TRIP STEPPED ASIDE and let the captain take the command chair.

“Let me see the recording first,” Archer said.

Trip nodded to Carstairs, on communications, who brought up the transmission they’d received not ten minutes ago. Elson’s image filled the viewer.

Now, as before, one word came to mind when Trip looked at the general: patrician. Elson had silver hair, sharp features, and a reasoned, calm manner. A born leader.

Probably just what he was counting on.

“Citizens of Denari. In light of the attacks by Guild forces on our planet and in the outer system—in particular, their capture of our base at Kota—it becomes necessary for me to convene the Council of Generals here in the Kresh, and ask them to grant me a temporary appointment as overall force commander. I do this in the interests of our planet, in the interests of justice, and in memory of those brave citizens who have given their lives in this struggle—those who have made the ultimate sacrifice to help defeat anarchy and chaos, in the form of the Guild and their allies. I ask for your support in this endeavor, and your prayers. In moments such as these—”

“Stop it there,” Archer said. On-screen, Elson’s image froze. “What’s that mean? Overall force commander?”

“Elson’s taking control,” Trip said. “Eliminating the opposition. At least, that’s what Makandros was saying.” Along with a number of other, more choice turns of phrase, which Trip didn’t feel the need to share with the captain right now. “Sir, they’re getting pretty anxious about the kid.”

“I’m working on it,” the captain said. “He’s not exactly a prime candidate for conversion to their cause right now.” Archer filled him in on what the boy had said regarding General Elson.

“Makandros won’t like hearing that.”

“Which is why we’re not going to tell him,” the captain said. “I’m going to let the boy sleep a bit. He was up all night. Maybe he’ll feel differently after some rest.”

“Maybe.” Trip frowned. Let the kid sleep? At a time like this?

He wondered if there wasn’t something to what T’Pol had said before, about the captain regarding Leeman Sadir as both kin and responsibility. That would only make their job even harder.

As if on cue, the com system sounded.

“It’s the general, sir,” Carstairs said.

“Tell him to hang on a minute.” Archer stood. “Go on, take it. I’ll listen in the ready room.”

Trip waited until the door had closed behind the captain before giving Carstairs the signal.

The general did not look happy.

“Six hours,” Makandros said without preamble. “That’s how long we have now, Tucker. I thought you might want to know that.”

“Sir?”

“Six hours until the Council meets and hands all power to Elson. Once that happens, there’s nothing anyone can do to prevent all-out war. Not even Leeman Sadir.”

Trip nodded. “I understand, General. Thank you for keeping us apprised of the situation.”

Makandros’s eyes were cold fire. “That’s all? ‘I understand’? When countless thousands are poised to die, and you hold the one person who could save them hostage on your ship? ‘I understand’?”

“He’s not a hostage,” Trip said.

“Then why won’t you let me talk to him?”

Trip struggled for an answer. Com noise came over the channel for a second. Then another voice sounded.

“This is Captain Archer, General. You’ll be able to speak to the boy in a few hours.”

“Archer?” On-screen, Makandros frowned. “Where are you? I have no visual.”

“None is being transmitted at the moment,” the captain said. “The boy is still recuperating from his injuries. He’ll be able to speak to you soon.”

“Soon? Didn’t you hear? We have six hours—less, as a practical matter. Once the other Council members enter the Kresh, they’re in Elson’s power. There’ll be no changing their minds then.”

“I understand.”

“You and Tucker—so understanding.” Makandros’s glare returned. Trip could hear the anger in his voice, hear him barely holding that anger in check. “You have no right to interfere in our affairs like this. Leeman Sadir is Denari.”

“And human,” Archer said.

More human than you know, Trip thought.

“Besides,” the captain continued, “as I recall, you interfered with us in the first place. Or have you forgotten that?”

There was silence for a moment.

“I cannot waste time like this any longer,” Makandros said. “We have plans of our own to make.” He closed the circuit without another word.

Trip frowned at the blank screen.

That went just about as poorly as he’d feared.

Archer appeared in the ready room doorway.

“Looks like Lee’s going to have to learn to do without sleep.”

“Why should he be any different than the rest of us?”

Archer managed a small smile. “I’m going to give him a couple hours.”

“Cutting it close, sir.”

