1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Enterprise series or characters. It's all in my head. The machines have got me…

A/N: I'm back! Many thanks to everyone who read an reviewed my first story, 'Splash Landings'. I am appallingly bad at choosing titles. This one is no better. I am hesitant to post this fic, because although I have the ending written, I don't like it much. The fic as a whole is not that strong. I am posting it because I would like for people to suggest improvements. It is mainly from Archer's POV, though there will be a mix in this one - my next one, I promise, will be much different...

Synopsis: Enterprise is assigned to play host to some dignitaries. One of them is Reed's father…how will he cope, and how will the crew survive the attack on their vessel by a group of aliens…?

**Chapter One**

Earth. It seemed greater every time Captain Jonathon Archer came home to it. After all that he'd seen, and all the planets that he'd visited, he could honestly say that there was no sensation quite like the one he felt every time he saw his home planet from space. It seemed like every pair of eyes on the bridge were instinctively drawn to the view screen as they orbited the planet slowly, and Ensign Travis Mayweather expertly piloted them into a geo-synchronous orbit above North America.

"Captain," Ensign Hoshi Sato spoke up, "I'm receiving a transmission from Starbase One. It's from Admiral Forrest."

"On screen," Archer ordered, and nodded in recognition as the screen switched from Earth to the familiar face, "Admiral."

"Jonathan. Welcome back," the Admiral smiled, "The dignitaries are assembled in the shuttlepod and are awaiting your word. Whenever you're ready."

"Send them over, sir," Archer replied, "we're ready."

"Excellent. Good luck, Jonathan. Forrest out."

Archer waited until the view had switched back to Earth, and straightened up.

"All right," he said, "Secondary personnel to take command; everyone else, let's get down to the shuttle bay. We have dignitaries to meet."

--

As the secondary personnel took control of the ships various functions, the bridge officers piled into the turbo lifts. The _Enterprise_ had been summoned back to Earth as part of a Starfleet publicity stunt and as part of an extended mission. The dignitaries were ambassadors and high-ranking military personnel who wished to see Earth's first warp five capable ship, endorsing Starfleet's status as the key to Earth's survival in space, and also to be transported to a conference on Vulcan. It was all for show, but Archer knew he had to take the diplomatic missions along with the far more interesting exploratory ones. They got down to the shuttle bay just as the transport landed. Once the deck re-pressurised, they filed out and stood to attention – Dr. Phlox and Commander Trip Tucker met them there, as the shuttle opened, and an ensign stepped out.

"It is my honour to present the Earth's chosen ambassadors," she announced, in a lilting, eastern accent, as the named dignitaries stepped out onto the deck, "from the Earth's Diplomatic Corps, Ambassador Ken Long…and Ambassador Tania Collins. From the Earth's Military Defences, General Alanis Hogan of the United Earth Air Force…General Neil Adams of the Earth Armed Forces…and Admiral Stuart Reed of the Naval Forces."

Archer pasted a diplomatic smile on his face, and stepped forwards.

"Welcome aboard the _Enterprise_," he said, putting as much warmth into his tone as he could, "allow me to present my Second in Command, Cmdr. T'Pol. Also, Cmdr. Charles Tucker, chief engineer; Lt. Malcolm Reed, our security and tactical officer; Ensign Hoshi Sato, linguistics and communications; Ensign Travis Mayweather, pilot, and of course, Dr. Phlox, chief physician. We've arranged for a security team to escort you all to your quarters; from there, an itinerary has been posted for you, starting with a grand tour of the ship. My officers and I will join you for a formal reception this evening in the mess hall. If you have any queries before then, please speak to your liaison officer, Ensign Roan."

Ensign Roan stepped forwards, and joined the ambassadors, escorting them away with the security team. Archer relaxed slightly, and sighed.

"All right, everyone, back to your posts for now," he said, dismissively, "remember, dress uniforms and best behaviour tonight."

There were smiles and murmured acknowledgements. As they were filing out, a thought struck Archer. The Admiral…Stuart Reed…the name and face were all too familiar.

"Lieutenant Reed?"

"Sir?" the younger man came to a halt, and turned slightly.

"The Admiral…was that…?"

"My father, sir," Reed nodded, his tone decidedly cool.

"If you want to go and speak to him before tonight, I'm sure we won't be needing you on weapons control while we're orbiting Earth," Archer offered.

"That won't be necessary, sir. I must see to the security arrangements for the reception this evening."

Archer paused.

"He didn't tell you he was coming, did he?"

Reed glanced up again. His clear blue eyes showed no signs of any emotion.

"Why would he, sir?" the lieutenant asked, and suddenly seemed to decide that the question was irrelevant, "If that's all, captain…?"

"That's all, lieutenant. Dismissed."

--

Lt. Malcolm Reed went straight to the armoury. Thankfully, most of his people were off duty, preparing for the formal reception tonight, while those that were left were working on realigning the targeting sensors again, taking advantage of their stay over Earth to collect supplies, and probably send messages home. He called up the security roster for the evening, his mind turning over recent events. His father! On _Enterprise_! The man who could barely be persuaded to leave his home these days, the man who was a self-confessed xenophobe, the man who had sworn he would never set foot on a space ship, had volunteered for a mission to Vulcan! He made an adjustment to the positioning of a few officers in the room, which would leave him free to patrol. Unlike the other senior officers, he would be on duty tonight, ensuring the safety of the dignitaries. It was little more than for show, after all, who'd attack them in orbit around Earth? But still, he took his work seriously. He tried not to think too much about his father. They hadn't spoken since he'd left Earth, and that had been the point where his father had pretty much disowned him. Treacherously, his memory replayed the whole thing…

In the corner of the kitchen, his mother sat in a chair silently; her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She would never cry in front of his father.

"_I'm leaving," was all he'd said, simply, "I came to tell you I'm leaving Earth. I've been commissioned a lieutenant on board the _Enterprise_."_

"_So that's it?" his father's voice was cold, "After all I did for you, you're just going to walk away?"_

"_All you did?"_

"_You could have been a great man. Joined the navy. Made something of yourself. But no…you're a coward, and now you're going to run away again."_

_His cheeks stung red with suppressed anger and hurt._

"_But, sir…"_

_It was always 'sir', never 'father' or…'dad'._

"_It wasn't enough to run away to Starfleet, so now you're running away to space. You'll never amount to anything – you're too weak. You don't deserve to be called a Reed! Get out of my sight, you coward!"_

_He'd reached down, picked up his small bag that contained his few possessions._

"_Good bye, sir."_

_"Don't come back, boy. You're no son of mine."_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Many thanks to **Volley** (Thanks for the tip; I will try!), **Desy**, **JennMel** and **Exploded Pen** (I hope you like how this fic goes with Stuart & Malcolm!)

