The Expanse - J.M. Dillard [7]
Archer at last heard the undercurrent of pain in his engineers voice. He pulled himself from his reverie and turned to face Trip.
How could he, Archer, have been so thoughtless? Of course; Tucker’s family was from Florida, and from Trip’s brotherly tone, Archer guessed they were talking about a sibling. “Older or younger?” he asked—with just enough concern. Too much would make it harder for Trip to maintain his composure.
“She’s my baby sister,” Trip said. His golden hair was disheveled, as though he had been running his hands anxiously through it.
The words came like a blow. For his friend’s sake, Archer did not allow his expression to change; he merely listened as Trip continued.
“When we were in school, I made sure all the boys in her class got a good look at me ... None of them ever messed with her.” He barely managed to finish without choking up.
Archer did not quite smile at the words; he imagined Trip, something of a hell raiser himself, must have made quite a formidable big brother. “Maybe she was away on a trip,” he said firmly, insistently, echoing Tucker’s hope.
For a time, neither spoke; it was clear Trip didn’t believe it.
The engineer lowered his face, got control of himself again, then looked squarely back at Archer. “Anything you can tell me about what the admiral said?” He squared his shoulders, clearly steeling himself for the response.
For the most fleeting instant, Archer considered not revealing everything—but he put himself in Tucker’s place. If it were his relative, he would want to know the truth. Reluctantly, he said, “The number of casualties has been revised ...” He drew a breath. “It’s up to three million.”
Grief and fury flickered across Tucker’s face. “Why would someone do this ... ?”
There was no answer; Archer did not try to give one. The door chimed again. “Come in,” he said.
T’Pol entered. Amazing, Archer thought, that while the Vulcan’s face showed no obvious emotion, her movements, voice, and even posture managed to convey compassion toward her stricken crewmates. She seemed to sense at once that Trip was experiencing some difficulty; therefore, her attitude was deferential, as if she realized she was interrupting an emotional moment. Careful to leave Tucker plenty of physical space, she said quietly to the Captain, “I spoke with Ambassador Soval ...”
“And?” Archer asked.
“A Vulcan transport located the pod in Central Asia. They retrieved it and brought it to Starfleet Headquarters.”
Tucker listened with ferocious interest.
Archer at once moved away from the window and stepped up to the Vulcan. “What do they know?”
“Very little,” T’Pol replied. “There was a pilot ... killed on impact.”
“Who the hell was he?” Trip demanded, his tone ragged, verging on the desperate. “What species?”
T’Pol’s calm demeanor was a stark contrast. “They don’t know.”
“Did they say anything about what part of Florida?”
T’Pol lifted her eyebrows curiously at the engineer. “No.”
Archer explained. “Trip’s sister lives in Florida.”
T’Pol nodded, understanding. Archer silently blessed her for not bringing up the fact that a Vulcan would not be emotionally overwhelmed by the possible loss of a family member.
The com beeped; Archer was tempted to groan. Whatever it was, it could not be good news. He pressed the companel. “Archer.”
Reed’s voice filtered through the panel. “Three Suliban vessels just showed up ... one off starboard, two dorsal.”
Even worse news than expected. He’d at least expected to make it home to Earth. Now they were forced to deal with the Suliban, warriors from the future renowned for their deceit, interested only in manipulating the flow of time to their own advantage. They had tried to kill Archer before; whatever they wanted now, it wasn’t good.
“Just what we need,” Archer muttered, then said, more loudly, to Reed: “Tactical Alert.”
As the klaxons blared, the Captain and his two officers headed for the bridge.
Chapter 3
Accompanied by T’Pol and Tucker, Archer stepped onto the dimly lit bridge to see