Gigi Sinclair

2153

"Trip, status." A decade together, and that was the last thing I said to Trip. Not, "I love you," or "You give my life meaning," or even, "Hey, thanks." "Trip, status."

I suppose it could have been worse. The last thing my father said to my mother before she died was, "Where's the dog food?"

We'd always known it was a possibility. Everyone on board did, but you couldn't dwell on it, or you'd never get anything done. I'd never mentioned it to Trip, but I'd always thought that if one of us was going to go, it would be me. I was older, I was on more away missions, I was a bigger target. Selfish as it was, I didn't even mind the idea. I wasn't afraid of dying. I was afraid of surviving Trip.

"Commander Tucker has been taken to sickbay." Hoshi had barely got the words out of her mouth when I was heading for sickbay. It was the longest walk of my life. The entire way, I kept telling myself it would be fine. He'd probably broken his leg or concussed himself. Yet again. I'd have to start ordering him to wear a helmet on duty, I thought. I didn't want to end up having to cut his food and fasten his uniform for him.

When I got to sickbay, Trip was lying unconscious, but that wasn't unusual. Phlox was waiting for me, a grave expression on his face.

"I'm afraid Commander Tucker's injuries are severe."

"So I heard. What does that mean?"

"It means, Captain, that we need to prepare for the possibility that he will not survive."

Trip and I had always known there would likely come a time when our relationship would make it difficult to do our duty. It was one of the risks we took, hoping that, if and when this difficulty arose, we would be able to do the right thing. When Phlox told me Trip was dying, I wanted nothing more than to stay by his side, hold his hand, wait with him until he woke up or…didn't. But I had to assess the damage to the ship, start a repair schedule, get things moving. I told Phlox to comm me immediately if there was any change, and I went to meet T'Pol.

As soon as possible, I went back to sickbay. I barely heard Phlox's explanation of the mimetic symbiant's properties. It was all I needed to know when he said that it might help Trip survive.

"Whatever it takes, Phlox."

"Captain, as I mentioned, there are certain ethical concerns involved in using the symbiant." I didn't see any. If this sponge or whatever it was saved Trip's life, that was all that mattered.

"Do it." I was about to say more, when the comm sounded.

"Reed to Captain Archer."

I would have been tempted to ignore him and plead communicator problems later, but Phlox was looking at me expectantly.

I sighed and answered: "Archer here."

"Would you mind coming down to the armoury, sir? There are a few issues I would like to discuss."

"I'll be there in a minute, Lieutenant."

I nodded at Phlox and, with a final glance at Trip, left sickbay.

An hour later, Malcolm and I were still examining the weapons when the comm sounded again.

"Sometimes I wish I had voice mail," I commented. Malcolm was still puzzling over that one when Phlox said:

"Captain, I require your presence in sickbay at once." Phlox never sounded terse. That was my first indication we weren't going to be celebrating the restorative properties of the desert larva.

"I'm sorry, Captain," were the first words out of his mouth when I arrived. "For what?"

I went to Trip's bedside. We hadn't slept together much lately, but I remembered that when we did, he usually kept me up thrashing around. He hardly ever lay still, even when he was deeply asleep.

Now, Trip was very still.

"Captain," Phlox repeated, and I felt his hand on my shoulder. "Jonathan." I couldn't remember him ever using my first name before.

"No."

"The neural injuries were even more severe than I originally thought. He suffered a massive stroke. I did everything I could before calling you, but I'm afraid…"

"No. There has to be something here you can use. Look at all this stuff." I gestured at the racks of instruments and medicines. "You have to bring him back, Phlox." I stared at him, fully aware that I was acting like a maniac, but unable to care. This whole situation was insane. "What about the clone?"

Phlox looked away and hesitated before replying: "I'm sorry, Captain."

"Oh, God." I couldn't cry. I was the captain.

