A/N: Again, sorry for the delay in posting. RL has been a little too busy, and I've violated one of my rules about story posting-- never post a chapter until the next one is at least in rough draft. But hopefully at the end of the week things will ease up a little and I can get a lot of writing done.

Thanks for the reviews! As to the question about whether or not Archer has lost any abilities... that would be telling too much :)

It was several hours before Hoshi, frustrated with her lack of progress, decided to take a break. She walked the corridors of the ship, wanting to stretch her muscles, but not having any desire to do anything particularly strenuous. As she walked she relaxed, until finally she felt ready to return to her quarters. As she passed the messhall, she had a sudden desire for a nice, relaxing cup of tea, and decided to stop.

The messhall was darkened. Most of the crew had been eating ration packs for the last few days, not being strong enough to brave Chef's 'creations'. Hoshi hadn't intended to stay long, but as she turned to leave she glimpsed a figure standing in the far corner of the room. His back was to her as he watched the stars.

"Lieutenant?" she called softly, unsure if she should bother him.

He turned and gave her a small half-smile. "Ensign."

"What are you doing?"

"Just thinking." He noticed the tea in her hand, and gestured for her to sit at the table behind him. He picked up his own steaming mug and then sat beside her. "I was just looking at the stars and thinking."

It was an uncharacteristic invitation to sit and talk, and Hoshi accepted it. "Can I ask what about?"

He gave another half-smile. "The events of the day." He paused. "Hoshi, I can't shoot. How can I be an armory officer, if I can't shoot?"

"I guess the same way I'm going to be a translator who can't speak a foreign language. I don't know."

"You know, I keep reminding myself that everyone else is in the same boat-- but it doesn't help. I was wondering what I'd do, if this doesn't get any better. And I can't think of a single thing. I just feel so--" he broke off and looked away.

"So what?" Hoshi prodded gently.

"So empty," he admitted. "The thought of not being able to do my duties, of having to leave Starfleet, return to Earth--"

"Whoa! Hold on a minute! Don't you think you're borrowing trouble? You're not going to be drummed out of Starfleet and sent back to Earth! At least, not without the rest of us. We're all in this together. We're going to figure this out. Phlox will come up with a cure."

"Phlox is as handicapped as the rest of us. He can barely put on a bandage straight right now, let alone figure this mess out."

"Have a little faith, Malcolm," Hoshi stood up with her tea. "I'm not giving up. I may not be able to translate Andorian right now, but I'm going back to working on it." She started to walk away, and then turned. "Are you staying here?"

"What?" He sounded as his mind had been elsewhere. "Oh, no, I suppose not. I'll head back to the armory." He rose and joined her, managing a small smile. "Perhaps I'll be able to find something useful to do."

T'Pol sat quietly at her station, surreptitiously watching the rest of the bridge crew. She was taking the events with her accustomed equanimity, but most of the crew were not. Junior officers were currently manning the bridge. The captain had returned to the bridge, brusquely told her to call a meeting of the senior officers in one hour, and then he'd disappeared into his ready room.

T'Pol glanced down at the screen in front of her. She had begun making notes of her observations, and now she reviewed them. She was looking for a pattern, anything that would give her a hint as to the cause of the crew's difficulties. She didn't have enough data to form a hypothesis, but she had created a program to look for common characteristics. She was certain that once sufficient data had been entered the riddle would be solved. Glancing at the ship's time clock in the corner of her monitor screen she transferred her file to a padd and rose from her seat. "Ensign Roberts, you have the bridge."

"Sir." Crewman Rostov stood at the door to Trip's office. The engineer looked up, feeling his stomach tighten with anticipation. He had known this moment was coming.

"Yes?"

"Sir, something is wrong with the warp engine."

"Something like what. Can you be more specific?"

Rostov flushed. "No, sir, I can't." He paused, searching for the right words. "It isn't running right. It won't hold a constant power level. It keeps fluctuating."

Trip felt a wave of relief rush over him. He recognized the problem. "Sounds like the flow ratio is off. It just needs to be adjusted."

"That's the problem, sir." Rostov's distress was evident. "We can't seem to get the mix right. Sir, do you know how to adjust it?"

"Sure you just..." Trip trailed off as he tried to remember how to adjust the warp ration. Equations flooded his head, equations that he could solve with ease. But when he tried to think how to adjust the Enterprises mix, he came up blank. Stalling, he said, "Lets take a look at it."

