The Expanse - J.M. Dillard [56]
T’Pol suspected this to be a complete lie, but decided that it was time to gather information first, before making accusations. “How long a delay?” she asked.
“No more than an hour.”
T’Pol considered this, then stated, “We’ve detected your ‘cargo ships.’ They’re heavily armed.” So armed, in fact, they had very little room for cargo.
“Trellium is a highly valued substance,” the foreman persisted, “and I’m certain you’ve noticed that this is not one of the friendlier regions of space.”
T’Pol remained skeptical, but did not challenge the statement. “Can I talk to Captain Archer?”
The foreman blinked several times, obviously searching for an appropriate dishonest reply, and finally said, “Not at the moment. He requested to speak to one of our miners who resides on Level Twenty-two.”
“I spoke with him a few minutes ago,” T’Pol countered.
The humanoid shifted his weight. “Unfortunately, the de-ionizing process prevents us from communicating with the lower levels.” He paused, apparently pleased with his swiftness in coming up with yet another fabrication. “I’ll have him contact you as soon as he returns.”
T’Pol had a choice: to tell the foreman that she failed to believe his falsehoods, or to say nothing and instead take action to foil his plot. She opted for the second, as it was more efficient and less likely to provoke extra resistance.
“Please do,” she told him, then had Ensign Sato end the transmission.
She turned toward the Ensign. “Keep trying to reach the Captain.” She was obliged to do so, though she doubted the effort would be successful; she was nearly convinced now that her hypothesis was correct: The Captain and Tucker were now hostages.
At his station, Lieutenant Reed spoke up. “Something doesn’t smell right.”
T’Pol understood the idiom and did not waste time pretending to take it literally; she agreed with Reed’s assessment. She faced him. “I want you to come up with a plan to recover the Captain and Commander Tucker. Have it in place in one hour.” T’Pol paused. She knew that Lieutenant Reed had proprietary feelings about his security responsibilities, and might be reluctant to bring in the MACOs, but this was precisely the type of situation the soldiers were trained for. “Consult Major Hayes if you feel it’s necessary.”
Reed nodded, showing no sign of professional jealousy, and headed for the turbolift.
T’Pol turned back to her console. With its upgraded weaponry, Enterprise might just be able to hold off three warships; however, since she had no idea of the situation on the planet surface, she could not be as certain about their chances of rescuing Archer and the Commander.
Deep in the bowels of the mining complex, the Xindi led Archer and Trip through a dank, narrow passageway filled with thick gray-brown sludge, tinged with the ubiquitous blue.
Archer could not remember the last time he had been exposed to so many different varieties of noxious smells. The trellium had given off a sharp, eye-watering chemical smell, the miners and foreman their own pungent aromas of long-unbathed flesh; but Archer had never before breathed in an odor so vile as that of the waist-deep sludge. As he and Trip waded behind the Xindi, their hands held high lest they touch the disgusting mess, the Captain remarked, “Sewage takes on a whole different meaning when it comes from a dozen different species.”
The Xindi—who had introduced himself as something that sounded to Archer like Kessick—was not without a sense of humor. He gave a wry little grimace and stated, “Thirty-one, to be exact.”
His manner had changed abruptly from hostile and scathing to cooperative; from what Archer had seen, he could understand how years in the mines could harden anyone. Given that the Xindi had been tortured and lost a finger, the Captain could understand his initial distrust.
Once he found Kessick’s people, there had to be a way to start a dialog, a way to bring about peace, to change the future.
Kessick