She was gone.
As he observed the Roughneck medic stand up from the little girl's body with a grim expression, a flood of anger and guilt washed through Jonathan Archer. It was his fault that this girl had been killed by bomb debris, his fault that so many others had been injured or killed, his fault that T'Pol was in the sickbay on Endeavour...
His fault...
"This is my fault," Paul Mayweather muttered from where he stood, his eyes glued to the body of the little girl, anger and despair on his face.
Jon knew exactly how he felt.
"Your fault?" Archer asked, his expression and tone bleak as he stared at the corpse: she couldn't have been more than three or four. "That bomber was coming for me." And Tolaris ... if Jon had blown that sonuvabitch out of the airlock when he'd had the chance...
"I picked the Cradle for these negotiations," Mayweather pointed out. Soval interrupted abruptly, his voice flat.
"Blaming yourselves for the actions of one individual is neither logical nor productive," the Vulcan declared. Jon gave the ambassador a frown, knowing that he wouldn't or couldn't understand; out of the corner of his eye, Archer noticed Mayweather giving Soval an identical look. Jon's eyes met those of the Boomer for a moment, and silently they reached a mutual understanding. Archer would never forgive himself for this child's death and, judging from the Boomer's expression, neither would Paul Mayweather. Guess we're not so different after all, Jon thought to himself.
"Sir, we need to keep moving," Lieutenant Reynolds whispered into the moment of silence. Archer gave him a sharp nod of acknowledgement but said nothing else as the ex-MACO issued quiet orders to his men. Twenty minutes had passed since the tram bombing and Reynolds had kept them on the move ever since; when Archer suggested that they lend a hand with the rescue operations, the Roughneck lieutenant had directed a pointed look at both Ambassador Soval and Captain Mayweather, a clear reminder that there were other lives to be concerned about.
Jon had taken the not-so subtle hint and had fallen into step with them.
It was yet another stark reminder for Jon that, despite his rank, he was not in charge anymore. The ten-day trip from Starbase-1 to Vigrid Station had been bad enough, with the crew stepping lightly around him but always - always - looking to Trip or T'Pol for confirmation of any order Archer issued. Nothing had prepared him, however, for just how difficult it would be to hold his tongue during a crisis. From the moment he stepped on the bridge of Endeavour in response to the tactical alert to the moment that Administrator Maddox had hailed them for an emergency meeting some forty minutes later, Jon had been grinding his teeth and struggling to keep from offering his opinion. If Trip had noticed, he had been too busy to care.
The word given, the Roughnecks set out at a brisk pace, Archer in their center along with Soval and Mayweather. Around them, debris from the bomb damage cluttered the corridor, slowing their progress to a crawl; four suicide bombers had struck in the last three hours, the most recent at the central tram depot, and the resulting damage had virtually crippled Vigrid Station. The first of the bombers had struck mere minutes before Soval had melded with Tolaris; that suicide attack had completely knocked out the defense grid of the station, causing an immediate panic to set in among the station administrators. By the time they had contacted Endeavour for assistance, a second bomber had destroyed the station's long-range sensors.
Even to civilians, it was immediately clear that the stage was being set for an all-out attack.
"Copy that," Lieutenant Reynolds muttered into his throat mike, slowing his pace to come alongside Archer. "Sir," he said, "Captain Tucker wants me to advise you that a fifth bomber has just taken out the atmospheric processors." Archer glared at nothing in particular as Mayweather softly cursed; ever the picture of Vulcan poise, Soval gave no hint as to his thoughts. "Damage control teams are being dispatched now. He further recommends that we make haste back to Endeavour," Reynolds finished, his expression grimly amused. Jon had to smile. They had been trying to get back to Endeavour for the last twenty minutes.
