He rubbed his temple with one hand and reached for his coffee with the other as he took his seat again. Even lukewarm coffee would help him focus now that his head was spinning. A terrible decision faced him now. And though the likely outcome pained him, he knew there was only one choice he could make.

With no small amount of regret, he spoke that choice aloud. “If you feel that the threat is real enough for you to take a leap like this, Trip, I’ll do my best to make it easy for you. I’ll approve an extended leave of absence.” He tried to sound positive, though he wondered whether it was more for himself than for Trip. “An open‑ended leave, so you can return when the mission is over. Although God knows whatyou’ll look like by then, or even if you’ll want to settle for being a chief engineer once you’ve gotten a taste of the spy life.”

“Actually, Captain, I won’t need a leave of absence,” Trip said quietly as Archer took another swallow from his coffee cup. “Because I need to die first.”

Archer quickly put the napkin over his mouth to avoid reflexively spitting out his coffee. Regaining his composure, he coughed and asked, “Come again?”

“There’s every possibility that I could be captured,” Trip said. “But since I’ll be surgically altered, identifying me will be difficult. Especiallyif Charles Anthony Tucker III is dead.”

“Now you’re talking crazy talk,” Archer said, frowning.

“No, think of it as a kind of witness protection plan. If I’m dead, it insulates Enterprise, and Earth–and my family and friends–from any sort of retaliation or repercussion. Politically or otherwise.”

Archer closed his eyes, trying to damp down the mental warning klaxons that were going off inside his head. “So you intend to fake your own death?”

“Just until this assignment is over,” Trip said, his tone earnest. “Or until its repercussionsdie down.”

“That could be years,Trip,” Archer said, unable to filter the exasperation from his voice. He opened his eyes again, fixing his subordinate with a hard gaze. “If the Romulans are a threat now,and we manage to stop them, what makes you think that threat is simply going to go away in the future? The Romulans aren’t the schoolyard bully who becomes your friend after you give him one hard punch in the nose.”

“I know,” Trip said, his voice low. “But, if the Romulans succeed…it won’t be like the Xindi attack. It will be everyworld that loses billions of lives. The Coalition will die…I needto do this. I need to be…someone else for a while. Some whereelse. I need to feel like I’m accomplishing something more than I’m doing here and now.”

Archer knew that Trip hadn’t meant the statement as a slur on his captaincy or on the accomplishments of Enterprise’s crew. But the comment still stung. “You’ve accomplished a lot here, Trip. You can stillaccomplish a lot here. Hell, I don’t know what I’d do without you half the time, and the other half I’m just glad you’re by my side.”

Trip turned his face away, but said nothing.

“What about your family? They’ve already lost your sister.” Archer hesitated for a moment, knowing he was treading on shaky ground, then decided it would be better to forge ahead. “And what about T’Pol? Are you really ready to give up on her? Do you think they’ll all reallybe happier waiting and wondering if you’re safe, or if you’re rotting in some Romulan prison, or worse?”

Trip wiped the palm of his hand across one cheek, and then the other. His voice was tremulous. “They won’t know,” he said. “They can’tknow. The more people know, the more they’ll be at risk of reprisals if I somehow screw the pooch on this thing. The more at risk Earthwill be. They allneed to think I’m dead. They need to believeit.” He raised his hand again, covering his eyes with his palm, and let out a deep, unsteady breath.

Archer felt tears welling up in his own eyes, and he closed them tightly. They sat together in silence for several minutes, the ever‑present thrum of the deck plating making the only audible sound in the room.

Finally, Trip looked up at Archer again and spoke. “There are two people who will have to help me with this, besides yourself. Malcolm is the one that got me into this, for better or worse–better, I hope, eventually–and given his past experience with covert operations, he might figure it all out on his own and try something foolish if I were to try to hide this from him. And he can help make sure that any investigation into my…demise gets wrapped up as neatly as it needs to be.”

“And Phlox,” Archer said, nodding. “He’ll have to be the one to sign the death certificate.”

“Yep.”

“What about…? Are you sure?” Archer let his words trail off, trusting that Trip knew exactly who he was talking about.

“She can’tknow,” Trip said, his face creasing as if he was about to weep again. “She’ll be fine. She’ll control her emotions and meditate and move on. Hell, after what we just experienced together on Vulcan, I think maybe she’s already starting to move on.”

“How are you going to do it?” Archer asked.

“That’s another area I could use your help with, along with Malcolm and Phlox. It has to happen soon. And it ain’t gonna be suicide.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “And to think I actually worried I might have committed careersuicide in front of Admiral Gardner yesterday.”

Archer smiled gently in response to Trip’s valiant attempt to find humor where there really wasn’t any. “Should I call Phlox and Malcolm now?”

Trip closed his eyes and let out a long, stuttering breath, his hands clenching into fists, then unclenching. He opened his eyes and looked to Archer, then gave a slight nod.

Archer rose from his chair and tapped the button on the wall‑mounted com panel nearby. “Archer to Lieutenant Reed and Doctor Phlox. Please join me immediately in the captain’s mess.”

As both men responded, each confirming his pending arrival, Archer stared at Trip, who rose from his seat. He still wasn’t at all certain that the engineer was doing the right thing. But given the same set of circumstances, he wasn’t sure he would do anything differently himself.

“Thank you, Captain,” Trip said, his eyes glistening. “For everything.”

Seated in the command chair in the center of Enterprise’s bridge, T’Pol stopped reading the report on the padd in her lap, and glanced at the turbolift behind her.

Captain Archer had been in some kind of secretive meeting in his private mess for some time this morning, leaving her to take over command of the alpha shift. She certainly didn’t mind–as first officer, it washer duty, after all–but it seemed strange that Archer had opted not to include her in the meeting, as he had included her in his consultations the previous day regarding the kidnapped Aenar and the possibility of an impending Romulan military incursion.

She wanted desperately to ask Ensign Sato who was in the meeting with Archer, but didn’t want to appear to be snooping. Instead, she moved over to her own station and slid her hands swiftly across the controls, accessing the ship’s computers.

What she found surprised her. Archer was currently meeting with Commander Tucker, Lieutenant Reed, and Doctor Phlox. She had expected him to be in consultation with Shran, and perhaps one or two of the others. But the Andorian was currently in the ship’s mess hall, as was the Aenar telepath Theras.

What could they be discussing?She anticipated that she would find out soon enough; it was certainly illogical for Archer to keep secrets from her.

Mayweather’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Commander, we have a definite lock on at least one Orion ship that shows the same warp‑signature profile that Shran gave us.”

T’Pol returned to her seat. “Very good, Ensign Mayweather. Increase speed and set a pursuit course, but keep us just out of their sensor range.”