The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [6]
Now Reed looked as embarrassed as T’Pol looked perplexed, his English reserve standing out in such sharp relief against the executive officer’s Vulcan stoicism that Archer almost succumbed to an urge to chuckle.
Almost.
“Captain, it’s been three days since the, ah, incident with the Kobayashi Maru,” Malcolm said, apparently mastering his discomfiture, if only barely. “But we’ve hardly caught a glimpse of you in all that time.”
Archer felt a scowl coming on, and decided not to try to stop it. “A captain has to keep a certain distance between himself and his crew. You both know that.”
Reed and T’Pol paused to exchange another quick but significant glance before they both trained their gazes back upon Archer in an ocular crossfire of concern.
“Captain, may we speak freely?” T’Pol said.
“Of course,” Archer said, leaning back in his chair.
T’Pol raised an eyebrow at Malcolm, who then picked up the figurative talking stick, though not without some apparent reluctance.
“We understand that a captain needs to keep his professional distance,” said the tactical officer. “But we don’t think he can afford to become a complete recluse either.”
Archer nodded. “All right. Noted. I’ll try to make a little more time to walk the decks before we reach the Tarod IX outpost. By the time we get there everybody aboard this ship will be far too busy to waste their energies fretting about my delicate feelings, anyway.”
Malcolm looked relieved. “Thank you, Captain.”
“No problem. You both worry too much. What’s our ETA at Tarod IX, anyway?”
“We will enter sector thirty of Coalition space in a little less than twenty-four hours on our present heading, Captain,” T’Pol said. “The Tarod system lies approximately two hours inside the region.”
“And we’re already prepared to receive refugees and wounded from the Tarod outpost,” said Reed.
Archer nodded again, feeling the muscles in his jaw beginning to harden. Prepared. If I was really prepared, we might have made it to Tarod IX before the goddamned Romulans attacked.
And the crew of the Kobayashi Maru might not be part of a floating debris cloud right now.
It was the same thought he’d had every time he’d made eye contact with Travis Mayweather over the past three days. Enterprise’s young helmsman had grown up on the Horizon, an Earth Cargo Service freighter that was very much like the Kobayashi Maru—and might well have met a similarly unhappy end a week or more ago. Although no wreckage from the Horizon had yet turned up anywhere along her route, the ambiguous nature of the Mayweather family vessel’s disappearance nevertheless gave Travis’s gaze a vague air of silent, sullen accusation.
Of course, the ensign’s eyes weren’t the only ones aboard that seemed focused in summary judgment of Archer’s failings, real or perceived. He couldn’t help but notice the whispers. And the earnest, quiet conversations that abruptly ceased whenever he entered one of the ship’s common areas.
Places he’d since begun studiously avoiding as much as possible, perhaps before he’d even realized he was doing it.
Archer suddenly noticed Malcolm regarding him with an expression that commingled sympathy with puzzlement.
“Sir?” Reed said.
“Yes, Malcolm?”
The weapons officer reddened noticeably.
“You said something about not being able to look Ensign Mayweather in the eye anymore,” T’Pol said quietly, an expression of quiet understanding replacing her earlier perplexity.
Christ, Archer thought. Now I’m mumbling to myself.
“I assume—” T’Pol said, interrupting herself momentarily to exchange another quick glance with Reed. Again facing Archer, she continued: “We assume that you are still blaming yourself for what happened to the E.C.S. Kobayashi Maru.”
“Admiral Gardner himself told the news services that