The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [93]
“Beyond that, perhaps it is because I was not allowed to see the body—”
“At Commander Tucker’s request,” Phlox said, interrupting.
“And today, when I touched the torpedo casing that contained Trip’s remains, I felt nothing but… cold. Absence. Though I know it is not logical, all my instincts told me that he was not inside the torpedo.”
“He wasn’t,” Phlox said.
T’Pol looked at him inquisitively.
He stepped closer to her. “The body that was in that tube was not Commander Tucker. The essence of what Trip was still exists out in the universe. He is still out there,” he said.
“More importantly, Trip is also here,” he said, touching a finger to T’Pol’s forehead. “And here.” He touched the right side of her ribcage, where he knew the Vulcan heart to be located. “And he will be with us forever.”
T’Pol stared at him, the area between her eyebrows twitching and wrinkling as she struggled with the maelstrom of emotion that was clearly roiling within her. And then, abruptly, her forehead smoothed, and she nodded.
“Thank you, Doctor,” she said.
Half an hour later, alone in sickbay, Phlox looked up from feeding his Aldebaran mud leeches. He realized, in a flash, that although he had managed to talk to T’Pol without telling her any bald-faced lies, she, too, might have pulled a canny maneuver on him.
Not only had she never said whether she actually believed that he, the captain, and Lieutenant Reed really had conspired to fake Trip’s death and conceal the truth from her, but she had also avoided revealing whether her discussion with him had allayed her fears, or confirmed her suspicions.
He considered the conundrum that T’Pol presented for several more minutes, then smiled.
“Whatever she knows or believes, I think I can trust her to do what’s best,” he said to the hungry leeches squirming in the liquid-filled container below his fingers.
Twenty-Six
Friday, February 21, 2155
Rator II
“THE GOOD DOCTOR IS IN HERE,” Ch’uihv said, pressing his thumb on the biometric keypad mounted on the wall beside the door. The door slid open obediently.
Beside himself with anticipation, Trip stepped toward the open door, with Phuong a step or two behind him, when the Vulcan double agent suddenly stepped into the open aperture, blocking their path.
“I must caution you, Cunaehr: Ehrehin has been rather withdrawn of late, and he has been only… intermittently rational. I fear that he has begun having second thoughts regarding his defection.”
Trip nodded, not much liking the way the other man seemed to be scrutinizing his face. Had he finally noticed that he wasn’t actually Cunaehr?
Or worse, was he finally remembering him, the way Trip had remembered Captain Sopek?
“I understand,” Trip said at length. “Perhaps seeing me again will help Doctor Ehrehin become… better grounded emotionally.”
Ch’uihv- or Sopek- nodded, though his expression remained as grave as any Vulcan’s. “That is my hope as well,” he said before stepping aside.
Trip led Phuong through the open doorway and into the darkened chamber that lay beyond. The door whisked closed behind them, and Trip squinted as his eyes slowly adjusted to the lower light levels inside the room, which carried the heavy scents of medicines and cleaning chemicals.
He came to a halt as he saw the silhouette of what appeared to be someone seated in a chair that was facing obliquely toward the small room’s far corner.
“Doctor Ehrehin?” said Phuong, who had come to a stop beside Trip.
The form in the chair stirred slightly, but made no move to rise to greet his visitors. A gruff, aged male voice emanated from the corner. “Who wants to know?”
“My name is Terha,” Phuong said.
“Never heard of you. Go away.”
Phuong continued in a gently insistent tone. “Sir, I’ve brought someone with me whom I believe you will be very pleased to see.”
The old man touched a control of some sort on the