AN: This is, at long last, the final chapter. I want to thank everyone who has been reading, and everyone who has taken time to review. I really, really appreciate it. I do want to note that a major scientific error in chapter nine was pointed out to me, and I've fixed it (sort of) and also cleaned it up a little, thanks to help from my beta. Nothing major in terms of the story has changed, so re-reading it isn't necessary, but wanted to point out its been fixed. Again, thanks for reading.

IIIIIIIIIIIIII

Phlox had given up trying to keep Malcolm in sickbay, and instead was helping the lieutenant put on his boots. It had become clear to him that the situation on Enterprise had become dire. The bridge was not responding to calls and he had reluctantly conceded that the health of one armory officer was no longer the top priority. Phlox's attempt to pull the boot over Malcolm's foot was hindered by the fact that the ship was doing a good imitation of a piece of popcorn in a popper. With a final tug, he got the boot on Malcolm's foot.

"Lieutenant, try not to overexert yourself…" Phlox began, and then cut himself off. Instead he simply said, "Good luck".

"Thank you, Doctor. I'll try to send word of what's going on. You should prepare for casualties." Malcolm slid off the biobed and made his way towards the door. He couldn't move very quickly, but at least he was steady. He had quit taking the doctor's drugs, and his head was much clearer. If there was more pain in his side, well, in his opinion it was a fair trade.

Reaching the door he considered which way to head. His first inclination was to go directly to the bridge and recon the situation there. That, he almost immediately realized, would be a mistake. The bridge was not responding, and he had to conclude they were unable to do so. He needed to be prepared for anything, and that meant arming himself. Mentally he cursed at having been stuck in sickbay, unable to monitor the situation. He needed information. Moving as quickly as he could, while avoiding barging around corners for fear of what he might encounter, he made his way to the armory. It only took him ten minutes, but every tension-filled moment felt like an hour. Finally at the armory door he keyed in his personal code and, to his relief, the door slid open.

The armory was full of smoke. He coughed, and then grabbed his side at the resultant pain. He squinted through the haze, and was able to make out Trip lying under a console, apparently trying to fix it. The rest of the crew— and it appeared to be the engineering crew, not his normal armory crew-- were manning the torpedoes and the tactical stations. The weapons locker was open, and empty. Reed was pleased to see that everyone was carrying a weapon.

"Commander? What's going on?" Reed asked.

"Malcolm? What are you doing here? Never mind, I don't care. I'm just glad to see 'ya." Trip had glanced up from his work when Reed spoke, but immediately returned his gaze to the console.

"What's the situation? And what are you doing to my phase cannons?"

This time Trip didn't look up from the console as his hands flew, manipulating wires. The female crewmember working with him—Lewis, it looked like, handed Trip something that Malcolm couldn't make out through the smoke. Trip muttered, "Thanks." After making a few more adjustments, Trip replied.

"The phase cannons aren't working. We got hit with some weird type of energy wave, or something, and it blew out the console. We've been firing torpedoes, and we've done some damage to them, but not enough. We've lost contact with the bridge. Don't know what's going on up there."

"We've done some damage to…?" Reed asked, moving to a tactical station, desperately wishing he wasn't so far behind on current events. He pulled up the schematics, and immediately recognized the Actuarian ship. "They're powering up to fire again, Commander!" Malcolm warned. His side aching from the exertion, Malcolm stumbled over to the torpedo controls and gestured Rostov aside. Targeting the opposing ship, he launched the torpedo.

"Direct hit! You took out their weapons, sir!" Rostov, who had been manning the torpedoes, crowed. "Wow! That was a great shot, Lieutenant!"

Trip slid out from under the console, and stared at Malcolm. "Lieutenant?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Just seemed the thing to do, sir." Moving very carefully, trying to avoid doing anything that would aggravate the pain in his side, Malcolm managed to slide under the console and into the spot Trip had just vacated. Breathing heavily from the exertion, he studied the panel. After a moment he reached up and pulled out two of the wires that Trip had just connected.

"Hey," Trip protested. "I'm trying to fix that!"

"Sir, you're going to cause a short circuit. But this is nearly correct. Just …" Malcolm made an adjustment, and then another. "There. That should work. Are they on-line?"

"I'll be …" Trip put his hands on his hips and stared down at Reed with his jaw hanging open. "I don't know how you did that, Lieutenant. But right now, I don't care. We need to get to the bridge."

