ACT ONE

It had been a long flight.

Nine hours had elapsed since their departure from Starbase-1 and, though he had concealed it behind a mask of bored indifference, Lieutenant Commander Heinrich Eisler was eager for the flight to be over. The seats in the small shuttlepod had clearly not been designed with extended trips in mind, but he was far too proud to shift or fidget. An Eisler, Rick told himself, was unaffected by trivial matters such as a comfort or, in this case, the lack thereof. Junior officers or enlisted men, like Ensign Hayes or the five E.M.s that were crowded in the shuttlepod with them, could move around, or verbally complain about their discomfort, or just change their posture to relax muscles held rigidly in place for nine hours. An Eisler could not. An Eisler would not.

But he was tempted.

Beyond the cockpit of the shuttle, he could see the Endeavour and, mostly as an exercise in distracting himself from the stiffness of his spine, reviewed what he knew of it. The newest of the NX-class ships, she had been in service less than two months and had already seen action at Pacifica. Her crew was quite possibly the best ever assembled, with all but five of the surviving Expanse veterans serving aboard her. Compared to her sister ships, she was also the most heavily armed, carrying twice the payload of either Atlantis or Challenger and nearly three times what Columbia or Discovery bore. She was also among the fastest of the NX-class ships, capable of maintaining a steady warp factor of 5.8 for several hours.

And she was the only NX-class that had nonhumans aboard.

The murmur of conversation grew in the shuttle as the six replacements chatted with each other in voices that were louder than absolutely necessary. Even if he had not already known that they were Security detachment, it would have been easy to recognize them as soldiers. Five men and a single woman, they carried themselves with a casual aggression and their conversations were littered with slurs, insults, and acronyms whose meanings would escape most.

But not an ex-MACO company commander.

It was still a difficult transition for Eisler. He'd served in the Military Assault Command Operations for ten years now, rising to the rank of captain, but everything had changed with the Romulan attacks. Starfleet and the MACOs had merged almost overnight, with men like Eisler given an intensive crash course in starship operations and inserted into the command structure. He should be a major right now, not a lieutenant commander. Once more, he felt his jaw tightening as he considered his new duties; MACOs had a name for Starfleet personnel, and it burned him that he fell into that category. He was one of them now.

A fucking deck ape.

"Shuttle Echo-Two, this is the Endeavour. Stand by to release control to ALS." The comm crackled to life suddenly, startling the soldiers into silence; Rick had little doubt that this had been the pilot's intention, and he had to mentally salute the man for shutting them up without making it an order. He hadn't seen much of the pilot when they'd boarded and, for all he knew, the man was little more than a crewman.

Regardless of his rank, the pilot was efficient. Rick hardly felt the shuttle dock and knew that the automated landing system was only partially the reason. Without even glancing back to check on his passengers, the pilot began running through the postflight check and gave the all clear signal to disembark. Ensign Hayes shot Eisler a glance, his eyes seeking instructions, and Rick gave him a short nod, permission to assume command of the E.M.s. At his gesture, the ensign quickly organized the other five, speaking in short, clipped sentences. He was only a few years older than the other soldiers, but spoke with quiet authority. They moved from the shuttle in an orderly manner, the ensign in the rear.

Rick hefted his own gear - two duffel bags and a long case that contained his personalized pulse rifle - and followed. It was something of a struggle - the rifle case was more than a little awkward and both of the duffel bags topped thirty kilograms - but he persevered. Eislers always persevered. At the hatchway of the shuttlepod, he paused and took in the launch bay. This was the first time he had ever actually set foot on an NX-class ship and he was amazed to realize just how cramped the bay actually was. Two crewmen were hard at work on the other shuttlepod and he could not help but notice the battle damage it appeared to have recently suffered. The six soldiers that had preceded him from the pod were already moving through the hatchway, past the two senior officers that stood there. Each soldier saluted sharply as they passed the two, a crisp gesture that brought the right hand up to the right eyebrow; before the MACO integration, such a military sign of respect would probably have never been seen on a Starfleet vessel. As Eisler approached the two officers, he studied them with a critical eye.

The female was junior, a commander according to her rank scheme, and wore the blue Science Starfleet uniform while the male, whom he recognized as the captain, wore the gold of Command. Exotically beautiful, the commander was clearly a veteran; several small scars, nearly invisible to the naked eye, decorated her exposed skin and there was a distance, a coldness in her eyes that came only from extended combat operations - Eisler had seen it too often in the eyes of his MACO comrades to not recognize it. Somewhat shorter than he, the woman was slight without being thin, and her balance was absolutely perfect, lending her the appearance of someone about to spring into action. She seemed perfectly comfortable with the taller male's presence, indicating a close personal friendship or, if the rumors were true, something a lot more intimate.