But I could put my hand on Trip's bare shoulder, and notice that he was still warm. I could think that I'd never been able to touch Trip like this in public when he was alive, because we'd been too scared of losing our jobs to show anyone what we meant to each other. I could remember that my private fantasy had been to kiss him on the bridge as we pulled into the shuttle bay in San Francisco at the end of the mission, and I could tell myself that now, I'd never get to do that, because he was dead.

I still couldn't believe it.

***

Hoshi came to get me the morning of Trip's funeral. Like the rest of the crew, she had a black armband over her uniform jumpsuit and her face was tearstained. She put her arms around me when I opened the door and, for a moment, we weren't ensign and captain, we were just two friends who had lost someone important to both of us.

We hugged each other for a long, silent moment, then she pulled away and said: "Are you ready?"

"No," I admitted. "But if we wait till I am, we'll never get this done."

She laughed sadly and wiped her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"Me too, Hoshi."

I hate giving speeches, and this was the worst I could ever have been called upon to deliver. I babbled about duty and sacrifice, and renewing our dedication to the mission so that Trip's death would be meaningful. As if any death ever could be. Then I stepped aside and Lieutenant Hess said good-bye on behalf of the engineering team.

Two crewmen closed Trip's coffin, and I watched as he, in uniform and with his favourite harmonica in his pocket, disappeared from view for the final time. Travis, who had apparently learned music along with everything else he'd done on the "Horizon," played "Taps" on a bugle as the crewmen wheeled the coffin over to the airlock.

Hoshi took my hand as the airlock opened. I let her, putting my other hand on Malcolm's shoulder. Being Malcolm, he was standing at rigid attention, but I didn't have to look at him to know that his eyes were misting over.

In an instant, Trip was gone, consigned to the Expanse. I squeezed Hoshi's hand and Malcolm's shoulder and released them both, turning to the sombre T'Pol.

"Sub-commander, you're in charge. I'll be in my quarters if you need me." "Yes, Captain."

I was quite proud of myself. I held it together until the door to my room slid shut and Porthos, clearly sensing something was up, trotted over and tentatively licked my hand. He looked heartbroken when I started to cry.

It didn't last long. There wasn't any point. It wouldn't bring Trip back. Nothing would, and it seemed obvious that what I had to do now was absorb myself in my job, to make sure that at least one of the dead Tuckers was avenged, for Trip's mother's sake if nothing else. She had been subdued when I told her about Trip, her eyes empty and her face pale, like she'd had so much bad news lately she couldn't absorb any more. I knew how she felt. At least I had the job to take my mind off things, at least some of the time.

I was about to head back to the bridge when the door chimed.

"Captain Archer."

"Doctor." I couldn't remember Phlox ever visiting me in my quarters before. "What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to offer my sincerest condolences, Captain."

"Thank you," I replied automatically.

"I also wished to…share some information with you."

"Oh, yes?" I tried to summon some interest. "What's that?"

Phlox cleared his throat. "Before Commander Tucker suffered his stroke, I injected the mimetic symbiant with his DNA."

"I thought it happened too fast." Phlox hadn't mentioned it after he'd told me Trip was dead.

"I did not wish to offer you false hope. The stroke was too severe for it to help him, and at first, it did not look like the symbiant was responding to the human DNA."

"I thought you said it could mimic any creature."

"Humans have a more complex genetic structure than the creatures on which I had previously experimented. Namely fruit flies."

"You have flies onboard?" Cloned flies, no less? "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Captain, the issue I wish to discuss does not involve my specimens." He sighed. "The mimetic symbiant did accept Commander Tucker's DNA, just at a much slower rate than I had anticipated."

"What are you saying, Phlox?" Because I wasn't following at all.

"Perhaps it would be best if I were to show you."

The baby was asleep in a clear plastic bassinet, eyes moving beneath his eyelids.

"Oh, God." It seemed to be all I was saying these days. I'd never been so devout.

"As far as I can tell, the mimetic is ageing at a rate nearly identical to that of a regular human child. He is now approximately four days old."

