"When I was born they looked at me and said,
what a good boy, what a smart boy, what a strong boy."
~ Barenaked Ladies
'What a Good Boy'

Part I

COMMANDER CHARLES 'TRIP' TUCKER leaned over the console and keyed a series of buttons. On the monitor, all systems returned to normal.

"You're a god, sir," mused an ensign. "We should have come to you earlier with this problem. It would have shaved hours off our time."

Trip stood back, arms across his chest. "Not a god, Ensign. A chief engineer. But the difference is negligible."

Heading to the middle deck of main engineering, Trip spared a backward glance. The ensign was smiling as he looked over the commander's recent adjustments to the transceiver array. Trip gave himself a mental pat on the back, then hurried down the stairs to meet the Vulcan waiting in his pseudo office.

"What can I do ya for, Sub-Commander?" he sang, slipping into his chair.

The Vulcan science officer, T'Pol, cleared her throat as she pulled a data chip from behind her back. "Your calculations are inaccurate," she stated.

"No they're not."

"You don't even know which calculations I'm referring to, Mr. Tucker."

Trip smiled. "Doesn't matter. They're not wrong."

T'Pol placed the data chip on the desk. "Please reevaluate your numbers concerning the auto-sequencer, Commander. I assure you, they are inaccurate."

Trip pushed his chair back far enough to stretch his legs onto his desk. "I guess you haven't heard, but apparently I'm a god. And gods don't make mistakes."

"Apparently, this one has," replied T'Pol, turning her back on the engineer as she headed for the exit. She paused at the door. "You may be a god, Mr. Tucker, but I still out rank you. And I would appreciate the new calculations by 1900hrs."

Trip held back a flippant remark and reached for the chip. He turned it around in his hand, staring at it anxiously before sliding it into the computer. As he scrolled through the pages, he quickly realized the sub-commander was correct. But it was such a small inaccuracy. The difference was inconsequential.

Or was it? Any discrepancy within his domain was unacceptable as far as Trip was concerned.

And it angered him to no end that it was his own discrepancy. The repercussions of an engineering mistake kept Trip up some nights. Cataclysmic scenarios would pop into his mind without provocation or reason. So with this mistake so obviously displayed before him on his monitor, Trip knew he was going to have a long night.

Banging his fist on the edge of his desk, he pushed back and accidentally ran his chair into a crewman standing at a console. "I'm sorry, Jenkins."

"I'll live," she replied, rubbing her hip. "Is everything all right, sir?"

Trip drew in a deep breath, contemplated running head first into the wall. He opted instead to hold his ground and contain his self-frustration. "Uh, yeah. Sorry." He glanced past her and noticed an opportunity to change the topic. "The gravity plating on E-deck still causing trouble?"

The crewman looked back at her console. "Oh yes," she replied, pointing to the schematics. "I was just going to ask you about that."

~

Captain Jonathon Archer was in a T-shirt and cargoes when Trip entered the mess hall later that evening. Still in uniform, the engineer seemed over dressed.

"Wasn't your shift over two hours ago?" asked the captain, sliding behind a table with a plate of food.

Trip scratched the back of his head as he turned to the protein re-sequencer. "Coffee black," he said to the machine. When his desired beverage materialized, he grabbed it carefully and turned to the captain. "My shift never ends," he replied. "The burden of being the chief engineer."

"And here I thought being the captain was demanding," mused Archer, working his mouth around a bite of sandwich. "Join me. Take a break. That's an order."

Trip took a small sip of his coffee. "I'd love to. But if you recall, your the one who demanded warp four-point-seven this morning," he replied with a smile, heading for the door. As it whooshed shut behind him he added under his breath, "when you knew good and well we're only capable of four-point-one right now."

He took another sip of his coffee as he waited for the turbolift. It really hadn't been what he needed- or wanted, and the more he drank the coffee, the more bitter it tasted.

As the door to the lift finally opened, Ensign Hoshi Sato stepped off. Trip smiled eagerly. "Hoshi!" he said, holding out the mug. "Do me a favor and hold this for a sec, would ya?"

When the young ensign received the mug, Trip jumped onto the turbolift and waved good-bye as the doors shut between them. He fell back against the wall and ran a hand through his hair.

