A week later, Enterprise's command crew met on the bridge. It had been relatively quiet around the mining colony, though a small battle between three Andorian ships and two Romulan drones had been fought in the last week. Only one Andorian ship had escaped.

"We've been recalled to Earth," said Archer to his senior staff, "We'll be heading home for a few weeks after Columbia arrives to relieve us. We'll debrief them, and then we're off."

Trip leaned forward.

"Why are we being taken out of the action?" he asked.

"It's not like that," replied Archer, "They want to refit and upgrade our weapons at Jupiter station, and they've got plans for this ship that don't include guarding a colony. You'll all be informed of the details when we get to Starfleet command."

"What about our prisoner?" asked Malcolm, "When are we going hand him over to the Vulcans?"

"We'll make the transfer when we get to Earth," replied Archer.

Trip glanced very quickly at T'Pol, but her face showed no reaction, as usual. They could have been talking about an engine part.

"Columbia will be here in two days," said Archer, "Everyone should have reports on surface operations ready. The MACOs already stationed on the colony will remain. Dismissed everyone."

With that, the officers all headed toward their stations, all business.


Later than night, T'Pol and Enme played chess in his cabin.

"I believe I'll checkmate you in five moves, brother," she said.

Enme sighed. He examined the board and saw that she was correct. He also saw his mistake had been made four moves earlier. He made a mental note and resolved to never make that particular mistake again.

"I knew there was a reason you suggested this human game. Logic is a key component."

"As is military-style strategy, which I assumed would give you an equal advantage. No doubt my easy victory came from experience, rather than superior natural ability. My guess is after a few more games, we shall be equally matched."

Enme knocked over his king in supplication.

"You flatter me," he said.

"Vulcans don't flatter. We are merely honest," she replied as she set up the pieces again and placed the game on the shelf.

"T'Pol," said Enme, "May I ask you favor?"

She sat back down.

"You know that depends on the favor."

"I need you to help me take my own life. Take me to the airlock, bring me poison…shoot me yourself."

T'Pol did not react, and he was not surprised. He had been hinting around about his desire for death for days, ever since he had realized that he hadn't been able to resist his interrogation. T'Pol had refused to answer his queries on the subject one way or another, but her lack of reassurance, and the fact that Malcolm had not tried to question him again pointed him toward the truth.

"You know I can't do that," she said, "and if you persist in bringing up the subject, we'll have to remove the sheets and blankets from your bed and any other implements you might use to accomplish such a goal."

Enme kicked the table in frustration.

"Is that out of concern for me or because I'm too valuable to your alliance?"

T'Pol raised her eyebrow.

"Both."

"You must understand that if I return to my people, I'm a dead man. Among your people — human or Vulcan — I'm a prisoner. What kind of future do I have?"

He had spoken with a most nonchalant tone. After all, death was an every day companion to a soldier like Enme.

"You have indicated that you are grateful to be alive as often as you have expressed a desire for death. Perhaps you could find a home for yourself on one of the many multi-species stations or colonies in this region of space. Hirku station seemed like an idea place for a person in your situation to settle. Perhaps you would even find it — liberating."

Enme sat back.

"Do you really think I would ever be released?"

"Once the war is over," she said, "It is very likely."

Enme stayed quiet for awhile. Such mercy for one's enemy was outside his frame of reference.

"Do you know if they plan on questioning me again?" he asked.

T'Pol shook her head, and she stood up to leave. "Do you have any special requests for the evening meal?"

Enme smiled.

"Whatever your magnificent chef has prepared will be just fine. But if Captain Archer is willing to share some of his bourbon, I wouldn't object."

"I'll ask him," said T'Pol as she exited.


Starfleet's two senior NX class captains were out of uniform. In fact, they were both completely naked in the captain's quarters of the NX-02. Archer had Erika held up against the bulkhead, and he was thrusting inside her at just the right angle to drive her crazy. She had her legs wrapped around his hips and was bracing her feet on the back of his legs.

"Oh my god, Jon," she whispered, "Do not stop now…"

He said nothing, just continued at his work until she couldn't say anything and just melted in his arms. A minute or so later, he collapsed against her, while using his weight to keep her propped up. She put her head on his shoulder and sighed deeply.

Finally, he put her on her feet and she led him to the bed, where they sprawled down together.

"That was the best tactical briefing I've ever had," she laughed.

"I wonder if your first officer is wondering where you are," breathed Archer.

"Mine isn't as nosy as yours," laughed Erika, "Although I wonder if we've broken any regulations."

Jon rolled through the various regs on fraternization in his head. Then, he rolled through the rules on breaks while on duty.

"Nope," he said, "You're just not allowed to screw your subordinate. And captains are allowed to take breaks during the day, as needed."

Erika rested her head on one elbow and massaged one of Jon's calves with her small foot.

"Speaking of which," she said, "what's it been like having your two senior officers married?"