“No sense in waking him if he’s going to act the same way,” the captain replied, a slight edge to his voice.

Trip nodded. “Yes, sir. A couple hours.”

He supposed that made sense.

It clearly wasn’t anything Archer was going to change his mind about, anyway.

Eclipse had contacted Enterprise as well, almost immediately after Elson’s announcement had been broadcast. On a far less contentious matter than Leeman Sadir.

It was that matter that brought Trip to sickbay now, to the isolation chamber at one end of the bay and the man who lay unconscious within it. Ferik Reeve. He had been recovering for the last twenty-four hours, healing from the treatment Phlox had given him. He was sleeping peacefully, his features arranged into a small smile, his face unlined, worry-free.

Trip didn’t want to be around when he woke up. He didn’t want to see that face change, to see Ferik have to absorb the tragic news about Neesa. Part of it was a genuine concern for the man’s emotions.

Part of it was that he didn’t think he could go through that all over again himself.

He thought of her now, as she’d been the first time he’d seen her, back aboard Eclipse, in the decontamination chamber. On the command deck, after his initial, failed attempt to repair that ship’s reactor. The first time they’d kissed, in his quarters. Their aborted kiss in the launch bay. He missed her. He’d said good-bye once, and managed it not at all well. He’d hoped to do better the second time around.

But he’d never had the chance.

Trip had been the one to pull her from the rubble of C-430—knelt there, holding her hand, feeling the warmth seep out of it, as Phlox tried desperately to restore the spark of life. He’d sat with her awhile longer, even as the doctor gave up, moved on to Duvall, and then Lee.

He’d walked with the gurney all the way down to sickbay, and stood by her side even as he received news about the captain, and the boy, and the ship, and the first angry communication from Makandros when the general learned Duvall and her son had been aboard Enterprise.

Malcolm had finally pried him away from Neesa’s side some hours later, gotten him back to his cabin, and handed him a stiff drink.

Trip had talked, then. Reed had listened—until very, very late in the evening.

“Initial signs are encouraging.”

Trip looked up. Phlox had entered the chamber. The doctor pointed to a schematic on the diagnostic screen concerning Ferik, a schematic that for all the sense it made to Trip, might just as well have been in Greek. “You’ll note here, and here”—Phlox gestured—“the increasing percentage of C-ketolin, which is indicative of memory formation.”

“So when’s he going to wake up?”

“Well.” Phlox folded his arms across his chest.

“The brain is an unbelievably complex organ, which we have spent the last two days traumatizing, albeit to therapeutic ends. I can assure you there is no obstacle to his regaining consciousness, save his own body’s healing processes.”

“So, you don’t know?”

Phlox frowned. “I believe that is what I just said.”

Just then, at the other end of the room, the sickbay doors opened. Lieutenant Royce from Eclipse entered.

Royce had been a frequent visitor to Enterprise the last two days, to see Ferik. Now he was here to bring the man back home.

“Tucker. Doctor Phlox,” Royce said, entering the chamber. “How is he?”

“He is well.” Phlox frowned. “I would still recommend leaving him here for at least another twenty-four hours, though. To be sure the tissues have healed sufficiently.”

“We don’t have twenty-four hours, Doctor. No one does.” He cast a particularly meaningful glance at Trip.

Phlox frowned. “Perhaps I am not expressing my concerns candidly enough. I don’t feel it’s wise to move Ferik at the moment. Not wise as in dangerous. Potentially lethal.”

“So is life.” Royce again looked meaningfully at Trip. “Especially since it seems like we’re about to go to war. Absent any last-minute miracles.”

“Is that a reference to the boy?”

Royce smiled. “If you like.”

“Don’t give up on him yet.”

“It’s not him we’re giving up on, Tucker.”

Trip rolled his eyes. “You can’t honestly think we’d deliberately prevent you from talking to him.”

Royce’s silence was answer enough.

Trip sighed. There was no point to this argument.

“Let’s get you a gurney to move him,” Phlox said. “From what you’re saying, Lieutenant, this area could well become a war zone in not too short a time.”

Trip nodded, then moved to follow—

And a hand closed on his wrist. He almost jumped clean out of his skin.

The commander looked down and saw Ferik, eyes wide, staring up at him.