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters you recognise. Unfortunately.

**Chapter Two**

Archer stood in his dress uniform and politely listened to Ambassador Collins drone on about Vulcan history and culture. She was a slim, attractive blonde in her mid-thirties, but she was absolutely obsessed with Vulcan culture. Archer left her in deep conversation with T'Pol on the finer attributes of meditation, and wandered over to where Trip was sharing a joke with the Air Force General, Hogan, and Ambassador Long.

"The General was just telling me that she helped to design our shuttle pods, cap'n," Trip spoke up, as Archer joined them, "designed most of the aerodynamics herself."

"I had a good team," she said, dismissively, "and they ignored all of my suggestions about weapons systems and combat abilities."

"Weapons on a shuttle, General?" Archer sounded amused.

"Please, call me Hogan. My rank makes me feel old."

Archer smiled, genuinely this time. The general was a tall, thin woman in her early fifties, with greying brown hair, bright green eyes and a quick smile. Ambassador Long was about a foot shorter, with close-cropped black hair and a permanent frown that belied a gentle manner.

"Captain, I thank you for your hospitality," he bowed, "this ship is most comfortable for a war ship."

"We're a ship of exploration," Archer corrected him, "but thank you."

Drifting away, Archer took a moment to assess the room. The reception was in full swing; Starfleet officers in dress uniforms mingled with the ambassadorial staff that had come aboard shortly after the dignitaries. The security officers stood in the background, stiffly to attention at all times, ignoring the wine and delicious food enjoyed by the off-duty crewmen. Chef had done well, Archer noted. He saw Admiral Reed approaching him, and immediately, the polite smile was back in place. His face was starting to hurt with the expression.

"Captain," the Admiral spoke in the same soft, measured tones as his son, with the clipped British accent that always sounded so formal, "I have been unable to ascertain from the liaison officer our time of departure."

"I have some crew over at the station collecting some supplies," Archer replied, smoothly, "we'll be departing as soon as they return at oh-two-hundred hours, ships time. Our cruise to Vulcan will take approximately eight days. I trust your accommodations are comfortable?"

"You wouldn't find such extravagance on a naval ship," the Admiral's face twisted into a scowl of disapproval, "too much comfort will make your crew soft and undisciplined, Captain."

Archer quirked an eyebrow upwards. He'd hardly have described the _Enterprise_ accommodations as being 'extravagant'. Admiral Reed was staring at him, as if to gauge his reaction. Glancing around the room, Archer could see Lt. Reed standing by the door, talking to one of the other security officers. Could the two men really be related?

"The _Enterprise_ has been designed to cater for a crew of over eighty people who could be in space for up to five years at a time," he pointed out, at last, "in total isolation."

"Hardly," the Admiral grunted, "no more isolated than a ship out to sea, and your long range communications are more than effective enough to contact Earth. Starfleet is soft, Captain. It lacks the discipline that makes the navy strong."

"I disagree. My crew have been through some tough scrapes and they've proven themselves."

"I see little evidence of it, captain. There is a distinct lack of discipline; I have seen crewmembers fraternising openly."

Archer bridled at the comment, but kept his cool.

"In space, the rules change somewhat, Admiral," he said, calmly, "If you have a problem with the way I run my ship, you may put it in your report to Starfleet. In the meantime, I hope you have a comfortable stay. Please excuse me."

Archer turned, and walked away. By the door, he caught Lt. Reed's gaze for a moment, and glanced away. He suddenly wished his own father were here. Dismissing the thought, he located Trip, Hogan and Ambassador Long, and joined in the laughter.

--

As the evening wore on, more and more of the crew retired to their quarters. Those who had indulged in a little bit too much wine were escorted to their quarters by the security personnel, and by the end of the night, Archer, Trip, Hoshi, Ambassador Long, General Hogan, Admiral Reed and General Adams were all that were left, along with a handful of security personnel, Lt. Reed, and a few stragglers. Reed had the security guards escort the stragglers out of the room, and stood by the door, waiting for the room to clear. Only then would the last security officers leave, and the room would be turned over to the mess hall duty staff for cleaning and furniture replacement.

"Bloody good evening," Hogan was saying, her words slightly slurred as she finished her drink, "haven't had a chance to drink like this since my old CO's funeral. Bloody brilliant."

"I'm going to bed," Hoshi yawned, "excuse me, ambassador… general… admiral… general… captain… everyone…"

She slipped out of the door, and was soon followed by Mayweather and ambassador Long. Hogan was looking for another drink, and Admiral Reed scowled in disgust as a security officer escorted the last of the ship's crewmen out of the door. General Adams caught the expression, and laughed.

"If you think this is bad you should see how a bunch of squaddies can wreck a party," he said, "captain, my compliments. You have a good crew and a fine ship. This has been a very pleasant evening. I bid you good night."

"Good night, General," Archer nodded, shaking his hand as he left the room, followed by one of the security guards.

"I've had my fill of the lack of discipline on this ship. I will be in my quarters."

Admiral Reed turned on his heel, and walked out. Archer and Trip watched him go. He marched straight passed Lt. Reed, and neither man so much as glanced at the other. Archer immediately looked away, knowing it was not his place to pry. Still, it hurt to see a father and son so cold to each other, especially after the closeness he'd felt with his own father. Trip seemed to be thinking the same thing. Hogan had no idea, and had found a half-finished bottle of wine from somewhere. She was doing her best to finish it.

"He's a stuck up bastard, that one," she slurred, "not all Brits are like that, you know. I'm a Brit. Ex-pat. Lived the last fifteen years in Colorado. He makes us limeys all look like snobs. Told me on the shuttle he'd got a daughter back home. Feel sorry for her, father like that. Can't be nice..."

Archer wondered if there was a polite way to tell the general to shut the hell up, but she staggered to her feet, and waved the bottle.

"Bloody good party, Jon. Good night!"

She stumbled out, and two guards followed her. Archer traded looks with Trip, who shook his head in amusement and yawned.

"How long until we're back on duty?" he asked, through the yawn.

"Well, its oh-two-hundred hours," Archer pointed out, "we'll be leaving for Vulcan in a few minutes, and shift starts at oh-eight-hundred…"

"A whole six hours of sleep," Trip grinned, "luxury! Good night, Jon."

"Night, Trip…"

Archer watched him leave, and glanced around the mess hall. He didn't envy the staff the cleanup job. As he left, he passed Lt. Reed.

"Good night, lieutenant," he said, softly.

"Good night, captain," came the quiet reply.

