Chapter Seventeen: In the Brig
Trip sat on the hard single bunk that represented his cell's only furniture and wondered what he was going to do. He felt hope of getting back where he belonged slipping away; there seemed to be little he could do, here in this jail cell. Thus far he'd had no communication with anyone since Malcolm had put him in here. It seemed as though an eternity had passed, even though he knew that it had really only been a couple of hours. He had exhausted all of the possibilities he could think of where constructive activity that could be undertaken while incarcerated was concerned; now there was nothing left but to sit here feeling sorry for himself. It made him feel more helpless than he could recall feeling in his entire life.
He had been so close. He was sure of it. He was sure that Malcolm had been on the verge of succumbing to his ambition. He shouldn't have mentioned a possible assassination of Captain Archer, that was all … he should have found some way to hedge around the point without giving away too much information. But he'd felt possibility so close at hand and he'd snatched at it with all the finesse he'd been able to rustle up at the spur of the moment … clearly, not enough.
He buried his face in his hands and sighed, staring through the gaps in his fingers at the hard, metallic floor of his cell.
"I'm very disappointed in you, Trip."
He jerked alert. The Captain Archer that was so like his own – and yet so very unlike – stood there with his hands folded neatly over his chest, brow furrowing gently as he gazed through the bars at his chief engineer.
"Very disappointed," Archer repeated thoughtfully, as though he were rolling the words over in his mouth. "You showed such promise. I've been watching your career with interest, you know. Slowly gathering the support of the crewmen, turning them against Lieutenant Reed … pretty clever stuff, Commander. Why did you throw it all away?"
"Throw it away, sir?" Trip said.
"You've been so careless the last couple of days. You got cocky, didn't you?" said Captain Archer. "Calling Mayweather to your quarters in the middle of the night? I could tell something was up. You got careless. You had to be making your move. To be frank I expected better of you. I expected a challenge." He shook his head sadly.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Captain," Trip said. He smiled grimly. "I'll try to do better next time."
The captain gave a short bark of laughter. Then he said, "Funny, Trip. But you know damn well there's not going to be a next time. You'll be court-martialed, of course, as soon as we get back to Earth."
"Court-martialed," Trip repeated, snorting.
"Yes, these formalities are so tedious, aren't they?" Captain Archer drawled, sounding amused. "In any event, until we return to Imperial space you will be kept here, in the brig. The Fleet will decide what to do with you in its own good time."
"What are you going to do about the engines while I'm stuck here?" Trip asked.
Archer stared at him for a very long moment as though trying to figure out whether or not he was joking. Then he threw back his head and laughed, heartily. "My, my! Concerned for the well-being of your precious warp five engine, Trip?"
"Your father's precious warp five engine," Trip corrected, before he could stop himself.
Somehow, the captain's face hardened. He looked away. "Yes," he said, hissing the sibilant at the end of the word. "My father's precious warp five engine."
Bitterness? Huh?
"Bexler ought to be able to take care of things until you find a more permanent replacement," Trip said. "She's good. Real good. And Rostov is showing promise, too."
Archer eyed him strangely. "Why," he said, "are you telling me this?"
Trip shrugged. "You need a good engineer."
"If you're so concerned with the state of engineering in your absence, why were you trying to take command of my ship?" the captain demanded.
"I wasn't," Trip said. "Didn't Malcolm tell you? I was just going to get rid of you. I don't want the captain's chair. That's not where I belong."
Archer's brow furrowed. Trip's apparent lack of ambition seemed to be too much for him. "What kind of ruse is this?"
"No ruse. I'm just a simple country boy … what would I do with a starship?" Trip said easily.
"That's ridiculous," Archer sneered. He turned and headed for the corridor, but paused in the threshold to say, "I don't know what you're trying to pull, Commander. But it's not going to work. You're never getting out of that brig alive."
Trip shrugged his shoulders again. "Yes, sir," he said.
The captain left.
Trip settled back on his bunk, pillowing his hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling. He wasn't sure if he'd accomplished anything, besides confusing the hell out of his friend's doppelganger. But there wasn't much that he could do, locked up in the brig.
He glanced the way Archer had retreated. He had to get out of here.
