A/N: Hello all! First let me start off by saying that I'm aware a Season 5 continuation in this fandom is neither groundbreaking nor unique in any way. However, I've wanted to write one for almost a decade, and I believe I've developed a compelling story. I feel that I would be remiss without acknowledging all the other season five continuation writers out there. I know I'm in good company!
About the novel continuations: I have read them, a long time ago. I'll let you know when I borrow or adapt any plot points!
I'm planning on 25 episodes, each a stand-alone story in its own right. Season 5 will run from July 2155 to January 2157. We'll start with a six month diplomatic mission and will get into the war by the midpoint. This work ignores TATV, as everyone should. Pairings include ATP, Troshi, Malcolm/OC, and Phlox/Cutler. Full disclosure that those first two will be slow burns, but again, we should have everyone together by the middle. I'll be adhering to the T rating throughout, so nothing worse than you'll see in network television. I'm also consciously attempting to give this season a more DS9-like ensemble cast feel.
One of my goals for this season is to have more representation across the board and create a more gender-balanced crew. I will also be giving a fighting chance to the core cast that were woefully neglected by the writers (sorry, Travis). Fair warning that I do tend to drag one-episode or mentioned-in-dialogue-only characters out of minor character hell for my own personal gain.
In the words of the great fic writers of old, anything you recognize, I don't own. This is just for fun!
I've been sitting on this chapter for a while and feel that I need to get it out in the open. I'm currently writing episode 8, and things are starting to take shape. I do hope that you enjoy. This episode is mostly exposition for what's to come.
Season Five
Episode 1: Changing of the Guard
Precisely three hours before he was due in San Francisco for a mission briefing, Trip Tucker sat in a lawn chair overlooking the Gulf of Mexico, a cold beer in his hand.
On the east coast, the sun had just risen, and the beach was sparsely populated. In the distance, he could barely make out the form of two surfers pacing the current with their oars, and farther still, a catamaran heading out of port, United Earth flag flying high. He closed his eyes and inhaled the ocean air deeply, listening to the waves lap against the shore.
In the distance, he heard the distinctive sound of shoes on the sand. Soon, his companion was at his side, blocking out the sun's rays with her back. Trip lowered his sunglasses and peered up at her, saying nothing.
"Trip, you're gonna need to start packing if you're gonna make that shuttle on time," she admonished him, bouncing the baby on her hip. As Trip watched, the little one gave him a toothless smile and buried her face in her mother's hair.
"You sure I can't convince you to come with me, Natalie?" He asked, though he knew what the answer would be.
She laughed. "Come on now. Do I look like a Starfleet officer?" With her other hand, Natalie gestured to herself, the sarong, sandals, and sun-bleached hair.
"It sure would be a lot better if they did look like you."
"But they don't," she reminded him, her tone impressively stern. "Now, get up. I'm not going to let you throw away your career for twenty more minutes in the sun."
With an enormous sigh, Trip sat up and swung his legs over the side of the chair. He lingered there for several moments, looking out onto the waves, just to make sure he was saving the image in his mind.
Natalie made an impatient noise in the back of her throat, and he stood. "Just in case this is the last time," he said, somewhat morosely.
"You're so dramatic," she scoffed. As he turned and began his trek up to the house, she gently swatted at the back of his head.
Trip had been living in the Barrett home for three weeks as the final stint of his six month shore leave afforded to most of the crew by Starfleet. After their ordeal with Terra Prime, it was hard enough to look his colleagues in the eye, let alone pretend he could function at one hundred percent. The truth was, after their year in the Expanse, the death of his sister, and his tumultuous romance with T'Pol, he was beginning to fall apart.
At first he'd gone to his parents' house in Georgia, where they'd moved when he was in high school. He had been greeted with open arms. His parents had been there, and his brother, Albert. For the entire evening they'd caroused and traded stories about Trip's exploits, his father's newfound fly fishing habit, and his brother's burgeoning shuttlepod tour business, but when the meal was over, he found himself retreating to his old bedroom alone.
It had been stripped of his youthful pursuits, the baseball posters taken off the wall, the building bricks stashed underneath the bed. It reminded him of coming back to his bare-boned quarters after baby Elizabeth had died. For the first time since that night, he sat on the edge of the bed and wept.
That night, he dreamed of T'Pol, meeting her in that blank white space. She wasn't crying, but her eyes were brimming with tears. Before he could say anything, she'd wrapped her arms around him, holding him tighter than she ever would in person. And they'd stayed like that for quite some time until the familiar feeling of her pressed against him faded away and he'd woken up, cold and alone in his room, feeling more confused than he had in months.
Their meetings continued over the next few months, at least subconsciously, as they helped one another cope with the loss of their daughter. Eventually, their tears subsided, and they began to talk about their days. T'Pol knew that he'd left his parents house after a month and departed on a solo motorcycle journey through the south, though she'd scolded him for using such an old fashioned and inefficient mode of transport. She knew that he'd gone up to New York City to visit his best friend from high school, and advised him to be careful around unfamiliar women in bars, reminding him of he and Malcolm's misadventures on Risa.
The details on her end were a little fuzzy. One night as they sat cross legged on the floor of the white space, playing a game she called kal-toh, he'd broached the subject of how she'd been passing the days. Come to find out, she and the Captain were staying at the Admiralty House, a boarding facility for visiting dignitaries within the Starfleet compound in San Francisco. They were in separate wings, but took their meals together, and mostly stayed to themselves.
