To Go Boldly - Part 4

Virtual Season Six Finale

To Go Boldly

By Distracted

Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer: It’s been fun, but none of this is mine and I never made a cent.
Genre: Romance/Action adventure
Summary: Enterprise heads back to Earth to offload non-combatants and children. The war is escalating, and soon they’ll be called into active combat as the flagship of the fleet. Can they make themselves ready for war in the short weeks they have left?

A/N: Well, this is it, ladies and gents... the end of the neverending story. It was a wild ride, and I hope you all had as much fun as I did.

During the course of writing this last installment, I did a bit of research about the traditional belief systems of the Japanese people. I discovered that the co-observance of both Shintoist and Buddist traditions is extremely common in modern Japan among those people who still choose to observe their traditional faith practices. For that reason, in this story I have hypothesized the official union of the two in Japan. I hope that this doesn’t offend. It was my intent to show the resilience of the Japanese people in preserving their culture despite the changes that would inevitably occur after a third World War and reconstruction.

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Part Four: CONCLUSION

The Student Rec Center gym at Texas A&M was the home away from home for an assortment of athletic species. There were the intramural jocks and the wanna-be jocks. The “real” jocks trained with their teams and wouldn’t be caught dead at the Rec Center. There were the students training as part of a requirement for a course. There were the body builders working out to look good so they could hook up—and to show off for their body builder friends. And then there were both students and staff who trained for personal health reasons. Janie like to think that she and Kov were in the last group, although sometimes she suspected that he enjoyed the “show off” aspect of his workouts a bit more that he’d admit.

Janie had just planted her feet and set the barbell across her shoulders to begin her squats when the new guy, an incoming freshman who went by the name of Bubba—and appeared to be just as intelligent and socially enlightened as the name implied—made the statement that got him into trouble.

“Guess I’ll start over here with the free weights since the Vulcan’s hoggin’ the VGT again,” he grumbled, grabbing a bar and loading it. He grinned at Janie, eyeing her long, sweatpants clad legs with evident appreciation. She sighed inwardly and pointedly ignored him as she began her first set.

The Variable Gravity Trainer had been sitting in the corner collecting dust when she and Kov had first arrived nearly a year before. It had been a gift to the college by Starfleet in the heyday of its popularity, when thousands of young men and women hoped one day to leave Earth and meet an alien face to face. The Xindi had effectively curbed that enthusiasm. No one trained for offworld duty anymore—until Kov had begun his daily routine.

For an hour a day, seven days a week, rain or shine, sick or well, Kov ran from precisely six pm to seven pm. At first he ran with the VGT set at Vulcan norm. When that was no longer challenging enough, he upped the setting. By the end of their first spring semester at A&M, one of the fraternities had begun a new hazing ritual. The pledge was required to mount the VGT after Kov’s workout and remain standing for five minutes. Kov always blandly ignored the shenanigans that went on immediately following his daily run, but Janie always made it a point to be there. The look on the poor pledge’s face as he fought to keep his knees from buckling was too good to miss. She guessed she should feel guilty for being so proud of her husband’s strength, but she just couldn’t help it.

“Seems like that Vulcan’s always on the VGT. It ain’t like there’s nuthin’ else here ta do. He should give the rest of us a chance to try it ‘stead a bein’ such a hog,” griped Bubba yet again. His complaint was followed by a grunt as he straightened his knees.

Janie finished her set of eight in silence, and then laid the barbell down. Bubba was red-faced, holding his breath, trying to do squats with weights which were obviously too heavy for him. She regarded him with irritation. He was gonna hurt himself, but she seriously doubted that he’d listen to her if she told him so.

“This gym is open from six am to nine pm Monday through Sunday. ‘The Vulcan’ exercises from six to seven pm. Pick another time. You’ve got 14 hours a day to choose from,” she told him flatly. He grinned broadly and shoved the weights from his shoulders to the ground, where they bounced once. Janie winced at the potential damage to the gym’s wooden floor.

“Will you be here if I come at seven instead?” he leered. He stepped into her personal space, and she could smell him. He had a typical college freshman male’s hygiene habits. She held her breath and stared him down disapprovingly. At nearly six feet tall she topped him by at least three inches. He ignored her look and actually reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder in what he must have imagined was a flirtatious manner.

“No...and take your hand off me,” replied Janie firmly, “I’m married.” She squared her shoulders and set her stance. It was a reflex after all the jiujitsu classes she’d taken in the past year. Kov had insisted—for various reasons. Bubba’s leer became a cocky grin. He easily outweighed her by fifty pounds.

“I heard,” he drawled. “To the Vulcan, right? I’ll bet he’s a lotta fun in bed,” he returned sarcastically. “Why doncha lemme show ya what a real man feels like?” His grin broadened as if he’d just told the best joke ever.

Janie’s jaw dropped. The guy had known all along she was Kov’s wife, and he’d insulted Kov anyway. As his other hand began to descend toward her opposite shoulder, it was as if he moved in slow motion. She didn’t even have the time to get angry before her body took advantage of the opportunity. Without conscious thought, she grasped the wrist of the hand which rested on her shoulder and, using the weight of his body for leverage, just stepped aside as she pulled and twisted. In less than a second, Bubba was face down on the gym floor with his hand up between his shoulder blades and her knee in the small of his back. Unfortunately, he was too muscular to be so flexible, and she heard a distinct “pop” from his shoulder on the way down. He screamed like a girl.

“I said...take your hand off me, you asshole!” she growled in his ear. “And if you ever touch me again I’ll dislocate your other shoulder!”

“OWW! SHIT! LEMME GO! SOMEBODY HELP!” squealed Bubba. Janie felt something unfamiliar rise within her chest. Triumph? Conquest? Whatever it was, it felt good. She smiled.

“Janie. Release him. Now.”

Kov’s voice was quietly disapproving. Janie looked up at his face, and was abruptly intensely ashamed of herself. She looked down at the muscle-bound boy whimpering on the floor in pain and was horrified by what she’d done. She dropped his arm and scrambled away from him, hugging herself. Tears began to flow. Kov ignored them.

“Allow me to assist you, sir,” Kov told the cowering fellow. Bubba just rolled over to his back, cradling his arm to his chest. He had tears running down his face, too.

“You gotta do somethin’ about that wife of yours, man...she’s crazy! All I did was talk to her! I swear!” protested the boy.

Kov cut his eyes toward Janie for a moment, but said nothing. He held out a hand to the young man. “May I see your injured arm?” he inquired politely. “Perhaps I can help.”