--

Only when the captain left did Lt. Reed relax ever so slightly, as did the rest of his people.

"Okay," he told them, trying to keep the tiredness out of his voice, "go back to your quarters and get some sleep. When we get to Vulcan we get to do this all over again."

"Yippee," muttered a voice from somewhere near the back of the room.

"Agreed," Reed muttered, earning several grins, "you're all dismissed. Good work tonight."

"They only had to keep the crew in line," interrupted a deep voice, "I've seen raw recruits more qualified than this lot."

Some of the security guards traded glances and frowns, as Admiral Reed entered the room again, his bearing stiff and proud. Lt. Reed waved his hand at them to back down.

"You're dismissed," he repeated, and as they filed out, he turned towards his father, "Admiral. Was there something you wanted?"

His tone sounded slightly mocking, he knew, and he saw his father's hand curl into a fist.

"I wanted to tell Captain Archer that his crew is a rabble, and my report will state as much," the Admiral said, coldly, "they are undisciplined, and they lack the proper respect for authority. No wonder you joined Starfleet. Archer must be the worst of them all."

Lt. Reed's eyes narrowed fractionally. He could take the insults directed at him; they were nothing new, but to insult the Captain…

"Captain Archer is a good man who cares deeply for this ship, the crew and the mission," he ground out, "he is a far better commander than you ever could be. He is also far more respected – sir."

The next thing Malcolm knew, he was sitting on the floor. Shaking his head, he got to his feet, resisting the urge to rub his face. Shock made his hands shake slightly – it had been years since his father had hit him, and even then, it was a rare thing to make Stuart Reed loose his temper to such an extent.

"Striking a Starfleet officer is a punishable offence," he said, quietly, "if you do that again I will throw you in the brig."

"Hiding behind your uniform? Still the coward…done any swimming recently…?"

Malcolm winced. That had been a cheap shot, and they both knew it. At least his father had the grace to look contrite. Mustering what little dignity he had left, Malcolm slipped passed him, and left the room.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you all to everyone who has read & reviewed so far; especially for the positive response I've had so far! Thanks go to: **Volley** (I hope you enjoy your break - this chapter's especially for you!) **The Libran Iniquity** (Thank you - I hope I can live up to your expectations here - your work rocks) **Dottid**, **Exploded Pen** (Lol - who doesn't want to deck the guy? And thanks - I don't know anyone in the armed forces who speaks, shall we say, the Queen's English?) and, of course, **JennMel**. Thank you all.

Disclaimer: I don't own them; Insert witty comment here.

**Chapter Three**

The next morning, feeling none-the-worse for wear after a few wines and only five hours of sleep, as it turned out, Trip made his way down the armoury. The launch mechanism for torpedo tube one had jammed, and he and Malcolm were going to have to fix it that morning. He whistled cheerfully as he walked through the corridors, nodding to the crewmen he passed. More than a couple looked decidedly hung over, but at least they were at their posts. He strode into the armoury, not surprised to find that Reed was already there, going over some schematics.

"Mornin', Malcolm," Trip grinned, "helluva party last night. Sorry you weren't with us; that General Hogan's a piece of work all right."

"I heard," responded Reed, dryly, "she was telling jokes to petty officer Harrow that made the air turn blue. I definitely learned a few new words. She certainly speaks her mind."

"Look if she'd have known…you know…he was your dad, she'd never have…"

"It's okay, Trip," Malcolm still hadn't turned away from the control panel, "now…I've got the targeting scanners aligned, at last. Shall we take a look at that launch tube?"

"I've got my kit, right here," Trip nodded, hefting his case as Malcolm turned away from the control panel, "and I…what the hell happened to you?"

The sight of Reed's face provoked this last exclamation; his left eye was swollen with a dark bruise, and his hand went to it instinctively.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he said, defensively, "I…fell out of bed…"

"Are you sure? That's one hell of a bruise."

"It's my own fault for leaving a book on the floor," Malcolm replied, "That's what I landed on."

It surprised him, how easily the lie came. He'd never thought himself capable of lying to Trip. Then he decided that if he thought that was bad, he'd have to wait until the Captain asked what happened…

"Let's just get to work on that launch tube, shall we…?"

---

Captain Archer spent most of his time in his ready room, where the various dignitaries sometimes came to converse, in particular General Hogan and Ambassador Long. Hogan loved life on the Starship, having apologised profusely for drinking far too much at the reception. Long was a fascinating man who had travelled widely, but had never left Earth before. The most notable absentee was Admiral Reed – according to his security escort, the man spent all of his time in his quarters, only coming out for meals at oh seven hundred, thirteen hundred and nineteen hundred hours respectively. At the moment, though, he was alone; they were still four days away from Vulcan. Suddenly, the communications channel buzzed.

"Captain Archer; please report to the bridge."

Without bothering to respond, he got to his feet and headed out onto the bridge. T'Pol got up from the command chair and relieved the ensign stationed at her customary post.

"Captain. We have detected a ship of unknown origins approaching at high warp," she reported, calling up the information on her computer, "they are on an intercept course."

"Hoshi, hail them," Archer ordered, "Identify us and ask what they want."

"I'm trying sir. There's no response."

"They've dropped out of warp," T'Pol informed him.

"On screen."

Set against the backdrop of stars, the ship looked deceptively small. It had two curved, sweeping wings, along an oval body. It looked like a headless bird.

"Still no response to our hails," Hoshi spoke up.

"They're charging weapons!" Malcolm interrupted, his hands flicking across the controls.

"Polarise the hull plating!" Archer commanded, knowing it was already being done.

The first blast rocked the ship, and Archer sat down quickly.

"Hull polarisation at eighty percent," Reed called out.

"We've sustained damage to our starboard nacelle," T'Pol added.

"Warp engines are offline, navigational control failing," Travis reported.

"Return fire! Photon torpedoes!"

Another blast rocked the ship, this time causing several consoles to erupt in a shower of sparks. Hoshi let out a cry of shock as the communications console sparked, and burst into flame. T'Pol reacted quickly, grabbing a fire extinguisher, as Malcolm returned fire. Two torpedoes slammed into the smaller ship, and Archer called for a report.

"Minimal damage, sir," Malcolm reported, "Our torpedoes are having little effect."

Another blast hit them, and the lights flickered wildly.

"Travis, can we get away?"

"Negative sir – the engines are offline."

"Captain, I have a suggestion," Malcolm spoke up, "their ship is protected by a modulating phased energy barrier - kind of a shield. If I can polarise a torpedo to match their shield frequency I may be able to penetrate it. I will need commander Tucker's help to reprogram the torpedo. I'll transfer weapons control to the armoury."