"Wait." Malcolm pulled himself up off the floor, gratefully accepting Trip's helping hand. "We don't know what's going on up there. We need a plan. We need weapons, and we need to recon the situation."

"Agreed. You got a plan?" Trip asked.

"As a matter of fact, sir, I do."

"You seem… better." Trip made the comment in a whisper as he and Malcolm paused before a junction in the corridors, waiting for Rostov and Lewis to signal the all clear from their position. They were working as two-person teams, alternating who went first, making sure the corridors were clear. The plan was to get close to the bridge, and then climb into an environmental duct that ran above it. From that position they would recon the bridge. They were hoping that by working as two teams to clear the hallways, should one team run into trouble, there would be warning for the second team. At least one team should be able to make it to the bridge.

"Appearances can be deceiving," Malcolm grimaced.

"No, I don't mean from that," Trip gestured vaguely toward Malcolm's abdomen. "I mean from whatever has us all tied up in knots. You could fix the phase cannons, and you just seem to be thinking like…you."

Malcolm considered this. "I guess you're right. I feel like myself. I just know what to do… I don't have to think about it. Curious."

"Yeah, curious," Trip mimicked. He didn't have time to say more, as Rostov gave a soft whistle.

"Commander, this should be the last leapfrog. Once we get past Rostov and Lewis and take over the lead, this is the last leg. We'll be at the environmental duct hatch. I'll go in first—"

"Negative. Malcolm you are in no condition to be climbing up in that thing and squirming along. You'll rupture something, and then where will be?"

"Sir, you just pointed out that I seem to have regained my tactical skills. I'm the best person for the job."

"Yup. But as limited as they may be, I never lost my tactical skills. And while normally you'd be the best person for the job, today the second best person for the job is going to do it. Besides, depending on what we find on the bridge, we might need you down here more than we need you stuck up in an environmental duct."

Malcolm gave a curt nod. He may have to accede to his superior's wishes, but he didn't have to like it. Trip grinned at him, and then turned and began moving carefully down the hall. They were cautious, but were able to move quickly through the area Rostov and Lewis had checked for any opposition. When they reached the other team they filled them in on the plan.

It was a short distance to the environmental hatch, and it only took them a few minutes to cover it. Trip signaled to Rostov and Lewis to join them, and then pulled the hatch off the duct. Without another word, Trip climbed into the duct.

Malcolm watched with some trepidation, but also a growing sense of excitement. He could feel the familiar surge of adrenalin that accompanied any tactical situation. This was what he lived for. Anything could be waiting on the bridge. It could be as simple as a comm problem, or there could be….

"Sssss—Malcolm!" The hissing whisper came from the duct.

Malcolm poked his head into the hatch so he could hear better. "Commander?" he called softly.

"Malcolm, there are aliens on the bridge. Two of 'em. The captain is unconscious at the helm. Hoshi and T'Pol seem to be okay… Hoshi is at the comm, and T'Pol is about five feet behind her. They're being held at gunpoint. I don't see Travis."

"Where are the gunmen? Do you recognize the weapon type?"

There was a moment of silence and then Trip spoke again. "Okay, one of the gunmen is about five feet away from the helm, facing Hoshi. The other one is at tactical, watching from over there. I'm not sure about the weapons. They look something like phase pistols, but who knows what they are."

Malcolm wanted to make a tart reply about how he might, if he'd been allowed to crawl up the duct, but smart comments wouldn't be helpful at this point. Instead he visualized the geometry of the bridge, and the location of everyone on it, and inwardly cursed. The angles were all wrong. The moment the door to the bridge was opened, assuming it could be, both of the aliens would turn to Malcolm, and it would be all over. Or would it….

"Trip," Malcolm whispered urgently into the duct. "Is there anyway you can communicate with Hoshi or T'Pol without being detected?"

"I don't think so. The guards are too close."

"This is rather odd. We didn't encounter anyone in the corridors, and as near as we can tell, there are no aliens anywhere else on the ship. Why just send two guards over to take over the bridge?"

"I don't know and right now I don't care. We've got to get on that bridge and free the captain, and that's what I'm gonna do!" Trip sounded agitated.

"I agree, Trip. I'm just trying to think of the best way to do that …and I think I might have an idea."