Bubba eyed Kov doubtfully for a moment, but when the Vulcan continued to wait patiently for his answer, he nodded tentatively and extended his arm. Kov took the boy’s hand gently into his own, rested the other on his shoulder, and said, “You will feel some pressure.” A quick jerk, another girlish scream from Bubba, and the boy’s shoulder was back in place. Kov released him and stepped back.

“Please contact me concerning your medical bills if you find it necessary to consult a physician,” he offered to the wide-eyed young man. Bubba stood and gingerly worked his shoulder, wincing a bit. He recovered his bravado as Kov encircled Janie’s shoulders with one arm and guided her toward the door.

“You bet I will!” Bubba shouted angrily after them. “You’ll be hearin’ from my lawyer, y’hear?”

A couple of the regulars gave Janie grins and slaps on the shoulder as she walked out with Kov.

“Way ta go, gal. That’s the way ta teach him some manners!” whispered an older woman admiringly. Janie thought she was one of the accounting professors, but she wasn’t sure. She smiled wanly, acknowledging the woman’s encouragement, but said nothing as Kov led her out to their vehicle. He opened the door for her, a supremely illogical bit of chivalry that he habitually did anyway because he knew it pleased her, and waited silently for her to take a seat before closing the door. She was sitting looking miserably at her hands, wondering exactly when they’d turned into dangerous weapons without her noticing, when he slid into the driver’s seat beside her and shut the door.

“Are you all right?” he asked into the silence. To her surprise, his voice held no censure, only concern. She searched his face hesitantly. He didn’t seem upset or angry, but it was hard to determine from his deliberately blank expression. She could tell that he was drawing on every ounce of Vulcan control these days to maintain the facade, but since he’d begun blocking her in their bond she’d had difficulty reading him. She was out of practice in figuring out what he was thinking without it. She understood his reasons, but it still felt lonely inside her head. She grimaced ruefully.

“Yeah, I guess so. Sorry about the meltdown. I dunno what happened,” she replied. Kov sighed and shook his head.

“It is I who owe you an apology, Janie. I thought that I could spare you this by blocking our bond until my time had fully arrived, but my impending plak tau is obviously affecting you anyway.” He smiled a tiny Kov-smile. “It is reassuring to know that your martial arts classes have been productive, though. You should be quite safe if I lose control.”

Janie shook her head in exasperation. “I’ve been tellin’ ya, darlin’... There’s just no way on God’s green Earth you’d ever hurt me! I have no idea why you’re so fixated on protectin’ me. I’m a big girl. I can take it,” she told him earnestly. He cocked a brow.

“After this evening I’m beginning to believe you,” he replied. Janie smiled mischievously.

“Does that mean you’re gonna let me in?” she coaxed, extending two fingers to stroke the back of his hand where it rested on the steering yoke. He kept his eyes on hers and his expression stoic, but the physical contact enabled her to sense a small fraction of what he’d been hiding from her. She inhaled sharply as the heat of his slowly building plak tau burned through her chest and then southward. Her pulse accelerated. Kov’s eyes narrowed marginally, and the burning desire she sensed from him took on a hard, dominant edge. He wanted—no, needed--to possess her. And, to her surprise, she craved his possession. The feeling was so unlike their usual easygoing partnership that it should have frightened her, but all it did was make her wish fervently that they were home, in private instead of in a ground car parked in a public parking lot.

She was so absorbed in the novel sensation that the alert tone of the car’s vidphone failed to register. Kov blinked and slowly pulled his hand away from hers, reluctantly moving to answer the call while Janie hyperventilated, trying to recover.

“Yes?” he answered flatly—the response of a busy man with things to do.

The screen held the image of a well-dressed professional woman with an artificial smile.

“Professor Kov of Vulcan?” she asked brightly.

“Speaking,” responded Kov cautiously.

“Melissa Stevenson of Woodlands Real Estate,” said the woman with a tip of her head. “I apologize for disturbing you, sir, but Minister Kuvak left your vidphone code as a backup number. I am unable to contact him at the subspace address he provided, and I need confirmation of his arrival time in order to turn on water and utility service in his condominium. Do you know when he plans to arrive in College Station?”

Kov’s jaw dropped. Janie grinned. She’d never seen her husband so completely floored by anything in their time together.

“My father?” he replied incredulously. “My father is on Vulcan!”

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Captain Milo Alonso of the San Francisco Department’s Spaceport Rescue Station One looked nothing like the commanding officer of a crack team of firefighters as he paced back and forth beside the runway. He did, however, look quite a lot like a frantic expectant father, which was exactly what he was.

It had all started with a call he’d received early that morning. Apparently, Lieutenant Commander Janice Hess, the mother of his unborn son, was too far along in pregnancy to travel from Jupiter Station to Earth by commercial shuttle. That point Milo could understand, since she was roughly eight months and 29 days pregnant. What worried him was what had come next. After she’d reassured him that everything would be fine and that she’d be coming home by Starfleet medical transport instead, he’d been lulled into a false sense of security, only to be brought back to a state of sheer panic by a call from the medical transport vessel about three hours into the trip, while Janice was still enroute.

She was in labor. And he was on duty with no relief available.

So Milo had done what any red-blooded about-to-be-brand-new father would do, given the chance. He’d taken full advantage of his position. If he couldn’t be off duty to meet the mother of his very-soon-to-be-firstborn at the airport, he’d damn well make it his business to be at the airport anyway—in the line of duty. His entire team had thought it was a great idea. Joey and Paula, the brother and sister duo who were his best two firefighters, had been positively enthusiastic about it. They hadn’t been called to a runway emergency in months. It was time for a runway rescue drill.

And so he found himself beside the specially designated runway a quarter of an hour before the medical transport shuttle was scheduled to arrive. For protocol’s sake, the rest of his team members were running through their emergency checklists. The plan was to stage a full-scale runway emergency drill—after the shuttle had arrived safely.

“Here she comes! She’s ahead of schedule!” announced Joey, who’d been scanning the skies with binoculars while Milo paced. Joey’s voice sounded a bit strained, as if he were stressed or nervous. Milo paused in his pacing to squint at the sky, where the shuttle was still too far away to be visible to the naked eye, and then studied Joey. He’d been keyed up and on edge all morning—almost as much as Milo was.

“You okay?” he asked Joey, puzzled.

The buzz-cut young man’s eyes widened for a moment, and he exchanged a strange look with his similarly coiffed twin sister Paula before smiling nervously.

