The antagonism between Archer and Admiral Black is something I've taken from Rigil's stories. I don't know if it's an original idea of his own or if others authors do it too, but it's in his stories where I first read it.

Thanks to Alelou, my beta, who is going to notice the word "competence" immediately.

Trip rubbed his left hand with the cloth. There was no use: the sticky coating fluid was glued to it like a second skin. He should have gone to the bathroom and cleaned himself, but he was already late.

It wasn't as if he wanted to go to the meeting, though. In fact, he had spent most part of the morning in Engineering just in case a sudden malfunction might require his complete attention.

Tactical meetings. He hated them. As time went by, his hatred had created the popular belief that he was too much of a simpleton to understand strategy. He even encouraged that belief in an attempt to elude the meetings. It hadn't worked, of course; as one of the senior officers he was forced to attend them.

The truth was that Trip did understand strategy quite well -he could understand fluid mechanics, after all- but he didn't enjoy the discussions. They were always held just after a battle, when the corpses were still warm, win or lose, a perpetual reminder that the war hadn't ended.

Possibly it never would. Not in this life.

So Trip entered the Bridge and headed for the Situation Room. Once there, he tried to take a place next to Lieutenant Sato as quietly as he could.

Everybody was watching Admiral Forrest talking on the screen. Captain Archer turned his head to throw Trip an accusatory glare. The Commander shrugged apologetically. Arched turned back again with a grunt.

"Did I miss something important?" Trip asked Sato in a whisper.

"If you consider a bunch of Admirals kissing each other asses over a victory they didn't fight as 'something important'..." she answered.

Trip smirked. Hoshi's irony was sharper than Shran's Ushann-Tor.

"Did they say anything about the great victory we have achieved?"

"Oh, yes, twice. You missed Travis's grimace each time."

The aforementioned had his eyes fixed on the screen, as did everybody else, but his dark mood seemed to surround him like a fog. The grey uniform that characterized him as a Boomer didn't help to diminish that impression.

"Here are the calculations you requested," Hoshi whispered.

She gave him a padd. Trip took it -taking care not to touch her hand- with a momentary feeling of frustration.

"You've had all morning to give me this," he mumbled.

"You've been in Engineering the entire time."

That was all the explanation she needed. Hoshi never went near the engines, she disliked them. Correction: she felt a pathological hatred for them. They were just one of the many things she couldn't bear. Hoshi Sato was full of phobias, so many that she should have been declared incompetent to be onboard Enterprise. But she was also a genius. Earthfleet was too desperate to reject a math wiz.

"You could order somebody to give me this if you didn't want- have time to go to Engineering," Trip said. Hoshi's eccentric behaviour bothered him sometimes.

"It wasn't so urgent. Besides, all my crewmen were checking the sensor array."

Trip was going to argue further when Archer's intimidating stare shut him up. Trip felt suddenly like a rebellious child at class.

"Captain," Forrest said, to regain his attention.

Archer turned to look at him, "Yes, sir?"

"We were talking about the prisoners," Admiral Black's voice said. His tone bordered on adversarial.

"Yes, sir, the Vulcan prisoners. I am listening." Archer's voice swam with genuine antagonism.

"The information we got from them is encouraging," Forrest said, in a clear move to appease them.

Commander Shran straightened up the moment he heard about the Vulcans spilling information. Gathering data from the enemy was an Andorian competence. Trip knew perfectly well how they got that information from the legendarily insensitive Vulcans and his stomach clenched involuntarily. Then he chided himself. Vulcans weren't exactly Carmelite nuns.

"... nother strike," Forrest was saying when Trip focused on his words again. "But according to the prisoners, the Vulcan fleet isn't preparing a counterattack."

"Can we trust them, sir?" Archer asked.

"We can trust they told us what they knew."

"It is unlikely that they will reunite the remaining ships to recover the Passage," Black said. "Intelligence estimates that they lost almost 40% of their ships. We obliterated Admiral Vanik's fleet. The second front is nothing more than disorganized remains. They can't attack and win. They won't do it. It would be illogical."

Trip cracked a smile.

"Without the cover of most of the Surak and Sh'Ran Surak type ships, recapturing the Passage is impossible for them," Shran agreed.