"Do it!" Archer nodded to him, "I'll have Trip meet you there. Go!"

Malcolm nodded quickly, leaving his post. Another blast shook the ship, as Travis fought the controls to make evasive manoeuvres. Archer counted a tense two minutes before another shot shook them.

"Sir, there seems to be a pattern to the attack," T'Pol reported, "We are being hit exactly every one point five minutes. I believe this is the length of time it takes for their weapons banks to recharge."

"Any idea who they are?"

"I have never seen this ship design before. It is not in the Vulcan database."

Archer waited as Travis managed to evade the alien's next shot, before he pressed a button on the arm of his chair.

"Archer to armoury – where's that torpedo?"

"Ready, cap'n!" came back Trip's voice; "we're loading it now! Watch this!"

Archer watched the view screen. A small dot of phased energy suddenly streaked away from _Enterprise_. The alien ship's weapons lanced out one again, sending a powerful jolt through _Enterprise_. Archer hung onto his chair, not taking his eyes off the screen. He saw the shields flicker as the torpedo passed through, and impacted the alien vessel. There was an explosion, and, suddenly, the ship turned away, and jumped to warp.

"Can we pursue?" Archer asked, already knowing the answer.

"Sorry, sir. Warp drive has been disabled."

"Start repairs immediately. Archer to armoury – my congratulations, gentlemen; you did it."

There was no response, and Archer wondered if there was a problem with the internal communications grid.

"T'Pol. Damage report?"

"Direct hits to the starboard nacelle, and another to deck six…captain, I believe that our weapons were deliberately targeted – all weapons systems are off line."

"The armoury?"

"Sustained a direct hit."

"Have Phlox meet me down there!"

---

Internal sensors were offline. Many of the ships systems were damaged. In several dark corners of the ship, figures coalesced in shimmering lights moments before their ship went to warp. Unnoticed by the crew, they set to work.

---

A/N: Next update soon...ohhhhh, the suspence...


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hi guys! Many thanks to: **ThePet** (Thanks - I love writing for Hogan - I wish I could write her in more!) **Kaliedescope** **Cat** (thanks for reading & reviewing!) **Volley** (Here's another update, just for you, & thanks for the kind review!) **The Libran Iniquity** (Wow, thank you. I'm glad the end of the last chapter wasn't too confusing for people) **RoaringMice** (Sorry - here's an update - please don't hurt me!) **elbcw** (thanks for the review - enjoy the next chapter), **JennMel** (You'll see - there's more to come!) and, of course, **Exploded Pen** (Sorry, not much of Malcolm in this chapter; but in the next few, he gets all the action. I will say no more! No spoiling!)

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

**Chapter Four**

Archer met Phlox outside the armoury, and, without a greeting, he keyed open the door. It parted slightly, leaving a gap of less than an inch, through which black smoke curled languidly, dissipating into the air. Archer curled his fingers around the edge of the doors, and forced them open. Inside, a console sparked intermittently; the walls were blackened with smoke and small fires burned in various corners of the room. Archer ducked under a section of blown out wiring overhead, coughing in the smoke.

"Trip?" he called out, worriedly, "Malcolm?"

"Captain! Over here!"

Archer followed Malcolm's voice, and found the lieutenant pinned beneath a section of bulkhead. His hands and face were burned, but he seemed to be otherwise unharmed. Archer gripped the metal, and heaved, allowing Phlox to pull Reed free. Archer knelt down next to the engineer as the doctor ran a scanner over him.

"Malcolm…you're going to be fine," Archer assured him, "where's Trip?"

"He was over there," Reed pointed, coughing.

"Smoke inhalation, two fractured ribs, some second degree burns," Phlox reported, "come on, lieutenant… let's get you out of here…"

He reached down and pulled Reed to his feet, mindful of his injuries, and helped him out into the corridor where a medical team were waiting with two gurneys. Reed was helped onto one and whisked away, as Phlox went back into the smoke filled room. He blinked and squinted through the smoke.

"Captain?" he called out, questioningly.

"Phlox! Over here!"

The doctor made his way through the debris, and found the captain crouched down beside a toppled console. Beneath it, Cmdr. Tucker was pinned down, clearly unconscious. Phlox passed his handheld scanner over the motionless form, frowning.

"He has several broken ribs and internal bleeding. We need to get him to sickbay…"

---

Archer stood to one side in sickbay, listening to T'Pol giving him the damage report. It was severe, but repairs were already underway, and they hoped to have warp speed back within seven or eight hours. Archer signed off, and turned to Phlox for a casualty report.

"Ensign Roan was killed," the doctor reported grimly, "as were Ambassador Collins and General Adams – they were on deck six when it was hit. The majority of the crew suffered bruising, I should think, but there were only a half-dozen seriously injured, several others with broken bones and sprains…I'm doing what I can."

"What about Trip and Malcolm?"

"Both will need extensive tissue regeneration to heal their burns," Phlox admitted, "My Osmotic Eel will take care of that. I have repaired Lt. Reed's fractured ribs and commander Tucker's internal injuries, but the commander has yet to regain consciousness."

"Thank you, doctor. I'm going to go and speak to our dignitaries. Let me know as soon as anything happens."

"I will, captain…"

---

There were four of the intruders, and they converged in an access tube that had been undamaged in the fight. Their protective armour contained circuits designed to scramble sensors, effectively rendering them invisible to the ship. They were all different species; one was an Andorian, one was a Klingon, one was an unmodified Suliban, and the final one was a member of the cat-like Ssas. They were pirates, outcasts of their races, and very good at what they did.

"You all know the drill," growled the Andorian, the designated leader, "disable the artificial gravity. Stun the crew. Lock them in their quarters. We'll take the ship to the nearest Orion base and sell them and then the ship to the highest bidders."

"This is no _hssiss_ merchant vessel," growled the Ssas, through a translator, "it may not be so easy at the other times."

"We have demand for this ship," the Andorian replied, coldly, "the crew are soft. They're not expecting us. To your posts, and wait for my signal."

---

Archer summoned the remaining three dignitaries to his briefing room. Ambassador Long had a deep cut above one eye but was otherwise unharmed. General Hogan's top lip was split and her jaw was bruised, but her face was set in a detached expression. Admiral Reed's temple was bruised, but his blue eyes remained clear and cold. Archer explained to them what had happened, and that Roan, Collins and Adams were dead.

"Were any of your people killed, captain?" Hogan asked, when he'd finished.

"No," Archer shook his head, "but several were severely injured…Admiral, I'm sorry, but Malcolm was one of them. He's in sickbay if you'd like to go and see him."