He understood. Due to the xenophobic sentiment Terra Prime had stirred up, he could imagine it was difficult to go anywhere else. As more time passed he also suspected it became more and more uncomfortable for her to return to Vulcan.
On his last day in New York, she didn't arrive for their nightly ritual. His sleep was peaceful, all-consuming, and deeply restful. He assumed it was a fluke, but she didn't even come to him during the day, or the next day, or the day after that.
That next week he'd called up his old girlfriend Natalie Barrett (he could almost hear Jon's voice-the Natalie from Pensacola?) to see if she'd be up for a visit. She'd replied that she was alright with it, provided he didn't mind sharing a house with a baby.
And so he'd arrived the following afternoon. Natalie met him at the transport station, beautiful as ever, her blonde hair wild. In her arms, she held a tiny infant, who couldn't have been older than a couple months. They embraced, careful not to disturb its slumber.
Trip had to feign shock. "It's not mine, is it?"
She laughed, and he'd forgotten how much he'd missed that sound. "No, just an old boyfriend. He's not in the picture anymore. This is Katie."
"Katie," he repeated, tracing the curve of the baby's cheek with his finger. "It wasn't Jeremy, was it? The guy who ran that dive bar downtown?"
"Trip," she cautioned.
"It was!" He exclaimed, grinning as she led him into the parking structure to locate her hovercar.
She took him to the waterfront to a small home, dwarfed by the much larger vacation homes maintained by the out-of-towners. It was the beginning of summer, and Natalie grumbled that the tourists would soon be showing up in their tricked out mobile homes to clog up the city. It was an occupational hazard, she claimed, for she made a living as a city planner, re-zoning and preparing for new urban developments in the Florida panhandle.
Trip had waited patiently in the dining room of the unfamiliar home while Natalie put the baby to bed. When she returned, she came bearing two shot glasses and a bottle of cheap tequila, the kind of stuff they'd grown up stealing from their parents' liquor cabinets. He remembered it fondly, and with a little twinge of disgust.
As he watched, she poured them both shots and then sat across from him. "Alright Tucker, let's hear it."
He picked up the glass and studied it. "What do you want to hear?"
"All of it."
"Shouldn't we have something better to drink?"
"This isn't high society hour," Natalie protested. "This is bitch-and-moan time. I wanna hear about the whole mission, starting from the beginning. You don't get the whole picture from watching the news. Now, bottoms up."
Their glasses clinked together and they each downed the contents, Trip trying desperately to not breathe through his nose. It went down like fire. Andorian ale would have been better.
Before he could speak, she refilled their glasses, and made them drink again.
After three more shots and fifteen more minutes of small talk, Trip was starting to feel a little more forthcoming. He leaned across the table and said perhaps more loudly than was necessary, "Did you hear about the time I got pregnant?"
They spent most of the night talking. For Trip, it felt cathartic to recount everything that had transpired over the past four years, even the times when he felt like giving up, even the times when he didn't think they'd make it out alive. He even talked about T'Pol, because he felt safe with Natalie. It was like receiving a warm hug from the distant, safe, comfortable past.
Once Trip was done relaying his account, Natalie realized she was well and truly intoxicated. Standing up, she made her way to the kitchen. "Want a PB&J, Trip?"
He nodded, knitting his fingers behind his head and sitting back in the chair. Now that it was all out there, he felt free. Giddy.
But maybe that was just the alcohol.
"So are you still in love with her?" She asked, fumbling with the lid of the peanut butter jar.
"Who?" He questioned dumbly, staring up at the ceiling.
"You know who."
He shrugged. Just a while ago, it would have been a strong, emphatic yes. A perfectly natural infatuation had turned into obsession over the course of years. They'd each been reaching for something to steady themselves as their worlds fell apart. His love for T'Pol had been all-consuming, desperate, and ultimately tragic.
"I love her, but I'm not in love with her. Does that make sense?" From the kitchen, Natalie nodded. "We may not belong together in the end, but she'll always be very special to me."
She returned with their sandwiches, and slid his plate across the table. She reached out and took his hand, smiling warmly. "I know how that feels."
Eventually they parted ways for the night, Trip heading towards the guest room. The following morning Natalie found him in Katie's nursery, cradling her in his arms in the rocking chair. They were both fast asleep. She left them there and went to make breakfast.
And so the weeks had passed, filled with fun on the water, excursions into town, and idle conversation. Trip couldn't remember the last time he'd truly just sat back and enjoyed himself, even before the mission. Spending time with Natalie had always been easy.
That made his departure all the more difficult. With just enough time left to catch his transport, Natalie drove him to the station and pulled into the drop off lane, shifting her car into park.
Trip reached back and squeezed Katie's foot, causing the baby to giggle. He reached across the seat and hugged Natalie tightly for one endless moment. When he knew he couldn't hold on any longer, he got out of the car and shouldered his duffle bag.
"Last chance to come with me. I'm telling you, I think you'd fit in just fine aboard a starship," he said with a strained smile.
Natalie sighed and leaned forward over the steering wheel. "I'm telling you, Trip, you don't need me there."
"What do I need then?"
She thought about that for a moment. "You'll find out."
Now as he sat in the shuttle hurtling towards San Francisco, he found that he already missed her. Trying to force that thought out of his mind, he retrieved his PADD and switched it on for the first time in weeks.