"Then it's a perfect time to deliver the coup de grace," Archer said.

"It's a perfect time to surround Vulcan," Black retorted.

"Are you going to allow the defeated fleet to reconstitute itself?" Archer asked.

"According to our sources, most part of the fleet on the secondary front will return to the first front," Forrest said.

"Without the Passage it'll take time," Black added. "We must reinforce our offensive on the first front before it happens."

"Very well, sir," Captain Ramirez's voice sounded. He was on his own ship, interconnected with the rest via sub-space communication. "Give the order and we will follow you into battle."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Fleet Admiral Forrest looked briefly at the other staff officers out of screen before talking again. "Although it's true that a great part of the ships on the secondary front will abandon it, the truth is that there is still a secondary front. The Vulcans won't leave it, not completely."

"The purchase of weapons from the Klingon Empire is essential for them," Black added. "Especially now that they've lost so many vessels."

"Then we should take a squadron to hunt them down once and for all," Archer said. Trip could sense his piled up anger.

"Too risky," Forrest answered.

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Archer asked through clenched teeth.

"You are going to patrol the Passage," Black informed.

Archer had opened his mouth to reply when Forrest cut him off: "Every deal the Vulcans carry out with the Klingon Empire will require subterfuge. Going around Orion territory is just too long and dangerous for them. It's a sure thing that they'll use undercover ships."

"The Passage is a strategic point," Black said, his voice severe and his stare fixed on Archer. "It was for the Vulcans and so it is for us now."

"So how are we going to do it? Are we going to stop every ship we meet?" Archer asked.

"Of course not," Forrest answered, seeming almost amused. "We will use the same system Vulcans used. We've talked with representatives of other species and we've reached an agreement: we will allow their commerce and they'll allow our control of the Passage. Every ship of every system that accepted the agreement will have a password. Everyone that doesn't have one is suspicious and we can board it."

"Vulcans will get a password someday," Travis said. Since he rarely spoke in those meetings his words seemed more powerful than any other's.

"Eventually, yes," Forrest agreed. "But it'll take time and besides, we can investigate and board any ship we consider suspicious. I only ask some prudence to prevent any diplomatic issues."

"And what about the Orions?" Shran asked. "We will be patrolling near their frontier."

"We talked to their leaders. They assured us that no officially sanctioned attacks will occur."

"The Orion Syndicate never sanctions any attack, they just happen," Shran reminded them.

"Very well," Archer said. Capitulation had made his shoulders slump. "How many ships will you assign us?"

"A Task Unit."

Surprise made Archer choke and Travis frown. Trip noticed that the other Boomer captains looked about as happy as he did.

"A Task Unit? For the entire sector?" Captain Archer shouted.

"It is more than enough for the job," Admiral Black said.

"And what if we're attacked? What if Vulcans take advantage of our obvious vulnerability?"

"I concur, these are reasonable concerns." Captain Talas's voice sounded on the screen.

"They won't," Forrest assured. "They will be too busy avoiding our assault."

"I hope you're right, sir," Archer mumbled. He rubbed his nose with his thumb and index fingers. Exhaustion had turned his skin grey. "And who will be at charge of this operation?"

"A newly-appointed Commodore." Black answered. His eyes almost glowed with contained malice. "Commodore Hernández"

Trip crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture, although he knew it was pointless. A dank chill seemed to hang in the air.

"Can we trust somebody who lacks experience?" Captain Talas asked off screen.

"I can vouch for her," Archer croaked. He had his face covered by a hand. His shoulders were so sunken that he almost looked as if he were in penitence.

Trip felt a deep sympathy for his friend. Those who didn't know anything about Archer's past were staring at him with obvious bewilderment.

"I served with Captain, now Commodore Hernández and I can assure you that she is a capable professional," Malcolm said.

"And I'm sure that no personal issue will cloud your relationship with her," Black said to Archer, earning a killing glare from Forrest.

Against all odds, Archer straightened up. "We all are professionals," he declared.

"Good," Forrest asked. "Any more questions, gentlemen?"

If there were, nobody uttered them out loud.

