The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [27]
Hoshi had proven herself immensely valuable long before then, however, particularly during the time since the Xindi attack on Earth, when the hunt for Earth’s alien attackers had been greatly abetted by her ability to decipher never-before-encountered languages. Maybe it’s finally time she got a promotion, Archer thought, though he felt strongly that handing promotions out as though they were party favors tended to devalue their importance among the crew. She’s earned it. For that matter, more than a few others around here have earned it as well.
He glanced over at Hoshi, who was working intently at her station. Yes, maybe it is time for something positive to happen aboard this ship. Especially considering all the doom and gloom we’ve been facing lately.
Almost as if on cue, Hoshi did a double take, then turned to look at Archer, her eyes wide.
“Captain, I have an emergency hail… from Shran.”
Archer stood up and moved toward her. “Coming from where?”
At the helm, Mayweather tapped some controls and responded. “The signal is coming from a small vessel at extreme range, headed this way from Andorian space.”
“Put him on the screen,” Archer said.
As Hoshi tapped her console, the blue-hued face of the Andorian ex-Imperial Guardsman filled the bridge’s forward viewscreen almost instantly.
“This is quite a surprise,” Archer said, addressing the screen. “I thought it would be years before we saw you again, not months.” The fact that Shran’s left antenna evidently had yet to grow back completely reminded Archer of how recently the two men had last encountered one another.
“I’m sorry, pinkskin,” Shran said in gravel-strewn tones. “But it was essential that I leave Andoria and ask for your help.”
“You need my help?” Archer said, pacing toward Travis.
“It hasn’t been that long. And as I recall, you still owe me a favor.”
Archer sighed. Shran was reminding him that he had saved Enterprise from destruction after the Vulcans had fired on the ship on the orders of V’Las. The captain hadn’t been aboard at the time, but he owed the debt nonetheless.
“I remember. But this isn’t a good time, Shran. It looks like Starfleet Command is planning to keep us pretty busy nursemaiding interstellar envoys over the next three weeks or so. I assume you know why.”
Shran seemed almost irritated. “I may no longer be a member of the Imperial Guard, but I’m aware of the proposed Coalition.”
“It’s more than a proposal,” Archer said. “We’ll be on Earth three weeks from now to witness the official signing of the Coalition Compact.”
Shran stared forward intently. “As you say, the signing ceremony isn’t for three weeks. If it even happens. If you give me the help I need, you’ll be home in plenty of time.”
Archer laughed under his breath and turned his back to the screen, walking around Mayweather’s station and back toward his command chair. “I’m afraid a detour is out of the question right now.”
“Jhamel has been abducted… taken.” Shran’s voice was angry, his mien hard, his uneven antennae deployed like twin rapiers. “You owe me.”
Archer turned back toward the screen, recalling the courage and ethereal beauty of the Aenar woman. Without her telepathic assistance, Romulan Admiral Valdore might have succeeded in destroying Enterprise with his remote-controlled drone ships last year.
“Who took her?”
Shran leaned forward slightly. “Old ‘mutual friends’ of ours. Orion slavers. It’s a long story. I’ll explain when I meet up with you in person. You need to alter course.”
Archer looked over at T’Pol. Neither of the dealings they’d had with the Orion Syndicate lately had turned out particularly well; T’Pol had even been sold as one of their slaves not so long ago.
He sighed, then spoke to Mayweather, who regarded him expectantly. “Set a rendezvous course.”
“Thank you, pinkskin,” Shran said just before the screen