“Sure! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I think I hear the shuttle!” put in Lieutenant Efferson, who’d been diligently going over checklists as Paula checked the equipment.

Sure enough, the shuttle came into view a few seconds later, along with the roar of atmospheric thrusters. As it leveled out and approached the runway, however, it became apparent to them all that something was wrong. The engines sounded rough, and the shuttle’s trajectory was erratic. The large transport shuttle had wings, since it was built for flight both in a vacuum and in atmosphere, and depended more on lift surfaces than the average shuttle. That made it safer, since it was capable of gliding and wouldn’t drop like a stone if the engines happened to lose power completely—which was a fortunate thing since that’s exactly what they did as the shuttle made its final approach.

The only sound as the shuttle landed was the rhythmic screech of the landing gear on the tarmac surface of the seldom-used auxiliary runway. At first, it seemed that the landing would be uneventful, but then Milo realized that the shuttle was going much too fast to stop where it should. Braking was obviously affected as well. He was already in the driver’s seat of the emergency vehicle with the rest of his team hanging on the sides, heading toward the hangers and warehouses at the end of the runway when the shuttle struck the buildings with an ear-splitting crash and burst into flames.

Although the shuttle’s main engines ran on deuterium, which was inert and non-flammable in the absence of an active fusion reactor, the zero-grav maneuvering jets in the wings still needed small tanks of flammable rocket fuel to function, and it was one of the wing tanks that exploded. Had the fire station team not literally been on their way before the explosion had even occurred, all on board would have probably perished. Instead, Joey and Paula worked in tandem attaching hoses, in their uncanny almost miraculously coordinated way, and were spraying fire suppressive foam on the blaze before it even had the chance to reach the fuselage. The emergency exit door opened, and Milo rushed to it, only to be handed the end of a stretcher. On it lay an unconscious young man in Starfleet uniform. He rolled it toward Thadd Efferson, who took charge of it and pulled out his paramedic’s bag to check vitals. A second stretcher followed the first. Another young man was on it, this one cuffed to the rails and in prisoner’s coveralls. He was awake, and strangely calm given the situation. Milo passed him on as well.

Where the hell is she? he thought, peering into the plane. A third stretcher nearly hit him in the face. To his utter surprise, this one had a white-haired Vulcan male on it. He was sitting up and looking around with interest, and really didn’t look like he needed a stretcher. A Vulcan woman walked beside the stretcher. Milo nodded at both of them politely before pushing him down the line, craning his neck to look for Janice. He smiled when yet another stretcher was pushed out of the exit. It contained a very relieved looking and very pregnant blonde woman. To others she might have looked rather mannish and muscular, but to him she was the most beautiful woman in creation. He hauled on the end of her stretcher to clear the exit, and then was too busy being thoroughly kissed to see the rest of the passengers, including one starship captain and his wheelchair-bound wife holding two newborn infants, exit the shuttle behind him.

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The man who had once been Ensign Philip Norfleet, but who was now Petty Officer Michael Nikolai Rostov in every way that mattered, watched his heavily sedated alter ego being assessed by the paramedic. So far, so good. The man had no tricorder which might have revealed the absence of “Norfleet’s” purported intracranial hemorrhage. Even if he had, there was little that the real Norfleet could have done about it, strapped hand and foot to his stretcher as he was. The medical transport staff had taken no chances with a known psychopath, especially one with established violent tendencies and a phobia of Vulcans aboard a transport with Vulcans as passengers.

The Vulcan minister seemed less frail than he’d appeared earlier. Earth’s gravity and the adrenaline rush of an emergency landing were likely responsible. He’d climbed down from his stretcher and was insisting on going back aboard the shuttle for the rest of his belongings. A buzz-cutted pair of firefighters were arguing with him, trying to convince him to lie down so that they could assess him, but he shrugged them off. Only his female companion seemed to have any control over the old guy.

The huge firefighter who’d pulled them all out of the shuttle—the guy must have been nearly seven feet tall—was hovering over Lieutenant Commander Hess. From his appearance and the way she’d lip-locked him earlier, he must be the infamous Captain Alonso. It figured. He certainly looked tough enough with his shaved head and his tattoos. No male on Enterprise had ever been brave enough to even ask the muscle-bound engineer for a date, much less get her pregnant.

Captain Archer was busy juggling babies as the paramedic moved from Norfleet’s alter ego to Elena Archer. His assessment of her was necessarily brief.

“Hey, Thadd! Over here!” called the big guy. He sounded worried. Hess was curled up in a ball on the stretcher. Oh, boy. It looked like Milo, Jr. would arrive right there on the runway unless the ambulances arrived soon. Three sets of sirens answered his unspoken request. They arrived in line and parked in a row on the side of the tarmac.

One of the firefighters approached Norfleet’s stretcher. Norfleet closed his eyes and played possum, since he was supposed to be sedated. The guy grabbed the railing and started to push. A female voice spoke softly. Norfleet cracked one eye open. It was the other firefighter, walking alongside the stretcher. She looked frustrated and angry.

“I can’t get close enough to the damned Vulcan to do the job. His nurse is attached to him at the hip,” she murmured.

“We need the distraction, Paula,” whispered the man. “Just take ‘em both out.”

Paula nodded and began walking toward the old Vulcan and his nurse.

Norfleet realized instantly that he was right in the middle of an assassination attempt, and did the only thing he could think of. He “woke up.”

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Kuvak took a deep breath of the thick, rich air of Earth and stood easily erect. The humans were behaving in a most illogical fashion. He had no need for medical treatment. He felt better at that moment than he had in nearly a year. Had he not had ample time for meditation during the flight, he would have found the pair of overly attentive emergency workers who were preventing him from reentering the vehicle to retrieve his annotated copy of the Kirshara very annoying. As it was, their stubbornness was merely an inconvenience. He was eyeing the starship captain, debating whether he should ask the man to go and get his book—surely they wouldn’t deny Jonathan Archer access to the vehicle—when the shouting began.

“Kill the Vulcans! They’ll fry our minds if ya don’t! Do it now, Paula! Do it!” screamed the human strapped to the stretcher in five point restraints. Kuvak’s eyes narrowed. The man was a criminal and known to be mentally ill, so his outburst could not be held against him—but who was Paula? Then he saw the female rescue worker, who’d been walking toward Kuvak with a first aid kit over one shoulder, evidently intending to try once again to assess him, freeze in her tracks while the other rescue workers turned toward her. One laughed—the one the huge human had called Thadd.

