The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [3]
Krell answered with a short burst of derisive laughter even as the High Council members fell to murmuring urgently among themselves. “You and your Denobulan lackey leave countless numbers of us afflicted with this,” the admiral said, placing a gauntleted fist against his smooth cranium. “Then you steal privileged information from this very hall. And now you expect us to save you from the RomuluSngan?”
The Council members immediately initiated a chaotic chorus of shouts and catcalls that made the British House of Commons back on Earth sound like a sewing circle at a small-town public library. M’Rek again signaled for silence. It came, though less swiftly than before.
Archer knew that there was little point in trying to deny the essential truth—at least from Krell’s perspective—behind the admiral’s charges. These people value honesty, he thought, and decided that now was the time to lay all his cards on the table.
“That’s right, Admiral. Yes. In spite of everything, I’m asking you to help us defeat the Romulans. Please.”
Archer’s words hung like smoke in the otherwise silent room as the Council members awaited a response from the stone-faced Chancellor.
Krell sneered again. “So your Starfleet decided to use as its errand boy a captain so cowardly that he would turn tail and leave a defenseless ship’s crew to die, rather than place his own vessel at risk.”
I said the same thing to Admiral Gardner myself, Krell, Archer thought as the room erupted in renewed noise. Let’s hope he was right in shooting down my objections.
“That accusation is most unfair, Admiral Krell,” T’Pol said as order and decorum gradually returned to the room. “Saving that ship was simply not a realistic possibility.”
“No, T’Pol,” Archer said to her quietly. “It’s entirely fair. I just have to learn to live with it.” He felt more certain now than ever before that his failure to save the Kobayashi Maru would remain an albatross around his neck for the rest of his life.
Archer turned back toward M’Rek, facing him squarely as he tried in vain to read the Chancellor’s craggy, impassive face.
“I declare a recess,” M’Rek said, his eyes narrowing. “The Council will deliberate and consider your request. And though I must salute your courage in coming here despite all we know of your record, I must question the wisdom of your leaders in dispatching you to deliver it.
“Go now, Captain, and await our decision. But do not be hopeful.”
With that, the guards stepped forward. T’Pol fell into step beside Archer as he allowed the soldiers to lead them back toward the heavy wooden doors through which they had entered.
Back in the anteroom that fronted the Great Hall, Archer knew there would be little to do but wait. And hope, despite the chancellor’s doubtless well-meant warning.
Hope is pretty much all Earth has left at this point, he thought.
“Do you believe the Klingons will decide to enter the conflict?” T’Pol said, standing with her arms crossed as Archer searched in vain for a place to sit in the wide, empty corridor.
He shrugged. At length, he said, “Regardless of what Shran or Krell might tell you, I’m no warrior. When I took command of Enterprise, I was an explorer. What the hell happened to those days anyway?”
T’Pol’s protracted silence only made him wonder if he had wasted the last few years of his life pursuing the vain hope of bringing peace and security to this mostly lawless jungle of a galaxy.
TODAY
2155
ONE
Day Thirty-Seven, Romulan Month of K’ri’Brax
Tuesday, July 22, 2155
I.K.S. Mup’chIch, near Alpha Centauri
“WE HAVE ESTABLISHED simultaneous control over both of the thhaei warships, Commander,” Centurion T’Vak said in excited tones as he leaned over one of the awkward bridge consoles on the seized Klingon vessel. “The arrenhe’hwiua telecapture system continues to function flawlessly.”