"It's been four days since Trip died," I said, just to say something.

"Indeed," Phlox agreed.

"But this is Trip."

"No, Captain. Genetically, he is identical, but he has not had the experiences and the memories that contributed to shaping Commander Tucker's personality."

"I thought you said the mimetic absorbed the memories of the creature it was…mimicking."

"The human long term memory is a very complex thing." He didn't need to tell me that. "Fruit flies don't have much in the way of memories." I wondered if Phlox was joking, but his face was serious.

It still looked like Trip, anyway. "What are you going to do with it…with him?"

"There are two options."

"And they are?"

"While I can't be certain, I would say there is a significant chance that, if nurtured, this child will develop into a human being, continuing to age at a rate appropriate to that species. The other option, of course, is to destroy it."

"Hell of a decision."

I never wanted children. That was one of the bonuses of waiting until late in life to commit to a relationship, and then committing to a man. Trip liked kids, but he didn't seriously expect us to start on the whole "egg in a test tube" thing when we got back from our original mission, mostly because, by that time, he would be pushing forty and I would be staring at the spectre of fifty. Then the Xindi happened, and it looked like we might not be making it home at all.

Now, looking at what, for want of a more acceptable term, was Trip's child, I realized I didn't have a choice in the matter. The baby was cute. He was blond, of course, with big blue eyes and Trip's nose. Literally, in this case. When I leaned over the bassinet, the baby cracked his eyes open and looked at me, clutching his tiny fists over his chest.

"You can pick him up, Captain," Phlox suggested.

"I don't know how."

"It's quite simple," he insisted, coming over. "Just remember to support the neck." Reaching in to the bassinet, Phlox picked up the baby and handed him to me. I don't know where Phlox had found a baby sleeper, but it didn't surprise me that we were stocked for any eventuality.

Even this one.

"Captain," Phlox continued, seriously, once the baby was settled in my arms. "I realize that what I did may very well constitute a serious breach of medical ethics. All I can say in my defence is that I was so caught up in my desire to save Commander Tucker, all other considerations were forgotten."

"I understand, Phlox." I had been right there with him. "If it had worked, it would have been a miracle." To say the least. I would have personally put Phlox in for every Starfleet commendation possible, along with a Nobel Prize in Medicine.

"Once again, Captain, you have my deepest apologies." "You don't have to apologize," I replied, automatically, as one of the baby's fists flailed out and clutched the front of my uniform. "You did everything you could." And then some. "And now we need to make a decision."

Phlox nodded gravely. "I believe that decision is yours to make, Captain."

"Yeah." I wanted to ask, to scream, actually, why Phlox couldn't clean up his own mess, but I knew the answer. The burden of command. And of being Trip's next of kin.

With a small, sad smile, Phlox went over to his office area. I gently dislodged the baby's hand from my uniform, and he tightened it around my forefinger instead.

I couldn't be angry at Phlox for long, not when he had worked so hard to try and prevent what had always been my greatest fear. He hadn't prevented it, obviously, but he had left me with something to remember Trip by.

"Charlie." He looked at me with bright, focused blue eyes as I said his name.

Sure, it wasn't exactly the kind of souvenir I'd have wished for, but he was here now. And I was going to do everything I could to make sure I didn't lose him the way I'd lost his "father."

***

I'd heard a lot about how hard it was to be a new parent. I'd never really paid attention to my co-workers' complaints on the subject, figuring they should have thought of that before they tossed away their anti-fertility devices. Now, I knew exactly what they meant.

Although none of them had been a new parent and the captain of a ship in the middle of a war, several thousand light-years from Earth, at the same time.

The day after Trip's service, I called the senior staff in for a briefing. For a moment, I was surprised to see Hess as I came into the meeting. I was about to ask why she was there, but I caught myself just in time, and gave her a sad, supportive smile instead. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and I knew that she would have preferred Trip to be there, as well.