He was tired. Exhausted. And he could feel a dull pain throbbing behind his eyes. But going to see Doctor Phlox right now would only be putting off the inevitable- T'Pol.

It was nearly 2200hrs. He was late.

He reached into the pocket on his left sleeve and pulled out the data chip. The calculations had been amended, and checked several times over. But Trip still couldn't forgive himself, hence the delay.

When he reached her floor, he stepped off the lift and turned right. Gradually gaining momentum, he consciously changed his walk into a confident stride as he approached her door. He pressed the com button, but instead of a disassociated voice over a speaker, the door opened without preamble.

"Commander, you're two hours late," T'Pol said, her hand already extended.

Trip tossed the chip into her hand with a confident grin. "I know. Just wanted an excuse to see your cozy quarters again."

"Will that be all, Mr. Tucker?"

Trip opened his mouth to say something, then closed it slowly. He shook his head and stepped away from the door.

*** *** ***

By the time his alarm rang the next morning, Trip was already in the shower. When he stepped out, he rushed into the main room of his quarters, a towel wrapped around his waist as he raced to turn off the annoying buzzer. He sat down at his desk and pulled up the day's schedule.

His screen divided into sections. On the left was a box with the itinerary he had written before going to bed. On the right were two smaller boxes. One consisted of personal messages sent over the course of the evening. The other was an itinerary handed down from the captain himself. It was much shorter than his own.

Across the bottom of his screen scrolled the real-time system analysis of the ship; it's coordinates, it's speed, and the status of ongoing operations. All nominal. So after reading the tenth redundant message concerning someone's broken something-or-other, Trip turned off his monitor.

Shower head in Ensign Cutler's quarters was dripping.

A floor board in the gym was squeaking.

The holo-target in the armory was fading in and out.

The temperature was too hot. The temperature was too cold.

And why had all these people specifically asked for him? He had a large staff capable of doing any and all of the above, but it was him they had asked for.

"So which is it, god or janitor?" Trip tossed his towel into the bathroom and grabbed a fresh uniform. But before he had a chance to leave, a voice came over the com.

"Captain to Commander Tucker."

Trip keyed the com. "I'm here, Cap'n"

"I know it's early, but can you possibly come to the bridge before breakfast? Lieutenant Reed's having a problem with the targeting array. He thinks it might be mechanical."

"No shit. He's always messin' around with the engineering when he knows I can do it right," replied Trip. Then he keyed the com. "No problem, Cap'n. On my way."

~

By noon, Trip had accomplished half of his personal itinerary. The captain's list having been completed by 1030h. But that didn't mean he could relax and take an extended lunch.

Earlier in the day the captain had found a new planet. Well, Hoshi had found it, but Archer was apparently laying claim. According to the logistics list Trip was running through, Captain Archer planned on taking down the entire ship. Bored by the second page, Trip placed his PADD on the table and glanced around the mess hall.

He was sitting in front of the large Plexiglas window, the rhythmic thrum of his engines underfoot. It was a good place to be. He could feel an energy in the room. Throughout Enterprise. The captain may be the heart of a ship, but Trip regarded himself as it's pulse. He kept everything moving. So he smiled confidently as he watched people eat, going about their day without fear or anxiety.

They trusted their ship. They trusted their lives in Enterprise. Which to the chief engineer meant, they trusted him.

He could hear a conversation somewhere beside him, it's sentiment bathed by the white noise of the ship. Life and engines. The mosaic of Enterprise.

It could be absorbed into the skin and fill a person with vitality or anxiety, depending on the persons disposition. And since Trip was in a good mood, he couldn't help but feed off it's vitality.

And when Trip walked through the corridors after his brief lunch, the feeling stayed with him. And when he arrived in engineering, his pride intensified. He stood before the great warp engine, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the massive power. A massive power that he could control.

As a pure sense, ultimate confidence only came around every so often. And when Trip felt it he not only enjoyed it's company, he let it envelope his inner most fears- hoping to regress them back to mere childhood memories. And right now, the chief engineer could almost smell the exuberance around him.

