“Precisely.” Phuong nodded and smiled, evidently delighted at Trip’s insight. “It’s crucial that we prevent the Romulans from completing Doctor Ehrehin’s new stardrive prototypes. If we miss on this, there’ll be nothing to stop the Romulans from invading Earth itself.”

Phuong’s dark eyes seemed almost to glow with an inner fervor as he continued: “During the eleven years I served in Earth’s diplomatic service, wishful thinkers have treated my take on the Romulans like the ravings of a delusional paranoid. But the bureau saw the Romulan threat with clear eyes. Its directorate was willing to listen–and more importantly, was willing to dosomething. The Xindi attack taught us the importance of being out here, of being proactive. That’s why our role in keeping Earth safe will become even more critical as the Coalition moves forward and Earth comes into contact with God only knows how many more new potential adversaries in the years ahead.”

Phuong’s impassioned speech gave Trip a momentary chill of recognition. And despite his current extreme vulnerability–being in deep space with a spy who would no doubt kill him if he perceived him as dangerous to his mission–Trip realized that he simply couldn’t let it pass without comment.

“The last time I saw anybody look as intense as you do right now was the time I nearly got killed by John Frederick Paxton.”

Trip half expected an extremely angry response. But instead, Phuong laughed, the sound coming from deep in his belly.

“Stick with the bureau long enough, Commander, and there’s no way you could mistake us for Terra Prime,” Phuong finally said once his laughter finally died down. “The bureau doesn’t want humanity to shy away from alien contact. Or to expand through the galaxy as exploiters or conquerors. We only want the human race to face whatever’s out there with open eyes, open minds, and a pragmatic attitude.”

Trip absorbed Phuong’s apparently heartfelt sentiments with no small amount of relief. Turning back toward the ever‑unfolding starfield that lay before him, Trip resumed studying the image of Adigeon Prime. Although his apprehensions about what lay ahead–particularly about what awaited him in the Adigeons’ surgical facilities–hadn’t entirely abated, they had at least receded somewhat.

Maybe I reallydid make the best decision I could have by agreeing to come out here,he thought. And the sooner we get the deed done, the sooner I’ll be able to tell my folks and T’Pol that “the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

That was assuming, of course, that he’d find a way to survive a sojourn in entirely unknown space, while hiding and spying among deadly adversaries, people that no one from his planet had ever even laid eyes on before….

Seventeen

Monday, February 17, 2155

Enterprise NX‑01

THE PALE BLUE DOT on Enterprise’s bridge viewer gradually resolved itself into a disk, then grew still further until it became recognizable as the frigid, perpetually snow‑blown desert that was Rigel X–the planet where the Orion’s slave ship’s trail had abruptly ended.

Jonathan Archer had been here before, on his very first mission aboard Enterprise, in fact, and the recollection wasn’t a pleasant one. Since he had hurriedly departed from this place in the midst of a running firefight–and gotten shot while doing so–Rigel X wasn’t high on the list of locales he wanted to revisit anytime soon.

“Delightful planet, Captain,” Malcolm Reed said, with no small amount of irony. Sitting at the tactical station that faced the bridge’s center from starboard, he seemed to have read Archer’s mind better than even Theras could have.

“I suppose ending up at Risa was too much to hope for,” Archer said dryly as he rose from his command chair and strode toward the image of the dark, frigid world that now lay only a few hundred kilometers beneath Enterprise’s ventral hull. Had the star Rigel, visible beyond its tenth planet’s limb as a small but bright disk, not been a blue supergiant, this world would have been as thoroughly frozen and uninhabitable as Pluto. Though quite distant from its primary star, Rigel X provided a marginally livable environment that supported a large population of itinerant traders and permanent residents, sentients from at least a dozen worlds spread throughout the several sectors of space–all of whom worked, played, and lived in an enormous, thirty‑six‑level commercial habitat complex built right into the planet’s living rock.

“Travis, put us into a standard orbit.”

“Aye, sir,” the helmsman said as he deftly worked the controls.

As Archer continued to watch the screen, he saw bright lines intermittently lancing the turbulent indigo atmosphere with delicate and swiftly fading traceries of fire. Too regular and elliptically shaped to be lightning discharges, the brilliant streaks betrayed the ascent and descent of all manner of spacecraft, which must have been taking traders and customers of all sorts to and from the surface of Rigel X.

The captain recalled how he’d felt four years ago, that he didn’t want a Vulcan on his ship. Now, he couldn’t imagine Enterprisewithout T’Pol. His science officer, quiet, competent, and still able to surprise her captain. This morning he stepped out of his ready room and immediately noticed that something was off. Looking towards the science station, Archer saw T’Pol in a Starfleet uniform. Even now he had to suppress a smile. Turning toward the science station, Archer asked, “T’Pol, have you found any ships in the vicinity that might correspond to the warp trail we followed here?”

T’Pol shook her head gravely. “I’ve already begun running scans of the surface, and every ship within range of Enterprise’s sensors, whether on the surface, in the atmosphere, or in orbit. Nothing conclusive has emerged so far, although I havedetected a number of Orion ships of various classes, all of them commercial transports and freighters. It is possible that the particular vessel we followed is indeed present on the planet, but has powered down temporarily so as to make itself undetectable.”

“What about Aenar life signs?”

“So far I’ve found no evidence of any Aenar or Andorian life‑forms anywhere on the planet, or aboard any of the incoming vessels I have detected.”

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t here somewhere, Captain,” said Reed. “People who peddle flesh the way the Orions do would be highly motivated to keep their activities camouflaged. Absence of evidence isn’t evidence of absence.”

“Either way,” Archer said, “somebody down there must know the location and status of that Orion slave ship we tracked here. I’m taking a landing party down to the trade complex to find out.”

“Aye, sir.” Ensign Mayweather entered a command into his helm console, then rose from his seat to face the captain. “I’ll start preparing Shuttlepod One immediately.”

Archer raised a hand in a gentle “slow down” gesture. “Not this time, Travis. We’ll be using the transporter, since we need to get in quickly and may need to get out even more quickly.” Once again, he couldn’t escape the memory of the painful energy‑pistol burn he’d received the last time he’d been in a rush to leave Rigel X.

Though Mayweather looked crestfallen as he returned to his station, Archer lacked the time and the patience at the moment to promise the junior officer more exciting piloting duty “next time.”

Archer turned back to face the aft portion of the bridge, where T’Pol and Hoshi manned the two stations at his right, while Malcolm looked on from the tactical station at the captain’s left. “Malcolm, you’re coming, too. I want a pair of MACOs along to watch our backs as well. T’Pol, you have the bridge.” He started toward the turbolift, motioning to Malcolm, who immediately followed.