The senior officers listened, eyes wide, as Phlox briefly explained the concept of the mimetic symbiant. Only T'Pol seemed unimpressed, but then, she never was.

"I have heard of this treatment," she said, once Phlox had finished. "It is an emerging, but still controversial, technique."

"What does it mean?" Malcolm asked.

Phlox cleared his throat and hit the comm. "Crewman Cutler, if you would bring him in, please?"

The doors opened and Cutler wheeled in Charlie's bassinet. There was a ragged, clearly much-loved teddy bear beside him that I didn't recognize, but I was too busy gauging the reactions of my officers to ask about it.

Once again, T'Pol recovered first. "May we assume this child was created by the mimetic, using Commander Tucker's DNA?"

"That's right, Sub-commander," Phlox confirmed. "As I have explained to the captain, it is ageing at a rate appropriate to that of a regular human infant."

"I've already decided that I have to keep the child," I told them. "What I want to know is, do you want me to stay in charge of the ship? Because if you doubt my abilities to do both, I'll gladly give command over to T'Pol." And go back to work in Engineering, I guessed.

I expected that some of the crew, notably Malcolm and T'Pol, would argue that I would be too concerned about Charlie to continue leading the mission, and that was fine. In the space of a few days, the mission had suddenly become considerably less important to me.

When T'Pol opened her mouth, I was ready to agree with her. Then she said, "Captain, I believe I speak for all concerned when I say we would not trust the ship to anyone but you."

"I…" "Sub-commander T'Pol's right, Captain," Malcolm put in. "You've gotten us this far. You'll get us the rest of the way." Yet again, I felt myself getting choked up in public.

"He's so cute!" Hoshi exclaimed, looking into the bassinet. "Can I pick him up?"

"Be sure to support the neck," I advised. Cutler helped her take the baby into her arms. Absently, still basking in the support of my crew, I picked up the teddy bear and noticed the name "Liz" written in childish script on a tag attached to his leg. I looked at Cutler, who glanced away. Smiling, I put the teddy bear back into Charlie's bassinet.

If it had been possible, I would have sent Charlie back to Earth. He would have been better off with Trip's parents, who were understandably shocked when I'd told them what Trip had left behind on his death. His mother would have taken him in, though, and I would have liked Charlie to spend his first few years of life with them, in nice, relatively safe Florida, but that wasn't an option. We couldn't interrupt the mission to take Charlie home, so he had to stay. And we all had to get used to having a child on board.

I admit, I didn't entirely mind the sleepless nights the infant Charlie gave me. It kept me from dreaming about Trip.

***

2155

Glancing at the chronometer, I saw there was half an hour until I started my shift on the bridge.

"Charlie, get your things. It's your night to stay with Auntie Hoshi." I told him, stifling a yawn. We'd managed a thirty-five minute afternoon nap before Charlie had squirmed off the bed and started to play with the train set, complete with loud, piercing whistle, which Malcolm had made him for Christmas. Charlie adored it, and cried for hours if I hid it. Malcolm was still working gamma shifts to pay for that one.

"Auntie Hoshi!" Charlie exclaimed happily, clapping his hands. "And Porthos?" He asked, putting his arms around his best friend. Porthos reached up and licked his cheek.

"I think one of you is enough for Auntie Hoshi."

"Please?" Charlie asked, looking at me with Trip's eyes. It had been two years now, and every time I saw him, he evoked memories of Trip. Mostly good ones, although every now and then, Charlie's smile or his happy giggle was enough to fill me with painful grief.

"Be fast and we'll see."

In record time, Charlie got into his pyjamas, stood on the stool to brush his teeth, and raced back across our quarters to peruse his shelf of picture books, most of which, to my touched amazement, had been put together by members of the crew. Apart from the teddy bear he'd been given by Liz Cutler just before she died, another victim of the Xindi, the crew had also made Charlie's toys. Which just goes to show you can work with people for years without really knowing them at all.

