The sensation of the shuttlepod coming lightly to rest on the floor of the ship's launch bay caused the MACOs within to draw a long, soundless, communal breath. The preparation was over; the mission proper was about to begin.

Their commanding officer Major Matthew Hayes was aware of it, but felt no need to comment on it or to issue any instructions to his juniors. The pilot would give them instructions, and until then they would wait in disciplined silence.

He himself neither moved nor spoke, waiting just as they were to be told what to do. In this situation he was just part of the luggage, and he accepted that with neither offense nor impatience. When he was told to act, he would act with dispatch; until then he was a past master at waiting, conserving his strength and thinking his own thoughts.

Although none of those thoughts showed on his face, he was keyed up to a high pitch of readiness. He had done his homework on the assignment as thoroughly and as methodically as he usually did, and he was aware that for him, combat would not necessarily wait until they encountered the Xindi. It was, of course, possible that he was just being pessimistic taking that view, but in all situations he believed in hoping for the best and preparing meticulously for the worst.

The idea of long-distance space travel did not particularly bother him, except insofar as the weeks they could expect to be confined in the extremely limited space on board ship would restrict the nature of the training exercises the MACOs could carry out. He was well aware that boredom was one of the deadliest enemies to a fighting unit's edge, and his squad was hungry for action. It would take them weeks even to reach the edge of this 'Delphic Expanse' of which the Vulcans had spoken, and possibly weeks – or even months, if not years – after that for Enterprise to track down the mysterious Xindi, if that was even possible. During the periods when the ship was in flight, there would probably be little to occupy his people, and whatever he found for them to do would have to be carefully designed not to interfere with the work of the crew.

It would be difficult. But not, he thought, impossible. Particularly if the ship's Head of Security should prove amenable to working together sensibly for the common good.

If.

He wasn't particularly enthusiastic about the idea of taking orders from a guy he outranked, but common sense dictated that Lieutenant Reed had the experience out here in space that he lacked. In these circumstances it was experience that counted, not the number of stripes on the sleeve, and before anything else Hayes was a realist. When he had something to say he'd speak up firmly enough, but at least to begin with he'd do better to keep his lip buttoned till he had a handle on how things worked around here. When he'd had time to acquire a good working knowledge of the ship's routines and to weigh up the strengths and weaknesses of the crew, he'd be in a better position to voice an opinion. And most importantly of all, he had to weigh up the mettle of the man who'd be calling the shots aboard Enterprise for him and his team.

He'd done his homework there, too. He was already acquainted with the command structure on board ship, and in particular with the identity and background of the Head of Security. The fact that the guy was a Brit was neither here nor there, though the chilly stare of the photograph in Reed's records wasn't encouraging. The look of aloof superiority in that high-boned face might be no more than a coincidence, however; Mackenzie's records photo, for instance, made her look like a backstreet drugs dealer.

What worried Hayes rather more was the Brit's service record. A period of some years simply said 'Classified', and although he'd been able to find out that Reed had been in Starfleet's service during that time, it wasn't good to have no clue as to what he'd actually done. This wasn't idle curiosity; it mattered enormously how much experience every man of the team had in what field, and Hayes wanted to have confidence that the man who'd be giving him orders wasn't some toy soldier who'd never fired a gun in anger. From the time the guy had left the Academy, however, until he'd appeared on board Enterprise like the genie popping out of the lamp, his activities were veiled from view.

During one of his debriefings, the MACO had raised this concern with General Casey. Presumably, however, the general had higher security access, or at least knew those who did, because the question had been dismissed with a head-shake and a grim smile. "You'll have no problem of that sort, Major."

There hadn't been any reassurance forthcoming that there wouldn't be problems of other sorts, but Hayes had served under some genuine hardass commanders in his time and viewed the prospect stoically. There was always more than one way of killing a cat, as some of those previous commanders had discovered. As long as Reed was as intelligent as rumor made him, surely somehow the two of them could work out some way to co-operate. They didn't have to be bosom buddies, just work together to make the best use of their combined and separate strengths. Surely, squid or no, the lieutenant would understand that?

So Major Hayes had reasoned, partly reassured by the obvious confidence Captain Archer placed in his Tactical Officer. There was no doubting the utter determination Archer felt to get the best people for the job on board his ship, and if he'd had any doubts whatever that Reed wasn't up to it, he'd have been off the ship in smart order. So like him or loathe him, Reed was the guy who'd be issuing the orders during the mission. It only remained to be seen now exactly what sort of an officer he proposed to be to his new subordinates.

"You're free to go, gentlemen." The young pilot had been carrying out post-flight checks, and now turned in his seat with a friendly, flashing smile. "Welcome to Enterprise."

"Thanks for the smooth ride, Ensign." Hayes spoke for his still-wary team.

"Any time."

The shuttlepod's door lifted smoothly to show the area of the launch bay. Unsurprisingly, it was deserted; having been exposed, however briefly, to the bitter cold of hard vacuum it would take a few minutes for the warmth of the air to penetrate any exposed metal surfaces. Naturally, having been exposed for considerably longer, the surface of the shuttlepod itself was burning cold; all of the passengers were well aware that they shouldn't put their hands near it when they left the craft, and to do him credit Ensign Mayweather hadn't reminded them of it once assured they'd all done their space training. Hayes was well accustomed to making fast and accurate judgments of a person's character, and he appreciated the warmth of the young ex-Boomer's welcome. If everyone on board shared this kind of attitude, then the mission might be less of an ordeal than he'd come prepared for.

If.

There was no sense in lingering. The sooner they were out of here and installed into their working routine, the sooner they could start becoming accustomed to life on board.

On his orders, the squad left the shuttle in an orderly fashion and stood waiting outside to be given instructions. There was no doubt that somebody would have been told of their arrival and be waiting to see them disposed in their new quarters.

Too many combat situations had given Matthew Hayes an unerring sense of sights trained on him. Without haste he lifted his gaze to what must be the control booth and the officer standing there. Maroon piping on the blue jumpsuit, two pips gleaming above the right collar-bone, and a stance so rigid the guy might as well have been poured into a mold and left to set; still, it hardly needed any of these to tell Hayes instantly who was looking down at him. The eyes might as well have come fitted with cross-hairs as standard.

No accompanying staff to soften the reception. Reed was making a statement, one he didn't mean to be misunderstood: I'm the boss.

Inside Hayes' brain the many potential pathways of the mission fused into one. Nebulous hopes were discarded without a second glance, though not without an instant's regret. The pattern of his and Reed's relationship was already set, because that was the way Reed wanted it to be.

For just that one instant of regret, he allowed himself to feel that it was kind of a shame, because that instinct on which he'd so often relied said the lieutenant was someone to be trusted; perhaps, in a different world, even liked. But that was not to be. Without a word being spoken, war had already been declared.

So be it.

Let battle commence.

The End.

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