Evidently distracted from his earlier self‑recriminations–and slipping back into his mission‑planning mode–Phuong interrupted Trip’s ruminations. “So we now have two extremely urgent reasons to get Ehrehin out of here as quickly as possible.” He began ticking points off on his fingers. “First, there’s Ehrehin himself, and the knowledge he’s carrying. Second, we have to warn Coridan Prime about our new intelligence that corroborates our suspicions that they will be the Romulans’ first target. But I seriously doubt we’ll be able to do that from here without tipping our hand to Ch’uihv.”
It all made sense to Trip, particularly the point about alerting the Coridanites. It would be a disaster of immeasurable proportions if the Romulans–whether they answered to the Praetor or to the Ejhoi Ormiin–were to succeed in seizing control of Coridan’s vast dilithium reserves. After all, if Ehrehin’s new engine really proved capable of reaching and sustaining a speed of warp seven–as Coridan Prime’s ships were rumored to do routinely these days–it would no doubt be one of the most dilithium‑hungry technologies ever devised.
But Trip could see at least one glaring problem–perhaps an insurmountable one–with Phuong’s plan. “Somehow, I don’t see Ch’uihv just letting us take Ehrehin back to the Branson.”
“That’s why we’re not going to use the Branson,” Phuong said with a grin. “But I’m betting we’ll find something suitable in Ch’uihv’s own vehicle pool–after I get out and do a little reconnaissance work, that is. After all, Ch’uihv never told either of us that we weren’t allowed to stroll the grounds a bit during our stay.”
Trip shook his head, not quite sure he was believing what he was hearing. “Are you serious?”
“This is what spies do: improvise,” Phuong said as he moved toward the door, where he paused for a moment, looking back at Trip. “Stay here and get some rest. You look like hell.” And with that, he vanished into the corridor beyond.
The door whisked closed again, and Trip stood staring at it incredulously.
That turncoat Sopek was way,way off base about who’s really “intermittently rational” around here,Trip thought, shaking his head.
Twenty‑Seven
Friday, February 21, 2155
Enterprise NX‑01
T’POL SAT IN SHUTTLEPOD TWO with the others. Ensign Mayweather was at the helm, and a pair of MACOs sat at the ready. The cabin was dimly lit, and the ship rocked sharply as they entered the troposphere of the planet.
“I went to see Phlox this morning,” the man sitting next to her said.
She turned, and was startled to see a Vulcan sitting there. Had he been there all this time?
And yet, he was not a Vulcan, despite the dark hair, arched brows, gracefully pointed ears, and slightly green‑tinted skin. Something about him was different, yet comfortably familiar.
“I saw the doctor today as well,” T’Pol said, unsure of what else to say.
The man turned toward her. “Did he talk about me?”
T’Pol’s eyebrow rose reflexively. “You?”
“Us?”
“What aboutus?” T’Pol asked. “This is illogical.”
“Why’d you bring it up, then?” the man asked.
The shuttle continued to rock around them, but none of the others present were speaking, as if they were frozen in place. Exasperated, T’Pol turned and looked more closely at the man. There was something in his eyes…
He smiled and winked, and then reached up to tug on the zipper at the top of his head. His skin unzipped down his forehead, over his nose and lips, down his chin, and to his chest.
T’Pol reached over and pulled apart the skin, revealing the far more familiar face underneath. Trip smiled at her, his expression both sweet and haunted.
He was most certainly not dead.
“Wherever you are, do you ever miss me?” she asked, pitching her voice low to prevent the others from hearing. It didn’t matter, since it appeared that they were no longer aboard the shuttlepod anyway; they were in his quarters aboard Enterprise.
He looked surprised. “You mean…”
She nodded shyly. “Yes.”
He picked up the toy armadillo from above the bed and idly played with it as he looked out the viewport at the stars, which looked like so many twinkling lights set against a black velvet curtain. “You know how long it’s been?” he finally asked.
“That’s not what I asked you,” she said, standing, nude, and approaching him from behind.
He bent forward as she began applying neuropressure to his shoulders. “Well…uh…yeah…I guess, sometimes.”
The remainder of the green‑tinted Vulcan skinsuit began to slough away under T’Pol’s ministrations, exposing more of Trip beneath it. She grasped it in the center of his back and tore it away. The remnants fluttered to the floor and became fine gritty sand, like the parched red soil of Vulcan’s Forge.
“I haven’t thought about those days in a long time,” T’Pol said, reaching around his sides to hug him from behind.
He turned around and looked down at her, smiling slightly. “Benefit of being a Vulcan.”
She lay back on the bed with him, sweat beading on her collarbone and forehead. A wave of ecstasy moved through her. His skills were so different from the savage couplings of Pon farr.
“After speaking with Doctor Phlox, I realized that we might never see each other again, dead oralive,” she said finally, the warm glow ebbing.
He climbed on top of her, pressing her down into the mattress as he placed his hands against her temples, spreading his fingers and placing his thumbs beside the bridge of her nose. “I can guarantee you that we’re not going to lose touch. My mind to your mind.Stop thinking like that. My thoughts to your thoughts.”
The tears flowed out of her again, pouring over his fingers and down her face in rivulets, filling the bed, submerging them both in seconds. Trip pulled her close as they sank into the warmth, his mouth coming to hers, his eyes seeing into her soul.
However long it may be…I believe I’m going to miss you,she thought.
And in her dreams, the tears and regret and happiness and love caused T’Pol no pain at all.
Twenty‑Eight
Friday, February 21, 2155
Rator II
TRIP COULD SEE T’POL lying on the bed beside him, although he knew that her presence here was a physical impossibility. Even so, there she was,warm against his body, speaking with him, making love to him. It was obvious that she was no phantom image from some transient dream; she was every bit as tangible and real as he was.
Then Trip felt something grab his shoulder.
He awakened with a start to see a smiling Phuong standing over him. The visual effect was startling: a Vulcan–no, a Romulan–smiling. His heart racing, Trip sat up on the low sofa where he had evidently fallen asleep after Phuong had left.
“You okay?” Phuong said, his smile folding into a look of concern.
She was here with me, right in this room,Trip thought, still unable to relinquish the sense of reality the absurd dream‑reality had carried with it. Iknow she was here.
“I’m fine.”
Phuong’s smile returned, and he patted Trip on the shoulder. “Well, I’m glad to see you decided to take my advice and get a little shut‑eye while I was out scouting.”
“Scouting?” Still unnerved by the sudden transition from deep sleep to bleary wakefulness, Trip rubbed at his aching eyes. “What…what did you find?”
Phuong’s smile broadened into a triumphant grin. “Our way out of here. Once we collect Doctor Ehrehin, that is.”
Trip rose from the sofa and paused momentarily to consider his partner’s ad hoc plan, or lack thereof. While he knew he could have done with a few more hours of sleep, there wasn’t much to be gained by waiting. They were, after all, among hostiles who might see through their disguises at any moment and then turn on them. And every passing hour might give Ch’uihv the opportunity he needed to break Ehrehin once and for all, and plunder the dangerous secrets he carried.