"Two books, Charlie," I reminded him, as he started piling his arms full. "Auntie Hoshi is tired, too."

"Two books," he repeated, holding up the PADDs. One was Travis's "Boomer Bob," which Charlie loved because he could make sound effects (and which he loved to read with Travis, because he did them even better.) The other was "My Daddy," a joint effort between Hoshi, Malcolm and Lieutenant Hess that they'd given to him-to us, really-on Charlie's first birthday.

At the time, Charlie had been sitting on my lap, more interested in the wrapping paper than the gifts. Hoshi gave me the book, and I tried to stir up some enthusiasm on his part as I pulled the paper off. And was met by an image of Trip.

"We thought it would be nice if we could tell him what we remember about Trip," Malcolm explained.

I couldn't say anything. As Charlie ripped the paper and laughed, I scrolled down, and saw pictures of Trip in Engineering, Trip in his civilian clothes, Trip in San Francisco with a very young-looking Hoshi. All of them were accompanied by anecdotes written by the people who had known him best.

"It's great," I said, my voice breaking. Hoshi, crying openly now, put her arm around my shoulders and Charlie looked up to see what was going on. He put his arms around my neck. I hugged him tightly, until he whimpered and pulled away.

At first, Charlie wasn't particularly interested in Trip. I read the book to him often, trying to get him to understand. Now that he was older, he occasionally picked up the book on his own. Not as often as he took "Boomer Bob," but now and then.

"OK." I held out my arms, and Charlie jumped up. I winced a little as I felt a twinge in my lower back. "You're getting big, Charlie." Which was a good thing, of course. Phlox had been concerned about the possibility of developmental problems, but Charlie was in perfect health. Unlike me.

"Big!" Charlie agreed, and I couldn't help but wonder how old he would be before he had a real home, on Earth.

We ran into T'Pol on the way to Hoshi's. Charlie was happy to see her, of course, saying: "Hi, Auntie T'Pol!" as soon as she appeared around the corner.

T'Pol inclined her head. "Good evening, Charlie. How are you?"

For the first few months, T'Pol had treated Charlie with the same kind of nervous distance she used with Porthos. She explained this by saying, "On Vulcan, infants are not generally seen by adults other than their caregivers and parents."

"We're all Charlie's caregivers," Hoshi had countered. She was right. Everyone had been involved with raising Charlie. Even Major Hayes stopped when he saw us in the hall, tickling Charlie and making faces. It was the only time I ever saw Hayes smile. I sometimes wondered if he had children of his own, but I never asked.

"Perhaps you are correct." T'Pol still hadn't signed up for baby-sitting duty, but, like Trip, Charlie had slowly worn her down. When I came into the mess hall one afternoon to see her calmly sipping tea with two familiar little chocolate handprints on the thighs of her jumpsuit, it was the first time I'd laughed since Trip died.

Now, Charlie giggled happily as T'Pol continued: "An unidentified vessel has appeared on long-range sensors."

"I'll be on the bridge right away."

"That would be a good idea, sir."

She passed on. I dropped Charlie off at Hoshi's and kissed him goodnight, although his attention had already been captured by her pink rabbit slippers. Thanking her yet again, I went to the bridge, and saw that the ship was considerably closer than it had been a moment ago.

"Shields to maximum, Lieutenant Reed. Ensign Barrow, open a channel," I ordered the gamma shift communications ensign, sitting at Hoshi's usual post. "This is Captain Archer of the 'Enterprise.' Identify yourselves immediately.'"

They did, although slightly less diplomatically than I would have liked. The blast ripped through the shield and shook the ship.

"Dammit! Malcolm, shoot back." He didn't need to be told twice. I saw the cannon blast leave the ship as I hit the comm. "Report!"

Ensign Ryan in Engineering came on first. "We've got some minor damage down here, Captain, but the warp core is fine." Thank God for small mercies.

I barely got the thought out when the ship was rocked again. This time, the lights flickered, then died, and we were plunged into darkness.

