• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Great, he thought. Another festering crew morale problem that I’ve been too preoccupied to even notice. All at once he was both glad and sorry to have T’Pol back.

“What sort of pattern did you notice?” Would he have to brace himself for another mass exodus of discontented junior officers?

“Simply that no Enterprise personnel have applied for transfers since you led the successful invasion of Berengaria. Good evening, Captain.”

She made her exit, leaving him to wonder if the ghosts of the Kobayashi Maru had been laid to rest.

SEVENTY-EIGHT

Early in the month of ta’Krat, YS 8765

Sunday, June 20, 2156

ShiKahr, Vulcan

TUCKER WATCHED from a discreet distance as the orange fireball lit up the night, sending flame, smoke, and shadows across the low skyline of ShiKahr’s spartan industrial district.

This was a really bad idea, he thought. And it gave him ample justification for never allowing Terix—Tevik—to go it alone, even on what should have been a simple information-gathering mission. Trip was now more determined than ever not to let the Romulan out of his sight, regardless of how “tame” Ych’a believed him to be.

“I thought we were only going to do a reconnaissance of the warehouse tonight,” Trip said, wondering precisely when and how the wily Romulan had managed to plant the explosives in the illicit arms shipment they had just discovered.

Ironically, this evening’s recon-turned-sabotage operation was their first unofficial action together as partners in the licensed, entirely legitimate Vulcan import-export business known as Ych’a, Sodok, and Tevik—or, as Trip preferred to think of it, Dewey, Cheatham, and Howe. The business entity was intended to provide all the necessary legal protective coloring for the corruption investigation that T’Pol had begun, and that Ych’a was now continuing with the assistance of both Trip and Tevik.

“There could be no surer way to keep an arms consignment from reaching its destination, Sodok,” Tevik said as the initial explosion began to die down. The sirens of the emergency responders had begun to wail in the distance.

Trip turned toward Tevik and affected the most Vulcan expression in his repertoire before he spoke. “We’re fortunate that the consignment contained nothing volatile enough to cause more extensive damage. Your explosive charges alone destroyed more than enough of the warehouse, including many things besides weapons contraband.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” Tevik said. “It was difficult enough making sure no one would be around tonight to be caught in the blast.”

“No one but the emergency responders,” said Trip. How many members of the local fire brigade had this maniac’s impatience endangered? The pair ducked out of sight into the alley’s shadows as the approaching sirens intensified further.

“Instead of destroying it,” Trip pressed, “we should have allowed the cargo to reach the ship that was to carry it. We could have tried again to follow it to its destination.”

“How many times have we done that already, only to fail?” Tevik said, matching Trip’s quick pace as they continued to recede from the scene of the crime, staying in the shadows as they walked. “They have been finding our tracer transmitters somehow, or at least blocking them, no matter what we do. It is long past time that we did something to curtail the traffic.”

“It’s a given now that they’ll have to change warehouses.”

“We have built an extensive intelligence network, Sodok. Such maneuvering will not confound us for long.”

“Ych’a wouldn’t have approved what you’ve done,” Trip said. “You know that as well as I do. I assume you didn’t consult with her first.”

“There is an old Terran proverb, Sodok,” Tevik said, beginning to sound exasperated. “ ‘Sometimes it is better to ask for forgiveness than for permission.’”

But Trip wasn’t buying it. “I know another old Terran proverb, Tevik: ‘Never pick a plomeek before it’s ripe.’ Tonight you took a step that none of us are ready