"I'm sure Lt. Reed is in good hands," the Admiral said, coolly, "in the meantime, I shall return to my quarters. Thank you, captain."

With that, he turned and left. Long bowed, and left as well. Hogan didn't let go so easily.

"The Lieutenant and the Admiral…are they related?" she guessed, "don't tell me. Father and son?"

"You got it," Archer nodded, and suddenly added, "I don't understand it. My father and I were so close… I can't imagine him ever being so cold…"

"The Admiral reminds me of my foster father," Hogan shrugged, "he was the reason I ran away to the Air Force. Couldn't stand him hitting me anymore. Glad I did or I'd've killed the old bugger. With folks like that I can see the attraction of leaving Earth altogether. Take care, Captain. I hope your crewmen recover."

---

The Ssas, a tall female called Mrreww, slithered through an access tube, discreetly disabling internal sensors as she went. The ship was battle-damaged enough that no-one would detect her tampering for some time. She paused a moment, and took out a scanner. She was close to engineering, her final destination. With a growl, she took out her communicator.

"I'm almost in position, "she reported, engaging the translator, "awaiting your signal."

"Acknowledged," replied the unmistakeable voice of the Andorian leader, "This could be easier than anticipated. Wait for my signal."

The line disconnected, and Mrreww purred to herself. Drawing her weapon, she reluctantly set it to 'stun', and settled down to wait. It would not be long before the ship was theirs.

---

A/N: For those of you who don't know/remember who the Ssas are, it's not really important - I used them in my last story. They're an alien race who look basically like bipedal, two-meter-tall cats. Yeah. Cats.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I'm back, with another update for y'all! Thanks to **Volley** (Hope you have a really great holiday! This'll be finished by the time you get back, and I might even have some of my next fic up! Enjoy your break!), **The Libran Iniquity** (Sounds like you're having fun - enjoy the next chapter!) **JennMel **(At this point who doesn't want to kill Stuart? Lol!) and **Exploded Pen** (This chapter is dedicated entirely to you, so I don't get my head in my hands to play with for not updating!) Thanks also to **Exploded Pen** for the colourful description of what to do to Stuart...I wish I'd thought of that. I just hope you're not disappointed with what actually happens in the end!

Disclaimer: If only I owned them...but I don't. How depressing...

**Chapter Five**

Malcolm Reed sat alone in his quarters. It had been several days since the attack. They were back on course for Vulcan, and the repairs were still underway, although the worst of the damage had been fixed. The skin on his hands, where the console had burned him, still felt tight from Phlox's Osmotic Eel's ministrations, but the skin was healed and amazingly blemish free. The bruises to his face and chest were also fading, thankfully; and the best news was that Trip had also made a full recovery, for which he was grateful.

He glanced up at a strange scraping noise coming from the wall, and then dismissed it. There were engineers crawling all over the ship, doing repairs in the Jeffries tubes. That was, until the power grid fluctuated, the lights flickered, and the gravity cut out.

With a startled yelp, he found himself floating in the air. He drifted towards the door, and opened it. The phenomenon was not confined to his room; two crewmen out in the corridor were looking no less surprised.

"Stay here," Reed told them, and, by pushing against the wall, made it to the nearest communications panel, "Lt. Reed to engineering. What's going on?"

"We're trying to work it out," Trip sounded exasperated; no doubt he'd received dozens of similar calls already, "gravity's down all over the ship. We're working on it."

Reed shut down the link, and, through a process of bouncing off the walls, worked his way over to a turbo lift. He headed down to the shuttle bay, where he was able to acquire a pair of magnetic boots. Slipping them on and activating them, he was able to walk normally again, although with some effort due to the powerful magnetism. He was just heading to the bridge when he heard it. Weapons fire.

---

Hogan and Archer were sharing a meal in the mess hall when the gravity went offline, which caused a whole lot of mess and a few nasty scalds for an ensign unfortunate enough to have ordered a bowl of soup.

"Archer to engineering! Trip, gravity just went down in the mess hall. What's going on?"

"I don't know, cap'n! It's happened all over the ship. It's like someone just flicked a switch! We're working on it, Jon."

"Work fast, Trip. Archer out."

It was just as he shut down the channel that Archer heard the first shout of alarm. He tried to turn around, floating weightlessly. He saw a flash of blue, every nerve screamed in pain, and then he lost consciousness.

---

Archer awoke slowly, his head pounding. Someone was shaking his shoulder incessantly, occasionally slapping his face gently for good measure. He groaned, and the contact ceased.

"Thank God you're awake," said a voice, somewhere in the vicinity of above him, "do you want the good news or the bloody awful news?"

Archer sat up carefully, nursing his head. At least the gravity was back on.

"What's the good news?"

"The gravity's back on."

Archer looked at Hogan with an expression of 'well, duh'.

"What's the bad news?" he asked, as she pulled him to his feet.

"We're prisoners," she replied, gesturing to the door, "a blue skinned alien with weird antennae came in here and told us so, right before he locked the door. One of your crew said he was an Andorian."

"Why would the Andorians take us prisoner?" Archer wondered.

"He was with another alien," Hogan added, "Something called a…Hang-on? Cling-on?"

"Klingon," Archer corrected her, "that's weird. An Andorian and a Klingon together? Are you sure?"

"I don't think they were official," Hogan shrugged, "no proper uniforms. Space Pirates?"

"Well, we've seen weirder. We need to find a way out of here…"

---

"Report," the Andorian snapped, from where he sat in the captain's chair of the bridge.

"I've altered course towards the co-ordinates you gave me," Travis said, sullenly.

He had a black eye, a split lip and a Klingon aiming a blaster at his head, so for now, he was co-operating. T'Pol had been stunned and locked in the captain's ready room; Hoshi was sitting at her console looking petrified. The Andorian nodded slowly, his antennae flexing as he moved. He pressed a button on the arm of the chair.

"Engineering, report."

"Most of the damage we inflicted has already been repaired," The Ssas's translator managed to convey a tone of grudging respect, "they worked fast. I have gravity back online and the warp drive is fit to use. I will continue repairs; our buyers will be satisfied."

"Excellent. The crew?"

"Several escaped our first sweep. We will round them up."

"Agreed," the Andorian nodded, "carry on."

He nodded to the Klingon, who growled and left the bridge. It was time to go hunting.

---

Reed had ducked out of the way just as a Suliban came striding around the corner, dressed in odd-looking black armour, wearing magnetic boots. He carried a strange weapon, and the minute he walked passed he would see Reed. The element of surprise…the lieutenant waited a moment longer, praying he would be a match for any genetic modifications…and lunged.