Together the two men headed to the warp engine. Staring at the massive machine heightened Trip's unease. He knew he was starting at a warp engine that he had worked on constantly for more than two years, yet it looked unfamiliar. Trying to hide his confusion, not wanting to further upset his staff, he began looking for anything that might be an intermix controller. When Rostov climbed the stairs that led up to a control panel, Trip followed. To his relief, the panel was clearly marked-- and as he saw the handle to the mix controller, he knew with certainty that it was the right control.

Feeling a little better, he began pulling the handle down, to allow a little more warp plasma into the main reactor.

"Whoa! Sir, there was a huge spike in the output! That's too much!" Rostov called.

Immediately Trip pulled back, and the steady thrumming hum from the engine stuttered, and nearly died, before Trip adjusted the control again. It took him fifteen minutes before he was able to get the warp engine running at something resembling a proper mix, as he continued to over and then under feed the mammoth machine. He was reminded of Travis difficulties at the helm. The more he thought about it, the more he believed that the difficulties they were having were similar. It meant something. There was a pattern here, but it wasn't clear. Yet.

Trip sighed and again began trying to fine tune the plasma mix.

"I see what you're trying to do, but I'm not sure I can help you." Phlox returned T'Pol's padd to her.

"Are you certain, Doctor? I know that you're having trouble with some areas, but have you attempted to conduct any research recently? Have you tried running any statistical analyses?"

"No, I haven't attempted that, but I just assumed that--"

"It is never wise to assume, Doctor. Perhaps you could try looking at the program, and seeing if it makes sense to you. It is a simple standard program used for investigating disease outbreaks. I would welcome any recommendations for fine tuning it."

Phlox tentatively took the padd. He looked skeptical, but transferred the file into the sickbay computer. "I can't guarantee any results, but I'll do what I can."

"It would be useful if you enter the data on your own experience into the database. I have interviewed fifteen percent of the crew thus far. I am concentrating on the senior officers, but I have also interviewed Chef, Crewman Cutler, Lieutenant Hess, Crewman Rostov, Crewman Seagle, and Ensign Ross. I think you may find the similarities quite interesting."

"Well, it will be an interesting puzzle, if I can make heads or tails of it." The doctor sounded a little more cheerful.

"I'll see you shortly at the Captain's meeting. After the meeting we can discuss your recommendations." T'Pol turned and left sickbay.

"I just hope I have something of use," Phlox told her retreating back.

Archer watched as his officers assembled around the small briefing table. They were quiet, with none of the usual chatter that usually preceded staff meetings. Hoshi was concentrating on her padd, seemingly oblivious to the officers gathering around her. T'pol stood to Hoshi's right, watching the others gather. On Hoshi's left, Malcolm stood quietly, studying the readings on the briefing table, refusing to look at anyone. Trip stood on the opposite side of the table from the threesome, looking haggard. Next to Trip, Travis was also very quiet, but the pilot greeted each of them with his normal, bright smile. It was comforting to Archer to see at least one of his officers behaving somewhat normally.

"Good morning," Archer began the meeting promptly. Trip, Reed, and Mayweather looked up at him. Hoshi continued her intense study of her padd until Reed gently elbowed her. Startled, she glanced up, and then blushed. She put the padd down.

"Sorry, sir."

"No problem, Hoshi. I assume it's something important?"

"Yes, sir."

"Anything you can share?"

"Not yet, sir," she told him.

Archer simply nodded, not pressing her, and turned to other business. "What I would like to do is pool our information and see if we can start figuring this out. We also need to look at the duty roster, see who should be manning each station."

"Captain, I think I may have detected--" T'pol never finished, as Enterprise abruptly rocked, the motion accompanied by a booming roar.

"Captain!" Ensign Robert's voice on the intercom was frantic. "There's another ship! I don't know where it came from-- it fired-- it--"

"Ensign! Calm yourself!" T'pol ordered. "Describe the ship."

"Belay that," Archer countermanded the order. "I'm on my way." He looked back at his officers, all of whom looked stunned and not a little frightened. It was, Archer thought, absolutely the worst possible time to be involved in a skirmish. Enterprise walked again, and another painfully loud boom resonated throughout the ship. At the moment, Archer had no other options.

"Battle stations."