Yet mere minutes after his first space battle as the commanding officer of a Starfleet vessel, he was sprawled across the deck plates in the main engineering room of the U.S.S. da Vinci. Scattered to his side were a number of isolinear chips, once translucent and operational but now charred black and useless. He fumbled a few more of the chips in one hand, eyeing them for telltale signs of burnout, then double-checking his visual survey with the diagnostic reader he grasped in his other hand. Next to his head was an open panel, glowing from within and sporting about a dozen empty sockets waiting for working chips to be inserted.

Duffy let all but a pair of the chips slip from his grasp before craning his head to peer inside the console. The bright control panels with glowing chips appeared clean and new, belying the fact that they, key components in the starship’s warp-drive system, were about as functional as a wet match.

One hit.

That’s all it had taken from the Tholian ship to disable the da Vinci’s warp drive. It had been bad enough only a few hours before, when Captain Gold had tasked him with keeping the warp core’s intermix ratios in balance as the starship set about her mission of extracting the U.S.S. Defiant from the interspatial rift. The unusual, tenuous connection that the rift had created between the two universes had been known to wreak havoc on the warp engines of ships venturing close to it, and Captain Gold wanted no such surprises during their recovery operation.

Thanks to the Tholians, though, all of Duffy’s calculating of formulas and finessing of the magnetic fields that prevented matter from blending too freely with antimatter was wasted.

How does that wisecrack go? The fight was two hits long: The Klingon hit the Cardassian and the Cardassian hit the floor. Who’s the one on the floor now?

Duffy shoved his hand into the depths of the console to seat the pair of replacement chips. Straining, he slipped one chip into place, then maneuvered himself to another open slot, gripping the very edge of the remaining chip with the tips of two fingers.

But just as the chip found a purchase on the rim of the slot, a sharp blow to the bottom of his right foot rocked his entire body.

“Yaa!” he shouted, dropping the chip and smacking his head against the edge of the console’s cavity. Worming his way out of the opening, he looked up to see Domenica Corsi towering over him, her jaw clenched and the toe of her boot next to where she had just kicked him.

“Just perfect,” Corsi said. “Ostriches stick their heads in the sand. You stick yours into a bulkhead.”

“Oh, excuse me,” he fired back as he felt himself starting to heat up. “I had the foolish idea that warp drive might be a nice thing to have before the Tholians get back. That is, unless you’d like to get out and push.”

Corsi’s scowl darkened. “A ship full of engineers, and you’re the only one who can fix it?”

The question made Duffy pause, giving him a moment to catch his tongue rather than launch another barb. Yes, he was the da Vinci’s top mind on matters of propulsion, and he acted as the ship’s warp-core watchdog above and beyond even the chief engineer.

But now he was in command of the da Vinci. This was not the time for him to nursemaid a warp-drive problem, and it had taken Corsi to remind him of it.

Again.

As if to emphasize the point, she said, “You need to be on the bridge, Commander. Order someone else to repair the warp drive.”

Duffy nodded. “You’re right.” With a mischievous smile he added, “You’re getting to like keeping me in check, aren’t you?” He was satisfied to see the security chief’s expression soften a little as her jaw muscles loosened.

Not much, but it’s a start.

After detailing the top-priority repair assignment to the small army of engineers tending to various tasks here within the heart of the ship, Duffy smiled at Corsi again and headed for the door. She followed him, and the pair made their way quickly down the corridor.

As they walked, Duffy said, “I need to know exactly where we are on repairs before Captain Scott tells us Starfleet’s official response to our situation. I’d like some ideas on reopening the rift, too.”

He tried not to dwell on his last conversation with the seasoned engineer who served as the figurehead for the Starfleet Corps of Engineers. It was Captain Montgomery Scott who had dispatched the da Vinci and her crew to Tholian space in the first place, charging them with the challenge of retrieving the Defiant from the rift, while at the same time entrusting them with the delicate task of working with the temperamental Tholians. It was he whose face had fallen as Duffy relayed the events that had erupted just when the mission seemed to be going so well, and it was he who was likely getting his aft shields chewed right now by Starfleet brass as a result.

Corsi’s voice brought Duffy to attention. “I assumed as much, Commander. The team is already waiting for us in the briefing room.”

Duffy couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped his lips, feeling more at ease with the idea that “Core Breach” Corsi was acting as a safety net for his first tightrope walk of a command. With her at his side, he might just survive this mission yet.

They entered the briefing room and Duffy took note of who was at the table, while at the same time trying not to think about who was noticeably absent. Scattered about in their usual seats were other members of the team: Carol Abramowitz, their chief liaison with the Tholian Assembly; Fabian Stevens, the ship’s expert on tactical systems; and Bartholomew Faulwell, the team’s cryptography and language specialist, who had stepped in to help brainstorm options for salvaging their mission, given the current void of command officers. Duffy mulled taking the head seat at the table, the one typically occupied by Captain Gold, but settled instead for the comfort of his usual chair next to Abramowitz.

