The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [111]
“Captain?” Reed looked uncomfortable. “There is another factor we have to consider. If we can’t rescue the Aenar, and they remain in the hands of the Romulans, we know they will be used as weapons. Weapons against Earth, or another Coalition planet, or even some nonaligned world. We can’t let the Romulans keep them.”
“What are you suggesting?” Archer asked, though he was certain he already knew the answer.
“We can’t let the Romulans keep them,” Reed repeated, more emphatically this time. “We can’t destroy the transport ship for political reasons. But we can use the transporter to stop the Aenar from being used against us.”
“You can’t be serious!” Shran snarled at the tactical officer.
Theras approached them, his hand on the shoulder of the MACO trooper who had drawn near to Shran. “Captain, as much as it pains me to say this, your companion may be correct,” Theras said, his voice quavering. “I know that my people would rather be… sacrificed than used as weapons to destroy others.”
“You know nothing, you coward!” Shran snarled, his fists clenching in rage. McCammon reached for him, but in that second, Shran drove the palm of his hand up and under the MACO’s chin, driving him back off his feet.
Before Archer could get to his feet, T’Pol had come between him and Shran. The Andorian swung at her, but she caught his hand, forcing it backward despite the powerful momentum of the blow.
Sometimes I forget how strong Vulcans are, Archer thought in a flash.
“Stop,” T’Pol said, speaking in a low growl. “I believe I have an alternative.”
Thirty-Four
Friday, February 21, 2155
Rator II
TRIP THOUGHT CHUIHV was finally about to pick up the disruptor pistol that lay on the table before him and end Ehrehin’s lengthy presentation with the finality of the grave.
Then the ground shook and the lights overhead dimmed, and a distant rumbling roar reverberated through the entire Ejhoi Ormiin complex.
Ch’uihv leaped to his feet and began barking orders into an intercom unit built into the desktop- to no evident effect- then began ordering the guards in the room to find some answers, immediately. As Ch’uihv’s men scattered, Trip’s first thought was that one of the island’s volcanoes had conveniently decided to get frisky.
Then the floor beneath Trip’s chair shook again, with a hard, sharp impact that reminded Trip more of a phase-cannon strike than any natural phenomenon he’d ever encountered.
Admiral Valdore, he thought, shoving himself out of his chair and rising awkwardly to his feet, his hands still bound tightly behind him. As unlikely as it was that the Romulan military had suddenly found this obscure world and mounted a rescue raid to recover Ehrehin in the proverbial nick, it was certainly a more believable scenario than that of an eons-dormant volcano suddenly rising up in wrath at precisely the appropriate moment.
Trip moved toward the old man, concerned that the current situation might be too much for him. Despite the dim lighting, he could see that Ehrehin appeared to be only a little shaken. But he also knew that circumstances could very easily take a turn for the worse, and in no time flat. If Valdore doesn’t get his hands on Ehrehin, he’s going to make damned sure that nobody else gets their hands on him either.
He could hear the sharp reports of weapons fire echoing through some distant part of the complex, growing steadily louder as they approached. All at once, getting out of his manacles became a priority very nearly as urgent as breathing.
“Get back into your chair,” ordered a harsh male voice. A moment later, once of Ch’uihv’s guards, his dark paramilitary uniform making him nearly invisible in the low lighting, resolved himself from the surrounding shadows.
Trip could only hope that the other guards in the room, not to mention Ch’uihv himself, were too distracted by what was going on elsewhere in the complex to notice what he had just decided to do. I’m going to get killed anyway, he thought. Either