If the Romulans have even a single Aenar telepath in their possession,Archer thought, they’ll force him to operate another one of their telepresence ships. Or maybe they’ll use him for something even worse.Recalling how Gareb had been used, and how he had bravely sacrificed himself in order to bring his involuntary servitude to an end, Archer realized that Jhamel’s thinking was every bit as pragmatic as his own.
Still, he didn’t much like where that realization would inevitably lead him. Regardless, he came to a decision, quickly if not easily.
“Travis, belay my last order. Dead stop.” Enterpriseshuddered slightly as she responded to her helmsman’s deft touch on the helm console.
Mayweather regarded him with a slightly puzzled expression, but complied nevertheless, dropping Enterpriseout of warp. “Dead stop, Captain.”
“On my order, bring us back to just within weapons range of the Romulan transport vessel,” Archer said, turning toward the tactical station overlooking the command well on the bridge’s starboard side. “Malcolm, get a pair of photonic torpedoes ready. Maximum yield.”
“Aye, sir.” Malcolm said, nodding affirmatively as he entered a string of commands into his console. A few moments later, he nodded at Archer to signal that the weapons tubes were ready to fire at his discretion.
“Travis, engage new course.”
“Aye, sir.”
Within moments, the Romulan transport vessel was displayed front and center on the bridge’s main viewer.
“The warships are locking their weapons again,” said Malcolm. “We’ll probably lose our warp drive if they score a direct hit this time.”
“A chance we’ll have to take, Malcolm,” Archer said, thinking of Theras, and the additional violence the Romulans would surely force upon him.
Then Archer heard Jhamel speaking very gently inside his head. “You are doing the right thing, Captain. Theras has just warned the Romulans to abandon their vessel, and they are leaving it now. I thank you for what you are about to do, Jonathan Archer. And Theras thanks you as well.”
The disembodied voice was steeped in the deepest sadness that Archer had ever known. I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t say, “You’re welcome” to either of you,Archer replied wordlessly.
“ Good‑bye, Theras,” Jhamel thought, prompting Archer to wonder if everyone else on the bridge had also heard her mournful farewell. He looked toward her and saw that her tears now flowed freely, if silently.
“I salute you,” Shran said, facing the viewer, his face frozen into a somber rigidity that seemed almost Vulcan.
A second voice spoke directly in Archer’s head. It took a moment for Archer to realize that it belonged to Theras. “The escape pods are launching, Captain. Please do what you must do.”Unlike Jhamel, Theras’s mind seemed to carry no excess of grief or regret. Instead, Archer thought the doomed Aenar’s telepathic essence radiated a sense of…vindication.
His throat dry, his eyes burning, Archer said, “Fire torpedoes, Malcolm. Then get us out of here, Travis. Maximum warp.”
A beat later the transport ship erupted in two spectacular conflagrations, one per torpedo. The molecular fires slowly began to spread, pulling the hull apart in several places. Archer saw the first of the escape pods launch moments later, just before the tableau of destruction vanished from the viewscreen as Enterpriseleaped to warp.
Jhamel slumped in her seat, weeping violently.
Archer could only hope that she wouldn’t feel the need to seek atonement the way Theras had.
Forty
Friday, February 21, 2155
Romulan space
TRIP WATCHED AS THE BLIP on the sensor display continued its slow, steady progress toward his stolen ship, which remained effectively dead in space. “Becalmed” was how his father–an avid Gulf Coast sailboater–would have described their current condition.
There’s got to be a way to get some wind behind our sails again,Trip thought, wishing he could feel as “becalmed” as their ship had become.
He turned his pilot’s seat toward Ehrehin, who still occupied the copilot’s position. The old man regarded him darkly through the faceplates of their twin environmental suits.
“You mind giving me a hand getting this beast flying again?” Trip said, feeling he had nothing to lose by asking.
The elderly scientist favored him with a drop‑jawed look of pure incredulity. “First you kidnap me, then try to keep me away from my would‑be rescuers, and now you ask for my help? I certainly have to credit you with audacity, my young friend. Whoever you reallyare.”
Trip paused for a moment, still struggling to calm himself, though it wasn’t easy at the rate their pursuer continued to gain on them. “When did you figure out I wasn’t really Cunaehr?” he finally said in a quiet voice.
Wondering if his helmet had muffled his words too much to allow Ehrehin to have heard him, Trip was about to repeat his question when the scientist said, “Frankly, it was always difficult to accept you at face value, although I must confess that you dobear an astonishing resemblance to Cunaehr. But it was far too convenient for Cunaehr to reappear precisely when I needed his encouragement the most.”
Trip sighed, feeling like an utter failure. So the only people I’ve managed to fool on this spy mission of mine are all the people back home who think I’m dead. Peachy.
“If I really wereCunaehr, Doctor,” he said aloud, “I think I’d still ask for your help. We need to get the com system back up at least.”
“Why? So you can bargain with Valdore for your life? I must caution you: The admiral is not renowned for his willingness to take prisoners.”
You’re afraid of him,Trip thought. He’d noticed a new tremor in the scientist’s voice that couldn’t have been attributable to old age alone.
Aloud, he said, “I’m actually thinking about yoursafety, Doctor.”
Ehrehin smiled, and Trip saw an amused gleam in the old man’s eye. “ Mysafety? I should think that the arrival of one of Valdore’s ships should more than ensure that.”
“Unless Valdore decides to kill you because he believes he’s caught you in the act of defecting.”
“The admiral would never believe such a story–especially if it were told by a spy.”
Trip tried to summon up everything he could remember from the briefings Phuong had given him on Romulan politics. “The question isn’t whether Valdore believes meor not, Doctor–it’s what he alreadybelieves about you.”
Ehrehin’s smile collapsed, swept away by another dark, forehead‑crumpling scowl. “What are you talking about?”
Another glimpse of the fast‑approaching blip on the console sent a large bead of sweat racing down Trip’s back, and pushed his words out somewhat faster than before. “It’s no secret that you have differences with the Romulan military. You’ve even been known to criticize the Praetor himself from time to time. But I suppose that’s one of the privileges of being too important to the Romulan war machine–whose goals you haven’t been all that happy with over the years–to make you worry too much about ending up with somebody’s nice, shiny Honor Blade sticking out of your back.
“And then there’s what your military is about to do to Coridan Prime. I might not be Cunaehr, Doctor, but I think I’ve gotten to know you well enough to believe that you wouldn’t want anything to do with that.”
Trip could see that he had finally gotten Ehrehin’s full attention. He had no choice other than to press on, keep pushing any advantage he could find. “You don’t haveto be a part of that. You don’t haveto keep looking over your shoulder. You don’t haveto live in fear of what will happen to you after the Praetor finally decides that you’ve outlived your usefulness to the Empire’s expansion plans.