"Then I can declare this meeting over. The Andorians will receive detailed instructions from their superiors."

Admiral Thoris, at Forrest's left, nodded absently. Trip always found surprising the lack of interaction and interest Andorians showed in these assemblies. The staff officers seldom spoke and they opposed Human strategies even less. Trip had seen them fight and he didn't doubt their loyalty, but sometimes they reminded him of crouched cats, just waiting to pounce at them at the slightest chance.

"The same goes for the Boo- the captains from the Earth Interstellar Commerce Consortium," Forrest added. "Wait for instructions from your command staff."

The men in grey suits nodded gravely. The Fleet Admiral performed an acquiescent nod of his own and cut the communication.

The black screen was an apt reflection of their mood.

The silent atmosphere was shattered by Archer's hand hitting the table. "Damn him!" he exclaimed.

Most of the Boomers observed him with severe expressions, but instead of scolding him or asking him anything, they opted for leaving the room. Travis, on the other hand, stayed.

Shran looked at Archer sympathetically. "I understand, Captain. This... patrol assignment is most degrading. We were essential for the last victory, we should be in the first line of fire."

Archer raised his head. His teeth were clenched and his eyes seemed to burn. But he didn't utter a word. Shran, of quick temperament, like any Andorian, was offended by his silence and stormed out of the room. "As good as babysitting," he mumbled as he passed near Trip.

"He who is prudent and lies in wait for an enemy who is not, will be victorious," Malcolm recited at his back while he followed him, an acid smirk on his lips.

Trip approached Archer right away. He knew his friend needed to vent his frustration as quickly as possible; otherwise it would form a cyst in his soul and alter his behavior for a long time.

"They're Admirals, they know what they are doing," Trip whispered into his ear.

"Please, except for Forrest, Black has most of them wrapped around his little finger. They do what he says and you know as well as I do that he hates me."

"But they are right, the Passage is a strategic point. It must be protected. And who better than us?"

Archer cracked a sardonic smile. "I wish I had your faith. But I'm afraid that this is just politics." Arched punched the table again. "If we lose this war because a glory seeker sees an enemy in me, believe me, I will be the one laughing in Hell." He walked away just as Shran had, almost as indignant.

Trip found himself alone in the room with Travis and Hoshi. Travis's gaze met his own, then shifted to Lieutenant Sato. Travis immediately straightened up in a flesh and blood version of the sculpture of an ancient hero. Trip smiled inwardly; it was obvious, from the man's gestures, that Travis had the hots for Hoshi. If he could see that, Hoshi "Decipher" Sato would notice it even easier. She didn't say or do anything, though. Travis finally removed his gaze from her.

"May I request your help, Commander?" he asked.

"Of course, what's the matter?"

"I'm afraid I'm not sufficiently well versed in mechanics to explain it, but my Engineer told me something isn't working right in our engines and I'd appreciate if you could help us."

"No problem, Captain."

Travis approached Hoshi demurely. "You can go with us, if you like. I'm sure your mathematics skills will be of great help."

Hoshi's stare was impossible to read. "Going with you? To your engines?"

"Eh... yes?"

Hoshi snorted. "No, thank you."

"It will only require a moment, just taking the transporter-"

Hoshi stalked away mid-sentence. Travis remained with his mouth open.

"She doesn't like the transporter," Trip forced himself to say. He didn't need to explain Hoshi's behavior, but Travis was so desperately attracted to her that Trip felt moved to pity.

As Captain Mayweather had said, it took only a moment to travel to the Horizon. In the instant he took a step on the older ship, he noticed all the differences. He could be blindfolded and still he would know he wasn't on Enterprise anymore. The sounds -- all the little noises and cracks -- made the two ships completely different.

Travis guided him to Engineering and when he entered into the big room, he let a small sigh escape. The Horizon was an old cargo ship turned into a warship, but even then she maintained her original beauty. Her engines told him her epic story, full of travels, damages and sacrifices. Trip had a pet name for a ship like her: "A Classy Lady."

