• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

He nodded. “When do you have to ship out?” he said quietly.

“Columbia breaks orbit at oh seven hundred tomorrow.” She glanced at her wrist. “Today, I mean.”

“Back to patrolling the civilian shipping lanes?” he said.

“And protecting supply lines, and escorting mining convoys, and fighting pirates whenever the Romulans aren’t keeping us too busy. Starfleet still has too few ships on the frontier to give Columbia much downtime. In fact, my crew will have to rush through a long list of repairs and skip a few scheduled upgrades if we’re going to reach the Onias sector in time to do any good there.”

“Next time we’re both in the same town, then,” Archer said, trying to keep the regret out of his voice.

“Next time we’re both in the same sector.” She leaned toward him and gave him a single chaste kiss on the cheek by way of farewell before she stood up. “Let’s hope this damned war is over by then. Where are you taking Enterprise next?”

He rose too, and was grateful that the world remained steady and level beneath his boots. Archer’s eyes were briefly drawn to the ship patch on Erika’s upper left arm, with its Latin motto, “Audentes fortuna juvat.” Drawn from Virgil’s Aeneid, it translated to “Fortune favors the bold.” As he recalled the one and only truly surprising portion of his post-war-game debriefing, he hoped the sentiment expressed on that patch would apply to Enterprise.

“Enterprise will be taking the point when we take Starbase One back from the Romulans.”

FORTY-ONE

Middle of the month of Z’at, YS 8765

Tuesday, March 9, 2156

Outer ShiKahr, Vulcan

T’POL STOOD in the immaculate garden that her old friend had tended so diligently since her mother’s death. Her inner eyelids closing against the sunlight, she drew the still, hot air deeply into her lungs, pausing to appreciate the blend of plomeek and g’teth blossoms it carried. She decided there was no point in putting off saying what she needed to say any longer.

“Denak, we have already made fifteen diligent attempts to locate Ych’a,” T’Pol said. “Nine of those attempts involved interstellar voyages. And yet we have not found any reliable information as to her present whereabouts.”

Nodding, the gray-haired former spymaster said, “This is so. Just as it is so that we have yet to obtain any conclusive evidence of Ych’a’s death. The link tells me my wife is still alive. We should continue the search.”

T’Pol recalled how strongly her psionic link with Charles Tucker had motivated her to do everything in her power to rescue him from the dangers he was facing in Romulan space last year. She had allowed nothing to dissuade her from her commitment to pursuing Trip, not only through parsecs of interstellar space, but also across the political boundaries that separated Coalition space from Romulan territory.

“Perhaps,” she said at length as she moved toward the open entryway that led from the garden into the central living area of the house. “However, I have another mission as well, one to which I must devote my full attention now that Administrator T’Pau’s return to Vulcan is imminent.”

Denak followed her inside the house, his hands clasped meditatively before him. “I see. Perhaps if you had been as attentive to my search for Ych’a as you have been to your constant attempts to locate T’Pau—”

T’Pol interrupted him, though she took care not to sound nettled by his accusation. “Your criticism is unfair, in addition to being overly emotional. Ych’a was—is—my friend as well as your mate. And I am a trained Vulcan intelligence operative. Therefore there is no logic in assuming that I am incapable of performing multiple tasks simultaneously.”

“You argue my point convincingly,” Denak said, still stubborn even though his tone had softened somewhat. “That you are more than able to continue to assist me in finding Ych’a while you also act on your Starfleet orders.”

T’Pol reminded herself that one of the reasons Denak had been so effective in leading and motivating the operatives serving under him was his facility with rhetorical