Epilogue: The Star and Orbit Pin
Having spent the better part of six days either in Sickbay or dealing with the aftermath of the Avdevi near-disaster, Archer kept the first staff meeting since his rescue short. His senior officers, all seeming to understand the level of his fatigue and lingering pain, deferred most issues for another day.
On his fourth day back on Enterprise, once he had been released from Sickbay to his quarters, the captain had sought out each of them privately, Travis and Hoshi, T'Pol, Trip, and Malcolm, to thank them for their respective roles in his rescue and in averting an Avdevi civil war. Based on his and T'Pol's reports, the Vulcans had immediately agreed to send an emergency mediation team to Avdev, and Starfleet had promised that an Ambassador Plenipotentiary would arrive in the Daenaris system within the next solar year.
On the fifth day, he had traveled, alone, back to the planet's surface to attend the funeral ritual for the ambassadorial escort, Dlvec, and to participate in one last formal ceremony required by Avdevi law.
He admitted no discomfort now that he was back on light duty. Although he still moved slowly, with little of his natural grace or athleticism, he deflected every inquiry about his health with a reserved, "Better, thank you." His right arm was now in a cloth sling, tight against his body. His facial lacerations were healing, but still appeared red and angry. And the lingering effects of the insurgents' phaser showed in the creases of his face as he shifted his weight carefully in his chair.
Commander Tucker, the last to report, finished his cursory report on the status of the now-fully-overhauled engines. He would wait to tell the captain about the major upgrade accomplished by the Avdevi maintenance crew as part of the Parliament's ongoing effort to save face.
The captain didn't want to hear even one more thing about Avdevi protocol. Just yesterday, after the somber burial rites were over, he had spent the most uncomfortable ten-hour stretch of his life as each of the seventy-eight surviving Members of Parliament had presented themselves to him in the Embassy building, and offered to commit ritual suicide as payment for Archer's ordeal. As protocol required, he had listened to each lengthy mea culpa in its entirety before refusing the request and granting formal forgiveness. The ceremony, which had been broadcast to the population over state channels, had exhausted him. He wanted nothing more than to leave orbit and chase another star through blessedly silent space.
But, first things first.
"Anybody have anything else to add?" he asked into the silence. No one spoke. "Then I have one last order of business." He painfully rose to his feet, and, with difficulty, opened a small box that lay next to his left hand. He cleared his throat. "For her courage under fire, for her extraordinary creativity and ingenuity in the face of impossible odds, and for –" he looked down at the table, trying to swallow the lump of emotion and regain control of his voice, "for saving the life of her captain, I present Ensign Hoshi Sato this field commendation," he plucked the delicate star and orbit pin from its velvet bed, "with my most profound thanks."
Hoshi stood, red faced, while her crew mates broke out into loud applause. Archer walked around the table to Hoshi, and awkwardly attached the pin to her uniform with his left hand. He shook her hand, then kissed each cheek for good measure with a whispered, "Thank you."
Her eyes brimmed with tears. "Thank you, sir," she whispered back. "It's good to have you back."
"We are adjourned. I'll be in my quarters." Archer picked up the empty box and waited while his bridge crew, save T'Pol, left for duty. Snapping it shut, he slid it into his pocket and headed for the door.
"Captain," T'Pol said.
Archer stopped.
"I-" She searched for the right words. "That is, I wished to tell you . . ." He waited until she finally met his eyes. "Were I ever in a situation such as this one, I would wish to handle it with as much . . . discipline as you displayed."
She's proud of you, he thought, and answered aloud, "Thank you, T'Pol. That means a lot to me, coming from you. You have the bridge." He opened the door.
She still owed him a proper response from well over a week ago, the truth of it proved by the intervening events. She said it softly, in a correctly sibilant accent he could never hope to approximate, but he still heard the words as he stepped into the corridor. "Int'at yi, h'lya t'nt'shnara meth."
Indeed, Captain, it is a fine, fine crew.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed this story. Thanks for reading.