Tuesday, February 10, 2156
Enterprise, en route to Earth via Vulcan
ARCHER FELT THE DECELERATION through the soles of his boots even as Ensign Leydon’s voice came across the ready-room intercom, brisk and businesslike.
“We’ve just entered the 40 Eridani A system, Captain. I’m keeping station within the bounds of the system’s Kuiper belt. Ensign Camacho reports Shuttlepod One prepped and ready to go.”
“Thank you, Ensign. Continue on an in-system course and enter a high, transporter-range orbit around Vulcan.” Both Archer and T’Pol had agreed that it was best not to tie up any of Enterprise’s auxiliary craft, which Enterprise might need at a moment’s notice in the event of a surprise Romulan attack.
Leydon took her new orders in stride. “Aye, sir. Altering course.”
“Be ready to resume course for Earth after we reach Vulcan,” Archer added. “And go to maximum warp once we’ve cleared the system. Archer out.”
Sixteen and a half light-years from home, he thought, rising from the chair behind his cluttered desk. After a long homeward journey, he was anxious to get busy with the ongoing defense of Earth and its settlements all across the Sol system.
But first, he had to see his executive officer off on her voyage home.
The door chime sounded before he’d gotten halfway to the ready room’s sealed entrance.
“Come.”
The hatch slid open, admitting T’Pol. Once the aperture had closed behind her, assuring their privacy, she said, “You’re putting me off the ship.”
T’Pol’s bald assertion took Archer aback, the lack of affect behind it rendering it somehow more intense than if she had shouted the words in anger.
After pausing for a handful of heartbeats to recover his equanimity, he said, “T’Pol, I didn’t redline Enterprise’s engines for nearly seven months—and let the Cygneti treat me like a twentieth-century cocktail waitress so I could keep redlining the engines—just to make you walk the plank.”
“Nevertheless. You have ordered me home.”
He offered a smile that he hoped she’d find reassuring. “Try to think of it as a working vacation, T’Pol.”
“With the dangers the ship will be facing, it is clear that you need me at your side.”
“You agreed right after Tarod IX that you were the one member of this crew with the best chance of persuading T’Pau to get off the sidelines of this war.”
T’Pol stepped closer. “You could have simply made it an order.”
“I think we both know this has to be voluntary,” he said at length.
“But T’Pau may refuse to see me. You’ll note I have yet to secure a firm appointment on her official meeting calendar.”
Archer shrugged. “Your meetings with T’Pau may have to be entirely unofficial, then.”
T’Pol looked doubtful. “Administrator T’Pau, like most Vulcans, is not known for conducting business in an ‘unofficial’ manner.”
Archer couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at that. “Administrator T’Pau ran the very revolution that put her government in power. You may be surprised at how flexible somebody with a skill set like that can be when push comes to shove.”
“The chance of that appears slim to me.”
“ ‘Slim’ is a hell of a lot better chance than ‘none,’” Archer said.
“True,” she said, nodding. “But should I fail to secure a meeting with T’Pau—or if I succeed in meeting with her but fail to persuade her—I will be on Vulcan, and therefore in no position to assist you directly with Vulcan’s obligation to defend the Coalition.
“However, if I remain at your side, I can aid in the defense of both Enterprise and Earth. I needn’t remind you that the Romulans have shed significantly larger quantities of human blood than they had at the time I made my initial promise to seek out and persuade T’Pau.”
He put up a hand. “You don’t need to remind me. Neither Enterprise nor Earth is likely to survive for very long should the Romulans get the upper hand in this fight. Right now, getting Vulcan into the war looks to be our best hope. And you are hands-down the best candidate for the job.”
The first officer stood in contemplative silence for a long time after he finished. She clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace very slowly across the small office, apparently lost in thought. Finally she came to a stop directly in front of Archer and looked him straight in the eye.
“Logical,” she said. “I will direct Lieutenant O’Neill to transport me to Vulcan once we reach orbit.”
Had she not been a Vulcan, the captain would have succumbed to the temptation to give her a bear hug. Somehow, he restrained himself, contenting himself with a moment of wistful regret: Too bad she wouldn’t change her mind about letting me throw a little going-away party in her honor.
But considering the dismal state of morale aboard this ship ever since the Gamma Hydra mission, maybe that was for the best.
Going-away parties sometimes bore far too close a resemblance to wakes.