Star Trek(7)

Then Erika had become captain of her own NX-class starship, Columbia, and she and Archer had rekindled their relationship at last. But Columbia had been lost in the first year of the Romulan War. Since then . . . since then there had only been his work.

He shook his head. “I’m not the young hotshot I used to be, Dani. These days . . . after what I had with Erika, what I—when I think about what we could’ve had if she’d lived . . .”

She smiled in sympathy. “I understand, Jon. It’d have to be something deep enough, meaningful enough, to compare to that.”

“And I’m just not sure I have the attention to devote to that now. Not while there’s still so much work to do to get the Federation through its growing pains.”

Her brows rose wistfully. “But is there ever going to be a time when the work ends?”

Archer had no reply. Instead he tried to brush it off with a smile. “Hey, don’t worry about me. I’ve still got Porthos.”

It did little to reassure her. She knew as well as he did that Archer’s beloved beagle was getting on in years, and even modern geriatrics could only do so much. Porthos might still have a few good years in him, but nothing lasted forever.

They spent the rest of lunch talking about inconsequential things. When they parted, Danica hugged him longer and tighter than usual. After she’d left, Archer found himself wondering if there’d been a subtext to her talk of romance that he’d overlooked.

Dani? No way. They’d been friends since childhood, more like brother and sister than anything else. Sure, she was smart and beautiful and warm, a good catch for anyone, but there was no way she could think of him in that way.

Is there?





2


March 20, 2164

San Francisco

T’POL PAUSED on the threshold of her groundside apartment, sharpening her senses. She wasn’t familiar enough with the environment to judge if anything was out of place; though Starfleet maintained it for her use when Endeavour was at Earth, Admiral Archer allowed the vessel to spend more time abroad on exploratory or diplomatic missions than was typical for an admiral’s personal flagship. Still, she sensed something that did not belong in an unoccupied dwelling. As she advanced into the main room, allowing the door to close behind her, she refined her impression . . . soon realizing that what she sensed was a familiar presence, and a welcome one.

She turned just in time to see a lanky figure in black coming up behind her. “Trip,” she greeted in the most casual and unsurprised tone she could muster.

The light-haired human whom she knew as Charles Tucker (despite his having abandoned any open use of that name upon feigning his death nine years before) rolled his eyes, though he was smiling as well. “Shoulda known I couldn’t sneak up on you.”

She did not soften her stance. “How did you get in here? The door was locked.”

Trip smirked. “Maybe I beamed in.”

T’Pol gave him a disapproving glare. “That would be most unwise. You realize the damage is cumulative, and you have been transported more than most.”

“I said ‘maybe.’ ” He shrugged. “Guy’s gotta have some secrets.”

She turned away. “That is not amusing.”

After a moment, she felt his hand on her shoulder. “Hey. What is it, T’Pol?”

She hesitated briefly, then her hand went to his. “I . . . your safety is a source of ongoing concern to me. I have . . . had unusually many opportunities to fear your imminent or actual death.”

She didn’t have to see him to know he was giving an understanding nod, narrowing his lips. “And you’re upset about my line of work puttin’ me in danger.”

“There is more than that.” She walked away, not to distance herself but merely to release tension. She paced around him, a body in orbit—the bond that drew them together balancing the momentum of her motion. “This ongoing pretense of your nonexistence. Having to meet only in secret or through our telepathic bond. Keeping the truth from Hoshi and other friends.” She stopped and turned to face him. “How long can we sustain this, Trip?”

He stared. “Is this the talk?” he said at length. “The ‘where are we going’ talk?”

“It is a valid question to consider.” She tilted her head, eyes darting and lips pursing. “There has been a certain . . . stimulation . . . to the challenge of maintaining a relationship in secret. In the short term, it does have its fascinations. But have we no goals beyond the short term? Have you?”

“I . . . I dunno,” Trip replied. “Like you said, I’ve kinda gotten used to not plannin’ on a long-term future. Not . . . that I’m in any hurry to give up breathin’,” he assured her when he saw her reaction. “I just—I’ve learned to make the most of livin’ in the moment.”