"A hell of a lot easier than it was when they were dating," replied Jon, "It was the on again off again thing that was the hassle."

Erika grinned.

"I remember," she replied, "I knew it was too good to be true to get Tucker aboard Columbia."

Jon rolled his eyes, remembering those days.

"You wouldn't believe them now. They work totally in synch with one another. If Starfleet has any reservations about married officers, those two will certainly help put them to rest."

Erika smiled.

"That's nice, actually. A few of my officers have paired off, though they don't realize I've noticed. My first officer takes every excuse he can get to run down to sickbay and see the doctor. He delivers PADDs down there and doesn't think I've figured out that he's looking to see the doctor."

"I thought your doctor was a male...oh, right…No regulations against that, either."

Erika giggled.

"Starfleet is based in San Francisco, Jon. I don't know why you are so surprised."

He laughed.

"I shouldn't be," he said, "In fact, two of my female crewman are a couple."

"Do you think the Romulans are tolerant of different sexualities?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said, knowing he couldn't reveal that he had one on his ship, even to Erika, "On the one hand, they are apparently very decadent and pleasure-seeking. On the other hand, they also seem to have strict social protocols. It's a toss up…and frankly, I hope we never find out. I want to beat them back into their quadrant and never worry about what they think of anything again…do you have any booze? I could use a drink."

Erika looked up at the chronometer, and she looked at Jon carefully.

"Sex during the day shift I can do. But not booze," she said as if it was a question.

He sighed.

"For a moment, I forgot how early it was," he said, "You're right. It's a bad idea on during one's shift."

She nodded, reassured.

"C'mon," she said, "We can save time if we make use of the captain's shower together."


The next day, T'Pol sat across from Archer in his ready room. Archer was looking out the window, his hands behind his back. He felt sad about what he was going to say, for a number of reasons, even though it was essentially good news.

"T'Pol," he said, "remember when you joined Starfleet, and you said that you didn't think it was appropriate for a Vulcan to have permanent command of a human starship?"

She nodded. This had been at her suggestion. She had expressed no desire to captain a human ship, only to serve on one.

"Well," he said, "I'm being promoted to Admiral. I'll be stationed on the new, large battleship Cochran with command of her as well as five of the smaller cruisers."

T'Pol nodded again. Since the Xindi attack, Earth had fast-tracked the construction of battleships.

"Enterprise will also be part of my fleet, until the war ends. Hopefully after that, she can go back to exploring," he continued.

T'Pol nodded. Such big changes were expected in a time of war. As the hero of the Xindi conflict, Archer was an appropriate choice for promotion.

"Starfleet wants to make Trip captain of the Enterprise," said Archer, turning to look at her.

T'Pol did not react.

"They also think you're still the best person to be her first officer," said Archer, "Since they assume you two wouldn't want to be stationed apart from one another."

"No, we would not," she said.

"You've always had seniority over Trip. Now he's going to be your CO. Given how well you two have done working together so far, Starfleet believes you can handle this. Can you?"

"Of course, Captain," she said.

"Good. And we're not telling Trip until we get to Earth. Can you keep this a secret from him?"

That caused T'Pol to pause, and he saw telltale twitch of her mouth. Archer knew about the bond, and thus he had an inkling of how difficult it would be for her to keep something like this from her husband.

"Yes," she said, "Although he will be annoyed. I will not be able to keep the fact that I am keeping a secret that concerns him from him."

Archer smiled, very happy that he wasn't caught up in some weird Vulcan telepathic relationship. Sometimes, he was envious of Trip but not at the moment.

"I'll miss this ship," sighed Archer, "and I'll miss seeing you and Trip and everyone every day, but we'll be in constant communication while Enterprise is in my fleet. There will even be regular meetings aboard Cochran."

"I shall miss working with you each day," she said, sincerely.

"Life is about change," sighed Archer.


Malcolm rang Hoshi's door. They hadn't seen each other in days, and he sensed it wasn't just because they were both busy.

"Come in," she said softly.

As the door opened, he saw her sitting in a chair looking out at the stars. He walked in and closed the door behind him, but he didn't move much further than that. He leaned back against the door. He sensed a great coolness from her.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She turned and looked at him.

"I'm fine," she said.

"Then you're worried about our prisoner," he said.

"He has a name," she said, "He's a person as well as a prisoner, and he will never be able to return to his people thanks to what we did."

"That's hardly our fault," said Malcolm, "We would not treat someone in such a fashion."

"No," she said, "We'd just let them live with the guilt."

Malcolm knew immediately to what she was referring. He wanted to kick himself for ever allowing her to be a part of something that would dredge up her memories of being held captive by the Xindi.

He walked over and knelt beside her chair. He made no move to touch her or even look at her. He just stared out at the same stars that she stared out at.

"I'm glad you survived," he said, "I'd miss you if you were no longer here. I would have before but especially now."