A moment later, the emergency power kicked in, and T'Pol informed us: "Sir, I am reading fires on C, D and E deck and a loss of primary power to all decks." C deck. Hoshi's quarters.

"Malcolm," I began, then realized he didn't need any direction. He was doing what he did best.

Instead, I turned to Major Hayes. "I need your men on C, D and E deck immediately."

"Yes, sir." He didn't need further instruction, either, and headed for the Jeffries tube. I wanted to go with him, but I couldn't think about Charlie now. Instead, I thought about Trip.

I wasn't religious, or even very philosophical when it came to life after death. I never, for example, talked to my dead parents, and while I sometimes found myself telling Trip about Charlie, I didn't expect that he would hear me.

Now, although I couldn't explain how, I knew that he was close by. And I knew that if he had anything to say about it, he would watch out for Charlie.

Malcolm hit them again, and they retaliated. They didn't seem to be sustaining much damage, and I was about to order a retreat, not that there was anywhere to go in the Expanse, when Barrow said: "Sir, they're hailing us."

It was a little late for that, but I said: "Open a channel."

The screen flickered, and I saw an insectoid Xindi standing on a darkened bridge, a fire clearly visible in one corner. After a few clicks, the UT kicked in and the Xindi said: "You will pay for what you have done."

"Lieutenant Reed," I turned to Malcolm, who was barely suppressing a smile.

"Yes, sir." He pushed one of his buttons, and the transmission was cut as the Xindi ship was hit again, this time by one of the "secret weapons" Malcolm had been developing since we found the plans to the Xindi's superweapon. It wasn't as good as theirs, but it was good enough in this case. Two more hits, and the Xindi ship split apart.

The recoil shook "Enterprise." Once things had calmed, and once Phlox had reported in, I hit the comm. "Archer to Sato." No answer. Refusing to panic, I repeated: "Archer to Sato. Hoshi?" Again no answer.

"Sub-commander T'Pol, you have the bridge," I said, as I headed for the turbolift. Then I remembered the power was still off, and went to the Jeffries tube instead.

It was a long way to C deck, almost as far as it had been to sickbay the day that Hoshi had told me about Trip's accident. When I got there, the deck was dark, lit only by the dim emergency bulbs. I ran down the hall to Hoshi's quarters and ripped open the emergency override panel. As soon as I touched the wires, my fingers were stung by an electric shock, and I drew back, swearing.

"Captain?" I turned around and saw Hayes coming from the other direction, a sobbing Charlie in his arms.

Hoshi and one of the MACOs, a young blond man, followed behind him. "We were about to head up to the bridge," Hayes explained as he passed Charlie to me. Charlie buried his head in my neck, soaking me with tears. "This deck is clear, but the wiring is shot to hell. We can't have anyone down here till it's fixed."

"Is everyone all right, Captain?" Hoshi asked.

"Phlox reported a few injuries. Nothing serious." Thank God. I turned my head and planted a relieved kiss in Charlie's soft blond hair. And thank you, Trip, I added silently.

It surprised me more than anyone, but that was the beginning of the end. The insectoid Xindi were the only faction that didn't support some kind of peace treaty. After a very brief civil war, they were defeated, and the Xindi council formally tendered a request for negotiation.

That wasn't our job, though. As soon as we got the call from the Xindi council that they were ready to deal, I called Forrest.

"Well done, Jonathan." He smiled, like it hadn't taken more than two years and the deaths of a lot of crewmembers to do it. Like he hadn't blown a fuse when I'd told him about Charlie, and how we had all decided to keep him. "We'll send a diplomatic team."

"We'll prepare to rendez-vous with them."

It was four months before everyone on Earth was satisfied enough for us to be ordered home. When the order finally came through, the crew couldn't quite believe it. I didn't believe it myself. I was grateful I had Charlie to distract me, or I probably would have driven everyone insane asking if this was really real.

