Mayweather scowled down at his controls for several minutes, trying not to allow himself to return to the depths of his personal darkness. He hadnt been able to sleep for days, and could barely eat. But he knew he needed to keep his focus strong. He needed to concentrate on his duties, to lose himself in them, now more than ever before. Come on, Travis, keep it together and concentrate.He could almost hear his mother alternately admonishing and encouraging him, just as she had all through his life. He would have given anything to hear her speak to him again, even if it was only to scold him for leaving his quarters looking like an explosive decompression accident.

He heard the door to Captain Archers ready room slide open, and turned his head to see Commander TPol exiting the room, with Captain Archer a few paces behind her. The Vulcan woman appeared even more dour than usual, but she didnt look in Mayweathers direction, perhaps deliberately so. Whatever was going on at the moment, Mayweather thought it likely that it had nothing to do with either him or the fate of the Horizon.

Captain Archer, however, glanced his way as he stepped onto the bridge, then looked away again a moment later, seeming to survey the bridge. Mayweather was glad his back had been turned to the captain over most of the last three days; he hadnt agreed with Archers decision to leave the Kobayashi Marudefenseless when hed ordered Enterpriseto withdraw.

I would have found a way,he thought. Theres always a solution, and turning and running isnt it. Leaving helpless people behind to diecant be the solution.

It didnt help that the Kobayashi Maruwas a freighter, like the Horizon,or that Mayweather had made casual friends with the Marus first mate, Arturo Stiles, when Enterprises crew had helped the fuel hauler with her repairs last week near Altair VI.

Captain Archer just left them to die.

As he sat at the helm of Archers ship, Mayweathers mind wandered, not for the first time, back to the question that bothered him the most: Would Archer have abandoned the Horizonas callously as he had the Kobayashi Maru?

And with that gnawing question remaining unanswered, he wondered whether he could ever again really have faith in his captains decisions.

Archer looked out across his bridge as he exited his ready room behind TPol. The first crew members eyes he caught were those of Travis Mayweather. The helmsman had seemed distraught for days, understandably concerned about what had become of his family after their vessel had seemingly disappeared. Archer had tried to learn anything he could about the freighters whereabouts, but had run into dead ends everywhere hed looked. He had even reached out to the shadowy Agent Harris to see if the man in black knew anything, aware that even by asking him, he was taking on a debt that would have to be repaid someday, probably in blood. Unfortunately, the spymaster had failed to furnish any hard information, or even conjectures that Archer hadnt already considered.

Archers gaze moved across the rest of the bridge, taking in each of his officers. D.O. was there, once again pulling a double shift, and Hoshi Sato looked over from her station, a look of expectation on her face; since she was in charge of monitoring the subspace bands, she would know when something very big was happening, usually before even he did. Ensigns Malvoy and Prince turned from their posts, and even the MACO guards he had assigned to bridge watch swiveled their heads to look toward him. Malcolm Reed was the last to lift his gaze from his consoles displays, where he appeared to have been running computations or battle simulations.

If Reed was as clued in to what was about to happen as Hoshi appeared to be, Archer was confident he was already creating some entirely new battle tactics.

All across the bridge, the air seemed charged with tension and anticipation. The entire crew had been on pins and needles over the last thirty‑six hours, ever since the incident at Tezel‑Oroko and the destruction of the Kobayashi Maru. The reports now circulating through the interstellar media and Earths newsnets, combined with Starfleet memos and general scuttlebutt, had ratcheted up shipboard anxiety levels to an almost unbearable peak.

The turbolift doors opened, and Doctor Phlox exited onto the bridge, his wide‑eyed expression of surprise undimmed. Archer had asked him to come up, so that Archer could address his senior staff all at once. Their simultaneous presence called attention to the gaping hole he still felt inside because of the absence of Trip.

Archer continued surveying his bridge, and seeing the expectancy of those who had looked up to him for so long, he wondered how they really felt about him now. He knew that some of them must have resented the decision he had made regarding the Kobayashi Maru; though it did little to expiate the guilt he felt when he considered what had become of the Maru,he still drew comfort from the knowledge that his crew and his ship had remained intact solely because of what he had done that day. He clung to that, particularly when he thought he glimpsed an accusatory glare, or overheard a snippet of conversation that would suddenly break off as he entered the galley or stepped out of his ready room or his quarters.

If ever a crew needed an inspiring speech from its captain, now was the time. But Jonathan Archer found that he could muster neither the words nor the thoughts necessary to rally his people to face the challenges that lay ahead. There were no trumpets to sound, no cry of “Charge to yell, no steed to ride up and down the ranks of his troops, no saber to thrust into the air as he tried to brace them for what was coming.

Now the heading for Enterprise,for Starfleet, for the Coalition, and for mankind itself, was about to change drastically.

Archer spread his hands wide and hesitated for a moment, catching his breath and steadying his voice.

“Its begun.

EPILOGUE ONE

Tuesday, July 22, 2155 The Depths of Tezel‑Orokos Kuiper Belt

T UCKER AWOKE GRADUALLY, feeling something hot on his cheek. A swipe of his hand brought some relief, but also sent pain coursing through his system. As soon as the burning stopped in one area, however, he felt two other inflammations ignite the nerves of his skin.

Opening his eyes warily, he saw the reason why. His body was crumpled on the floor, underneath a console on the deck of Sopeks Romulan bird‑of‑prey. The console itself was throwing an intermittent shower of electrical sparks in various directions; some of them had landed on his face, causing his minute but painful burns.

His hearing began to return along with his equilibrium as he sat up gingerly, wondering when he would be rendered unconscious again. His last memory was of pushing the Romulan ships throttle hard to starboard, directing the helm right toward one of the nearest icy cometary bodies of Tezel‑Orokos Kuiper belt, and hed felt the blow to his skull. He could recall nothing more.

Looks like I missed all the fun,Trip thought, wincing as he made a halting attempt to stand. The ship must have collided with one of those icebergs.He thought for a moment of holovids hed seen re‑creating the seagoing Titanicdisaster of the early twentieth century, and developed a ludicrous mental picture of a dinner jacket‑clad Romulan string sextet playing below decks.

All around him on the dimly lit bridge were the unconsciousor perhaps deceasedbodies of Sopeks crew. Sopek himself was crumpled against a far wall, a splash of green above his head that was smeared down to the spot toward which his face was turned.

Trip limped over to one of the instrument panels that still seemed to be in working order and attempted to read the gauges he saw there. The main ships systems appeared to be completely down, so he knew that sensors were useless, but the artificial gravity and life‑support systems were still functional, if only at one‑third efficiency.