“Okay,” Duffy began, placing his elbows on the table before him and lacing his fingers. “Warp drive is almost operational again. Everything else is good to go, right?”

Stevens was quick to answer. “We didn’t take it on the chin too hard, Duff. Weapons are fine. Communications, shields, the deflector array, life support, everything checks right on down the line. I’d bet the warp drive would have been fine, too, if it wasn’t for this space we’re in.”

Duffy wondered whether that was the rule and not the exception here. Tholian ships’ disruptors could wreak havoc on unshielded vessels, he was certain, but it seemed that Federation starships with fully charged deflector shields usually could shrug off the initial volleys of such an attack.

“Maybe so, Fabian,” Duffy replied, “but here, all bets are off. Right now I want to dig into the deflector modifications and see whether we can open the rift again without waiting for it.” He knew that time was a precious commodity right now. The Tholians had to know how much damage they had inflicted on the da Vinci, and they most likely also knew that the starship wouldn’t leave the area unless forced to, so long as there was a chance to recover the Defiant and the away team. The chronometer was ticking for those aboard both ships, however, so he wasn’t willing to be patient.

Corsi leaned forward in her seat. “Shield harmonics need to be monitored closely as well, Mr. Stevens, in case that rift has the same degenerative effect on them as it does on our warp capability. We need to be prepared for an all-out attack once that Tholian ship returns with reinforcements.”

Duffy was ready to answer, but instead was cut off by Carol Abramowitz.

“Prepare all you want,” she said, “but we’re not going into battle.” The cultural specialist was met with Corsi’s perturbed expression but continued unheeded. “You can bet that our next orders will be to head home without the Defiant. No one is going to throw away the trust that diplomats and ambassadors have earned with the Tholians during the Dominion War. Unfortunately, an antique ship and a few engineers will be considered expendable.”

Abramowitz’s assessment matched his own, Duffy realized as he hung his head a bit. Captain Gold had told them all up front that the mission would be scuttled should any signs of eroding relations with the Tholians appear, and an exchange of fire definitely seemed to qualify as erosion to him. Diplomats were sure to exercise their influence to pull the da Vinci from the mission, whether or not her crew was intact.

He had to be ready to say good-bye to his captain, his friends, and his . . . his . . .

Oh, Sonnie.

But Corsi did not appear content to keep her views to herself. “What, we’re going to abandon the away team? The Tholians fired first! We didn’t start this fight, but we damn well better finish it.” Duffy watched as Corsi narrowed her eyes and scanned the others seated at the table for a sign of support before adding, “Let them say what they want back on Earth. Regardless of whether we bring the Defiant home, we’re getting our away team back.”

“It is a bold stand you hope to take,” Abramowitz replied, “but I don’t think you’re being realistic.” Her tone was clipped and polite, and Duffy knew it was a signal that she was already beginning to lose patience with the security chief. The women’s dueling edginess would quickly become as volatile as a mix of matter and antimatter.

“Realistic is a quantum torpedo,” Corsi snapped. “You think sweet-talking a Tholian at this point is—”

“ People!”

Duffy was as surprised as everyone else when the word exploded from his mouth with such force and volume. All eyes turned to him, and no one said anything for several seconds, the only sounds audible in the room being that of the ventilation system and the omnipresent hum of the ship’s engines.

Taking a moment to clear his throat, he began again in a more reserved tone. “People, don’t think for a minute that Captain Scott isn’t doing everything he can on his end to keep us here. Don’t stop believing that Captain Gold isn’t working to get the Defiant to our side of the rift.”

He paused, focusing on Corsi as she sat cross-armed in her chair. “But we’re not disobeying any order that comes from Starfleet. For now, though, we’ll focus on doing everything we can until that order comes down.”

Silence hung in the briefing room as Duffy asserted his command over his fellow officers and friends. He racked his mind for some words of support and confidence, the kind of statements that seemed to roll off Captain Gold’s tongue in tough situations. Now was the time to be a captain, but all he felt like was a babysitter trying to quell a squabble between sisters while Mom and Dad were at the holotheater.

I can’t very well send them to their rooms.

A flash of amber light caught Duffy’s eye as it glowed on the tabletop near Faulwell’s hand. The linguist tapped a control on the keypad near his arm, then looked up at Duffy with sympathetic eyes.

“It’s an incoming message from Starfleet Command. Do you want to take it in private?”

Duffy shook his head. “No. Put it on the viewer.”

