re heading back to the shuttlepod.”
“Understood,” T’Pol’s disembodied voice replied.
Archer flipped his communicator closed.
“Shuttlepod?” the Xindi demanded. “You have a starship in orbit?”
Archer remained silent as he headed for the metal door. Trip and the Xindi followed.
“You’ve made it so easy for them!” the miner said, with a cruel delight that made it easy for Archer to believe his species thought nothing of genocide. “Usually, they have to go out and find ships to replenish their labor force!”
Archer reached the door, pulled the handle—and reacted as the door remained firmly in position. It had been locked. Out of futile frustration, he lifted his fists and pummeled the thick, unyielding metal.
The Xindi laughed—not at all kindly. “You flew right into their trap!”
Archer ignored him and instead reached for his communicator and flipped it open. “Archer to Enterprise.”
Static, nothing more. Yet only a moment ago, he had been speaking with T’Pol.
“Enterprise, respond,” Archer demanded, though he knew it would do no good.
More static. Archer snapped the communicator closed.
The Xindi spoke again; this time, the derision had fled his tone. Apparently, he’d done some fast thinking. “Under normal circumstances, you might consider waiting for your colleagues to rescue you. But it sounds like they’re about to become quite busy. ...” His expression intent, he took a step toward Archer. “If you have a shuttlepod on the surface, I can get you to it ... but you’ll have to take me with you.”
Archer shared a glance with Trip. The Captain had been assuming that the Xindi was what he appeared to be—a prisoner, not a plant by those on his planet who might have learned of Enterprise and wanted to destroy it. There was also a chance that even if the Xindi was nothing more than a prisoner, he was capable of treachery.
Even so, Trip’s gaze reflected what Archer already knew: They had no choice but to trust him.
On the Enterprise bridge, T’Pol had made a few deductions of her own concerning the foreman’s lack of honesty. While a slight possibility remained that the warships had some mission other than attacking Enterprise, it was most doubtful. A likely conclusion was that mines were fueled by slave labor, and that the foreman was most eager to add to his workforce. She was somewhat annoyed with herself that the idea had not occurred to her earlier, before the Captain and Commander Tucker had gone down. Now there was the possibility they might be held as hostages.
She turned as Ensign Sato’s console beeped. Sato pressed a control, listened, then reported, “There’s an audio message coming in from the mine foreman.”
T’Pol gave a nod. Sato understood the tacit command perfectly, and within a few seconds, the image of the foreman appeared on the main viewscreen.
T’Pol found his appearance less than impressive. It was impossible to determine the true color of the humanoid’s skin, as it was covered by a layer of grime, body oils, and trellium dust.
The foreman shot her a lecherous look, then adopted an attitude of poorly feigned politeness. “I’m afraid your Captain and his associate are