“Hey, Paula! He knows you by name!” the human teased. The woman flashed him an uncomfortable smile. Kuvak saw her ease what appeared to be a hypospray syringe out of her kit. Then she continued walking toward him. There was something in her eyes that made him wary of her.

“I’ll escort you back to the transport to get your book if you’d like, Minister Kuvak,” she offered, with a smile that seemed forced. Kuvak inclined his head and indicated that she should precede him. When T’Len, who’d been standing at his side in faithful seh’lat mode since they’d disembarked, made as if to follow him, he stepped back and murmured in her ear in Vulcan—too softly for human hearing—and then strode forward.

“Watch her hands,” was what he’d said.

Her brow went up, but she followed him without a word.

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The sedative that Paula’s accomplice had dosed him with after his outburst was taking effect, but Norfleet could see that the fourth vehicle to which he was being rolled was not the same as the others. From a distance it appeared to be an ambulance, but there were discrepancies in the insignia, and the make and model of the vehicle wasn’t the same. They were taking him already. He could only hope that his warning had alerted the Vulcans enough to save them. Shouting behind him and the pounding of feet told him that the distraction that his abductors needed to get him away from airport security was in progress—hopefully not a fatal distraction. Hands reached out to grab his stretcher and hoisted it roughly into the vehicle. Rough male voices spoke as he faded in and out of consciousness.

“Any problems?”

“He’s pretty out of it...nearly blew the whole operation, he’s so doped up.”

“Looks like it’s a go, though. Team Two says the exit is clear. Every emergency vehicle and security officer in the place is on the runway behind us or headed in that direction.”

“Go for it, then. The Boss really wants to meet Mr. Rostov, here.”

Philip Norfleet lost the battle for consciousness knowing that when he awakened he would be ex-Petty Officer Michael Nikolai Rostov, late of Starfleet, and now the newest member of Terra Prime’s inner circle.

It was time to take them down.

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“He’s gorgeous, guys,” said Elena with a fond smile at the bundle in her arms. She sat in a chair next to Janice Hess’ hospital bed with an armful of chubby brown-haired baby. Milo Senior sat on the edge of the bed with a wide, silly grin on his face. Janice looked tired but blissfully happy.

“You’re just saying that because you want us to let you keep holding him,” teased Janice. “You’re a baby junkie! Don’t you get enough with two of your own?”

Elena chuckled, running her palm over the thick curls on the crown of the baby’s head. “I suppose I should...but it’s almost as if I’m seeing the near future. Little Milo here seems older than Maria and Jon already. He’s certainly bigger. What is he? Twelve pounds?” she joked. The pair on the bed exchanged an amused look.

“He can’t help that his dad is six-nine and his mom eats like a horse,” Janice quipped.

Elena laughed. She looked up reluctantly from the baby’s face. “So...what’s the plan now?” she asked the happy couple.

Janice looked up almost shyly at the huge man who was the father of her child, and he wrapped a proprietary arm around her muscular shoulders. “We get married,” he said firmly. Janice turned red, but made no objection. It was sweet to see her as the blushing bride, but a bit odd. Elena looked inquiringly at her friend, waiting. Janice grimaced self-consciously.

“He’s got it all arranged. He’s even invited my brothers,” she confessed. She looked up at him adoringly. “And I’ve gotten my transfer to Starfleet Engineering’s R&D division. I start there in six weeks,” she said with a grin.

“So...you’re leaving Enterprise?” asked Elena, unsurprised by her friend’s decision now that the ship was going into combat. She would have made the same choice in similar circumstances. Janice grimaced guiltily.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I hate to do it...but my family needs me, and I can make a difference here, too.”

Elena sighed, smiling wistfully. “No need to justify your decision to me, dear...I agree 100%. I wish Jon could do the same, but there’s just not a lot for a starship captain to do here on Earth during wartime.” Her voice, to her embarrassment, got a bit watery at the end of her statement.

There was an awkward silence.

“So...where is the captain, anyway?” asked Janice, changing the subject hastily. Elena began rocking the baby in her arms. It was soothing.

“He’s with the twins in the outpatient clinic doing their immigration physical. Since they weren’t born on Earth they’ve got to be medically cleared before they can go home with us,” she said softly, smiling at the baby’s sleeping face. “I’m supposed to meet him there in ten minutes.” Her voice trailed off. She felt the sadness coming back, so she rocked harder.

“Elena. Look at me,” mumured Janice. Elena sighed, and then looked up. Janice was a little blurry. She smiled wryly at her friend.

“He’s gonna be okay, Elena,” Janice reassured her. “Just enjoy your time with him now. You’ve got a month. Don’t waste it moping! And then we’ll all hold the fort until he gets back.”

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The lobby of Starfleet Headquarters’ medical facility seemed crowded and overly large to T’Len. Of course, she was accustomed to Vulcan medical facilities. They had very small waiting areas. Vulcans generally stayed home unless their presence was required, there being no logical reason to remain on the premises while their family member was recuperating. Humans didn’t seem to agree with that philosophy. Apparently, it was common for entire families to encamp in the various waiting areas, waiting for their loved ones to give birth or come out of surgery or regain consciousness. Given this propensity, it was odd that the chairs were so uncomfortable.

Jonathan and Elena Archer exited the outpatient clinic double doors and entered the lobby, walking side by side carrying an infant each and the prerequisite bag of supplies. The captain noticed her and began walking in her direction. She rose to greet them. His wife seemed surprisingly cheerful considering the events which had recently transpired. Evidently, being back on Earth agreed with her.

“Captain...Mrs. Archer,” T’Len acknowledged politely. Archer offered the ta’al.

“Hello again, ma’am. Is the minister well?” he asked with a smile.

T’Len cocked a brow. The man’s curious mixture of both Vulcan and human courtesies was unorthodox, but appealing. He could almost be mistaken for a Vulcan child in his sincere attempts at polite behavior.

“He is being evaluated in concert by both human and Vulcan physicians as we speak, but it appears that Earth’s atmosphere and gravity have had a salubrious effect on his condition,” she replied. Elena Archer beamed.

“I understand that the two of you are moving to College Station. That’s not far from the home in Houston that Jon and I are buying. Maybe we can get together sometime with the Minister’s son and his wife. Kov and Janie are a wonderful young couple. I think you’ll like them,” she enthused.

“I have met Kov. He was a difficult child,” T’Len replied flatly. Elena’s smile wilted a bit, and she exchanged a look with her husband. T’Len realized that this was an instance in which complete honesty was better tempered with diplomacy. “Minister Kuvak has informed me that he has matured, and that he is now an admirable young man,” she qualified. Elena looked hopeful, but seemed at a loss for words. There was an awkward pause.