Commander Deschamps, Chief Engineer, met them there. He explained the problem and between the two they explored the engines. Deschamps, an "old space dog," had some suspicions about the problem and the search proved him right: it was a malfunction in the antimatter compression system. It was a common problem in that type of ship and both Engineers were very aware of it. It wasn't serious yet, but it could eventually cause the collapse of the antimatter stream, which was very serious.

Fortunately for them, Trip had a way to prevent it and he got down to work. To his surprise, Travis stayed next to him. After half an hour, Trip couldn't resist: "Do you want to ask something, Captain?"

Travis frowned. "Am I so transparent?"

"Like a display cabinet."

Travis cracked a soft smile.

"Incredible! Captain Mayweather can smile! Isn't it a wonder?"

He pulled a wry face for a second, but then smiled again, with more energy. "I know how to smile. In fact, when I was a child everybody used to tell me I had a great sense of humor."

"Really? And what happened to it?"

Travis got serious again and Trip chided himself for his big mouth. "War happened," Travis answered. "Death happened."

Trip focused on his work again. Usually he was as sensitive as the next person, but after the last battle he really didn't need a sad narration of the Captain's past. He didn't know exactly what happened to him, but he could guess.

"I do have a question, Commander," Travis talked after a while. "I'm afraid is a little personal, though."

"If it's personal, call me Trip."

A fleeting smile. "It isn't personal for you, but OK."

"Is it about the Cap'n?"

"Yes. Look, I don't want to pry, I hate it myself when somebody asks me too many questions, but I must know where I stand."

"Fair enough."

"This Commodore Hernández... Do you know her?"

"Yep." Trip took his time explaining. He needed to put his thoughts in order. And that screw he was trying to loosen was a tiny bastard. "Erika Hernández. She was Captain of the Challenger and lately of Columbia."

"Is she good?"

"Competent, serious, but compassionate and clever as hell."

"Where does Captain Archer know her from?"

"They studied together in the Academy. Jon is older and obviously he was her superior."

"And?"

"And..." Trip sighed. "They were married once."

For his credit, Travis seemed amazed only for a second. "They were."

"Yes, they're divorced now."

"May I ask you why?"

Trip threw him a nasty glare.

"I know it's none of my business, but if there is still something personal between them and my men suffer any danger from it-"

"Don't worry, they're professionals, as the Cap'n said before." He loosened the damn screw at last. "As far as I know, there is no resentment left between them. They're good friends."

"Then why-? No, it doesn't matter."

Trip turned the little screw in his fingers. "They... Erika asked for the divorce because she's too damn honest."

Travis didn't ask further explanation. Instead, he said: "Did you know them, when they were married?"

"Yeah, I've known Jon for a long time. I was his best man in his wedding."

"I didn't know you were so close. I mean, I knew you knew each other but..."

"Jon tries to treat everybody the same way, he hates favoritism, that's why he always tries to play down our friendship."

"Did you meet in the Academy?"

Trip laughed, sudden memories wrapping him. "Nope. Scuba diving."

"The... what?"

"Ah, I forget I'm talking to a Boomer. We met in a class of scuba diving, you know, swimming underwater." He did some gestures with his arms, as if he was actually swimming.

"Oh... Oh, yeah, I've heard about that."

"But you've never seen it."

"No." Travis seemed a little embarrassed.

"A true Boomer, I see. Have you seen the sea, at least?"

"No. I've never been on the planet."

"A real pity. The ocean is wonderful." Trip sighed. "It's the only thing I really miss from Earth. I'm a Florida boy and the sea is a natural part of me."

"Once..." Travis began, then he shut up. He looked at Trip out of the corner of his eye. After a moment of indecision, he decided to go on: "I dreamt once that I saw the ocean."

"Really?"

"Yes." A pause. "It was a fine dream." A longer pause. "But..." Silence.

"But?"

"I have this feeling..." He breathed in. "I feel like I'm never going to see it, not for real. Not while I'm alive."

Trip felt a shiver run down his spine. But he recovered quickly. Melodrama wasn't his thing. "Captain Mayweather, Master of Optimism," he declared.

Travis looked at him with his eyes very open. His irises looked like they were almost burning and his mouth was twisted. Trip feared he had gone too far this time.

And then, for the first time since Trip had known him, Travis Mayweather laughed out loud.