Jake nodded. “Everybody knows a lot more about the early Federation than they do about the Coalition of Planets that came before it.”
“Exactly. That’s the grave you bury the treasure in–the one you know nobody is interested in digging up.”
“It’s all so damned strange,” Jake said, drawn inexorably back into the mystery of Commander Tucker’s life and death and life. “Charles Tucker living on under various aliases, for decades and decades after his ‘death.”’ He knew, of course, that they still had to go through a lot of material concerning Tucker’s surprisingly lengthy latter period to discover the details of what he’d been up to during the entire span of those times. “It’s like finding out that Abraham Lincoln was still alive during World War I, fighting against Kaiser Wilhelm.”
“Do you think the evidence might have been faked somehow?” Nog asked.
“Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on both our parts,” Jake said as he slowly shook his head. “Or maybe it’s just the wine. But I really think this all holds together a bit too well for it to be fake, with the possible exception of the stuff that claims to be told from the Romulan viewpoint. And I’m willing to chalk thatup to artistic license on the part of the historian, who would have needed to fill in the occasional gap here or there with some educated guesswork of his own. But so far I really can’t see a fatal flaw in any of the rest of it. It’s almost as though we’ve been reading Commander Tucker’s private diary.”
“That’s my thought, too, especially after experiencing the, um, racy parts,” Nog said. “ Andafter examining all the corroborating documentation. Anyway, this new take on Archer‑era history holds together for me a lot better than the standard version does–you know, with Captain Archer’s whole command crew not receiving a single promotion, even after having served together aboard the NX‑01 for ten years.Or Archer’s dog somehow not having aged a day during that entire time. Or Archer’s famous Big Speech at the ’Stick, which makes a lot more sense now in the context of the post‑Coridan disaster era than it does in the post–Earth‑Romulan War time‑frame where most of the histories place it. Or the pirate ship that could barely manage warp two somehow catching up to Enterprise,which had to be traveling at nearly warp five when–”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Nog,” Jake said, holding up a hand as he interrupted. He rose from his chair, ignoring the pain that stippled his lower back as he moved toward the hearth to stir the fire with one of the iron pokers he kept there. The rejuvenated flames sparked and immediately began to spread their renewed warmth through his entire body.
“But there isone thing that still really bugs me about this whole business,” he said as he returned to his chair. “I find it very weird that we’ve apparently had Tucker’s official death date completely wrong all these years. I know that history is littered with a lot of small errors that everyone eventually accepts as fact after enough time goes by. But I have to wonder if this particulardiscrepancy was really that type of innocent mistake–or if it happened because of somebody’s deliberate plan.”
“Who knows?” Nog said, shrugging. “Maybe somebody recorded the date wrong deliberately, just to make it that much harder to uncover the realstory of Charles Tucker.”
“Or maybe it was done purposely by someone who hoped that someday, a pair of old codgers with nothing but time on their hands would notice that one inconsistency–and then follow it all the way down to the bottom of this mystery.” Jake grinned.
Nog returned the grin, displaying rows of uneven, sharpened teeth. “No wonder you’ve fallen so in love with writing whodunits these last few years.” But the Ferengi’s smile collapsed a moment later into a far more thoughtful expression. “Seriously, Jake, we may have a problem on our hands, now that we know what we know. We have a serious decision to make.”
Jake nodded, understanding. “Do we go public with this stuff? Or do we keep it to ourselves?”
“You were a news writer before you became a novelist,” Nog said. “I think I can guess which way you’d decide.”
Jake nodded. “And you’d be right.” Every one of his journalistic and writerly impulses screamed for the need to publish this discovery, regardless of whether or not he got any share of the credit.
At least he wanted to see it published, if all the supporting documentation really would bear up under close scrutiny. And the bright light of sobriety tomorrow morn‑ ing,he thought, contemplating the empty wine bottle on the hearth ruefully.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Jake. At least, not yet.”
“Why?” Jake asked, perplexed. “Nothing here is classified, otherwise you couldn’t have shared it with me.”
“Do you like westerns, Jake?” Nog asked, the question seeming to have come out of what Benjamin Sisko probably would have described as ‘left field.’
“Westerns? As in novels? Like Louis L’Amour, or Larry McMurtry?”
“No, westerns, as in movies,” Nog said, his features suddenly animated by a renewed burst of youthful energy. The sight made Jake pine momentarily for those carefree days they had spent together causing innocent trouble on Deep Space 9’s bustling Promenade, under Constable Odo’s ever‑watchful eye.
“Westerns,” Nog continued, “as in John Ford, the twentieth‑century hew‑mon flatvid director. I got interested in his work during the war, when I was convalescing at Vic’s apartment.”
Jake remembered those days very well indeed. The high points, like the Allies’ retaking of DS9, or the final victory at Cardassia Prime, had been stratospheric; the lows, like the murder of Jadzia Dax, or the incident at AR‑558 that had cost Nog his leg, had been abysmal.
But Nog had been discussing flatvid cinema rather than reality, and Jake wasn’t sure that he could recall the particular films Nog was referencing. “I’m waiting patiently for what you’re saying to start making some sense to me, Nog.”
Nog shook his head in mock despair. “Jake, don’t you remember the ending of The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance?”
Understanding finally dawned upon Jake when he realized that he didrecall that particular film–especially its ending, which he’d found a good deal more memorable than most other entries in the western genre.
“‘When the legend becomes fact, print the legend,”’ Jake quoted.
While he had to concede that Nog had a point, he still wasn’t entirely convinced that the newly unearthed Tucker files ought to be hidden away indefinitely. Or just which of the many legends associated with the Earth‑Romulan War and the subsequent founding of the Federation needed protecting the most. After all, there was still so much more they both had to find out, particularly regarding Commander Tucker’s specific activities during those times, and across the many subsequent decades through which he’d apparently lived.
After a lengthy pause, Jake finally came to a decision. “All right, Nog. I’ll agree to decide notto decide anything. At least until we both learn a lot more about the fact and the legend both. That okay by you?”
“That’s okay by me,” Nog said, grinning.
The rain outside continued its irregular tapping against the windows. Dawn was several hours away.
Nog reached into his pack. Jake half expected him to extract a second ancient bottle of wine, along with a corkscrew as old as Commander Tucker himself.
Instead, the Ferengi pulled out another data chip and handed it to him.
“So,” Jake said, turning the translucent plastic cylinder over and over between his fingers. “What exactly happens next?”
A grinning Nog once again activated the holo‑imagers built into his padd, so that both of them could find out for themselves.