“I look forward to our future encounters,” T’Len offered finally. She raised her hand in the ta’al to them. “Peace, and long life.”

Jonathan Archer returned the salute and gave the proper response in a somewhat relieved tone of voice before leading his wife away.

“Doesn’t pull any punches, does she?” whispered Elena once they’d gotten a few meters away. She was obviously unfamiliar with the acuity of Vulcan hearing.

“No...but you really want to stay on her good side,” murmured Archer. “She’s the one who took out that would-be assassin in the airport. I hear she used to be a nanny, but she’s no Mary Poppins. I doubt spoonfuls of sugar are her thing.”

Elena Archer laughed as the two of them stepped out into the San Francisco sun.

Minster Kuvak stepped through the outpatient clinic’s double doors and strode vigorously to her side. He handed her a padd.

“My examination results,” he said briskly. She took the padd from him with an inclination of her head. “Come. We must go back to the airport. Our transport leaves for Houston Hobby in two hours,” he said. Then he turned toward the exit, more eager than he’d ever admit to be on the way to see his son, she was certain.

T’Len followed, making a mental note to research “Mary Poppins” at her next convenient opportunity.

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Commander Trip Tucker walked down the exit ramp from the commercial shuttle with a duffle bag over one shoulder. His eyes searched the receiving area. It was nearly deserted. San Francisco Spaceport was a major hub of space travel for the Northern Hemisphere. The travel limitations imposed by Earth’s government since the beginning of the war were obviously taking their toll. His face lit up in a broad smile as he waved at the elderly couple who waited for him. He half-ran to his parents and caught his mother up in a huge bear hug.

“You’re here!” she squealed as he squeezed the wind out of her. “You’re home!” Trip laughed and spun her around.

“Where’s T’Pol?” asked his father innocently.

“Hush, Charles!” urged his mother. She gave her husband an exasperated look and then appealed to her son. “I told him, Trip,” she avowed. “I promise!”

Charles grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. I forgot.” Then he wrapped one arm around his son and gave him a manly half-hug.

Trip sighed and shook his head, grinning. He really couldn’t blame his dad. It was kinda sweet the way Charles Tucker had taken to his Vulcan daughter-in-law. All he’d told them was that T’Pol was coming later in order to avoid publicity. He’d decided not to remind them that if Starfleet were to become officially aware of his marriage to Enterprise’s First Officer, the two of them would undoubtedly be separated, to serve on different ships for the remainder of the war. His mom, of course, had assumed that they were having marital difficulties. He guessed maybe it was time to tell them the truth.

“We got rooms at that little hotel ya told us about, son...but I have ta tell ya, it’s no where near as nice as the Spaceport Hilton was last time,” reported Charles.

“Charles! Hush!” chided Catherine. She smiled reassuringly at her son. “It’s a perfectly charming little hotel...so quaint, and right in the middle of embassy row. We’ll be seein’ all kinds of interestin’ people, I’m sure.” Trip grinned, shaking his head over his parents’ typical responses to the situation.

“Ya got more luggage, son?” asked Charles, turning toward the baggage pickup sign. Trip reached out to stop him.

“No, Dad. This is all I’ve got,” he said, indicating the duffel he was carrying. “Besides...we need to wait here a minute. I want ya’ll ta meet somebody,” he added with an anticipatory grin.

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As the three of them turned toward the gate from which Trip had just arrived, Catherine Tucker saw a small but noisy group exit and began to walk down the concourse. It consisted of Lieutenant Travis Mayweather, well known to Catherine from Trip’s letters and pictures home, an older dark-skinned woman who carried an infant girl, and three very lovely young women with heads full of thick black curls. Suddenly, a little girl who bore a definite family resemblance to at least two of the women thrust her way through, pelting down the concourse wailing, “Waaaait! Trip-T’hyla! Don’t leave yet!!!”

To Catherine’s confusion, Trip immediately began to chuckle, and he crouched down to receive the small torpedo with arms wide, grunting as she made full-bore impact with his chest.

Lianna, Catherine realized, smiling. As unlikely as it seemed, the child could only be the Betazoid prodigy Trip had told them about.

“I’m gonna be at the hotel right next door to the embassy, you silly goose,” he was reassuring the little girl. “I’m not leavin’ yet!” Lianna said nothing, merely resting her forehead on his chest while she wiped tears from her face with one hand.

“Unca Travis said you were leavin’,” she muttered into his chest, sniffing.

“I meant you were leaving the airport to go to the hotel, not leaving for good! Honest!” protested the helmsman as he strode up with the rest of his entourage. He looked so happy he was positively glowing. Charles stepped forward to shake his hand.

“Nice ta finally meet ya, son... Charles Tucker,” he said heartily, gripping the young man’s hand enthusiastically. Travis squeezed back, grinning. He indicated the woman beside him with his opposite hand.

“It’s good to meet you too, sir...and I’d like to introduce my mother...and my daughter Maya...”

While Charles busied himself with introductions, Catherine stood behind him, smiling pleasantly and studying the three young women. Two of them smiled in return, nodding at Charles as Travis told his story of amazing coincidences and unlikely encounters. The third was on her knees beside Trip, speaking softly to the child in his arms. Catherine couldn’t see her features, covered as they were by an unusually riotous headful of sable curls, but something about her seemed familiar. The woman extended a hand and touched Trip’s shoulder. He looked into her face, and Catherine’s eyes narrowed disapprovingly. The boy really shouldn’t look at any woman besides his wife that way. She’d have to give him a talking to. No wonder T’Pol was upset with him.

The little girl released Trip and turned to the woman, wrapping her arms around her neck. When she did so, the woman’s hair seemed to shift a bit. That’s when Catherine realized she was wearing a wig, and the situation became crystal clear. She had to get Charles away from here before he messed up everything.

“This is Marella of the Sixth House, her sister Arabella, and... Lianna’s new nanny, sent from the embassy to meet us at our connection on Yosemite Station... ummm... Paula, right?” continued Travis hesitantly. The third woman kept her eyes averted and her attention on the child, but everyone else’s attention was focused on her. It was now or never. Catherine leaned forward and placed her hand on her husband’s arm.

“I’m tired, Charles,” she whispered into his ear. “Can we plan to meet them later to get acquainted? I really need to get to the hotel.” He turned toward her with a concerned and quizzical expression, but did as she asked without question.