The Suliban let out a yelp of surprise, as Reed grabbed his arm, twisted the weapon out of his grip, and put him in a swift arm lock. When the alien didn't wriggle free, he assumed correctly that this particular Suliban had no genetic enhancements.

"Who are you and what are you doing on this ship?" Reed demanded.

The Suliban shook his head, and Reed tightened his grip, eliciting a groan of pain.

"N-not my f-fault," the Suliban stammered, "f-forced. P-please…"

"Why are you on _Enterprise_?" Reed pressed, glancing around to make sure there were no others.

"To steal your ship…please don't kill me…"

With a heavy thump to the back of the alien's skull, Reed dropped him into unconsciousness. Slinging him over his shoulder, he retrieved the Suliban's fallen weapon, and leaned around the corner. There was no one there, but several of the crew quarters had been sealed shut from the outside. He tried to unlock them, but the doors were encoded, so Reed took the Suliban down to the brig and locked him in, checking out a phase pistol.

With a sudden lurch, gravity was restored, and Reed slipped out of the gravity boots in relief, hiding them in a storage locker. He wondered if he should contact the bridge, and decided against it. If the ship had been compromised, anyone could be on the bridge and he could walk right into a trap…he had to think for himself, find out if any of the crew were still free. He called to mind the schematics of the ship…the Jeffries tubes…he found the nearest access hatch, and, with a quick glance over his shoulder, disappeared inside it.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hi - me again, back with another update! At this rate I should have this fic finished by Monday. Many, many thanks to **elbcw** (Not much of the Ssas in this one but I hope to do a fic about them soon!) **Exploded Pen** (I'm glad this made you happy - hope you enjoy the rest! And, btw, I wish I could have Hogan as a regular - I've got the feeling she could have a wicked sense of humour!) and**The Libran Iniquity** (I wish I'd thought to end it that way, but...no spoilers. I hope you like it anyway.) Thank you all for the continuing reviews! It's really, really appreciated.

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

**Chapter Six**

Archer glanced up as the doors opened, admitting a burly Klingon, escorting several people, including Trip, a couple of engineers, Ambassador Long and Admiral Reed.

"You will all be seated," the Klingon grunted.

Archer got to his feet.

"I'm the captain of this vessel," he began, "I want to know-!"

That was as far as he got. With a hefty backhand punch, the Klingon sent him sprawling, before picking him up and dropping him into a chair.

"You will be seated!" he growled, and pulled out a communicator, "Tumak to bridge. I have the last of the humans. Where is Mallock?"

"Probably still locking up the crew," came the reply, "Mrreww has the ship fully functional; we are on course and should arrive in a week. Guard the humans. Don't kill more than four. Romar out."

The Klingon snapped his communicator shut, and fixed Archer with a baleful glare. With a sigh, the captain glanced across at Hogan, as the Klingon, Tumak, came around, binding their wrists behind them with plastic ties. Things were looking pretty grim.

---

Tumak took the time to separate the senior officers, putting them apart from the others; mainly to stop any chance of orders being given to attempt escape, and so that he knew which humans to kill and which to save – the officers had to be saved, but if they stepped out of line, a crewmember would die in their place. So Archer and the others kept their voices down as they talked. Archer, Trip, General Hogan, Ambassador Long and Admiral Reed were there, along with Dr. Phlox, who'd been in the mess hall at the time of the attack.

"How the hell did this happen?" Trip was saying, insistently, "Internal sensors didn't pick up any intruders, and they weren't damaged in the attack!"

"It must have been during the attack," Archer said, shaking his head, "they must have beamed aboard."

"Then God knows what they've done to the ship," Trip sighed, "they must have been on board for hours before making a move…knocked out the sensors and the gravity…and the rest was easy. They were wearing magnetic boots when they came into engineering. One of those cat-people and a Suliban."

"This is the oddest team I've ever come across," Archer agreed, "suggestions?"

"We would not be in this situation if it were not for the lax attitude of your crew, Captain," Admiral Reed pointed out, bluntly, "I lay the blame for this incident squarely with you."

"Thank you, Admiral, I'm sure that if we get out of this alive Starfleet will be happy to listen to your suggestions," Archer said, icily, "I would be more interested in how, exactly, we are going to get out of this alive…"

---

Reed crawled through the Jeffries tube, feeling grimly pleased with himself. He'd found a giant cat in engineering, one of the imposing Ssas species, and had stunned it. Six captive engineers had told him what was going on; he'd ordered them to arm themselves, remain at their posts, and continue with repairs. The engineers had also told him that there was an Andorian on the bridge who was giving the orders. He crawled to an exit, and dropped out of the Jeffries tube, jumping straight into a turbo lift, heading towards the bridge. The doors opened, and the captain's chair swung around. Reed saw a flash of blue skin, and fired before the Andorian had a chance to cry out. Hoshi yelped in shock as Travis swung around. Both of them relaxed visibly when they saw him.

"Thank God," Hoshi breathed.

"Sir," Travis spoke up, "we're off course…should I…?"

"Sure," Reed nodded, quickly, crossing over to the Andorian, "does anyone know where the Captain is?"

"He's a prisoner in the mess hall," Travis replied, quickly, "he's down there with Commander Tucker – they're being guarded by a Klingon."

"A Klingon? Great…"

"Uh, Lieutenant?" Hoshi spoke up hesitantly, "your…uh, that is, Admiral Reed is there, too. I've been monitoring the comm. channels…the Suliban took the Admiral and Ambassador Long down there…"

"…Putting all of the most valuable hostages together," Reed said, grimly, "all right. I'm going down there. Travis, take the con. Hoshi, contact engineering; have someone go and start decrypting the locks on the crew quarters. I'll go and take care of the Klingon…"

---

"I said, be quiet!" roared Tumak, backing up his words with a heavy clout, "If you speak again I will execute someone."

Archer winced, feeling blood on his split lip, as Tumak turned away with a growl. Archer had no idea what to do; if he'd been alone, there were several things he could have tried, but he was unwilling to gamble with the lives of the members of the crew in the room. He took a surreptitious look around; there were about a dozen of them, all sitting silent and alert. Those that met his gaze met it evenly, some nodding slightly to indicate that they were behind him, one hundred percent. He nodded back. He was proud of them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw General Hogan and Admiral Reed glance upwards in unison, as if they'd heard something. Then he heard it, too; a muffled scraping noise, coming from above them. He resisted the urge to look up as Hogan and Reed exchanged slightly puzzled looks. The Klingon must have heard it, too, as he brought his blaster out, looking around warily.

"What was that?" he growled, glaring at Archer.