Ten minutes later, Malcolm keyed his communicator. "Are you ready, Commander?"

"As I'll ever be," Trip's attempt at jest fell flat. "Let's go, Lieutenant."

Malcolm walked to the bridge door and keyed in his entry code. To his relief it flashed green. "Now, Commander!" he called into his communicator. The door slid open, and without taking time to think, he aimed at the guard sitting at the tactical station and fired. Simultaneously Trip shouted from the duct. The guard by the helm looked up as Trip tumbled out of the duct. That instant of diversion was all Malcolm needed. He switched targets and fired again. Like his compatriot, the alien tumbled to the ground. Lewis and Rostov followed Malcolm on to the bridge, and moved towards the aliens, weapons pointed. Hoshi was out of her seat, the weapon she had been unable to draw earlier, aimed at the nearest guard. T'Pol had disappeared from Malcolm's view, and he realized Mayweather must be down behind the consoles.

"Let's get these people to sickbay," Trip stood up from his undignified position on the ground and brushed himself off.

"And these visitors to the brig," Malcolm added. "Rostov, call for help from the armory crew… Commander, where is my crew?"

"Engine room."

"Dare I ask why?"

"We switched people up. Seemed to work better that way. Malcolm, really, we'll fill you in on all the details later, okay?"

"Fine, sir. So, Rostov, please ask someone to come help you take these 'gentlemen' down to the brig. Lewis, go get the doctor and Cutler, and stretchers, and some of the people who are currently in the armory, whoever they might be, to be stretcher bearers."

Trip was grinning at Malcolm's exasperation as the crewmen scuttled away, understanding the feeling of having walked in on a movie half way through, and trying desperately to catch up. "

"Lieutenant, you're… better," Hoshi sounded pleased.

"Yes, I seem to be. I don't know how, but I just started knowing what to do, what tactics to use—"

"No, I mean, you're up and walking!"

"Oh. Yes. Well, I'm better in that regard, too. Though it took some doing to convince Phlox—"

"Yes, and I'm still not convinced," the doctor replied as he entered the bridge. "Although right now it seems I have more urgent patients, I would highly recommend you return to sickbay. You're far from fully healed. I believe you have an appointment with my Tectarian Slug."

Malcolm shuddered.

The captain sat up on the biobed, rubbing his head. "Doctor… if there is anything you can do about this pounding…."

"Yes, yes. I know. But I have other patients to attend to." The doctor sounded slightly flustered, as he tried to deal with having three patients in sickbay. Whatever had returned Malcolm to normal clearly had not had any effect on the doctor. Phlox was doing his best, but still seemed as overwhelmed as a new intern, trying to manage the competing medical requirements. Fortunately, neither Archer nor Mayweather was seriously injured. Mayweather had been hit by some sort of energy weapon—Malcolm was itching to get his hands on the captured weapon to study it—and the captain had taken a blow to the head, most likely by the non-lethal end of the same weapon. Once the two men had been taken out, the aliens had intended to hold the women captive. T'Pol had reported that the aliens had seemed to be at a loss when Hoshi and T'pol had calmly refused to be intimidated into releasing the command codes to them.

"Doctor, get this blasted thing off me! It itches. I'm done with this. I don't care what magic it's meant to do. I'd rather heal the old-fashioned way."

Phlox sighed, but acquiesced. Carefully taking the slug off Malcolm, he cooed at it and returned it to its cage. Malcolm sat up and studied the location where the slug had sat. "Bloody nasty thing," he muttered.

"But, Lieutenant, in one hour it's taken at least a full day, probably two, off the healing process!"

Malcolm didn't reply, distracted by Trip, Hoshi and T'Pol entering sickbay. They had been summoned by the captain for an impromptu staff meeting in sickbay.

"Doctor, how are your patients?" T'Pol asked.

"They'll be fine."

"Yes, we'll be fine," Archer sat up. "Sub-Commander, report."

T'Pol moved to the side of the captain's bed, Trip and Hoshi trailing after her. "The Actuarian ship hasn't moved, but appears to be in no condition to fight. That last torpedoe took out their main power supply, as well as a lot of other things, and they can't move. The prisoners have, thus far, refused to say anything."

"Wait until I talk to them," Malcolm muttered blackly. The captain shot him a look.