“Trip? Your mama’s beat, son. You wanna stay here with your friends or head back to the hotel with us?” Charles inquired. Trip stood, leaving Lianna in the arms of her “nanny”.

“We’ll meet up with ‘em later, Dad. Didn’t Mom tell ya? Our hotel’s next door to the Betazoid Embassy,” he replied cheerfully. Then he waved at the little girl, who grinned up at him. Although she said nothing, he laughed out loud.

“You bet, baby girl. We’ll hit the beach tomorrow. I promise!” he said.

The three of them were out of the main terminal and standing on the curb in the hot sun waiting for a cab when Catherine finally considered it safe enough to say anything.

“It’s awful warm for a wig like that, Trip. You wanna tell us what’s up with T’Pol and her play-actin’?”

It was obvious that the two Tucker men were father and son. They looked just alike with their mouths open.

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Malcolm was at peace—for the first time in what seemed like years—walking along the path which ascended Mount Tanigawa with Hoshi. Only five hours before, they’d arrived in Tokyo Spaceport with its suffocating crush of people, all of whom had seemed to know precisely where they were going and to be in a great hurry to get there. An aircab had transported them to the base of the mountain in Gunma prefecture. Now that they’d nearly arrived at their destination, it was a tremendous relief to be unsure about where the next step would take him and in no particular rush to find out.

The rocky path was slightly uneven, the stones no doubt worn down by time and thousands of pilgrims’ feet over the centuries. The air was misty and cool at that altitude, and he could hear the rush of the waterfall she’d told him about up ahead. He reached out to grasp her hand as they walked, and she smiled at him, the excitement of their imminent arrival evident on her face.

“My grandparents used to bring me to visit this place every year when I was little,” she told him. They rounded a boulder in the path, and there it was—a shimmering waterfall tumbling from the cliff face opposite the path, with a large rocky slab extending from the path out over a pool bubbling with the force of the falling water. The scene looked eerily familiar to him. He could see the red-painted gables of the temple situated at the top of the falls. An orange-robed shaven-headed boy stood on the veranda of the well-kept but obviously ancient wooden structure. The boy struck a large cast-iron bell hung in the eaves and then waved vigorously, smiling as he caught sight of them at the foot of the falls. The bell’s melodious tone rang out over the water. Hoshi waved back at the young monk, and then paused as if to enjoy the view.

“My grandfather would tell me stories about water spirits...kappas...every time we came to this point,” she said, raising her voice over the din of the waterfall, “...until my grandmother made him stop because they frightened me.” She shrugged, smiling wryly. “I liked the stories, though. They were like ghost stories, you know? They scared me in a fun way, because I knew that Ojisan would never let anything hurt me.”

“This is where you came...in your mind... after linking with the Romulan ship. Your safe place,” he told her in sudden realization. Hoshi smiled sheepishly, nodding her head. He smiled sympathetically and reached for her reflexively, remembering the day when Agent T’Mir had pulled him into her healing meld so that he could help her entice Hoshi out of her mental retreat. He’d nearly lost her then.

Hoshi wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tight. They stayed that way for an endless time without speaking. Malcolm felt the last vestige of nervousness over what was to come vanish in the mist.

“It’s just not fair,” announced Hoshi plaintively with her face pressed against his chest.

He planted a kiss on the top of her head. “What’s not fair, sweetness?” he asked fondly, pulling her more closely against his chest.

She pulled back to look him in the eye. “We’d be married now if I hadn’t been given that blasted promotion!” she groused. “Now we have to wait until the war’s over!” Her hand came up to comb the damp curls out of his eyes. He smiled.

“Actually...I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that... Did you know that Japanese law still recognizes religious wedding ceremonies as legal and binding, and that written records without electronic backup are very difficult for Starfleet to access...especially if they’re kept in the archives of a temple which can only be reached by climbing a mountain on foot?” he asked slyly. She cocked her head at him with narrowed eyes.

“Who have you been talking to, secret agent man?” she asked suspiciously.

His smile broadened. “One of the perks of being security chief is that I have access to personnel files... containing things like the vidphone codes of the crew’s family members.”

Hoshi had no time to reply, for at that moment a procession was leaving the temple, led by Hoshi’s grandfather carrying a crimson parasol. His white over-robe contrasted sharply with his brilliant red underskirts, the traditional wedding uniform of a Shintobuddist priest. Following him were two junior priests in similar garments, a man in a conservative black kimono that Malcolm recognized as Hoshi’s father, and a few well-dressed women and men.

“You didn’t!” replied Hoshi, shocked. “I can see Ojisan doing this; he’s always been a romantic... but, my father is even more of a stickler for the rules than you are, Malcolm! How did you get him to agree to it?”

Malcolm shrugged. “I explained our predicament. The rest was your grandfather’s idea.”

Hoshi looked back at the wedding procession as it made its way down the steep path on the cliff face. A smile began at one corner of her mouth and spread slowly as her family approached. She turned to Malcolm finally with a joyous grin on her face.

“I hope you’re really ready for this, because Papa and Ojisan won’t let you back out now!” she teased. Malcolm smiled back weakly and turned to study the two men’s faces. They certainly were a solemn duo. He forced himself to keep smiling. He loved Hoshi, right? How bad could it possibly get?

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Kov surreptitiously rolled his right shoulder as he stood waiting, wincing when the grooves Janie had carved into his back with her nails opened up and began to sting again. Their link in the bond remained intense after their activities the previous evening, and she shot him an apologetic grimace.

<<Sorry, sweetie. I’ll trim and file ‘em tonight,>> she sent remorsefully. He returned wordless reassurance and possessiveness as he visually scanned the arrival gate where his father would soon appear. The plane was late, and Kov had to forcefully suppress his impatience. He would have much rather been elsewhere, continuing to engage in the activities that this appointment had interrupted. Janie shifted her feet in obvious discomfort. Her walk was odd today. She described it as being “saddle sore”.

Letting her in and dropping his barriers had triggered his plak-tau, just as he’d feared. At this point, of course, after the fact, he realized that there had been nothing at all to be afraid of. The wildest urges had abated within hours—hours of intensely athletic sexual activity. What remained was manageable in public with considerable effort but not any worse than what he’d endured for the past several days trying to block her out. Sharing his condition with her in the confines of the bond, an action which he’d feared would only make things worse in view of her apparently limited emotional control, had in fact made the whole situation much easier to bear for both of them. Their bond burned now with an undercurrent of passion which he would have not believed possible—at least not while standing in public, completely clothed and showing no outward evidence that anything the slightest bit unusual was happening. They’d discovered that it was wise not to meet each other’s eyes except in private, though. Direct eye contact tended to make their clothes come off. The effect was so predictable that since the previous evening, until they’d been forced to get dressed to meet Kov’s father at the airport, they simply hadn’t bothered to wear any.