"Probably one of the engineers in the Jeffries tubes," Trip spoke up, thinking quickly, "You took them prisoner and put them to work, remember?"

Tumak rumbled something in Klingon, still glaring at the ceiling, where the scraping noise was getting louder. He drew closer to the noise, just as the mess hall door opened.

"Drop your weapon!" ordered a familiar voice.

Archer's head snapped around in surprise, as a slow smile spread across Trip's face. Tumak growled a curse, and dropped the blaster. Lt. Reed edged further into the room, warily, phase pistol held at arm's length.

"Captain…" he said, never taking his eyes off the Klingon, "Trip…are you okay?"

"We're fine, Malcolm," Trip began, "we…"

He never got any further. Tumak roared, and lunged. Reed fired, but the stun setting seemed to have no effect, as Tumak crashed into him, hands going for Reed's throat. The lieutenant executed a neat Judo throw, but Tumak was fast, and landed on his feet. He spun around, and Archer simply saw a flash of light on metal. As if from nowhere, a knife had appeared in the Klingon's hand. He stabbed viciously, and Archer felt a knot of horror in his throat at Reed's amazed expression. He heard Trip's sharp intake of breath as Tumak twisted the blade around, and pulled it free. Reed's hand went to his chest as his knees buckled, and he fell.

---

"No!" Trip shouted, and Tumak snarled at him.

"Do you wish to be next?" he growled, "I tire of this! I will kill you if you do not be quiet!"

Archer tore his eyes away from the fallen lieutenant, glaring at the Klingon.

"You…" he stuttered, lost for words, "you son of a…"

---

The sound of a high-intensity beam of phased energycut him off. With an expression of pure amazement, Tumak let out a cry of pain, and toppled to the floor. Archer swung around, and metMalcolm Reed's defiant gaze from where he lay on the floor. The phase pistol slipped from his hand, and, with a sigh, he collapsed back onto the deck...

---

A/N: Suspence? Moi? Nah. Just pure torture is all... until next time, folks...


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Ha! The end is nigh. This is a short chapter, so I'm posting two at once - the next one is the last. So, I owe many thanks and much appreciation to: **Spydur1** (I'm glad you're enjoying this) **firebirdgirl** (thanks for reading & reviewing) **elbcw** (hold on to your seat and enjoy the next two chapters) **Antares Star** (thank you for the kind words - I hope you enjoy the rest of the fic) **JennMel** (Two chapters, both togather - I quit the cliffhangers, but only for this fic!) **Exploded Pen** (Hope you have a great holiday - here are the last two chapters, especially for you!) and, of course, **The Libran Iniquity** (Now, you will be there to see that particular conversation, because, well, here it is...Enjoy!)

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

**Chapter Seven**

To Archer, it felt like it took hours for him to kick free of the chair, get down beside the Klingon, locate a knife and cut away his wrist bonds, but in fact it was mere seconds. He severed the tie around Phlox's wrists, and the doctor was immediately beside Malcolm Reed, applying pressure to the wound and checking vitals. Torn between his duty and his wish to check on the lieutenant, Archer opted for duty, cutting the others free, and calling for a medical team. He dismissed the rest of the crew to find and free their crewmates, before finally returning to Lt. Reed.

"There's a medical team on the way," he said, crouching down opposite to Phlox, "how's he doing?"

"The knife missed his heart, barely," the doctor replied, grimly, "but his lung is punctured and filling up with blood – it's in danger of collapse. He's rapidly going into shock and he's loosing a lot of blood. I need to get him to surgery, immediately!"

"Poor bastard," Hogan murmured.

Suddenly, Archer was aware that Admiral Reed had moved, and was kneeling down beside him. Wordlessly, Archer moved aside slightly, as the lieutenant's eyes flickered open, and he managed to focus.

"S-sir…?"

For a moment, Archer though Reed was referring to him, but the Admiral nodded slowly.

"I'm here, Malcolm."

"I'm…s-sorry…"

"No, Malcolm. I'm sorry. I'm…I'm proud of you, son…"

There was blood seeping from the corner of the lieutenant's mouth, but the admiral ignored it, reaching down and supporting his son's head with one hand, the other gripping his arm tightly.

"Fight it, son," he whispered, "please…"

"C-can't…" Malcolm's face twisted in pain.

"The medical team will be here soon," Phlox was saying, his hands covered in blood.

There seemed to be blood everywhere, to Archer; so much of it, even on his own hands…suddenly, the lieutenant began to cough, as blood welled up from his mouth, and Archer drew back in horror. The thought occurred to him that he was about to watch a man die, when the medical team arrived. Malcolm was loaded onto a gurney, and whisked away, leaving a stunned group of four. Hogan was shaking her head slowly.

"I've never…I don't…Jon, I'm sorry…"

"He'll be fine," Archer interrupted, decisively, "Phlox is an excellent doctor; the best. He wouldn't be on this ship otherwise."

Trip had gone white, and he was shaking slightly.

"Jon, I want to go down there…"

"Negative," Archer replied, quickly, "let Phlox do his work…our first duty is to the ship and the rest of the crew. Get down to engineering – I need to get to the bridge and take command again…General, I…"

"I'll guard the Klingon," Hogan cut in, picking up the phase pistol Reed had dropped, "send a security team down in your own time."

"Captain," Admiral Reed spoke up, in a soft voice, "with your permission I…I would like to wait in sickbay. I wish to stay with lieutenant…I wish to stay with my son."

"Of course, Admiral," Archer nodded, quietly, "this way…"

---

Archer escorted the senior Reed to sickbay, finding Phlox had already begun emergency surgery. He went straight to the bridge, where he found that T'Pol had taken command, apparently none the worse for wear after being stunned and locked up. Hoshi and Travis were at their posts, and both were delighted to see him.

"I assume that lieutenant Reed was successful in apprehending the Klingon?" T'Pol noted, vacating the command chair.

Archer sighed, and caught the back of the chair, not sitting down.

"I have some…bad news," he said, slowly, glancing at each of them, "Malcolm was injured…stabbed…by the Klingon. He's in surgery now…he's in a pretty bad way."

There was a long pause, as Hoshi and Travis exchanged glances.

"How bad?" Hoshi asked, at length.

The look on Archer's face said it all.

---

The next eight hours flew by. They grouped together the four pirates, ready to be transferred off the ship upon arrival at Vulcan for transportation to the nearest penal colony. The crew was released from captivity, and slowly, life on the ship returned to normal.

In sickbay, Phlox emerged from surgery, glad he had thought to shed his bloodstained gloves and gown before doing so; Admiral Reed had remained in sickbay since the incident, sitting silently in the corner stiffly, his expression impassive. Upon sight of Phlox, he got to his feet, and stood to attention.