As Captain Scott’s wizened face filled the screen on the briefing room’s wall, Duffy felt some of the group’s tension seep away. The engineer’s creased visage, his friendly eyes, and the hint of a smile were just what everyone needed at that very moment.

“It’s not the worst news I’ll be bringin’ ye, Mr. Duffy,” the face on the viewer began, “but the situation isn’t good.”

Steeling himself for the report, Duffy nodded. “We’re ready.”

Scott drew a breath before continuing. “Our ambassador to the Tholians is recommending that we scrap the mission. He wants the Federation to formally apologize to the commander of the ship ye fired on, and to the Magistrates of the Assembly. He says we’re on the brink of losin’ it all as far as relations are concerned, and that the Defiant isn’t worth it.”

Duffy’s mind was numbed by Scott’s words, which echoed those of Abramowitz moments before. Rather than lose his focus, though, Duffy fell back on his ready wit. “And exactly how is this not the worst news, Captain?”

Scott allowed a small smile before replying. “We’ve got the support of Admiral Ross, and that carries a lot of weight with the Federation Council. The admiral is arguing for the da Vinci to hold its position, saying that it was poor frame of mind and the effects of interspace, not a botched cooperative effort, that led us to this point. He says that it just might be the Tholians who do the apologizin’ once this is all over.”

Releasing a breath, Duffy relaxed a bit. “So what do we do in the meantime?”

“Tell me how your repairs are farin’.”

It was a question Duffy hadn’t expected, as he had explained to the S.C.E. leader in detail during their earlier conversation just what damage the starship had suffered. “All systems are operational except for the warp drive, just like—”

“Ah,” Scott said with a sigh that was almost too dramatic. “And that’s givin’ ye lots of trouble to fix so close to the point of interphase, ye say.”

“No, sir,” Duffy replied, his puzzlement growing by the second. “We’re almost—”

“It may take hours to repair before ye can even head back to Federation space.”

Realization finally dawned, and a smile spread across Duffy’s face as he began to pick up on Captain Scott’s lead. It was a look that was shared by everyone else at the table.

“Oh, yes, sir. I’d say at least three—”

“Twelve hours to repair, ye say? I’ll let Admiral Ross know right away.” Scott nodded grimly and twitched a cheek. Duffy almost laughed aloud.

Did he just wink at me?

“Set your team to work, Mr. Duffy,” Scott said, then adjusted his tone to a more serious timbre. “But I’ll be needin’ a word alone with ye now.”

Here it comes, Duffy thought as everyone else rose from their seats, moving with only slightly less speed than they might exhibit during an emergency evacuation of the ship. Only Stevens paused just long enough to offer a “thumbs-up” gesture and to mouth the words “Good luck” before he, too, was gone. In seconds Duffy was alone in the room, leaving him to look squarely at the viewer and ready to get called down by the chief of the S.C.E. himself.

Well, it was fun while it lasted. So long, and thanks for all the . . .

“Mr. Duffy,” the seasoned engineer said, “did I ever tell ye what the most frightenin’ words I ever heard spoken on the bridge of a starship were?” Duffy shook his head as the veteran engineer continued. “Well, here they are: ‘Mr. Scott, you have the conn.’”

Duffy laughed in spite of himself, realizing now that the captain understood his plight all too well. He didn’t know many engineers who had risen through the ranks of command, at least not the engineers he perceived as being cut from the same cloth as he was. After all, why would an engineer want to command a starship rather than spend that time tearing it apart and putting it back together?

“An engineer’s job isn’t just to keep a starship runnin’. It’s to keep her crew safe,” said Scott. “Some of the best years I had in Starfleet were when I was third in command of the Enterprise. Keepin’ the crew safe; that’s what I kept in mind every time I had to sit in the center seat.

“Mr. Duffy, I’m gonna level with ye. That diplomat Marshall wants to hang this whole mess on you. He thinks that an immature officer, a mere engineer unfit for command caused the whole thing.” Scott leaned forward, his eyes fixing on the younger man. “I know he’s wrong. We’ll show him he’s wrong, Mr. Duffy.”

Pride. That’s what shone in Captain Scott’s eyes as he spoke. Pride in the Starfleet Corps of Engineers, pride in the crew of the da Vinci, pride in the engineer who stepped from third in command to leading a ship in a mission that now was so much more than salvaging a relic from a bygone era.

I can do this.

“Yes, we will, Captain,” said Duffy, now rising from his chair. “Just buy me the time.”

Scott nodded a few times, forcing his lips together tightly in a small frown. To Kieran Duffy, the old engineer appeared lost in his thoughts.

“Laddie, once I thought I was leavin’ my captain in that same damnable place. I’ll push like hell to keep ye from thinkin’ the same. Scott out.”