Not only was it in violation of a direct order, it was utterly reckless, irresponsible and maybe even criminal.
The words chased each other around Archer's head like a mantra. Jon could recall every moment of the most horrendous experience of his life. Standing in Commodore Maxwell Forrest's office, a man he'd known most of his life and called a friend, getting chewed out for their little stunt. It had seemed logical at the time, taking the NX-beta and demonstrating to those pointy eared devils that she could fly. The worst hadn't been the lecture, but the weeks and months that followed.
You are both suspended from duty pending an inquiry, and by the time Starfleet Command gets through with you, you're going to wish that you had never come back.
"Ain't that the truth," Jon muttered under his breath.
Looking down the corridor, he searched for the compartment that would become his home. Dropping his bag on the floor, Archer examined his quarters. Bunks against one wall proved the cabin was designed to house two crewmen. A small table, doubling as a desk graced the corner, a small couch against the opposite wall the only indication of personal space. There wasn't an individual computer terminal, or, indeed, anything marking the room as homely. Shaking his head, Jonathan Archer felt just far he'd fallen from grace with his current surroundings.
As an officer, he'd had the pleasure of quarters designated solely for himself, usually mid-deck with a window displaying the star field beyond. The memories of better times clouded his mind. Wondering if NX program still existed or if the Vulcan's had their way and shut it down completely, Jon knew he would never be allowed back into that hallowed circle. He would never have the privilege of witnessing his father's engine fly. He was, by all accounts, a person non-grata to Starfleet, an outcast, a rebel without a cause.
Get Lieutenant Tucker in here. Not happy with the two of them sharing the wrath of their superiors, A.G. Robinson just had to go and involve the kid. A kid Archer had cajoled to help them steel the NX-beta prototype to prove a point. So, they'd made warp 2.5 and returned safely, but at what cost?
"And just like that," Archer slammed his fist into the nearest wall hoping the pain would make him feel less outraged, "Trip was drawn into a conflict that wasn't his. Hell, I convinced him to help us after examining the telemetry and data on the antimatter intermix. We needed him, we used him."
A.G. and I may never fly again, but it's a small sacrifice to make if it keeps this project going.
Archer stood in the conference room and boldly made the statement to Forrest, several Admirals and a contingency of Vulcans what seemed like an eternity ago. Those words turned out to be prophetic. The sacrifice hadn't been small, it had been life changing.
"Well," Archer turned to the bag and began unpacking, "at least I'm flying again."
Shaking his head, it didn't take long for Jon to realise someone already inhabited the room. Half the draws and one of the cupboards held clothing. The blue jumpsuits resembled the cut and colour of those he'd once worn. Jon could imagine the silver pips, the arm patch and gold piping indicating he belonged to an organisation larger than himself. The colour was lighter than Starfleet standard and there were no insignia, proving his court martial five weeks ago had been final and fatal.
"What the hell are you doing here!" That irate Southern twang couldn't be mistaken. Turning, Archer found exactly what he'd suspected. One very angry blond haired, blue eyed engineer.
"I'm the new axillary pilot," Jon answered, trying for a friendly smile. It came out as a meek smirk.
"We'll see about that," Trip stated. Pivoting on one foot, he about faced and almost ran down the corridor. "I thought I'd seen the last of you six months ago. Couldn't have been happier about the fact," the irate individual threw over his shoulder.
"Shit," Jon abandoned his half-unpacked bag and raced after the younger man, making it onto the bridge at almost the same time. He didn't want to lose this job, the only one he'd been able to acquire, thanks to his well televised dismissal from Starfleet.
"Is it true," Tucker demanded, ignoring the questioning looks from the crew scattered around the cargo carriers centre of operations. Everyone knew when Trip had a bee in his bonnet, his usually affable personality flew out the view port until he cooled down.
"I see you've met your roommate," Captain Ellard nodded. "Mr. Archer has joined our crew. He's been contracted for twelve duty shifts a week on the bridge."
"Well make sure he stays on the damn bridge and out of my way," Trip stated vehemently. "See that you schedule my time in engineering so I don't have to look at that man's face. He's the reason I got kicked out of Starfleet."
"My Chief Engineer was hoping that the two of you would work together," Captain Ellard stated, his tone hard and glare icy, "to improve Ananastasia's warp drive."
"I already increased output by seventeen percent this quarter," Trip responded, his voice laced with sarcasm, "using parts you had laying around. We need to make the next run ahead of time for the bonus, if you want me to get any more out of that engine, cause I have to rewire half the ship to cope with the increased power usage. Commander Archer here won't be able to help you in that respect. Hell, all he is good for, is talking you into crazy schemes that'll cut your career short."