"Oh, by the way, Malcolm, we tested the armory crew on the range again. A little better, probably from all the practice you made them do, but they're still not back to normal. Neither is anybody else. Hey, Doc, what'd you do to fix him?"

"I didn't do anything to—" Phlox broke off. He stopped moving, and for a moment stared into space. "I wonder…" he began softly, but wasn't able to complete his thought before the intercom sputtered to life.

"This is Rostov. Subcommander T'Pol, you're not going to believe this, but there is another Actuarian ship approaching!"

The captain listened to the message, and then turned to T'Pol. "Think they're legit?"

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Think they're on the up and up? Telling the truth? Playing it straight?"

"They seem to be, and everything they have told us has been perfectly logical. So yes, I do believe they are 'legit'."

"I agree. But I'm not going to let them on the ship. We'll take the prisoners to their ship and drop them off ourselves." Archer stood up. "Malcolm, you want to accompany me?"

Malcolm gave a small, tight smile. "Absolutely, sir. However, I believe we should try talking to the gentlemen in the brig again. Ensign Morris is a very good security officer, but he doesn't have much experience interrogating prisoners."

"I should hope not," Archer mumbled, and then hoped Malcolm hadn't heard him. If he had, Malcolm ignored the comment. "Okay, Lieutenant, go ahead. But I don't want to delay returning them, so you don't have a lot of time."

"Thank you, sir." Malcolm immediately stepped back from his station, and was almost out the door before Archer could add a warning.

"Fifteen minutes, Lieutenant. And Lieutenant? Use a little restraint."

"It should have worked. It always works," the larger of the two aliens, whom Malcolm had mentally nicknamed Curly because of the curly red hair that covered his entire face, not to mention most of the rest of his body, muttered. His partner, who had a straight, grey pelt, and who Malcolm thought of as 'Mo', remained silent. Other than the excess of hair, the two aliens appeared remarkably like humans.

"What always works?" Malcolm demanded. "You're being returned to the authorities from your home world, so you may as well tell the truth. You've been caught."

The grey-haired alien finally spoke. "Don't tell him a thing. You don't know if he's telling you the truth or not. Our ship has not deserted us."

Despite his partner's optimism, Curly appeared to have lost hope, and was eager to talk. "The shock-light. It always works. It makes the ships vulnerable. No one else has resisted us. They usually want our help."

"Want your help? What would they want from you?"

"Help running their ship. Flying it home. Defending it. Everything."

Malcolm was beginning to put the puzzle together. "You use the light against other ships, and then, when they're vulnerable, you attack them?"

"We don't usually have to attack. Don't you see? That's the whole point! They want our help, and they pay for it. But if they don't want our help, then we attack. Everyone surrenders. No one ever fights!"

"How does the light work?"

Curly must have decided he'd said enough, or Mo's glare finally had an impact, because he shook his head, refusing to say more. Malcolm didn't bother to prompt him. He had enough information. He gestured to the nearby crewman to assist him, and together they put restraints on the prisoners in preparation for taking them to the shuttle bay for transport. It was an ingenious weapon, Malcolm mused. It could disable a ship to the point of being non-functional by affecting the crew, without damaging the ship or anything of value inside. It was only in the rare cases where the crew put up a fight that the booty might be damaged. It meant that they could take over other ships with a minimal force and without powerful weapons. It was a low overhead sort of operation that could yield great riches to these 'space pirates'.

The captain of the second Actuarian ship had explained that Behometh's crew were outlaws. The Actuarian government had been hunting them for several months, but the pirates were wary and remained well-hidden. Since there was usually no fighting involved, there was little to track. A full-blown battle would have been easy for the Actuarians to spot. It was Enterprise's resistance that had gotten their attention, and let them finally locate the renegades.

Archer entered the brig, glancing pointedly at his watch.

"We're ready to go, Captain. I don't believe we'll learn anything more from the prisoners, however, we have gained some valuable intelligence." Malcolm explained what he had learned about the pirate's technique.

"That would explain why T'Pol and I weren't affected," Archer mused. "We weren't exposed to the light."

"It also explains why the pirates kept so close to Enterprise. They were waiting for us to ask for their help," Malcolm added. "They only attacked as a last resort."

Archer smiled. "Guess Enterprise was just too tough for them."