There had been no miraculous transformation.

It wasn’t as if the Ferik who listened, sitting gingerly on the edge of the diagnostic cot while Phlox examined him, while Trip and Royce explained what had happened to Trant and him, was a completely different person. Just as Trip had thought, just as he’d told Neesa herself barely two days ago, the man who woke seemed, in speech and manner, to be much the same as the one he’d been at the start of Phlox’s treatment.

But there were differences, subtle but telling ones. In his eyes—the way they stayed focused on whoever was speaking to him. In his facial expressions—the way he reacted instantaneously to what was being said. And in his voice, when he spoke after the three of them had finally finished asking their questions and relaying the tragic news.

“I can’t believe it.” Ferik looked up at Trip. “How could this happen?”

“I wish I had an answer for you.”

“The answer is war, Ferik. We’re at war.” Royce put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “How do you feel? Can you walk?”

“Easy, Lieutenant.” Phlox frowned. “I do not want to put too much stress on Ferik’s system.”

“No,” Ferik said. “Let me try.”

And before Phlox could say another word, Ferik hopped down from the bed and took a few steps. Awkward ones, at first, with a hint of the somewhat shambling gait he’d had before the procedure.

He reached the far end of sickbay and turned.

And as he started back toward them, his stride smoothed out, his back and shoulders straightened, and he smiled. It transformed his face. Trip, for the first time, saw a hint of the man he must have been fifteen years ago. The man who Trant had fallen in love with.

“Satisfied, Doctor?” Royce asked.

Phlox frowned. “No.” He picked up a hand scanner and ran it over Ferik. He studied the results a moment, then nodded.

“All things considered, you seem in good health. I would urge prudence, however, in your physical activities over the next few days. And, here.” Phlox handed him a flimsy. “This is a summary of the procedures I performed, with some suggestions on medications that may aid the healing process.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“You’re welcome.” Phlox bowed slightly. “I am sorry for your loss as well, sir. Doctor Trant seemed to me an excellent person, as well as an outstanding physician.”

“I…appreciate that.” The man’s words were still hesitant, Trip thought, but now it seemed a hesitation born not of confusion, but consideration—the difference between a mind searching for a word temporarily misplaced, rather than one whose meaning was lost entirely.

Ferik turned to Trip.

“I remember you. We were friends, I think.”

“We were.” Trip held out his hand. “Good-bye, Ferik.”

“Good-bye…”

“Trip. My friends call me Trip.”

“Trip, then.”

They shook.

“I’ll stick with Tucker.” Royce stuck out his hand to Trip. “Good-bye. For real this time, I suspect.”

“I think so too. Take care, Royce. Tell the marshal thanks again from me and Hoshi. For everything.” He met the man’s eyes. “And tell him not to give up on the boy yet.”

Royce nodded, then turned to Ferik. “Ready?”

The man gave his assent, and the two of them started across sickbay.

Just as the corridor doors were opening, Phlox called out from behind Trip.

“Lieutenant Royce, one moment.”

The doctor retreated into his office and emerged a moment later, a carryall in one hand. He crossed sickbay and handed it to Royce.

“What’s this?”

“Doctor Trant’s effects. I intended to give them to you the other day, and quite forgot.”

“You should have these.” Royce passed the carryall to Ferik, who opened it. Trip caught a quick glimpse of what was inside—a bracelet, a belt, her medical scanner—before Ferik closed it up again.

All at once, something tugged at Trip’s consciousness.

It kept tugging, all the way out of sickbay and into the turbolift.

It took him until the lift doors opened to deposit him on the bridge to realize why.

He stood there, unmoving, for a long moment. Picturing the items in the carryall again. The bracelet, the belt…

The scanner he’d given Trant.

Then he pictured her, in the last few seconds of her life, as she turned away from Leeman Sadir, lying in bed in cabin C-430, and spoke.

“Some interesting results.”

Those were her last words, as she studied the scanner she’d just used to examine the boy, giving him a complete, thorough physical. The results of which might very well still be in that scanner’s memory. The results of which just might include a detailed genetic work-up.

“Commander?” Carstairs was looking up from his station, looking across the bridge at him. “Is everything all right?”

“I don’t know,” Trip said, and headed for Archer’s quarters.