The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [46]
Today, however, all Trip wanted was to spend some informal downtime in the company of someone he’d counted as a friend for the past two decades. One last drink before marching into the abyss, he thought, trying to prepare himself for what lay ahead with a little gallows humor.
He hoisted a glass of whiskey poured from Jonathan Archer’s own personal stores. “So, you think this alliance is going to hold?”
Archer examined his glass. “We’d better hope so. There are thousands of planets within reach. We’ve got to start somewhere.”
“Who would’ve guessed: Vulcans and Andorians in the same bed.” He put his glass down on the table.
“The Tellarites were never big fans of the Andorians, either,” Archer said, nodding slightly.
They both sat in silence for a moment, as the light from the warp-refracted stars skimmed by outside the room’s viewport. Despite his enjoyment of this rare, relaxed moment, some part of Trip still felt that they should discuss his “situation” further, even though they had both been strategizing and making contingency plans separately- and together- for much of the day already. Trip knew that the rest of the crew must have really begun to wonder exactly what was going on between him and the captain. They’d all have to be blinder than Theras if nobody’s noticed all these private meetings yet, he thought.
And there was probably nobody aboard Enterprise more observant than T’Pol.
“This is a special bottle of whiskey,” Archer said, finally breaking the silence that had settled between them. He lifted the bottle again and refilled the bottom two centimeters or so of Trip’s glass. “Zefram Cochrane gave it to my father the day they broke ground at the warp five complex.” He poured himself more as well.
“And here we are,” Trip said, hoisting his glass, “toasting the future.”
Archer raised his drink as well. “May it bring safety from the Romulans, the rescue of the Aenar, the unlocking of the warp seven mystery, the successful launch of the Coalition of Planets… and your swift resurrection.”
They clinked their glasses together and sipped the amber liquid.
“Written your speech for the Coalition Compact ceremonies yet?” Trip asked, putting his glass down on the silver tabletop. “I heard that Starfleet Command decided to make you the show’s opening act.”
Archer nodded, frowning. “That was Admiral Gardner’s doing. I guess it proves he actually does have a sense of humor after all.”
“Or maybe he just wants to keep you from missing any of the pomp and circumstance,” Trip said, grinning over his glass. “He’s probably still afraid you’ll get sidetracked out here, chasing after those Orion slavers.”
“I still think we’ll catch up to them in plenty of time, Trip. We’ve only been on the trail for the past five days.”
“I know you will, Captain. So… how about that speech of yours?”
“I always crammed before exams,” Archer said, answering Trip’s grin with one of his own. “You know that. Besides, I’ve still got nearly three weeks left.”
Trip’s grin became a smirk. “Some things never change. It’s the biggest day of your life, and you’re going to wait until the night before.”
“The biggest day of our lives,” Archer said, raising an eyebrow slightly.
“Well, it’s doubtful I’ll be there to see it,” Trip said. “You’ll have to make sure to get me a vid recording of it to watch later. And I’m sure it’ll show that you were the man everyone there really came to see.”
Archer was about to respond when a loud boom reverberated through the ship and the deck rocked and shuddered beneath their chairs. Archer tipped back slightly in his seat, grabbing his glass to keep it from sliding off the table.
As the captain hurried over to the wall-mounted com panel, Trip retrieved a padd from where he had left it on the tabletop and quickly studied the readout on its small display. Reed had carefully blocked certain frequencies from Hoshi’s station earlier that afternoon, and the padd was one of the few