The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [172]
Trip continued staring at the padd as old man continued: “As you’ve no doubt guessed already, I must decline your invitation to live among your people. I am a Romulan, after all, and I am loyal to the traditions that have always made our civilization great, going back to the time of the Sundering. But because I am an ethical student of science, I also deplore the reflexive militarism that has lately corrupted the Empire to the point that it would allow a Praetor to attempt planetary genocide. So while I will return to my people, I cannot in good conscience complete my work on the avaihh lli vastam engine, which I now know our Praetor would put to the meanest, basest imaginable use. Your words, as much as the disaster I visualize befalling Coridan, have opened my eyes.
“Good fortune, my young friend, in all your… future endeavors.” The old man paused and smiled ironically, having just declared his patriotism while wishing Trip “happy spying” almost in the same breath. “Though we are creatures of very different worlds, I believe we both work for the same end. Perhaps our efforts will eventually help to bring about peace- or at least make a war that now appears inevitable somewhat less destructive than it would have been otherwise, had neither of us acted.
“Let that be our mutual legacy, whatever good two men can do. And I hope that whatever good we both do in the years to come will live on after us, long past the time when we are both dust.
“Farewell.”
Ehrehin’s image vanished from the padd, and Trip dropped it onto the desktop.
Stretching out on the stateroom’s narrow bed, Trip looked up at the simple duranium grillwork of the cabin’s ceiling, behind which he could hear the worn aircirculation fans of the ship’s life-support system chugging away tirelessly.
He considered the mission, another voyage deep into Romulan space, that lay ahead. With a little luck, the files and contacts he’d copied from the memory rod he’d recovered from the slain Tinh Hoc Phuong, along with the new information he’d just received from Harris, would help him alter the trajectory of Romulan society, at least incrementally.
“’Just one more mission,’” Trip said to the empty cabin, as he recalled his most recent meeting with Harris back on Earth.
And thought wistfully once more about home, and everyone he’d yet again left behind.
Epilogue
The Early Twenty-Fifth Century
Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana
“WOW. IT STILL SEEMS pretty damned unbelievable, Nog.” Jake moved his wineglass to the table beside his antique chair. The low fire crackled occasionally in the background, though the sound of rain pattering against the roof and the windows mostly drowned it out.
Nog drained his own glass, then set it down on the hearth beside his chair, next to the now-empty bottle. “So, are you saying you don’t believe it?”
“I didn’t exactly say that, Nog. The document claiming to be Commander Tucker’s own sworn testimony- verified by a scan of his retina-pattern taken in the middle of the twenty-third century, no less- makes this stuff pretty hard to dismiss.”
“That one pretty much clinched it for me, too,” Nog said. “So why is it still unbelievable to you?”
“It’s not,” Jake said with a thoughtful frown. “I’m just saying it still comes as a huge surprise to discover all this new information about somebody whose life and death were as well documented as Tucker’s.”
Nog nodded. “Too bad he didn’t find a way to head off the whole Earth-Romulan War.”
Jake shook his head. “I think having grown up as the son of Ben Sisko gives me a little bit of perspective on this sort of thing, Nog. At the end of the day, Commander Tucker wasn’t a superhero; he was just a chief engineer with a knack for spying. Besides, as nasty as that war was, the Federation we know today rose out of its ashes. The Federation might never have come about at all without the six-year gestation period that began with the signing of the Coalition Compact.”
“And I might be chasing latinum slips and dabo tokens somewhere in the Ferengi Alliance to keep myself in