Archer nodded tentatively toward Gardner’s image. “Let’s just say I’m…concerned, Admiral. I think that Starfleet should investigate the matter as thoroughly as possible, if there’s any chance at all that Shran may be right–”
“Captain,”the admiral said, interrupting. “Neither Starfleet nor Earth’s government–all the way up to Minister al‑Rashid, and even Nathan Samuels himself–can afford to risk sending the fleet’s flagship off on what could very well turn into a lengthy and distracting snipe hunt. Not with the Coalition Compact signing ceremonies coming up so soon. Andcertainly not on the basis of such inconclusive evidence.”
The longer Gardner spoke, the more Archer felt his spine stiffen–and the more he was coming around to Trip’s way of thinking. “Respectfully, Admiral, the signing ceremony is three weeks away–”
Gardner interrupted again, causing Archer to bristle further. “The galaxy is avery big place, Captain Archer. And, unfortunately, the slave trade afflicts a fair chunk of it.”
“Perhaps you’ve just identified a very good reason for us to stay out here and do something about it, Admiral,” Archer said, carefully schooling his tone to a fairly convincing degree of calm.
Gardner nettled Archer still further by grinning indulgently. “I would have thought that four years out on the frontier would have taught you a little more patience, Captain.”
Archer returned the admiral’s grin, but with considerably lower wattage. “Patience. Never had much time for it. Sir.”
“Captain. Jonathan.” Gardner appeared to be changing his tack, trying to appear reasonable, rather than patronizing or outright authoritarian. “You’ve been around long enough to know how lawless most of the galaxy is. You and I both know it’s filled to overflowing with slave traders, pirates, gangsters, smugglers, and soldiers‑forhire. The best chance we have of doing anything substantive about that sad reality is the Coalition of Planets. Therefore it’s my duty, and yours as well, to donothing that might conceivably make any of the prospective members any more nervous about entering the alliance than they already are–at least untilafter the Compact is finalized and signed.”
Not for the first time, Archer breathed a silent prayer of thanks to the fates that Starfleet Command had seen fit to entrust Enterpriseto him instead of to Gardner.
The Admiral continued: “And that includes taking risks that might provoke the Orion Syndicate into embargoing any of the Coalition worlds with which they currently do business, such as Coridan or Tellar. Adopting an overly aggressive posture against the Romulans right now is a similarly bad idea, since we don’t yet understand all the repercussions for the allies should hostilities break out within the next three weeks.”
Trip, who was already fairly vibrating with repressed frustration, had apparently reached the limits of his patience. “Admiral, does your list of ‘don’ts’ include leaving our collective ass exposed to a Romulan sneak attack? That’s one‘repercussion’ that’s fairly easy to see.”
“Trip!” Archer snapped, turning toward his engineer and rising from his chair.
“You have something you’d like to share, Commander Tucker?”Gardner asked. Though he hadn’t raised his voice, he no longer sounded as though he wanted to play reasonable.
“I do, Admiral,” Trip said, almost snarling as he stepped toward the computer on Archer’s desk. “Sir, have you even readthe report I filed about the Romulans’ invisible mine field? It was a clear and present danger back when we found it, and I’d bet my commission that the Romulans haven’t gotten any friendlier in the two and a half years that have gone by since. They’ve even tried to install invisibility cloaks on their ships, and if they ever perfect that–” Trip’s anger‑besotted features posed a remarkable contrast to T’Pol’s expression of slightly surprised calm.
“Commander,” Archer ordered, “that’s enough.”
Though still red‑faced, Trip nodded to Archer and looked contrite as he stepped back beside T’Pol.
“I apologize, Admiral,” Archer said as he turned back to the screen in front of the desk. He barely resisted an urge to ask the admiral if he hadactually read Trip’s report on the cloaked Romulan mines, though he strongly suspected that he already knew the answer.
“It’s already forgotten, Captain,”Gardner said, putting on an almost amiable smile. “We’ll chalk it up to garbled communications and leave it at that.”
Archer cast a quick warning glance back at Trip, who took the hint and remained silent.
“Carry on with your present orders, Captain. I look forward to seeing you all at the Coalition Compact ceremonies three weeks from now.”
“Thank you, sir.” Archer knew when he was being shut up and shown the door without having to hear it in so many words.
“Gardner out.”The silver‑haired visage abruptly disappeared from the screen, to be replaced by the white‑on‑blue Earth‑and‑laurel‑leaf insignia of the United Earth government.
Archer turned his chair toward T’Pol and Trip. “Well. That’s that. Gardner is obviously taking no chances. He’s not going to risk doing anything that might rock the boat.” He turned a hard gaze upon Trip. “And he obviously must think I’m running a pirate ship, judging from the discipline around here.”
Trip was shame‑faced. “Sorry, Captain. I opened my mouth without engaging my brain first. As usual.”
Archer couldn’t help but smile at that. “I’m not keeping score, Trip. There isn’t a tote board big enough. But for what it’s worth, I think you’re probably right about the Romulans. You had me half‑convinced when we spoke after we met with Shran and Theras.”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Trip said, “what brought you the rest of the way to my side of the argument?”
Archer hiked a thumb over his shoulder toward his computer screen. “Admiral Gardner, and his self‑inflicted blind spot. I wonder how many times in history some avoidable catastrophe was allowed to happen only because the leaders at the time were in complete denial about its existence.”
Trip nodded, somber. “I suppose the question now is, What do we do about it?”
“Trip, I’m not sure there is anything we cando,” Archer said with a resigned sigh. “Not without violating direct Starfleet orders.”
“But the Romulans are obviously up to no good, Captain.” Trip’s earlier frustrated tone had returned full force. “And I’d wager that they aren’t going to just sit on their hands until the Coalition has finished dotting all its i’s and crossing all its t’s.”
“Do you suppose, Commander,” T’Pol said with her customary coolness, “that your opinion regarding the Romulans might have been shaded by your recent brush with death inside one of their drone ships?”
Trip regarded her in contemplative silence for a long moment, frowning. At length, he said, “Well, I won’t deny that that incident got my attention, big‑time. But it doesn’t undercut the possibility that the Romulans have just collected enough Aenar telepaths to pull the same trick again, dozens of times, and in dozens of places. In my book, that fact alone puts them on a very short list of nominees for the next big threat against Earth.”
Archer couldn’t disagree, though he still had to admit that he, Trip, and Shran still could neither prove anything nor sway the powers that be to take any preventive action.
Recalling the suddenness of the horrific Xindi attack, Archer hoped it wouldn’t already be too late by the time his superiors finally became convinced.
Lying on the narrow bed in his quarters, his shoulders propped up by a pile of none‑too‑soft Starfleet‑issue pillows, Archer idly tossed a water‑polo ball against one of the four walls of his spartan cabin. Lying in the far corner with his face on his outstretched paws, Archer’s beagle Porthos watched the captain intently.