Once Kov had been made aware of his father’s imminent arrival, he’d tried to contact him, to no avail. Fortunately, Janie’s unlikely friendship with Vulcan’s crotchety ambassador to Earth had given them the leverage they needed to extract information from High Council sources. Kov had had no idea that his father’s health was poor again. He was perturbed with his father for keeping his terminal condition a secret, but couldn’t help but feel touched that Kuvak had gone to so much trouble to spend his final days with his family on Earth. The sources he’d spoken with on Vulcan had made it sound as if his father was literally on his deathbed, which was why the sight of him striding vigorously down the concourse with T’Len in tow came as a great surprise. He kept his surprise to himself, however. His father would not have approved.

“Father.” Kov acknowledged with a nod and an eyebrow raise Kuvak’s unexpectedly hale and hearty appearance. “You’re looking well.”

Kuvak took the unexpected appearance of his remaining family in stride.

“Today is a good day,” he agreed. “I believe it to be the effect of the reduced gravity and the higher oxygen content of Earth’s atmosphere.” He took a deep breath and looked around at the crowd of humans rushing all around them. Almost childlike in his obvious curiosity about his surroundings, he seemed quite unlike the rigid and demanding taskmaster of Kov’s childhood. He seemed to notice Janie, then, and stepped forward with a slight bow, giving her, to Kov’s utter astonishment, an English translation of an ancient traditional greeting usually offered to the senior female of a family by a visitor to her home.

“May you prosper, Ida Jane. I am honored by your hospitality.”

Janie smiled back at him uncertainly and gave Kov a quizzical look. He sent her the equivalent of a mental shrug. With Kov’s mother dead, his parents having no living female relatives, apparently his father had decided to acknowledge Janie’s status as the senior female in the family. This pleased Kov, as it bode well for his father’s acceptance of their marriage as binding and legitimate. His timing was puzzling, though. Kuvak’s purpose soon became obvious with the next introduction.

Kuvak indicated his companion. “I believe you know T’Len, my nurse?”

The grey-haired Vulcan woman was well-known to Kov as the bane of his adolescent existence. She’d been their first housekeeper after his mother’s death. Although she’d been far from cruel, his grief and natural rebelliousness had butted heads with her overdeveloped sense of control. The results had not been pretty. He hadn’t had any contact with her since he’d run away to join the V’Tosh Katur.

Kov had discovered through his recent inquiries that T’Len had left the service of their family and gone back to school for nursing training after his departure, and that his father had recently rehired her full-time in the final stages of his illness, in preference to other candidates because she knew his habits. She apparently had turned out to be an excellent nurse—a very displeased one at the moment, based on the disapprovingly prim expression which currently graced her features. Kov decided he would ignore her displeasure, and actually struggled not to smile when he realized what his father had done. As Kuvak’s nurse, T’Len exercised a certain amount of professional authority over her charge. By acknowledging Janie as female head of the household, however, Kuvak had also subtly pointed out T’Len’s role as a family employee under Janie’s authority. T’Len was not pleased, but at least she was quick on her feet. She nodded politely at them both.

“My lady... young master,” she said blandly. “It is agreeable to see you again, Kov,” she told him. Her sincerity was in question in Kov’s mind, but at least she was making the attempt. It was a hopeful first step if the four of them were really going to try to coexist in the same small town.

“And I, you,” replied Kov, “...both of you,” he added toward his father, and meant it.

“If you’ll go get their bags, I’ll get the car,” offered Janie with a smile, oblivious to her newfound status.

“This is all we have,” said T’Len efficiently, hoisting two small carry on bags in one hand with little effort. “The rest is being shipped directly.”

Kov eyed his father hesitantly. On closer inspection, he was thinner than Kov was accustomed to seeing, and somewhat pale.

“Should I obtain an electric vehicle to transport you to the car?” he offered. Kuvak raised a brow at him.

“I believe I would prefer to walk,” he announced breezily, and then proceeded to do so. The rest of the group had no choice but to follow. His voice trailed behind him as he led the way.

“Have you seen my condominium? The images the real estate agent sent were most aesthetically pleasing. There’s something called a rock garden on the property, very similar to our meditation gardens back on Vulcan...”

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“Look! The water’s going to eat my tower again!” cried Lianna excitedly. She laughed in delight as the next wave lapped her ankles and struck the base of the precariously balanced structure she’d constructed of wet sand, causing it to melt into a misshapen lump on the shoreline. Trip laughed with her.

“Quick! Make another one!” he exclaimed, and they were at it again, grasping heaping handfuls of sand and piling them on top of each other as fast as they could go in order to beat the next big wave. The two of them were covered in wet grit from their scalps to the tips of their toes, so much sand in Trip’s case that one could barely see his bathing trunks—a by-product of being quite recently buried up to the neck by a delighted five year old and several nearby accomplices. T’Pol could not recall the last time she’d seen and felt him so happy.

The sun, reflecting from the sand, shone so brightly on the beach that day that the glare reminded T’Pol of Vulcan. The moist breeze from the ocean, the cries of sea birds, and the sound of the surf, however, were unmistakably of Earth—and somehow also unmistakably a part of her bondmate’s soul. He belonged here.

“I’ll race you to the water!” shouted Trip. Then he hung back to allow Lianna to beat him into the surf, following her in and grasping her around the waist as the waves threatened to knock her off of her feet. He hoisted the little girl to his shoulders and headed deeper, going under just enough to keep Lianna screaming with excitement and coming up without his sandy coating.

“Come on in! The water’s great!” he yelled across ten meters of surf and beach to T’Pol. Silently, he sent, <<I double-dog-dare ya!>>

They both winced as Lianna, forgetting volume control in her excitement, chimed in with, <<ME TOO!!>>, grinning broadly from atop Trip’s shoulders.

T’Pol’s lips twitched a fraction. <<Very well,>> she replied. Tugging her bathing cap more firmly down over her ears and brows, she stood and shed her coverup, blandly ignoring the multitude of heads turning in her direction as she did so.

It puzzled her why humans—especially the males—always did that. It wasn’t as if they’d never seen a humanoid body before. She was even clothed, after a fashion. Admittedly, the navy blue one-piece racer-back swimsuit that she wore might as well have been painted on her skin for all it concealed of her anatomy, but others were wearing much more revealing clothing, exposing vast expanses of skin to the damaging rays of the sun. She found those persons much more interesting to look at. Such variety.

