The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [150]
Or maybe Gardner hasn’t gone after me because he regrets ordering Enterprise to head for Earth instead of Coridan. Archer knew that he would always wonder if he might somehow have intercepted the vessel responsible for the assault against Coridan, if only he’d had a little more time. It was easy to imagine that the admiral, whose sphere of responsibility was much larger than Archer’s, was now second-guessing himself in the very same manner.
He imagined that Trip, who’d risked more than anyone else to try to prevent what happened on Coridan, must also be tying himself into knots of misplaced guilt and self-recrimination at this very moment. That is, if he’s even still alive.
The only consolation Archer could find for any of them- Gardner, Trip, or himself- was his own bedrock certainty that the enormity of the Coridan catastrophe, as terrible as it was, would have been far worse had Trip not gotten his warning through, and had Archer failed to relay that warning to the Coridanites as quickly as he did.
“I can’t believe that Chancellor Kalev really thinks that withdrawing from the Coalition is a good idea,” said Malcolm Reed, who stood beside Hoshi Sato and Travis Mayweather on the steps immediately behind and above Phlox.
“Kalev has more to face than a planetary disaster,” Travis said. “His people have also been in a low-grade civil war for years.”
“Maybe the disaster they’re dealing with will help them pull together,” Hoshi said. “Unite them politically, as one people. Maybe then they’ll be ready to enter long-term alliances with other worlds.”
Watching the ongoing and still quite loud squabble on the debate floor, Archer wondered what that “readiness” really consisted of- and if it was really possible to maintain it. Even Soval seemed downright furious, and T’Pau appeared to be considering breaking someone’s neck with her bare hands. Right now, none of the usually dignified, patrician Vulcans appeared particularly ready for- or deserving of- interstellar goodwill, even though they had achieved domestic political unity centuries ago.
And on that score, what are we compared to them? Archer thought, dispirited. Earth’s political unity was only around fifteen years old, dating from the time that Earth’s last holdout, the Independent Republic of Australia, grudgingly and belatedly followed the rest of the planet’s nation-states in joining Earth’s global federated government.
“Let’s just hope that the Coridanites eventually decide that cooperation means strength and not weakness,” Reed said. “Maybe then they’ll finally join us. If they don’t get co-opted in the meantime by the Klingons, or the Romulans.”
Reed’s last comment sent a slow shiver down Archer’s spine. He hated to think about it, but he knew that Coridan’s conquest by either the Klingons or the Romulans- who would end up controlling what still had to be the largest known dilithium reserves in several sectors of space- would mean certain disaster for every planet represented here today, including Earth. And the effect of that disaster would be multiplied by orders of magnitude should the representatives of the remaining worlds of the still-unformed Coalition of Planets- which now seemed to be fracturing before his eyes like an over-stressed dilithium crystal- were to succumb to the fear engendered by Coridan’s abrupt withdrawal by failing to sign the official Coalition Compact document.
And that signing was scheduled for a mere two days from today. If this thing falls apart now, the Klingons and the Romulans will find us all pretty easy pickings, Archer thought.
He realized then that Phlox had been absolutely right. He couldn’t simply stand by and watch this happen. He had to do something, regardless of what he thought of his own diplomatic skills. Even if he were to fall flat on his face, no one could possibly be any worse off for his efforts.
Archer turned to face his crew. “Wait here,” he said, raising his voice so he could be heard above the shouts reverberating across the chamber and beyond.
Then he turned again and strode