He was immediately greeted with hundreds of notifications. Several from Hoshi, who had sent along a mountain of photographs from her extensive travels throughout Asia. Travis, of course, had gone rock climbing, with one excursion resulting in a rather unfortunate incident where he'd broken his arm and was treated in a local hospital near Yosemite. The picture taken of him there ultimately wound up in the tabloids, a loopy helmsman flashing a thumbs-up along with a half dozen nurses. Scrolling through, he saw that this had been the toast of the senior officers' group chat for a couple of days.
In fact, it seemed that spotting the senior officers in public had become a favorite activity for the media. There was a fuzzy and grainy picture of Malcolm, having dinner with his sister in a pub, followed by surprisingly, himself at a fueling station in Tennessee. It was no wonder that the Captain and T'Pol had decided to hunker down all this time.
Out of the corner of his eye, Trip thought he saw a flash. Looking across the aisle, a young woman hurriedly hid her PADD, before turning and whispering to her friend.
He wondered if Captain Hernandez would get the same treatment when she returned to Earth.
Five minutes before their scheduled arrival, he slipped out of his seat and went to the restroom, where he donned the one pair of coveralls he'd brought with him on leave. They felt stiff, strange, unfamiliar.
Trip certainly received more attention once he returned to his seat in uniform. The other passengers were trying not to look too excited, but were failing miserably. He wondered if they were looking at him as the chief engineer of the Enterprise, or the man who had almost been the impetus for the expulsion of all non-human races from the planet.
Fortunately, his discomfort was short lived. The first stop the transport made in San Francisco was the main gates of Starfleet headquarters. As the vessel touched down, he was joined at the doors by a cadet, who was bouncing on her toes with excitement.
"First day?" He whispered.
The young woman stood a little straighter, turning to face him. "Yes, sir. I was accepted in the accelerated summer program."
He smiled at that, remembering his days of falling up the ladder and getting into his fair share of trouble at Starfleet Training Command. As the doors slid open, the pair stepped out onto the sidewalk into the cool morning air.
Compared to Pensacola, this place is paradise, Trip thought as a breeze ruffled through his hair, carried in from the bay without an ounce of humidity. He turned back towards the cadet, who was waiting for his parting words, perhaps a valuable nugget of wisdom.
"Enjoy it while you can," Trip said at last, watching the confusion wash over the cadet's face.
She nodded. "Thank you sir." As Trip watched, she turned and made tracks towards the security checkpoint, somewhat more deflated than before.
He briefly wondered if he'd said the wrong thing, but thinking back on the time he'd served on Captain Jefferies' team, he wished someone had given him the exact same advice.
His chronometer beeped. Checking it, he realized he had five minutes to reach the other side of the compound for their meeting with Admiral Gardner, and that this was not an occasion where he could explain away his lateness. Shifting his bag to his other shoulder, Trip charged towards the front gate in a manner that perhaps wasn't dignified for a senior officer.
He made it with about thirty seconds to spare. As he entered the antechamber before the admiral's office, breathing heavily, he practically threw his bag across the room, startling the officer behind the desk. He took several deep breaths and raked his fingers through his hair, attempting to steel himself for what was sure to be a dressing-down of epic proportions. He stepped up to the door controls and announced his presence.
Whatever conversation was happening inside abruptly stopped, and then the door opened, giving Trip the first glance he'd had of his friends in months.
Archer looked as dauntless as ever, sitting in the chair nearest the door with his knees spread apart and hands folded in his lap. He looked up as Trip entered, but didn't move. His gaze flittered over towards the window, where T'Pol stood next to a computer display.
He almost didn't recognize her in the Starfleet uniform, but he had to admit, it suited her. She'd continued to grow her hair out; it teased her shoulders in the back, with side swept bangs in the front. He looked towards her lapel, and what he saw there was unmistakable: four pips. He nodded curtly to her, and she met his gaze, jaw clenched, expression unchanged.
Admiral Gardner spoke, shattering the moment. "Nice of you to join us, Commander. Please, have a seat."
Trip sat down next to Jonathan, suddenly very unsure of himself.
"I'm sure you've seen the news. We've decided to give promotions to the entire bridge crew of the Enterprise and a great deal of the other commissioned crew," Gardner began, passing a PADD across his desk. Trip took it and scrolled through the press release. As a matter of fact, he hadn't seen it; he'd been too busy forgetting his troubles.
"You're sitting next to Commodore Archer," Jon said, with a hint of distaste in his voice. Trip knew him better than anyone, and he knew he was probably still wrestling with the idea of giving up his command. Jon was an explorer first and foremost, who had been thrust into the ugly and violent roles of warrior, mediator, and martyr.
He could relate.
"And Captain T'Pol, the new CO of the Enterprise," Gardener added.
Trip was silent for a moment as the gears turned in his head. Did this mean…?
"Congratulations," he said at last, clapping a hand on Archer's shoulder.
"Archer will remain aboard the Enterprise in a supervisory capacity. If the Romulan threat proved anything, it's that we need leadership in the field to respond to the needs of every NX vessel simultaneously, and to make critical decisions with better response time than we can provide from behind our desks in San Francisco," Gardner explained in a way that made Trip believe there'd been extensive conversations to that end before he'd arrived. "We're prepared to offer you a command as well."
From the computer panel on the wall, T'Pol drew up the schematics for a ship that looked very much like Enterprise. Trip stood and approached it, barely making out the name: NX-05 MAELSTROM.