"Admiral," Phlox said, in measured tones, "the operation was successful; I have repaired and re-inflated the damaged lung, but there were…complications."

"Be specific, please."

"The lieutenant had to be resuscitated twice," Phlox replied, uncomfortable with the Admiral's cold demeanour, "he lost a lot of blood and he is very weak…"

"What are his chances?"

Phlox hesitated, and opted for blunt honesty.

"I would say, if he makes it through the night, then his chances of survival are good," he said, at last, "but that is down to lieutenant Reed."

"Very well. Thank you, doctor."

Stuart Reed turned away from the doctor, and pulled his chair up beside Malcolm's bed. He glanced down at the pale features of his son, sat down, and waited.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

**Chapter Eight**

Archer dropped by several times during the night; each time looking tired and worried. They were less than two days from Vulcan, but the conference had all but been forgotten. The Admiral did not move at all during the night, remaining at his son's side, never speaking or reaching out, just maintaining a silent vigil as other crewmembers came and went, including Hoshi, Travis and especially Trip, who had to be forcibly told to go and get some rest by Phlox.

As the morning shift started, Phlox was doing his rounds and feeding breakfast to his menagerie, when the sound of coughing alerted him. Almost dropping the food pellets all over the floor, he grabbed a hypo spray and crossed over to lieutenant Reed's side.

"Relax, lieutenant…this will help you to breathe," Phlox said, gently, administering the drug, "you're going to be fine…"

He glanced across at the Admiral, and nodded slowly, before backing away, giving them some space. He would wait a moment to pass on the good news to the Captain; for now, it seemed that the two men needed a moment...

---

Stuart Reed got to his feet, and stood beside the bed. Malcolm looked up at him through half-closed eyes, his expression almost wary. Stuart sighed. Malcolm was too pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and a slight tension that suggested he was trying to hide how much pain he was in. Stuart tried to decide what to do, what to say…Malcolm beat him to it.

"Sir," he rasped out, "f-forgive me…?"

That was the last thing Stuart was expecting; he blinked in surprise, and leaned in a little closer.

"I'm the one who should be asking you for forgiveness," he said, surprising himself with the softness of his tone, and he felt suddenly awkward.

He had never been an open person, he hated discussing his feelings with anyone, and he wondered if that had led to the distance he had sensed between himself and Malcolm, long before his son had refused to join the navy and run away…joined Starfleet. Malcolm was looking at him with an expression of shock and confusion.

"I volunteered for the conference because I…I wanted to see why space appealed so much more than the ocean," Stuart began, uncomfortably, "I wanted to see why a Starship was better than a naval ship…aside from the lack of, uh…deep water…at first I thought it was because it was soft and undisciplined, and I was so…disappointed…in you. I always felt disappointed…"

There was an unspoken pain in Malcolm's eyes that had nothing to do with the physical, and Stuart held up his hand to stop him from speaking.

"That's why I'm the one who's sorry," he continued, quietly, "I'll never understand why you didn't join the navy…I'll never accept the fact that you broke with our family traditions…but I can appreciate that you've become a fine young man. This is a good ship with a good crew and a strong captain. I'm proud of you, son."

Malcolm blinked, and dragged in a painful breath, summoning the strength to speak. When he did, it was barely a whisper, and Stuart had to lean forwards, straining to hear.

"Thanks…Dad."

---

The _Enterprise_ remained in orbit of Vulcan for nearly a week. Several of the crew took shore leave; in spite of the fact that half of the dignitaries from Earth had been killed in the alien attack, the conference went ahead successfully, with many suggestions for the improvement of Starfleet and humanity's exploratory tactics in space.

The journey back to Earth was uneventful, and it was a tired but happy crew that arrived back to their home planet. In the mess hall, Trip sat by the window and stared at the planet above them.

"Beautiful," he murmured, appreciatively.

"Agreed," Malcolm said, with the ghost of a smile.

He'd been released from sickbay a few days earlier; he was still pale and gaunt, but he was making a full recovery. Trip spared him a grin.

"We should be heading down to the shuttle bay," he said, getting to his feet, "the envoys will be leaving soon. I'm sure gonna miss Hogan; the ship's going to be damn quiet without her jokes."

"Yeah," Malcolm nodded, absently, following Trip.

They walked down to the shuttle bay in companionable silence, where the rest of the senior officers were already assembled. Ambassador Long stepped forwards, and bowed.

"It's been a pleasure, captain," he said, "I regret the unpleasant circumstances of our voyage, but I commend you and your crew…and my thanks go with you."

"Good-bye, ambassador," Archer nodded, with a warm smile, shaking the man's hand, before allowing the ambassador to step aboard the awaiting shuttle.

General Hogan stepped forwards next, shaking Archer's hand, and those of the rest of the assembled officers.

"Damn good to meet you all," she grinned, "love this ship; wish I could stay but I cause more trouble than I'm worth. Trip! Take care of this ship! I might come back and fly her someday!"

"You do that," Trip grinned, "so long, General!"

She waved, and disappeared into the shuttle. Admiral Reed stepped forwards, looking uncomfortable.

"Captain," he began, hesitantly, "I…appreciate the actions of you and your crew. My report will be favourable…I see no need for any change."

"Thank you, Admiral," Archer inclined his head slightly, and held out his hand.

The Admiral shook it firmly, and turned to go. He paused, and glanced back.

"Good bye, Malcolm. Take care of yourself."

"And you, sir. Good bye."

Stuart Reed nodded, and stepped aboard the shuttle. Archer and the others filed out, before the bay depressurised, and the shuttle left the ship, returning to the Starbase. The officers went their separate ways, as Trip and Malcolm wandered away towards the mess hall.

"Things okay between you and your dad?" Trip asked, quietly, at last.

"They're…better than they were," Malcolm replied, pressing one hand lightly to his chest, "If I'd known I had to get stabbed to get him to accept my decision to join Starfleet…!"

"I never called my father 'sir'," Tripquickly changed the subject, sounding suddenly amused.

"He's never been anything but 'sir'," came the shrugged reply, "but things are…better now. We understand each other."

"Agreeing to disagree?"

"My mother will be pleased, at least."

"And you?"

"I'm…I'll be fine."

Trip nodded, satisfied.

"Great. Let's go eat!"

---

FINIS

---

A/N: The End. Reviews welcome – challenges considered. Flames accepted, but don't expect a Christmas card if you leave them. Go on, tell me it sucked. I can take it. It sucked, didn't it? See if I care. Sob… (lol) Just ignore me. I won't go away, but you can pretend I'm not there...


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