She was also Vulcan.

The captain accepted her presence without hesitation and, from the way he stood, seemed to expect she would always be at his side. He was of slight to moderate build and perhaps a meter-eight in height, but he had a presence about him that was nearly tangible. Like the female, he bore a number of barely noticeable scars from what had clearly been a difficult life, and the distance in his eyes was even greater than hers. Though Eisler had never met him, he recognized him at once.

"Lieutenant Commander Heinrich Eisler reporting for duty, sir," he said in greeting, dropping the duffel bag he carried in his right hand so he could give a proper salute. Captain Charles Tucker gave him a half-smile and returned the gesture in a way that indicated he was unpracticed with the motion.

"Welcome aboard, Commander," Tucker said as he offered his hand. He spoke with an accent that Eisler had heard only once before. "Sorry we couldn't pick you up at the Starbase itself." Rick nodded as he shook Tucker's hand, gratified that the man actually had a grip. He understood why they hadn't made the trip; with the Romulan propensity for ambushes, having the Endeavour lurking at the edge of the system and ready to go to warp in order to respond to a distress signal was tactically sound. Even if it required nine hour flights in a cramped shuttlepod. "This is my first officer, Commander T'Pol." The commander gave Eisler a nod of greeting and did not offer her hand. Vulcans never did.

"Ma'am," he replied with little more than a brief nod himself; he'd never cared much for Vulcans and doubted he'd have much in common with this one, even if she was his XO. His greeting came out a little sharper than he intended, though - a factor no doubt of the extended trip and his own bone-deep exhaustion - and internally, he winced. If even half of the rumors about these two were true, he'd just put himself on Tucker's shitlist, and that wasn't the smartest thing to do when reporting to a new CO. Shooting a glance at the captain, Rick was momentarily surprised to realize the man wasn't even looking at him.

"Well I'll be a sonova..." Tucker muttered before brushing by Eisler, his attention focused entirely on the pilot emerging from the shuttlepod. Rick frowned and gave the pilot a once-over, noting almost immediately his suspiciously furtive actions: keeping his head down and features concealed under a billed cap, the pilot was giving poorly disguised glances at the three. Instantly, reflexes honed by five and a half years of black ops kicked in and Eisler moved into a flanking position beside his new commanding officer, dropping the second duffel bag and the shockproof riflecase to the deck as he moved. He sensed rather than saw Commander T'Pol do the same on Tucker's other side. At least she had good instincts.

"Sure as hell wasn't expectin' you, sir," Tucker suddenly said as he stopped in front of the pilot, and Eisler gave him a look. Sir? The pilot sighed - loudly - and discarded his cap before turning to face them. Rick nearly gasped in surprise.

"That was kind of the point, Trip," Commodore Jonathan Archer said with a wan smile. "I'm here on official - if undocumented - Starfleet business." He accepted Tucker's outstretched hand and the two exchanged hearty grins.

"Commodore," the Vulcan greeted, her voice cool, her features expressionless, yet Eisler couldn't help but notice that she seemed ... softer somehow.

"Starfleet blue looks good on you, T'Pol," Archer said with a completely open smile that stripped years from his face. He gave Eisler a brief look and Rick realized he was still balanced on the balls of his feet, poised and prepared for violence. He forced to himself to relax under Archer's gaze. The Commodore gave him an approving nod and spoke, his words aimed at Tucker. "We need to talk, Trip. In private."

"I shall escort Commander Eisler to the quartermaster to begin his in-processing," T'Pol offered almost immediately and Tucker gave her a look that Rick couldn't begin to decipher.

"That sounds like a plan, Commander. And then, you're to go straight to sickbay for that check-up Phlox scheduled." She blinked and, had she been human, Eisler thought she would sigh. Tucker suddenly smiled and looked at Commodore Archer. "And that's an order," he said, his smile broadening into a grin as Archer shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Not going to let that go, are you, Trip?"

"Not a chance, sir." It was clearly a private joke.

"The quartermaster is this way," the Vulcan said, her voice brooking no dissent, and Rick followed her from the launch bay, mildly surprised at how easily she hefted one of his duffel bags.

He wondered what other surprises were in store.