"Maelstrom has a crew complement of two hundred twenty, with a maximum speed of warp seven. She offers next generation duranium alloy hull plating and an enhanced targeting array, with long range sensors with twice the reach of the NX-04-"
T'Pol continued to describe the specifications of the vessel while Trip looked on, a storm of thoughts raging in his mind. It was immediately clear to him that this was a war ship, and the nature of his mission would inherently follow that. After fifteen years in the service, he couldn't believe he was even considering it.
He wasn't sure he wanted his own command.
"Thank you, sir, I accept," he replied before he could stop himself, forcing that thought from his mind.
"Glad to hear it," Gardner said. "Maelstrom is six months away from commissioning. You'll maintain your rank until then."
The admiral went on to explain how Enterprise would spend the next six months traveling to the different worlds involved in the first Coalition of Planets conference. It was hard enough to get all of these dignitaries in one place, he explained, and all the more hazardous with the continued threat of Terra Prime. Coming to the delegates would demonstrate their determination to make their alliance work. And Archer, he argued, was the most natural choice for who to extend that olive branch.
A diplomatic mission didn't sound like it had much built-in time for exploring. Trip dearly hoped he was wrong.
"Now on to your crew complement," Gardner interrupted his reverie, gesturing for T'Pol to pull up the relevant files. "Most will be recent training graduates or transfers, but we've selected several promising new commissions to join you on your mission immediately."
Bridge officers. Trip sat up a little straighter.
"Ensign Nandita Singh comes to us from Earth Cargo Authority. She's a boomer, like your Lieutenant Mayweather, but has spent a few years teaching xenolinguistics at Cambridge, and the past five coordinating communications for the ECA," he explained. In the provided photograph, Singh was turned half profile to the camera, a small smile adorning her lovely features, like she was amused with a joke that no one else could hear. Her back and shoulders were gently curved, hinting at many nights spent bent over a console. Trip could see that she had extremely long, thick hair, which was tied back in a bun and covered with a loose scarf. She appeared intelligent, eager, every inch the perfect communications officer.
"Hoshi's gonna love her," he remarked, and Jon nodded.
"For tactical, we have Ensign Alira Taxa-"
"A Denobulan?" Trip asked, a little bewildered by his selection. She was an attractive young woman, with electric blue eyes and a mess of blonde curls tied back from her face. Her species' characteristic cranial ridges were present, as well as a wide and uninhibited grin. Still, she looked awfully familiar…
"The Supreme Council was anxious to have their first bit of representation in Starfleet. Taxa is a renowned tactician and military historian, with several advanced degrees to that effect. She's this sector's champion strategema player, a master in the art of self defense, as well as a Commander in the Denobulan Infantry," T'Pol explained, scrolling over to the Ensign's military headshot, nearly identical.
"I've assigned her to be the Commodore's personal security attache during this mission," Gardner asserted, "as a gesture of good faith to the Denobulans. They've been the most cooperative during these Coalition talks, even more so than the Vulcans. I know you must prefer your Lieutenant Commander Reed, Archer, but believe me, she is more than competent."
Jon didn't look particularly convinced. At his strained expression, Gardner added, "I believe she may have a personal connection to the crew already. Isn't she Dr. Phlox's daughter?"
"Half-daughter. Ensign Taxa is the daughter of Phlox's second wife, Feezal, with one of her other husbands," T'Pol corrected him.
Son of a bitch.
"Don't look so stricken, Commander," Gardner demanded, motioning for T'Pol to move to the next screen. "You'll also be getting an engineer, a Vulcan. I believe you've already met Lieutenant Kov."
So he had. Trip remembered him from the first year of their mission, when they'd come across a group of travelers known as Vulcans without logic. He was impressionable, but curious, with an indefatigable positive attitude. Even then, he'd considered him a friend.
Over by the view screen, T'Pol was rapidly cycling through the narrow range of emotions she would allow herself to express. Of everyone on the crew, only he and Jon knew about the mental anguish one of the crew members had brought upon her, and they knew that after all these years, it was still a touchy subject.
"After your encounter with the Vahklas, it appears that he rejoined the High Command. His father is a member of the Vulcan delegation to the Coalition, so his request for a transfer landed on my desk," the admiral said. "He will need to be brought up to speed on our engine systems, but you and Kelby can whip him into shape."
"I bet we can," Trip said, feeling enthusiastic for the first time during the entire briefing.
They went on to discuss the status of the Coalition talks, who was holding out and who was ready to sign, as well as the mission logs for the NX ships who hadn't spent the past six months getting a retrofit. It was a lot of information, and by the time the briefing concluded, Trip's head was spinning.
The three of them fell into an easy rhythm as they walked down the hall away from the Admiral's office, with Archer in the middle, just as they'd walked into a thousand situations before. It was a long time before someone broke the silence.
"I can't believe they're taking away my command," Archer complained, though there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
Trip joined in: "Yeah, it seems like they'll let just anyone captain a starship these days."
It was a familiar routine, teasing T'Pol, usually undertaken over a meal in the Captain's mess. Over the years, though, she'd gotten used to it, and could dish it out just as much as she could take it. "I'd withhold your comments, Mr. Tucker, unless you want to start this mission with a reprimand. It seems that you're my first officer now."
Damn. So he was. He made a mental note that he needed to have a tough conversation with her, and well before the mission went underway. He could try, but he wasn't sure how far away from Earth they could get before he made sure she was okay. God knew how much he'd struggled with Elizabeth's death, and they'd scarcely talked about it for months.
"Madame Chang's tonight?" Archer asked as they reached the point where they were to go their separate ways, at a natural T in the corridor.