She turned her head to look at him. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she didn't. She just turned back and stared out at the stars. After a long while, he got up and left without saying a word.


A couple hours later, Malcolm was working with Trip in the armory, getting things organized for the coming upgrades.

"How's Hoshi?" asked Trip.

Malcolm looked up.

"Rumors get around a ship pretty quick," said Trip, "Phlox heard from Cutler, who saw you leaving her quarters a few mornings back. Phlox told Hess who told me. Plus Hoshi told T'Pol while they were being held on the surface."

Malcolm calibrated the canon he was working on.

"Do you two having any secrets?"

"Just a very few," said Trip, "it takes some concentration, but it's possible. You never answered my question. Last time I saw Hoshi, she looked like hell. Did you have anything to do with that?"

Malcolm heard the accusation in his friend's voice.

"In a round about way," said Malcolm, "She feels guilty over the interrogation. She likes the prisoner. More than your wife does, it would seem."

Trip smiled, and he gave Malcolm one of those smug I'm-in-a-happy-relationship-so-I'll-dispense-some-advice looks that single people hated.

"The guy's charming. The guy's mysterious. The guy saved her life. And the guy's in a sympathetic situation," said Trip.

Malcolm threw down his scanner in frustration.

"The guy's also unattainable," said Trip.

"You are not making me feel better," snapped Malcolm.

"The worst thing you can do is push her toward him by being an ass," said Trip, "Maybe you should just offer to spend some time with her while we're on Earth."

It wasn't a bad idea, thought Malcolm, but he stayed quiet. They all had leave coming up, during the refit.

"Just remember," continued Trip, "You're the spy guy. You're British. And you're not going to spend the next few years rotting in a Vulcan jail. You've got plenty of pluses in your column."

Malcolm went back to work. He wanted to tell Trip that his jealousy was only a small part of the issue, that Hoshi was still dealing with her own traumas. But Malcolm held his tongue. It wasn't Trip's business. It wasn't anyone's business but hers, and his business now that he knew. Malcolm resolved to help her in any way he could. He cared deeply for her, and it was his duty to help her.


Trip and T'Pol found time to dine together in the mess hall, then they each went their separate ways for an hour or two. Trip went back to engineering, and she went back to the bridge. They were a good match, in that they were both workaholics. But Trip made her promise that she would meet him back at their quarters by 2100 hours. She agreed, and they both arrived nearly at the same time.

"Do you want some tea?" he asked, knowing how she liked her chamomile before meditation.

"That would be agreeable husband," she replied as she sat down on the couch.

Trip began to brew the tea, and he chatted about things in engineering.

"Oh," he said, "I spoke with the first officer on Columbia. Hernandez and Archer disappeared for an hour and a half this afternoon. Private captains' meeting. In her quarters," said Trip.

T'Pol leaned forward.

"You believe they had sexual relations," she stated.

"It's possible. They used to be an item," he said. "Years back. I think they started things up again after The Expanse for time."

"I hope they find each other's company agreeable," replied T'Pol.

Trip restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Vulcans used "agreeable" as a euphemism for almost anything positive.

"And meanwhile, there's something sour between Malcolm and Hoshi," said Trip, "but I haven't given up on those two yet."

He brought her her tea. She stared at him, and he sensed that she was still fascinated by humans' interest in each other's matings.

"I hope Malcolm and Hoshi work through their differences — as we did," she said.

Trip stared back at her, sipping his own tea. He couldn't believe he'd gotten used to chamomile, even though it was better than Vulcan tea.

"Agreed. By the way, I've arranged for our travel to Mississippi," he said. "We'll leave three days after we get to headquarters."

He knew she felt like they had slighted his parents, and she was grateful for the chance to make up for it. But he also knew that she wasn't looking forward to the visit. He gently took her hand and probed her mind for the reason.

He realized that she didn't want to be the cause of friction between him and his parents, and she especially didn't want to be the source of any pain for him. He felt the guilt well up in her for all the things that had happened in the past.

"Don't worry," he said, "They are already warming to the idea of you. It'll be fine, and now that the Vulcans are our allies in this war, a lot of that old tension is past…"

Trip concentrated more fully. He sensed she was blocking him.

"What are you keeping from me?"

T'Pol looked him in the eye.

"I can't tell you. You will be informed when we get to Earth," she said.

"What would Starfleet tell you right away that they won't tell me until we get to Earth?"

He clutched at her hand and probed deeper with his mind. She blocked him well, but he still got a sense that something serious was going on.

"It's a Starfleet thing. A big thing. What is it?"

"Trip," she said, "Don't make me violate an order to keep quiet about this. Protocol dictates that I not tell you. If it were important that you know now, I promise I would…please, I must be the first officer and not your wife in this."

Trip squinted at her. She was being honest. He hated secrets, but he understood.

"You sure they're gonna tell me?"

She nodded.