She strode down the beach toward the surf. Trip watched her with a smirk on his face, obviously expecting her to hesitate at the water’s edge—so she didn’t. Clenching her teeth, she walked into the water and kept walking, only panicking for a second as an unusually forceful wave broke against her while she was wading chest deep, almost knocking her feet out from under her. She was saved from going under by a pair of strong arms around her. She looked up into brilliant blue eyes in a slightly reddened face.

“You are burning,” she chided him. “You should reapply your sunscreen.”

Trip laughed. Lianna’s arms and legs were around his neck, so he sounded a little choked. “You surprised me, darlin! Gimme a little warnin’ before you come chargin’ in so I can put Lianna down next time.”

Lianna, as if on cue, squirmed to get down. Trip led T’Pol to shallower water and leaned over to deposit Lianna in the sand, whereupon she ran off happily toward her co-excavators on the beach. Charles and Catherine Tucker waved at them from beneath a huge beach umbrella. Trip waved back. Then he turned to T’Pol. His grin broadened.

“Want another swimmin’ lesson?” he suggested, wiggling his brows enticingly.

T’Pol raised a brow. Her last “lesson” had somehow ended up being more foreplay than lesson.

“I believe this place might be too public for what you have in mind,” she demurred. He stepped up and took her into his arms. She could feel his body respond to hers through the whisper-thin fabric of her bathing suit. Fortunately, he’d opted for trunks rather than the “racer suits” she’d seen other men wearing that day, otherwise she would have had to bring him a towel if he wanted to exit the water with his modesty intact. Despite the fabric of their suits, her body burned at the contact. She closed her eyes, fighting the instinct to engage in behavior which was entirely inappropriate. His ability to arouse her to this point in a public place in the full view of strangers, a condition she would have found unthinkable before they met, never ceased to surprise her.

“We could leave Lianna with my parents for an hour or so and go back to the hotel...” he murmured into her ear. She shivered. And then she took a deep, calming breath.

“Agreed,” she said. Then she took his hand and led him briskly out of the water. It would be logical to take full advantage of their hotel facilities, she decided, and having Trip’s parents in the next room was a bit—inhibiting.

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Epilogue

The atmosphere on the bridge of Enterprise was somber that morning. Everyone seemed focused on the task at hand, centered and determined to preserve the world with which they’d just become reacquainted while on leave.

Jonathan Archer sat in the command chair, quietly contemplating his bridge crew as they prepared for departure. His First Officer seemed... He supposed “content” was the best description. The ship’s log had listed her leave destination as the Vulcan compound in San Francisco. He hadn’t asked any questions, but both she and Trip had matching tans. He’d kept their secret thus far. There was no reason at this point to blow their cover. Despite their relationship off duty, the two of them made much too valuable a team while on duty to risk splitting them up over a technicality.

Lieutenant Commander Reed had made no secret of his plans to go mountain climbing with Hoshi in Japan while on leave, and Archer was certain that there was something going on between them. Now that they were both senior officers in charge of their own departments, though, even Starfleet was willing to turn a blind eye. Since Malcolm was indispensable to Archer as Chief of Security and Starfleet Intelligence was just tickled pink to finally have an official department on board the flagship of the fleet, Archer didn’t see anything short of a public marriage ceremony ever removing either of them from active duty on Enterprise.

Hoshi was even back on the bridge. Her first act as “Chief of Intelligence Operations” had been to commandeer the Communications station as a vital part of her information gathering system. Archer couldn’t argue with her; she was Starfleet’s current golden girl. So her brand new office was converted into a monitoring station staffed by specially trained junior level comm officers searching for Romulan coded transmissions in all wavelengths and frequencies, and Lieutenant First Class Hoshi Sato remained on the bridge, doing double duty as comm officer and decoding expert—which is what she’d been doing all along anyway. It worked, so why fix it?

Lieutenant Mayweather was one hundred percent doting father now that Maya was on Earth—probably for the duration of the war now that the final push was on. Archer would have found his constant bragging about the amazing abilities of his infant daughter annoying if he hadn’t been twice as bad regarding his own children. They were growing so quickly. By the time he returned home, they’d be walking and talking most likely. It had been painful to leave them, but the idea of any harm possibly coming to them was even more painful. Elena had been dry-eyed and upbeat at their leave-taking. She was a capable woman. They were in excellent hands. Now all he had to do was prevent the Romulans from getting to them.

“I have ship-wide comm on line for you, Captain,” said Hoshi. Archer blinked, and then he smiled wryly. They’d expect a few words from him, of course.

“This is the captain,” he began confidently. It was always a morale booster when the captain sounded cool and composed—even when he was quaking in his shoes over what the Romulans might do if Enterprise failed to stop their advance.

“I hope all of you got a good taste of home while on leave these past few weeks. I know I did, and it’s made me even more determine to protect what’s ours.” Heads nodded and smiles appeared on the faces of the bridge crew. Encouraged, Archer continued.

“Five years ago, we started this mission dedicated to exploring the last frontier, to finding new worlds and peoples, and to going where no human had ever gone before. Now, an enemy is among us who seeks to limit that exploration...an invader with conquest and destruction in mind.” He paused for effect. There were no eye rolls this time. He had their attention.

“We could retreat...retreat timidly back to Earth and set up a defensive perimeter, waiting for the enemy to come to us...but that’s not our way.” He got smiles and nods again with that one.

“So today, we’re setting out to find the enemy...to go boldly out and let him know that we won’t be threatened... we won’t be defeated...and we won’t sit idly by while our allies are attacked!” Spontaneous applause was his reward for that statement.

“I’ve served with most of you now for many years, and I know without question that you are the finest crew in the fleet,” he said firmly. His eyes shone. “Together we’re going to find the enemy... and together we’re going to make him regret he ever messed with us!” The applause was so loud that it drowned out his traditional finish. “That is all.”

He turned to Hoshi, but she’d already cut the comm, smiling approvingly at him as she did so. He smiled back. It was a good start. The communications expert approved of his speech.

“Mister Mayweather,” Archer announced firmly, “Take us out...quarter impulse.”

He kept his eyes on the front viewscreen, focused on the stars, as the best helmsman in the fleet eased them out of Jupiter Station’s space dock, and kept them there as he said, “Let’s go find some Romulans, ladies and gentlemen. All ahead, warp one. The fleet’s waiting for us at Cheron.”

End of Season Six

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