"1900 hours," T'Pol confirmed.
"Wouldn't miss it," Trip assured them, and wandered off in the direction of the experimental propulsion laboratory.
That night, the bridge officers of the Enterprise gathered at one of San Francisco's hidden gems, if you were to ask Sato or Phlox. Trip wasn't sure it was going to be anything to write home about, but he resolved to hold out for the meal to make his conclusions.
One of the chefs met him in the alleyway at the back door and showed him in. The meal turned out to be a private affair held in the back room, with rich, dark wooden furniture and candles spread out along one long table. Most had arrived by the time Trip did; as he entered the room, Hoshi stood and closed the distance between them, wrapping him in a tight hug, which he gratefully returned. He was glad that at a time and occasion like this, they were able to forget rank for a night and just enjoy each other's company.
"It's good to see you," Hoshi said, her sincerity genuine. As they separated, Trip noticed that she'd chopped off her hair to shoulder length, with a fringe of bangs that nearly covered her eyes.
"I've been waiting for this for six months," he told her, stepping back and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "How goes it, Malcolm?"
"I think you mean Lieutenant Commander Reed," the Englishman corrected him mischievously, taking a sip of his drink.
"Someone's a little gassed up about his promotion," Travis said. "I mean, I am too, but I'm being a little more subtle about it."
Hoshi broke off from his embrace and went to sit down, patting the seat next to her. When he joined her, she admitted, "You know, I gotta say, while I was backpacking around Asia, strolling through open air markets and mountain villages, I found myself thinking, what obscure 1960s horror film would I be forced to watch if I was on the Enterprise right now?"
Trip rolled his eyes. "Come on now."
From the other side of Hoshi, the newly commissioned Lieutenant Elizabeth Cutler leaned forward and added: "It's true. While I was on Dekendi III for the entomology symposium, all I could think about was giant spiders attacking the conference center…"
"Didn't you two go to Denobula as well? How did that go?" Hoshi asked.
The doctor made a thoughtful "hmm" noise, pressing a few buttons on his PADD before sliding it down the table towards them. In the photograph, Elizabeth stood huddled together with Feezal and two other Denobulan women, very close but not touching, all beaming from ear to ear.
"How was that, though?" Hoshi muttered out of the corner of her mouth, mostly to Elizabeth.
"Like a big sleepover," she answered, and they laughed.
All in all, Trip supposed it wasn't strange that the first officially sanctioned interspecies relationship was between their doctor and the ship's entomologist. She'd served for some time as a field medic, and in the gaps in her research they'd started to spend more and more time together, until by the time they reached the Expanse, they were almost inseparable. When they'd finally come to Captain Archer seeking his approval, with all that was going on, he almost had no choice but to say yes.
Trip still wondered how the dynamic worked between Liz and the three other wives. He almost didn't want to ask.
"Congratulations on finally making it onto the bridge, by the way," Travis called out from the other end of the table.
Liz smiled. "I'm happy to join you guys. It's about time."
The doctor chuckled. "You should have seen her getting ready to ask the Captain-"
"Phlox," she chastised him, before leaning back in her chair and running her hands through her hair. "Last week, the second I heard about T'Pol's promotion, I rushed to her office and told her, in no uncertain terms, that I'd been with her science team for four years, I'd diversified my skills while we were in the Expanse, I was ready to take on more responsibility, and what's more, I deserved to be her science officer."
He was taken aback by her boldness, and apparently wasn't the only one. "What did she say?" Malcolm asked.
"She just looked at me, I swear it felt like for about ten years, then handed me a PADD signed off by Admiral Gardner detailing my assignment. I got commissioned with credit for time served."
It was true the science department maintained a mostly rotating coterie of specialists, who were with them for a couple months or years as enlisted crewman, just long enough for them to finish their respective Ph.D. programs. Then they were off to their next academic endeavor, whatever that may be. Liz was one of the rare ones who stayed, dedicated as she was to her friends and the crew. Her personal connection with the Doctor probably didn't hurt.
Trip whistled. "You're lucky she didn't take your head off."
"It's probably the bravest thing I've done to date," Cutler said as the waitress returned to refill their drinks. "I hear we'll be getting more commissioned science officers from the training program within the next six months, though, so it won't be just me."
"Speaking of the next six months-" Travis exclaimed as Trip placed his order. "Congratulations on your promotion, Captain Tucker!"
The rest of the table erupted in soft cheers and claps. He held up his hands. "It's not official yet, guys. I won't be a captain for another six months, not until the Maelstrom is finished."
"It's all over the Starfleet intranet though, and the news," Elizabeth told him.
Trip fumbled for his PADD and turned on the screen. Sure enough, several missed video calls, from Natalie, his parents, and assorted distant relatives. "You'd think those admirals would be able to keep a secret for more than a couple of hours."
Malcolm laughed. "You'd think. I hear we're being joined by several of your bridge officers. Any details on that?"
"We'll be picking them up over the next few weeks. They seem like a strong group."
Hoshi stirred her cocktail with a straw, deep in thought. "What happens if they want to stay with the Enterprise after the six months? Do you let them?"
Trip shrugged. "I guess so. Nothing I can do to stop them."
She stayed silent for some time. When she was satisfied that their companions were involved in other conversations, Hoshi whispered: "What if I want to come over to the Maelstrom?"
He didn't get to answer, because in the next moment Archer and T'Pol came through the door, looking somewhat out of breath. "Sorry we're late," Archer huffed, "You wouldn't believe how persistent these reporters can be."