With that, Trip Tucker marched off the bridge. Grumbling all the way back to the engine room didn't give him enough time to cool his temper. Before the duty shift was out, everyone on board the Boomer vessel knew of the history between former Commander Jonathan Archer and Lt. Charles Tucker.
"I don't think my Chief Engineers assistant likes you very much," Captain Ellard glared at his new pilot.
"No," Jon responded, "and he has every right not to."
"Trip's been with us a couple of months," Ellard continued. "Good worker, best engineer I've come across. See you don't overly upset him. I can always find another pilot. Someone of Tucker's calibre is hard to replace."
"I wondered what happened to him," Archer said in a quiet tone filled with sorrow, "after security arrested him. Not that I had much chance to find out, from the brig."
Nodding, as if that were an end to the matter, Jon knew it would take time to understand these boomers and how they did things. Starfleet rules and regulations were a thing of the past. He had to get on with the rest of his life, knowing he'd killed his chance at a promising career, taken one from Trip Tucker and any destroyed any hope Humanity had of reaching the star this century.
"Jon," Trip had taken months to forgive his roommate and almost a year to make affable overtures towards the man.
"Yep," Archer answered. Laying on his bunk, he just wanted to sleep after the latest Narssican attack. If it hadn't been for Tucker's upgrades and Jon's flying, Ananastasia would have lost her precious cargo. The attacks were becoming more frequent as they gained a reputation of delving goods ahead of schedule, which also made them a target. Still, they were the only Human vessel able to make warp three at a push, and have a well-functioning weapons system for defence.
"You think," hesitating, Trip could hear the fatigue in Jon's voice, "we're going to make it to Trillius Prime in time for that bonus?"
"Why," Jon asked with the understanding Tucker had some plan percolating in the back of his mind. A year had passed since Archer come aboard. Luckily Trip's obvious distain for him hadn't soured the rest of the crew. These boomers were a laid-back lot, so long as you did your job.
"I need some of the funds," the younger man stated.
Sighing, Archer knew he'd never get any sleep until he heard the engineer out. "You been arguing with the Chief again."
"Hell, no," Trip mocked. "He cornered me the other day and said if I wanted to take his job, that was fine with him. The only reason I got this position after, well, what happened, is because Cello's been looking for someone to take over the engines. He said there was no one on board with enough experience but I had to learn more than just upgrades and thinking of the next best way to coax more speed out of the engine. I have to learn how to manage people who have no real training."
"Funny," Jon stated, finally seeing the links he'd missed, "Ellard said the same to me if I want his job one day."
"I never did congratulate you on making First Mate," Trip found his resentment decreasing as Jon slowly changed the dynamics on the bridge. He'd introduced more protocol, outlined procedures that were to be followed and encouraged the Captain to maintain a more structured hierarchy. "Not that you haven't stepped on a few toes around here."
"Tell me about it," Jon snorted. "You know, Trip, Ananastasia needed the discipline you and I brought from our Starfleet careers, and the knowhow."
"You won't hear me auguring," Tucker agreed. Turning serious, he asked, "do you ever regret it?"
"All the damn time," Archer sighed. "I could have been working my way to Captain on a ship powered by my father's engine. Instead, all I did was slow up the NX program until it came to a grinding halt. Starfleet will be lucky to break warp 3 by the end of the century with Vulcan involvement."
"That's what Cello and I have been arguing about," Trip jumped down from his top bunk and paced the small space. "The improvements to our systems could be marketed, to other Boomer vessels. We'd be the fastest ships human being got and give us the money to research ways to make Ananastasia even faster. Hell, I reckon I could have warp 4 in ten years, if we were smart about this."
"I'll put it to the Captain," Jon promised. They weren't really friends, yet, but the potential was there. On a ship this size, they couldn't continue to be at each other's throats, so they'd decided on weary adversaries. Tonight's discussion went a long way to starting down that road of understanding and grieving for a mutual loss.
"How did you get here so fast, Captain?" Grumbled the representative from the Restrum Consortium. He knew this was going to cost him.
Archer smiled. He'd never give up his secret, not easily at least. Trip had done it again. All their prize money for the last ten years ploughed back into upgrading Ananastasia's systems, slowly rebuilding the trading vessel from the inside out, meant she had a well-deserved reputation as one of the fastest Human crewed ships in the sector. Once Chief Engineer Tucker made the next generation of improvements, Captain Archer made it known in the industry that the old technology was for sale.