Malcolm nodded. "We're too well-rounded. Our second best was good enough, I suppose."

Archer clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. "I think you're right, Malcolm. Let's get these guys back to their authorities, and see if they have any way to reverse what the light did. You know, you're the only one who has recovered, so far."

"Really?" Malcolm was surprised. "What about Hoshi?"

"Hoshi seems to have been able to relearn languages faster than the rest of the crew has been able to regain their skills. Everyone is working hard, but it's slow going. It could be years until their skills are back up to par."

This sobered Malcolm. He had assumed that the effect has simply worn off on him, and that it would do so with the rest of the crew. If that wasn't the case, Enterprise would still have to return to Earth. Malcolm couldn't think of anything to say.

Archer must have known what he was thinking. "Don't give up hope. Maybe the Actuarians can help."

The senior crew was gathered in sickbay, where Phlox had pulled up a display on his monitor. After returning from the Actuarian ship, Archer had called the meeting.

"The Actuarian captain wasn't able to help. The 'shock light', as the pirates call it, was stolen. The pirates don't know how it works, or so they claim, and the Actuarians have never seen it before. They had wondered how the pirates, with a relatively small crew, had managed to be so successful. Now they know. But at least they've put an end to it."

"But we're still affected," Trip said glumly. "Nobody except the captain, T'Pol, Malcolm, and Hoshi can even do their jobs properly. We're still going to have to go back to Earth."

"Perhaps not." Phlox, who had been quiet until this point finally got their attention. "I may have an idea how to reverse it."

The assembled officer's attention was immediately riveted on him.

"Doctor?" Archer queried.

"Well…. Lieutenant Reed has quite obviously recovered. Cutler ran scans to confirm it. He is completely back to normal."

Reed, arms wrapped around his chest, nodded agreement.

"Well, what has Lieutenant Reed been exposed to that none of the rest of the crew has? It isn't anything here in sickbay, because I haven't recovered."

The senior officers nodded their understanding, and Archer made a 'get on with it' gesture with his hands.

"Anesthesia!"

"Huh?" "What?" "Doctor, are you-" The assembled officers all began speaking at once.

Phlox shook his head at them. "Let me explain. The lieutenant underwent surgery, which required a general anesthetic. I'm postulating that the effect somehow 'reset' his brain. It wouldn't be without precedent."

Cutler, who had been included in the meeting jumped in. "Of course. We know that ECT is very effective in 'resetting' the brain in certain mental illnesses. It's a very safe, effective treatment."

"Yes, and their have been anecdotal cases involving anesthesia as well. It's not well-studied, but..." Phlox grinned, "in this case, we have clear evidence of it working for this particular ailment. Exhibit A!" Phlox pointed at Reed.

"While Lieutenant Reed appears to be recovered, how do we know it was the anesthesia that reversed his condition?" T'Pol asked. "Are you certain it was not one of the other medications you administered? Or perhaps the effect of the surgery itself on his body? Surgery would cause the releases of numerous stress hormones, any one of which could be responsible for his recovery."

"That's certainly true," Phlox replied. "However, I believe we should start by testing the effect of anesthesia, for two reasons. One, it is relatively simple to do, and two there is ample precedent. Many of the medications we use induce amnesia in patients, to their benefit. Usually the effect is global, remembering nothing that happened while receiving the medication. The anesthetic I used on Lieutenant Reed works by blocking the GABA receptor…" Phlox trailed off as he realized they were staring at him. He sighed. "It interrupts neuronal transmission. Neurons don't fire, so it sort of slows the brain. I think this gave his brain a chance to reset."

Archer stared at the doctor, his expression indicating he thought the doctor had gone mad. "Are you suggesting we put the entire crew under general anesthesia? Or give all ECT?" he asked.

"Well…" Phlox hedged. "Not general anesthesia, per se. We have other anesthetic gases that have been developed in the last ten years that are very short acting, very safe that work much the same way. Whether or not they'll have the same effect at resetting the crew's brain, I can't say. But I think it's worth a try. I'll go first. We'll use decon. I can have Cutler flood the chamber with the gas. If it works we can have the crew go into decon in small groups. They'd only be affected for a few minutes. Theoretically I could flood the entire ship and do everybody at once, but that would put Enterprise at risk for a short period while everyone was unconscious. I would prefer to do it in small groups where I can monitor each member of the crew carefully."