Bomber number three had struck at an outlying computer facility manned by only three people; compared to the other attacks, it seemed an unlikely target as it resulted in only four deaths, but it quickly became apparent that the location had been chosen with deliberate care. Since the area served as the central hub for lift control, the destruction of the facility completely halted all turbolifts, whether they were between decks or not. On a station the size of Vigrid, such damage effectively stopped travel. Getting to the docking ring without the use of turbolifts was proving to be nearly impossible; they had been forced to retrace their steps no fewer than three times in the last twenty minutes, each time returning to the outskirts of the tram depot to start anew.
"Tell him I'll take that under advisement," Jon ordered as he glanced to Soval. "Guess we should have had that emergency session on Endeavour after all," Archer commented, and the ambassador lifted an eyebrow.
Destruction of the defense grid had done more to convince the Earth Cargo Authority of Starfleet's position than any of Jon's arguments had; when Administrator Maddox had commed Endeavour to demand a resumption of the integration discussions, it had been at the behest of the ECA reps. Recognizing the concession for what it was, Archer had quickly suggested that they meet aboard Vigrid Station, hoping that his choice of locales would show a trust in the Boomer security.
Having the Roughnecks escort him to the meeting and back had been Trip's idea.
Paul Mayweather gave him a sour look and Jon mentally kicked himself for the unspoken intimation that Station Security wasn't up to the task, even if it was true. The Boomer had been mostly silent since signing the official agreement that placed the ECA under the aegis of Starfleet protection, and had barely said anything beyond a muttered "thank you" when Archer saved his life at the tram depot by knocking him clear of a falling durasteel girder. He now bore a haunted look that Jon recognized all too well. Despite their personal differences, Archer realized that he empathized with Mayweather; the fear that the Boomer must be feeling, that he was signing away his freedom and an entire way of life, had to be paralyzing. Time to mend some fences, Jon thought, grudgingly admitting to himself that he hadn't exactly been the easiest to negotiate with either.
"Change of plans, Lieutenant," Archer said suddenly, and Reynolds turned to face him, eyes narrowing. Jon nodded toward the Boomer. "We're going to escort Captain Mayweather to his ship." Reynolds frowned, opening his mouth to argue, but Archer continued over him in his sternest voice of authority. "That is an order, Lieutenant." Once more, the ex-MACO frowned before triggering his throat mike.
"Endeavour, this is Roughneck Six," he said, his eyes never wavering from Archer. The commodore almost smiled at the hint of frustration in the younger man's voice. "I need to speak to Endeavour Actual," Reynolds informed whomever he spoke to, clearly hoping that Tucker would give him orders to countermand Archer's.
Jon did smile then.
"This isn't necessary," Mayweather declared, and Archer turned his attention to the Boomer rep, aware of Soval's silent observation of their discussion. "I can make it back to Horizon without your help," Mayweather continued.
"On the contrary," Jon argued, "it's the entire point of the Vigrid Accords. You need protection." He gestured to the security troops - the Roughnecks - spread out in the corridor around them, knowing that the civilian wouldn't see the inexperience in the younger troops. "And that's what we're here for. It's our job: exploration and defense." A long moment passed as Mayweather let Jon's words sink in.
"I'm not going to forgive you for Travis' death," Mayweather said softly and Archer recognized how difficult it was for the Boomer to say even that.
"I'm not going to forgive myself," Jon replied, his tone grim, "but it's up to us to make things better for those that follow us." Archer drew a breath, hiding the twinge of pain that shot through his chest. "I can understand your anger," he said, "and I probably deserve it, but we have an opportunity - you and I, right here, right now - to make sure that what happened to Travis doesn't happen to others." Mayweather pursed his lips in thought. "Together," Jon said, offering his hand, "we can build something greater than ourselves, something that will make all of the pain we've suffered, all of the losses, all of the setbacks actually worth it."
For a long time, Paul Mayweather said nothing as he stared at Archer's outstretched arm. Jon held his breath as the Boomer slowly reached forward and took the offered hand. An entire decade of grief seemed to be lifted from Archer's shoulders.
"Now let's get you to your ship," he said with a slight smile.