The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [2]
”Mevyap!” M’Rek barked, suppressing both Krell and the rising gabble of voices from the Council benches. As the noise swiftly faded back into silence, his steely gaze never wavered from Archer’s.
After pausing for the space of a handful of heartbeats to gather his thoughts, Archer said, “I don’t deny that the war hasn’t been going well for us lately, Chancellor.”
“That is good,” M’Rek said, nodding again as he idly stroked his beard. “A lie would have been a poor way to begin this dialogue, especially given your history with us.
“We have been observing your world’s accelerated ship-building efforts from Qo’noS for some time now. Just as we have observed the RomuluSngan fleet venturing ever deeper into your territory from their fortress in the Calder system, and their other forward operating bases. They have been making so much scrap of many of your new vessels, Captain—di’DeluS-class, I believe you call them.”
”Daedalus,” Archer said quietly. The name conjured images of fire and hubris, of watching, both hapless and helpless, while a dream ignites, crashes, and burns to ashes.
“And I have observed that your vaunted NX-class starships have fared only slightly better, Captain,” Krell said, a sneer on his lips.
Archer fought to keep his demeanor neutral, even though Krell’s words had jabbed a wound that had remained open for the past several weeks—ever since Columbia NX-02 had vanished from the Onias sector without a trace, along with all hands, including his ex-lover, Captain Erika Hernandez.
He only just resisted an urge to ask Krell how his surgically reattached arm was feeling.
“I find it curious, Captain,” M’Rek said, “that your Starfleet has chosen to build so few new vessels like your Enterprise. They are obviously of a newer, better design than your so-called Daedalus ships, or even those of your Intrepid-class. Not to mention faster and far more extensively armed than anything else your Starfleet is flying.”
They’re also a hell of a lot more expensive and labor-intensive to build than the oldDaedalus-class design, Archer thought. Although he would have jumped at a chance to swap Starfleet’s present complement of hastily built—and even more hastily retrofitted—Daedalus-class vessels for so many NX-class starships, he knew that the prospect was about as realistic as finding a lamp containing a genie authorized to grant him three wishes. Under the current dire circumstances, Earth simply couldn’t afford to allow the perfect to become the enemy of the adequate. Irrespective of all the reversals Starfleet’s Daedalus-heavy ship complement had experienced lately, Archer understood better than most how long it took, from keel-laying to champagne ceremony, to get a single new NX-class vessel out of spacedock and into service. Three or more new Daedalus ships could be launched in that same span of time.
“Starfleet has had to make certain... adjustments,” Archer said. “Based on the realities of the war.”
“A war that you are losing,” said Krell. “Thanks in large part to the scruples of your Vulcan ‘friends.’”
T’Pol chose that moment to speak up. “I have lived among humans for more than five years, Admiral. During that time I have learned from experience that it would be unwise to underestimate them. Particularly when they are as determined as they are at present.”
Judging from the involuntary movement of his left shoulder—very near the bat’leth incision that had briefly relieved him of his left arm— Archer could see that it had taken Krell considerably less time to learn the folly of underestimating even a single determined human.
But he could also see from Krell’s deepening scowl that the Klingon fleet admiral’s pride was healing far more slowly than had his physical wounds, if at all.
“T’Pol is right,” Archer said, taking care to address the more levelheaded M’Rek. “We’re not about to give up,