"You're looking at the first warp 5 vessel," Jon stated. "We can now make the run between the dilitum mining colony at Gerion and Restrum in under a week."
Muttering under his breath, Archer heard something about 'humans'. "Starfleet hasn't even cracked warp 4," protested the representative.
"They would have," Jon felt a little vindicated, "if they hadn't gotten rid of their best pilot and engineer."
"Or shook off their Vulcan leash," the Restrum added cynically. "Well, you deserved your bonus, Captain. I shudder to think what you're going to do with it. But now you proved you can do the run in that time, I'm going to expect it."
"Ananastasia's contract with you is up," Archer stated, handing the individual a PADD. The Restrum swore at the canny Captain's plan. "I'm afraid you'll have to look for another freelancer. I've lined up a couple that are more than willing and completely honest. We can talk later, over dinner. I might even invite my Chief Engineer to join us, but I want to check in with my crew, make sure the unloading's going to schedule. We have to ship out on time."
Narrowing his eyes, the Restrum scrutinised the Human. "Who's brought your services?" he demanded.
"Starfleet," Jon laughed. "We're going back to Earth. Haven't seen my homeworld in almost five years."
Two days later, their cargo hold filled, Ananastasia was headed back to the Sol system. Even as the Captain, Jon hadn't moved quarters. Single, he still shared with Trip. They'd become fast friends, often sharing their off-duty hours together. The attractive blond sought out companionship on almost every world they visited. More outgoing, Tucker managed to sweet talk the skirt of his intended target. Jon found being his wingman had the inherent bonus of scoring his own distraction more often than not.
Sharing a private meal, Trip looked at the Captain. "A penny for them," he offered, understanding the Captain had something on his mind.
"I'm not sure we're going the right thing," Archer shook his head, "contracting to Starfleet. Milk runs between Earth and Vulcan. Not my idea of a good time."
"It's not our cargo space they want," Trip guessed easily.
"You think they want to pick our engine apart?" Jon sounded weary.
"Hell, yes," Tucker responded emphatically. "We both know they've tried to infiltrate my engine room, especially since the last round of upgrades. Those Starfleet types are easy to spot. I'm not letting that organisation get hold of my designs and modifications, not without extracting a high price."
"What if they offered reinstatement," Archer asked, suddenly very attentive to every small nuance. "Promotions even."
"It would have to be as the Chief Engineer of the most advanced ship in their fleet," Trip shrugged his shoulders. "You and I both know, Jon, that will never happen."
"They've ordered constructing of the first starship," Archer stated. "NX-01, Enterprise. Crew of eighty, top speed warp 4 with sustained cruising at 3.6."
"They got a long way to go," Trip snorted, "to catch up with Ananastasia."
"Think of the resources," Jon suddenly lent forward, ignoring the food on his plate.
"Hell," Trip stood, "you're acting like they want us back."
"They do," Archer confessed, "or at least, they want you."
"Ain't no body going to be my Captain, but you, Jon," Trip responded heatedly. "It's taken ten years to break you into my way of thinking."
"That's want I told Admiral Forrest when he contacted me a month ago," Jon relaxed, watching the expression on Trip's mobile face.
"When do you have to give our answer?" He demanded.
"Tomorrow," Archer smirked, enjoying the complex thoughts telegraphed on the engineer's features.
"Hell, why'd you spring it on me so late," angered, Trip's emotions were about his Captain withholding the offer, not his willingness to accept it. "You do realise I can't bring my assistant chief up to speed in less than six months. Besides, who would Captain Ananastasia?"
"So, you want to stay?" Jon ignored the rhetorical question, arrowing in on the truth of the matter.
"As much as I hate to admit it," Trip confessed, "this is my life now. I don't think I could go back to that structure, all that protocol. Life good here, easy and I get to tinker with my engines any time I want."
"I thought that would be your answer," smiled the knowing Captain. "What about your personal life, Trip. Finding a woman, getting married, kids?"
"Been meaning to speak to you about that," embarrassed, Tucker's cheeks turned red. "Gabby's pregnant and her daddy's not happy. Any chance you can perform a shotgun wedding and wrangle up married quarters for your best friend?"
"You know, it's about time the Captain got a cabin to himself," Jon chuckled. He'd wondered at the increasing closeness of his engineer and operations officer, especially as Trip had forgone shore leave on the last two planets. "How does tomorrow sound, after I tell Forrest where to stick his job offer."
"Perfect," Trip responded with a huge smile.