Malcolm nodded. "I believe it. My mum's had men with cameras showing up at her house. My sister can scarcely go out in public without someone approaching her."
"I hope you didn't try to walk here," Hoshi said with concern in her voice. Madame Chang's was a short walk away from headquarters, but the sidewalks were swarming with people on even the quietest day.
Archer approached the table, pulling out a chair for his companion. He sat directly across from Hoshi, while T'Pol sat across from Cutler, yet to say a word. "Gardner arranged a driver to take us everywhere we need to go."
Trip smirked, leaning forward. "Well, doesn't that sound fancy? When will I be getting one of those?"
"I take it that it's a luxury reserved for flag officers and their guests," Archer admitted, a little embarrassed.
Their waitress returned to take their dinner orders. Hoshi, of course, placed hers in flawless Mandarin, before passing the menu off to Trip, who ordered by pointing at the picture on the page.
Some time later as the meal had finished and the liquor and conversation was flowing easily, Trip found himself trying to get T'Pol's attention. She wasn't actively ignoring him, he decided, but every time they spoke, her replies were short and terse, even more so than usual.
She spoke at length to Phlox and Lieutenant Cutler about their long-range sensor upgrades and the various experiments she wanted the science department to perform over the next six months, then discussed with Lieutenant Mayweather the best route to their first stop on the diplomatic mission. She even inquired as to how Reed's vacation had gone, even questioning how his family was, something she'd never made any pretense of caring about before.
Yet, it was good to see her converse easily with the crew, considering four years ago she'd scarcely thought them worthy of her time. Jon and Trip talked about his escapades motoring across the south, all of the boring receptions they'd had to attend, and how their favorite water polo teams were doing. It felt comfortable and familiar.
When they finished, it was well past closing time and the streets were nearly empty. They gathered in front of the restaurant to wait for the valet, huddled underneath the awning to keep clear of the rain.
Only Archer seemed to have brought an umbrella, producing one out of his coat. He and T'Pol stepped out from under the awning to give everyone more room.
"Hey Captain, what time do we need to be there for launch tomorrow?" Trip asked, perhaps louder than necessary.
T'Pol briefly looked at Archer, before it apparently dawned on her that she should be the one answering the question. "We depart dry dock at 0900."
"Great, I'll be rolling up at 0855," he answered, and there were a couple of laughs at that.
A hovercar with tinted windows rolled up to the curb. It was sleek, discrete, the perfect transportation for a diplomat. Sure enough, Jon stepped forward and opened the backseat door, helping his companion into the car. As she stepped off the sidewalk, he rested a hand protectively on the small of her back. Giving them all a cursory nod and smile, he came around the vehicle, sheathed his umbrella, and slid in. It was a quick series of motions, if only a few seconds, but Trip noticed.
He didn't stop thinking about it for the next couple of hours.
The next morning at 0600, Lieutenant Sato paced the halls of the Enterprise, refamiliarizing herself with the ship. So much had changed: the lighting in the corridors was brighter, the engine hummed differently when it was calibrated for warp six, and she had a replicator in her quarters. The latter was enough for her to decide she quite liked the change.
The truth was, she hadn't been able to sleep the night before, tossing and turning for several hours before checking out of her hotel room and taking the 0200 shuttle up to space dock. Seeing Enterprise again was like seeing an old friend.
And to think that just four short years ago, she'd been frightened by nearly everything and everyone they encountered.
The crew was just starting to trickle in, an enhanced complement of one hundred fifty. The MACOs were first, arriving in groups of four dressed in their fatigues. She'd embraced the newly promoted Sergeant Amanda Cole, who'd shared the good news that she was now second in command of their brigade, after whoever the tactical officer of the Maelstrom was going to be. Hoshi told her she didn't know anything about it and continued on her way, eventually finding her way to sickbay.
Inside, Phlox and Liz were struggling to find room for all of the new additions to the menagerie. The Coalition negotiations meant that the resources of several additional worlds were now open to them, and the doctor had taken full advantage of it.
"Elizabeth, we may have to store some of these creatures in our quarters," Phlox called out from the far side of the room, side stepping the cages that littered the floor.
Her reply was muffled, as her upper body was inside one of the medicine cabinets, hurriedly restocking specimens before launch. "It depends. If you're talking about the tribbles, sure. If it's the Denebian slime devils-" She emerged from the cabinet, making a cutting motion with her hand. "-absolutely not!"
"We're going to be pretty cramped as it is," Hoshi reminded them from the doorway. Almost simultaneously, they raised their hands in greeting.
"One fifty humanoids, a bunch of alien creatures, and a dog. Who would have thought we'd all fit?" Liz mused, reaching into one of the shipping containers on the floor.
"Two dogs," Hoshi said, "I just saw Crewman Kelly with her Boston terrier."
Liz made an 'aww' sound and clapped her hands together, silently reminding herself to visit B Deck where they lived.
"And to answer your question, the non-coms are having to bunk up two or three to a room."
She grimaced. "Sounds like I commissioned at just the right time."
They both laughed at that, and Hoshi continued on her walk. Members of the crew kept passing her in the opposite direction, holding cargo containers or suitcases, talking excitedly amongst themselves. Soon she approached the origin of all the commotion, the transporter pad, manned by the newly promoted Petty Officer Michael Rostov.
"Hey, Misha," she said, coming to stand beside him. As she watched, he guided the controls into the forward position, and the pattern of someone standing with several cargo containers began to appear. "How's engineering?"
