The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [44]
He rubbed his temple with one hand and reached for his coffee with the other as he took his seat again. Even lukewarm coffee would help him focus now that his head was spinning. A terrible decision faced him now. And though the likely outcome pained him, he knew there was only one choice he could make.
With no small amount of regret, he spoke that choice aloud. “If you feel that the threat is real enough for you to take a leap like this, Trip, I’ll do my best to make it easy for you. I’ll approve an extended leave of absence.” He tried to sound positive, though he wondered whether it was more for himself than for Trip. “An open-ended leave, so you can return when the mission is over. Although God knows what you’ll look like by then, or even if you’ll want to settle for being a chief engineer once you’ve gotten a taste of the spy life.”
“Actually, Captain, I won’t need a leave of absence,” Trip said quietly as Archer took another swallow from his coffee cup. “Because I need to die first.”
Archer quickly put the napkin over his mouth to avoid reflexively spitting out his coffee. Regaining his composure, he coughed and asked, “Come again?”
“There’s every possibility that I could be captured,” Trip said. “But since I’ll be surgically altered, identifying me will be difficult. Especially if Charles Anthony Tucker III is dead.”
“Now you’re talking crazy talk,” Archer said, frowning.
“No, think of it as a kind of witness protection plan. If I’m dead, it insulates Enterprise, and Earth- and my family and friends- from any sort of retaliation or repercussion. Politically or otherwise.”
Archer closed his eyes, trying to damp down the mental warning klaxons that were going off inside his head. “So you intend to fake your own death?”
“Just until this assignment is over,” Trip said, his tone earnest. “Or until its repercussions die down.”
“That could be years, Trip,” Archer said, unable to filter the exasperation from his voice. He opened his eyes again, fixing his subordinate with a hard gaze. “If the Romulans are a threat now, and we manage to stop them, what makes you think that threat is simply going to go away in the future? The Romulans aren’t the schoolyard bully who becomes your friend after you give him one hard punch in the nose.”
“I know,” Trip said, his voice low. “But, if the Romulans succeed… it won’t be like the Xindi attack. It will be every world that loses billions of lives. The Coalition will die… I need to do this. I need to be… someone else for a while. Some where else. I need to feel like I’m accomplishing something more than I’m doing here and now.”
Archer knew that Trip hadn’t meant the statement as a slur on his captaincy or on the accomplishments of Enterprise’s crew. But the comment still stung. “You’ve accomplished a lot here, Trip. You can still accomplish a lot here. Hell, I don’t know what I’d do without you half the time, and the other half I’m just glad you’re by my side.”
Trip turned his face away, but said nothing.
“What about your family? They’ve already lost your sister.” Archer hesitated for a moment, knowing he was treading on shaky ground, then decided it would be better to forge ahead. “And what about T’Pol? Are you really ready to give up on her? Do you think they’ll all really be happier waiting and wondering if you’re safe, or if you’re rotting in some Romulan prison, or worse?”
Trip wiped the palm of his hand across one cheek, and then the other. His voice was tremulous. “They won’t know,” he said. “They can’t know. The more people know, the more they’ll be at risk of reprisals if I somehow screw the pooch on this thing. The more at risk Earth will be. They all need to think I’m dead. They need to believe it.” He raised his hand again, covering his eyes with his palm, and let out a deep, unsteady breath.
Archer felt tears welling up in his own eyes, and he closed them tightly. They sat together in silence for several minutes, the ever-present thrum of the deck plating making the only audible sound in the