Archer still looked unconvinced.

"I can't guarantee it will work, Captain," Phlox said quietly. "And it's not without its risks. But I think it's worth a try."

Archer studied Phlox earnest face. "And if it doesn't work?"

"We could always try using the anesthesia I used on Lieutenant Reed, and putting the crew under individually. It would be much more risky, as the older, longer lasting anesthetics carry more risk, but are necessary for the sort of surgery Lieutenant Reed had. I'd rather try this method and see if it works."

Archer made a snap decision. "Permission granted."

It only took a few minutes for Cutler and Phlox to select an appropriate anesthetic gas and to prepare the decon chamber. Looking slightly nervous, Phlox entered the small room. Once the chamber was sealed, Cutler turned a knob to allow the gas to enter. As they watched, Phlox eyes began to droop, and within seconds he was unconscious. The moment his limp body slid to the ground, Cutler reversed the knob, and then quickly turned another, replacing the anesthetic in the chamber with clean air that had a higher concentration of oxygen to aid the Denobulan's recovery. It was less than a minute later when he began to stir, and two minutes later he was fully conscious. Shaking his head as though to remove the cobwebs, he rose and moved to the door. Cutler let him out.

"How do you feel?" Archer asked him.

The doctor took a step forward, stumbled slightly, and then regained his balance. "A little groggy, but that will pass," the doctor responded.

"Did it work?"

Phlox smiled. "I think it be a little while before I know for certain. Lieutenant Reed was unaware that he had been cured for quite some time. It takes testing of ones abilities. Patience, Captain."

"We don't have forever to make a decision," Archer warned. "I'm going to my quarters to send a message to Admiral Forest, updating him. Hopefully, he'll agree to allow us to wait until we know the results of your little experiment." Archer turned to leave but then turned back to the assembled group. "I appreciate your work on this, Doctor. All of you— I'm very proud of the entire crew. I just hope this works."

"Captain!" Cutler's voice came over the intercom, waking Archer. After speaking with Admiral Forest and winning a short reprieve—the Admiral had given them 24 hours to find a cure before they were ordered to resume their return to Earth—Archer had finally fallen victim to his need for sleep. He didn't feel as though he'd slept long, but the chronometer on his desk indicated several hours had passed. He sighed.

"This is the Captain. Go ahead Cutler."

"It worked! We've tested the doctor on the casualty simulator that we use for training, and he passed with flying colors! He was able to do the most advanced scenarios without any difficulty, and he says that it felt like second nature. We'd like to go ahead and set up a schedule to bring the crew down to sickbay. Do we have your permission?"

Archer couldn't help but smile. "Permission granted."

Epilogue.

Archer looked out at the assembled crew from the podium that had been set up in the messhall. He didn't know where the podium had come from, and he decided he didn't like it. He pushed it behind him against the wall, and then looked at his crew again. They were smiling and chatting, the air one of celebration.

"May I have your attention," he began, but Trip jumped up from his seat and gave an order.

"Attention!"

The crew snapped to attention. "As you were," Archer ordered, and the crew relaxed. "I just wanted to take a moment to talk to you, and let you know how proud I am of this entire crew. I think this situation has brought home some important truths to us all. The first of which is, we need to do more cross-training!"

There was a soft titter of amusement from the crowd. "The second is, how very good this crew is. We weren't at our best, but everyone pulled together, and we were able to do what no other crew that has faced the Actuarian pirates has been able to do. We not only resisted them, we defeated them. And we only did that by everyone being willing to do whatever was asked of them— and that wasn't what we were best at. But we did it. And I just wanted to tell you all that that this crew, at it's second best, is second to none."

Applause erupted in the messhall. Archer smiled. "I understand that Chef has made a special treat in celebration. Enjoy it, and then go relieve the skeleton crew that is running the ship, so they can participate in the party."

As he finished speaking, Chef rolled out a trolley loaded with delicacies. No one hesitated to as plates were immediately loaded down with treats. The crowd milled, making conversation, laughing, enjoying themselves. The senior crew slowly congregated to the corner of messhall with their overflowing plates. Archer looked at them, and then at his plate.

"You know, I'm really glad you guys are all back to normal," he said with a smirk. "But most importantly, Chef is back to normal."

The laughter that greeted his comment lingered for a long time.

The End.