"Oh, same old, same old," he grinned, pausing so the two of them could greet Chef, who was coming aboard with the last of many culinary shipments. When he'd walked away, he whispered, "It's just Commanders Tucker and Kelby stalking around, posturing, asserting themselves. I'm telling you, it's gonna turn into a pissing contest really fast."
Yikes. The two of them had never really gotten along. The power struggle was certainly only going to escalate until Trip left for the Maelstrom.
"I hope not. Check your messages when you can. Commander Tucker is asking me to have people put in their votes for-"
"Movie night?" He guessed.
"Back by popular demand," she replied, as the next round of crewmen came up with the transporter. Three of them quickly moved off to attend to their duties, but one looked confused, as if she wasn't sure where she was supposed to go.
As she stepped off the platform, Hoshi noticed the woman was petite, barely five feet tall, but carried herself as if she were much taller. "Hello," she began, and Hoshi's mind began to decipher where exactly in the world she was from. "I'm Ensign Nandita Singh. I was told I needed to report to Captain T'Pol when I arrived. Could you point me in the direction of the bridge?"
"Lieutenant Hoshi Sato." She extended her hand in greeting.
Her eyes lit up with recognition. Singh shifted her bag to the opposite shoulder and mirrored the gesture, shaking it firmly. "You're Hoshi Sato! I'm to be the new communications officer for Maelstrom. Please, call me Dita."
"Thank you, Dita," she said, "I see you've packed light. I hope you have everything you need, because we're about to go very far from home."
"Which for you is-" She trailed off, eyes narrowed, performing the same analysis she'd done only moments before. "Kyoto?"
Hoshi smiled. She was good. "And for you...New Delhi?"
"Yes, by way of the generational cargo ship I grew up on."
"A boomer!" Hoshi exclaimed, making a mental note to introduce her to Travis. "If you'll come with me, I'll take you to the bridge. I'm headed that way."
"Thank you, Lieutenant." She began to follow Hoshi towards the turbolift. "And while we're on our way, we can dissect the very slight California accent you've developed-"
At 0630, Archer and T'Pol were strolling onto the bridge for the first time since the retrofit. It had been an early morning; at 0400 they'd left the Admiralty House, which had been their home for the past six months. They'd had the option to take a transport, but Archer was insistent on flying them up himself. And so they'd taken Shuttlepod One, fresh from some upgrades of its own, from the grounds of headquarters up to dry dock, and spent several minutes in conversation with the dockmaster. T'Pol received a manifest of all the work performed and a schedule of preventative maintenance, and they'd remotely changed the prevailing command codes over to her own. It was ceremony more than anything else, but the significance was not lost on Archer.
As he guided the craft into the shuttlebay, he asked, "Did you ever think it would come to this?"
She thought about it for a moment. "Are you asking if I thought I'd stay this long?"
As usual, she saw straight through him. He confirmed this as he powered down the craft.
"I didn't," she said finally as they exited into the bay.
"I'm glad you did," he told her, and meant it.
He asked repeatedly if she'd prefer to have his quarters, but she refused, saying it would be too inconvenient for the both of them to switch. After dropping off their bags, they'd taken a mostly silent walk through each deck in the early morning hours, noting all the improvements as they went.
The most drastic change, however, was on the bridge. Archer could scarcely recognize it; the retrofitters had expanded into the corridor behind them and to either side of the room, making it feel twice as large.
In the middle of the room where his chair once sat, there were now two chairs angled towards one another, with a command console in between. Each of the consoles-navigation, communications, tactical, science-had been raised up on platforms, and a second chair added, facing towards the wall rather than the center of the room. The computer screens had been replaced with slightly larger and easier to read models. There were more blinking orange and red lights to the interface, signaling the areas that needed attention.
The view screen was larger and curved, taking up one entire side of the wall. Towards the back of the bridge, the makeshift situation room they'd forged with a couple screens and a table unit had been doubled in size. All around them, the paneling on the wall and floor which had once been gray had been torn out and replaced with a rich, royal navy blue.
"I like what they've done with the place," Archer remarked, coming to sit in the command chair on the right. He turned this way and that, and soon realized that it was sitting up too high for his feet to touch the ground.
That simply wouldn't do.
As he struggled with the various levers and buttons controlling his chair, T'Pol came to stand in front of the view screen, studying the upper pylons of dry dock and the empty space beyond it. She stood there, motionless, for several moments until he asked, "What are you thinking?"
She sighed quietly, and he watched her shoulders move up and down. "I'm thinking...I'm not sure I'm ready for this."
Said every Captain on their first day, in the history of ever, he thought, but didn't say it out loud. Instead he stood and joined her. "T'Pol, you're the most capable officer I know. I-and everyone aboard this ship-trusts you with their lives. You're going to be just fine."
She looked doubtful, mulling this over for several moments. Then she reached toward him, took his hand and squeezed it, letting it go a second later.
It was the most innocent of gestures, but Jonathan was taken aback. He knew she'd meant it with gratitude, with fondness, with affection.
It hadn't been the first time they'd crossed that line.
The first time had been a month before. They'd been invited to some dinner hosted by any one of the numerous, faceless admirals that populated headquarters, in one of their grand homes down by the bay. Following some briefings that day, where they'd explained the particulars of the Xindi conflict for the hundredth time, they were told their attendance was mandatory.
The proceedings would be more tolerable if we attended together, T'Pol had argued, and he agreed.
