The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [42]
Trip sat in silence for a lengthy time, evaluating Harris’s words as the other man continued studying him from across the light-years. While he thought Harris’s praise of his alleged exodiplomatic skills was highly overblown, he knew he couldn’t remain on the sidelines while Starfleet continued to do nothing, Malcolm’s warnings about Harris notwithstanding.
He’s not the devil, Trip told himself. If he were, then why would Malcolm have suggested I talk to him?
“All right. I’m in,” Trip said at length. “At least until we get done neutering this Romulan invasion.
“Just tell me what I have to do.”
Eleven
Monday, February 10, 2155
Enterprise Nx-01
JONATHAN ARCHER SIPPED COFFEE from a tall metal mug as he shuffled down an E-deck corridor toward the captain’s mess. He wasn’t a stranger to exhaustion- it often seemed to be a prerequisite for a captain- but last night he’d gotten even less sleep than usual. Something wasn’t sitting right with what was going on with the ship, and with Shran. He suspected that getting Shran off the ship might help him sleep better for a night or two, but the consequences of that action might be problematic for the crew at a later date. And not just because of the suspicions shared by Shran, Trip, and himself about the purpose and destination the Orions intended for their Aenar captives.
He rounded a corner and was surprised to see Trip waiting for him outside the captain’s mess. The commander looked haunted; not a huge step down from his demeanor ever since the Terra Prime incident and the death of his daughter, but he definitely looked wearier than he had when he’d gone off-shift yesterday.
“I need to talk with you, Captain,” Trip said, his voice plaintive.
“Sure, Trip,” Archer said, patting his old friend on the shoulder. “Come on in. Have you had breakfast yet? I can have Chef whip something up for you.”
Trip took the first seat at the round metallic table, opposite the viewport. “No, thanks, Captain. I’m not really very hungry right now.”
Archer seated himself at his regular spot, glad to see a covered dish already waiting for him. “Suit yourself,” Archer said, lifting the cover. Chef had prepared eggs Florentine and crepes today, along with three wedges of the multigrain toast that Archer preferred.
Unfolding his napkin, Archer asked, “Now then, what can I do for you?”
“I want to get this all out before you say anything, Captain,” Trip said, splaying his hands across the table in front of him. “It’s going to be difficult enough to get through this without interruptions- no offense- and I really want to finish.”
Archer smiled wanly and cut a bite of crepe with the edge of his fork. “The floor is yours.”
The captain wasn’t quite sure what he expected Trip to say, but several minutes later, when the engineer’s tale seemed to be winding to a close, Archer’s meal had gone cold, and he hadn’t eaten anything past the first bite. He’d expected something related to Trip’s relationship with T’Pol- perhaps a heartache-heavy request for another transfer- or some news of a discovery about Shran or the Aenar, or even some minor conjectures about the Romulans, but this…
“Are you finished?” Archer asked.
Trip sighed. “More or less. For the moment.”
Archer fixed his chief engineer with a steely gaze. “So they want to send you into Romulan space as a field operative. Okay, it’s a tactic as old as Homer. But even supposing that Harris’s intelligence about the Romulans is correct, along with all our suppositions about how they plan to use the Aenar against us, what real point is there in having you infiltrate the Romulan Star Empire?”
Trip looked puzzled. “We’ve got to sabotage their war plans somehow.”
“’Somehow’ is pretty damned vague, Trip.” Archer felt he had to persist with a few admittedly merciless questions before he allowed his old friend to go any further down such a dangerous road. “How exactly could one agent in disguise stop any attack against Coridan Prime? I’m pretty sure you never took a course in conversational