He watched a crewman cross the catwalk above and eyed the uniform. It was steel purple. A bold colour that illicited authority. The dark red piping on the shoulders commanded respect. And the knowledge required to wear that engineer's uniform just seemed to have a strength Trip couldn't explain. It was a weapon of power. It made Trip feel secure and substantial.

Trip figured one day his staff would learn to appreciate themselves for more than just the tools people considered them to be.

And when they started to feel as Trip did, they too would learn to love being an engineer, and stop using it as a stepping stone to bigger and better things. Captains and Admirals could have all the rank and prestige they wanted. As far a Trip Tucker was concerned, there was nothing bigger and better than being the pulse of the ship- good times or bad.

Anyone could pick up a text and learn the job, but it took a love of engineering to learn the ropes. And so far, Trip had cherished every plasma burn he had procured.

It was a righteous feeling being an engineer.

He thrived on the excitement of warp-factor-five. He yearned for those moments when repairs had to be made on the fly. He would chide, possibly even complain about such things, but that was just part of the overall rush. Trip had feared for his life, and the entire crew's on several risky turns. But that fear was always swallowed, because by the end of the day he was always alive.

If he didn't believe he could strive under these circumstances, if he couldn't brush catastrophe away with the blink of an eye and keep working, he would have lost his senses a long time ago. Or even worse, Trip believed, his love of the job.

He was off duty in a few hours. But somehow, Trip knew a piece of him would still be working. If not literally, figuratively. He missed work when he wasn't there. Almost enough to stop, close his eyes and imagine himself purging a manifold.

Just then T'Pol entered, interrupting his thoughts. Trip dropped his head. Every instinct told him to run, head for the closest Jeffries tube, or perhaps airlock. But the Vulcan was quick.

"Commander," she greeted, before Trip had a chance to hide.

"Hey, T'Pol."

"I have further amendments to the logistics list," she said.

"Of course you do."

T'Pol passed a PADD to the chief engineer. "Is there a problem, Commander?"

Trip shook his head. After a momentary glance he nodded. "It'll get done," he smiled. "Nothing too complicated. My guys'll have to switch everything into cargo bay four, but we'll manage."

"Are you sure you can spare your staff?" asked T'Pol. "Perhaps you could employ some security personnel to assist you?"

Trip frowned. "I know who and what I can employ, Sub-Commander. Anyway, most of this stuff is engineering equipment. I'd rather have my own people workin' on it. I'll do it myself if I have too."

T'Pol nodded slightly, but did not make an attempt to leave.

"Is there something else?" asked Trip.

"I just wanted to remind you that it is, Wednesday."

Trip raised his eyebrows, spread his arms. "And?" Then he quickly hunched his shoulders, furrowed his brow. "And... tomorrow we have that breakfast meeting in the captain's mess."

"0600hrs," T'Pol stated. "I will be briefing the senior staff on the approaching Minshara class planet. Please, do not be late."

Trip puffed his cheeks, holding his breath before letting it explode out from his lips. He rubbed his eyes and walked to his desk. At his monitor, he punched in Enterprise's current coordinates and began a search in the Vulcan science database. So concerned with his engines, Trip tended to forget there was a universe outside his window. Moreover, he figured he should be at least a little bit informed about this region of space. Especially before walking into one of T'Pol's briefings.

~

Trip could not believe the pain in his back the next morning. He could barely lift his head more than two inches. And when he finally did, he became acutely aware of the cause of his misery. His computer.

He had slept with it again.

Trip sat up stiffly in his chair, blinking as his eyes came into focus with the nebula on his monitor- the last thing he had looked at before falling asleep at his desk. He glanced around engineering, it was quiet. A scattering of the night shift was around, and he smiled to them, thanking them for letting him get some much needed sleep. Then he quickly frowned, realizing that if they had woken him, he might have gotten a better sleep.

Shaking his head, Trip turned back to his computer. The nebula was taunting him almost to the point of audible laughter. He had been so bored reading about planets in the area that he had gotten side tracked, opting instead to just looking through the pictures.

"Just great," he mumbled, angrily dropping the nebula from his screen and bringing up the ship's systems. "T'Pol better not be planin' a pop quiz," he said, heading for the exit.