And so she'd been his date, meeting him at the front door of their shared lodgings at precisely the predetermined time. She wore a long-sleeved black dress that swept the floor as she walked, very different from her usual Vulcan robes, but not unwelcome.
He'd told her she cleaned up nice. She'd told him he looked...noble.
They turned more than a couple heads as they walked into Admiral Houghton's home that evening. Everyone had to extend their greetings to them, to compliment their work in the Expanse or ask them the one question that they were sure they'd never been asked about living on a starship.
It didn't escape Archer the irony of the situation: that in a room full of smarmy admirals laughing and swilling champagne, they were the only ones to experience war, the only ones to engage in close quarters combat with the enemy, the only ones to have people die under their command.
As the dinner party continued, they found themselves in conversation with Admiral Thompson and her husband seated across from them. Mr. Thompson was somewhat of a minor attache at the United Earth Council, and was telling everyone around that today they'd just sentenced one John Frederick Paxton, in front of a grand jury, to multiple lifetimes in prison.
Beside him, he could feel T'Pol tense up. Before he could pull her aside, Admiral Gardner stood and tapped his fork against his glass to announce what he hadn't suspected: the dinner was in their honor, and their promotions would go into effect during the next meeting of their Coalition delegation.
As the night wore on, and they'd accepted congratulations from nearly everyone in the room, Jonathan went in search of T'Pol. She'd disappeared sometime after dessert, slipping out before he could say anything.
He found her in the garden moving alone between the rows of topiaries, walking slowly, deliberately.
This was extremely strange behavior for her, and he was immediately concerned. He knew this had to do with Terra Prime in some capacity, and that issue was just too extensive, too complicated, too painful for them to discuss in no uncertain terms. So he approached carefully, telling her quietly: "You know you're going to be a great Captain."
She stopped and turned to him, and he was shocked to see tears in her eyes. Quickly he closed the distance between them, wanting to touch her, but not daring to do so. "I'll be by your side every step of the way."
As he had been, every day for the past four years. She looked up at him for one seemingly eternal moment, then to his surprise reached out and cupped his face with both hands.
He said her name, cautioning her, urging her not to do something she'd later regret. But she ignored him, whispering, "I know you will. You're all I have."
And then she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the forehead, softly, with impossible tenderness. Afterwards, when she broke away, they hadn't spoken about it. Not then, not over the next couple of weeks.
Jonathan, though, had replayed it over and over in his mind every day, without fail.
Back in the present day, the turbolift doors slid open to admit Hoshi Sato and a newcomer, one whose face he recognized from the briefing the day before.
"Ensign Nandita Singh, reporting for duty." The young woman stood stock still, looking at the space between them on the far wall.
"At ease, Ensign," T'Pol said, and once she'd assumed a natural stance, reached out to shake her hand. "Welcome aboard. I hold Lieutenant Sato to an extremely high standard, and I will only expect the same quality of work out of you."
A panicked look crossed her face for a moment, but Hoshi's reassured nod told her she had nothing to worry about. She shook Jonathan's hand too, saying, "Thank you, ma'am, sir. I'll try my best to honor you in all I do."
She then moved off, guided by Hoshi, to the communications console. By that time, the bridge crew was slowly starting to trickle in, followed shortly by Commander Tucker.
He whistled. "Lookin' good down here! Wish I could say the same for engineering. Whoever was working on those power relay upgrades can't hardly tell their left from their right, I can tell you that!"
T'Pol inhaled sharply. "Gentlemen, a word."
The two of them followed her into the ready room and waited for her to say something, anything. Finally she turned and approached the window with her arms crossed, a posture Jonathan had assumed many, many times before. "I wanted to let both of you know how important it is to have you here for the next step of our journey. I trust your judgment, and I hope in turn you will trust mine in the days that follow."
"You've got nothing to worry about Captain. It's just six months of ferrying diplomats and shaking hands. How hard could it be?" Trip said, knowing full well he might have just jinxed the whole mission.
Archer walked around the desk and opened one of the cabinets, rummaging around inside. "I believe this calls for a toast."
T'Pol had yet to move into the ready room and make it her own. She was astounded. "You keep alcohol in here?"
"Only for special occasions," he answered, producing a bottle of champagne. Trip was apparently in on the scheme, pulling three flutes out of a separate compartment.
As he filled their glasses, Archer said, "Here's to one more adventure."
"One more adventure," his companions echoed him, clinked their glasses together, and drank.
Half an hour later, the entire crew complement had assembled, the engines had been fired up, and the dockmaster had given them the all clear to depart. Archer and T'Pol sat behind the helm, staring out into the open space before them.
"Deja vu, huh?" Tucker whispered to Malcolm, who nodded.
Suddenly their Captain stood and approached the view screen. Travis's hands hovered over the controls, ready to react at any moment. Quietly her gaze drifted over the lot of them, and her expression was perfectly serene. The anticipation washed over the room in waves.
"Lieutenant, lay in a course for the Denobula Triaxa system."
"Course set."
"Take us out, Mr. Mayweather."
He complied, and they collectively felt the great push of Enterprise moving forward from its berths. At first they used thrusters to clear dry dock, then set to impulse, and just as they passed Jupiter Station, they jumped to warp, causing the ship to distend and shoot forward as if in a slingshot, leaving Earth far behind them in a burst of light.
End of Episode One
Next time on Enterprise...
Episode Two: Sentinel
The crew travels to Denobula and receives a troubling request from an old friend. Malcolm is challenged to a game of wits.