The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [97]
A thoughtful look crossed Phuong’s face, then he shrugged. “Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than to be good. Maybe we were just fortunate enough to stumble onto an advantage that we can exploit once we get Ehrehin out of here.”
Trip nodded, though his engineer’s instincts rebelled against the whole concept of relying on luck. On top of that, he wasn’t feeling at all sanguine about taking advantage of the grief and hope of such a frail, vulnerable old man- especially someone who had already suffered such barbaric treatment as Ehrehin had already endured at the hands of the Ejhoi Ormiin.
But he knew he didn’t have any alternative, especially not when the stakes were as high as they were right now. Maybe having ‘Cunaehr’ at his side for a while will give the poor old guy some comfort after everything he’s been through, Trip thought, trying to assuage his conscience with only partial success.
Evidently distracted from his earlier self-recriminations- and slipping back into his mission-planning mode- Phuong interrupted Trip’s ruminations. “So we now have two extremely urgent reasons to get Ehrehin out of here as quickly as possible.” He began ticking points off on his fingers. “First, there’s Ehrehin himself, and the knowledge he’s carrying. Second, we have to warn Coridan Prime about our new intelligence that corroborates our suspicions that they will be the Romulans’ first target. But I seriously doubt we’ll be able to do that from here without tipping our hand to Ch’uihv.”
It all made sense to Trip, particularly the point about alerting the Coridanites. It would be a disaster of immeasurable proportions if the Romulans- whether they answered to the Praetor or to the Ejhoi Ormiin- were to succeed in seizing control of Coridan’s vast dilithium reserves. After all, if Ehrehin’s new engine really proved capable of reaching and sustaining a speed of warp seven- as Coridan Prime’s ships were rumored to do routinely these days- it would no doubt be one of the most dilithium-hungry technologies ever devised.
But Trip could see at least one glaring problem- perhaps an insurmountable one- with Phuong’s plan. “Somehow, I don’t see Ch’uihv just letting us take Ehrehin back to the Branson.”
“That’s why we’re not going to use the Branson,” Phuong said with a grin. “But I’m betting we’ll find something suitable in Ch’uihv’s own vehicle pool- after I get out and do a little reconnaissance work, that is. After all, Ch’uihv never told either of us that we weren’t allowed to stroll the grounds a bit during our stay.”
Trip shook his head, not quite sure he was believing what he was hearing. “Are you serious?”
“This is what spies do: improvise,” Phuong said as he moved toward the door, where he paused for a moment, looking back at Trip. “Stay here and get some rest. You look like hell.” And with that, he vanished into the corridor beyond.
The door whisked closed again, and Trip stood staring at it incredulously.
That turncoat Sopek was way, way off base about who’s really “intermittently rational” around here, Trip thought, shaking his head.
Twenty-Seven
Friday, February 21, 2155
Enterprise Nx-01
T’POL SAT IN SHUTTLEPOD TWO with the others. Ensign Mayweather was at the helm, and a pair of MACOs sat at the ready. The cabin was dimly lit, and the ship rocked sharply as they entered the troposphere of the planet.
“I went to see Phlox this morning,” the man sitting next to her said.
She turned, and was startled to see a Vulcan sitting there. Had he been there all this time?
And yet, he was not a Vulcan, despite the dark hair, arched brows, gracefully pointed ears, and slightly green-tinted skin. Something about him was different, yet comfortably familiar.
“I saw the doctor today as well,” T’Pol said, unsure of what else to say.
The man turned toward her. “Did he talk about me?”
T’Pol’s eyebrow rose reflexively. “You?”
“Us?”
“What about us?” T’Pol asked. “This is illogical.”
“Why’d you