The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [142]
“Congratulations, Jonathan,” Erika Hernandez said, rising from her chair and shaking Archer’s hand firmly before helping her colleagues to make room at the table for both Enterprise officers.
“Thanks, but the credit really ought to go to my tactical officer,” Archer said, gesturing toward Malcolm Reed, who now stood a couple of paces behind him, as though intimidated by the rare concentration of captain’s pips clustered around the table.
Erika grinned as she greeted Malcolm, and then introduced the other three captains to him. Captain Uttan Narsu of the Archon offered his own smiling congratulations on a job well done, as did Captain Bryce Shumar of the Essex. Captain Carlos Ramirez of the Intrepid wore a wry half-smile, as though laughing at some private joke.
“Jonathan, do you have any idea how close I came to scattering that faux-tonic torpedo of yours before it made it into the lower atmosphere?” Ramirez said.
Archer couldn’t resist returning Ramirez’s smirk-like expression, albeit with increased wattage, as he took the seat between Ramirez and Hernandez. “As my grandmother used to say, Carlos, ‘Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.’ Anyway, wasn’t your weapons officer the trigger-happy maniac who left that big scratch on the starboard side of my shuttlepod?”
Ramirez affected a look of wide-eyed innocence as he began to fill a beer mug for Archer. “The phase cannons were set at one-percent intensity, standard war-game protocol. So that scratch ought to buff right out.”
“Please, Lieutenant,” Captain Narsu said to Reed, gesturing toward the last empty chair. “Join us.”
Although Malcolm still appeared reluctant to mingle with so many senior command officers, he took the proffered seat and joined in the conviviality of conversation, appetizers, drinks, and the communal Chinese meal that followed. The discussion seemed to have started winding down almost before Archer realized it—partially a result, he decided, of a decidedly non-Einsteinian alcohol-fueled time-dilation effect—though a glance at his wrist chronometer told him that more than three hours had passed since he and Malcolm had arrived.
I really have become isolated from most human contact lately, haven’t I? he thought, in a poignant emotional leitmotif that reprised itself each time one of his peers—Uttan first, followed by Ramirez, and finally Shumar—stood up to say a collegial farewell.
Now Erika and Malcolm were Archer’s only company. Spread across the tabletop that separated them was a veritable Gettysburg of empty mugs, bottles, and pitchers.
Reed rose. “If you don’t mind, Captain—Captains—I really ought to be heading out now.”
Belatedly, Archer realized what his ever-magnanimous tactical officer was trying to do.
“Relax, Malcolm,” Archer said. “Don’t feel you need to rush off.”
“But I do, sir. It’s getting quite late, and there’s a, ah, scratched shuttlepod that desperately needs some buffing out.”
And with that, Archer found himself sitting alone in the private dining area with Erika.
“So,” she said.
“So,” he echoed, chuckling. “Here we are at long last.”
She took a sip of tea that couldn’t have been more than lukewarm by now. “Just the way we planned it last June.”
Of course, he might have planned on a different restaurant, since this was the same restaurant where his other old flame, a waitress named Rebecca, still worked. Had Erika known that when she had first suggested this place? Or was it simply one of her favorite haunts by simple coincidence?
The image of the two most significant loves of his adult life meeting here for drinks and conversation—mostly about him—immediately gave the captain pause.
“How long will you be staying on Earth?” he asked.
Erika scowled slightly. “Not nearly long enough. For a lot of