The Expanse - J.M. Dillard [70]
Archer lifted his head; in a tone filled with irony, he said, “He wasn’t a particularly helpful Xindi, Doctor.” He tried to comfort himself with the notion that, even if Kessick had survived, he probably would have refused to cooperate, would have continued to be a source of aggravation.
Phlox’s expression revealed he thought otherwise. “You’d be surprised,” he said, in a way that made Archer glance sharply at him. The doctor reached into a pocket and produced a padd. “It was extremely difficult and painful for him to speak, but he managed to dictate this to me before he died.”
Archer took the proffered padd, not daring to believe what Phlox was clearly hinting at.
“He said you’d know what it meant,” Phlox continued.
The Captain stared down at the numbers on the padd, and felt a sudden welling up of disbelief mixed with hope and wonder. “I’ll be damned.” He gazed up at the doctor. “They’re the coordinates.”
He stood, suddenly energized. With the padd in hand, he exited toward the bridge, followed by a curious Denobulan.
That evening, Trip Tucker was in a better humor than he’d been in for some time. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Enterprise was currently speeding toward the coordinates of the Xindi homeworld; perhaps it had to do with the fact that Trip had finally seen some action, finally worn himself out physically, finally done something that actually mattered. Things were happening.
He actually had felt sorry to hear that Kessick had died—although he didn’t know why. The Xindi had been a pretty miserable creature when alive. But at least, he’d done the right thing on his deathbed.
Trip’s muscles were aching, especially his quadriceps and arms; after all that climbing, he’d felt like he’d scaled a mountain. But he actually found the fatigue pleasant as he strolled along the ship’s corridor accompanied by Malcolm Reed.
“I must’ve been in the shower for two hours,” Trip complained amiably, “and I still have that crap in my hair, under my nails ...” He squinted down at his hands, and the faint blue crescents under each fingernail.
Reed shrugged. His voice reflected exhaustion, as well, and the absence of tension that came from completing a dangerous mission successfully. “We cleared bio-scan. That’s all that matters.”
“The two new guys who got hurt, are they okay?” It occurred to Trip that he’d been awfully absorbed in himself lately, and not very concerned about others.
Reed nodded. “Doc’s got them back in their quarters already.”
Trip was happy to hear the news; he’d felt pretty guilty about so many people risking their lives to save him. “You gotta admit, their team did a pretty impressive job down there.” He said it without thinking of the impact it might have on Malcolm—until he saw the change in Reed’s expression.
Oops. More than a bit of professional competition going on there. Trip backed off as fast as he could. “Nothing your guys couldn’t have done just as well,” he added swiftly.
Reed sighed; the look of jealousy faded as he clearly struggled to be self-honest. “I’m not so sure about that,” he said, his tone rueful. “They were impressive.” He paused as they came to a fork in the corridor. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Trip continued on and made his way to sickbay, where the doctor was working at his station. He glanced up as Trip entered, and graced him with one of his exaggerated Denobulan smiles.
“How are you feeling, Commander?”
“Blue,” Trip deadpanned.
Phlox caught the joke immediately. “I assume you’re referring to the trellium dust.”
Trip grimaced slightly. “You can still see it, can’t you?”
Phlox’s smile and tone grew gentle. “All I see is a very exhausted chief engineer. You should get yourself a good night’s sleep.”
Trip remembered the previous night’s dream of Lizzie full force; fighting to keep the panic from his voice, he asked, “You said you’d give me something, remember?”
Phlox nodded gravely. “Very well.”
He loaded a hypospray, then moved to Trip and pressed the cold metal against