The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [174]
Nog returned the grin, displaying rows of uneven, sharpened teeth. “No wonder you’ve fallen so in love with writing whodunits these last few years.” But the Ferengi’s smile collapsed a moment later into a far more thoughtful expression. “Seriously, Jake, we may have a problem on our hands, now that we know what we know. We have a serious decision to make.”
Jake nodded, understanding. “Do we go public with this stuff? Or do we keep it to ourselves?”
“You were a news writer before you became a novelist,” Nog said. “I think I can guess which way you’d decide.”
Jake nodded. “And you’d be right.” Every one of his journalistic and writerly impulses screamed for the need to publish this discovery, regardless of whether or not he got any share of the credit.
At least he wanted to see it published, if all the supporting documentation really would bear up under close scrutiny. And the bright light of sobriety tomorrow morn- ing, he thought, contemplating the empty wine bottle on the hearth ruefully.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Jake. At least, not yet.”
“Why?” Jake asked, perplexed. “Nothing here is classified, otherwise you couldn’t have shared it with me.”
“Do you like westerns, Jake?” Nog asked, the question seeming to have come out of what Benjamin Sisko probably would have described as ‘left field.’
“Westerns? As in novels? Like Louis L’Amour, or Larry McMurtry?”
“No, westerns, as in movies,” Nog said, his features suddenly animated by a renewed burst of youthful energy. The sight made Jake pine momentarily for those carefree days they had spent together causing innocent trouble on Deep Space 9’s bustling Promenade, under Constable Odo’s ever-watchful eye.
“Westerns,” Nog continued, “as in John Ford, the twentieth-century hew-mon flatvid director. I got interested in his work during the war, when I was convalescing at Vic’s apartment.”
Jake remembered those days very well indeed. The high points, like the Allies’ retaking of DS9, or the final victory at Cardassia Prime, had been stratospheric; the lows, like the murder of Jadzia Dax, or the incident at AR-558 that had cost Nog his leg, had been abysmal.
But Nog had been discussing flatvid cinema rather than reality, and Jake wasn’t sure that he could recall the particular films Nog was referencing. “I’m waiting patiently for what you’re saying to start making some sense to me, Nog.”
Nog shook his head in mock despair. “Jake, don’t you remember the ending of The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance?”
Understanding finally dawned upon Jake when he realized that he did recall that particular film- especially its ending, which he’d found a good deal more memorable than most other entries in the western genre.
“’When the legend becomes fact, print the legend,”’ Jake quoted.
While he had to concede that Nog had a point, he still wasn’t entirely convinced that the newly unearthed Tucker files ought to be hidden away indefinitely. Or just which of the many legends associated with the Earth-Romulan War and the subsequent founding of the Federation needed protecting the most. After all, there was still so much more they both had to find out, particularly regarding Commander Tucker’s specific activities during those times, and across the many subsequent decades through which he’d apparently lived.
After a lengthy pause, Jake finally came to a decision. “All right, Nog. I’ll agree to decide not to decide anything. At least until we both learn a lot more about the fact and the legend both. That okay by you?”
“That’s okay by me,” Nog said, grinning.
The rain outside continued its irregular tapping against the windows. Dawn was several hours away.
Nog reached into his pack. Jake half expected him to extract a second ancient bottle of wine, along with a corkscrew as old as Commander Tucker himself.
Instead, the Ferengi pulled out another data chip and handed it to him.
“So,” Jake said, turning the translucent plastic