Charlie wasn't normally allowed on the bridge, but as we came up to Jupiter Station, I made an exception. He stood on Malcolm's lap, looking more like Trip than ever, and as the station came into view, he excitedly asked: "What's that, Uncle Malcolm?"

"That's home, Charlie." Malcolm replied, a catch in his voice. Almost, anyway.

***

The first time he set foot on Earth, Charlie cried. This was partly because it was 0100 and he was overtired and cranky, and partly because he wanted me to hold him and I couldn't. Forrest and Williams, along with the Vulcan ambassadors, were in the hangar when the shuttle touched down, and they wanted to meet with me. Immediately.

"Sir, couldn't we do it later?" I pleaded, as Charlie pulled at my arm.

"We'd rather do it now, Jonathan," Forrest replied. "We have a lot to discuss."

"Daddy!" Charlie whined, tears streaming down his blotchy face. "I want to go home."

"Charlie, not now."

"Daddy!" Charlie insisted. The Vulcans raised their eyebrows at each other, while Admiral Williams shifted in place.

It was T'Pol who stepped forward, bending down to look Charlie in the eye. "Charlie, Captain Archer is occupied at the moment. I will take you to temporary quarters where you may rest."

"I want my Daddy!" Charlie stamped his foot.

"This is inappropriate behaviour. You will accompany me now." T'Pol replied firmly, then tempered her words with: "If you like, we will stop at the mess hall first."

Charlie sniffed. "Can I have chocolate milk?"

"You may."

"And cookies?"

"Perhaps one. If you cease this display immediately."

Holding Liz Cutler's teddy bear under his arm, Charlie reached out his hand. T'Pol took it, then nodded regally at us. "Captain, Admirals. Ambassadors. I will meet you at 0800 for my scheduled debriefing." I had never admired her more. And neither, clearly, had Admiral Forrest.

***

2156

During our years in the Expanse, we saw things that would terrify any sane human being. None of them came close to the sight of Phlox in a clown costume.

Charlie's first birthday party on Earth was attended by five adults and one other child, a little girl who lived near us and who shared her spaceships when we went to the park. This made her the best friend Charlie had ever had, and they played happily together with his new toys while Hoshi and I got the birthday cake ready.

"You OK?" She asked, as she rifled through the kitchen drawers for the safety lighter, while I took the "Mitch the Mailman" cake out of the fridge.

"Sure. Although Phlox is pretty disturbing." To his great disappointment, Charlie's little friend had cried when she saw him, although Charlie himself just said, "Hi, Phlox" and went back to his toys.

I set Mitch the Mailman down on the table, dimly remembering my days before the Expanse, when Trip and I would spend hours watching everything from Shakespeare to old comedies and action movies. The only thing I'd seen lately was the "Mitch the Mailman" canon, occasionally complemented by "Little Bunny Jellybean."

"You know what I mean." Hoshi placed three candles on Mitch's hatband.

"Yeah." Three candles, three birthdays, three years since I'd lost him. I shook my head and concentrated on the sound of Charlie, happily chasing Porthos around the room with a plastic shuttle while Phlox attempted to make a balloon Pyrithian bat. "I'm fine."

2161

"And that's why my dad, Com…Cam…Commodore Jonathan Archer, is the most important person in the world." Charlie finished, switching off his PADD with a theatrical flourish. "Bravo. Although I don't know if you should say in the entire world," I replied, clapping from my position on the couch. Even our beagle puppy Aramis seemed to enjoy it, thumping his tail against the carpet. Of course, he'd come out with a glowing review, too.

"But you are. Ms. Gregory says you saved everyone." Yes, I remembered her voicing that opinion quite forcefully when I went to speak to Charlie's third-grade class on Career Day. And commenting, on quite an unrelated note, I was sure, that it was a shame professional ethics prevented a teacher from dating a single parent of a child in her class. "That's important." He came and sat beside me, putting the PADD on the coffee table next to his Constructo-Bricks. At eight years old, he was already building at a ninth-grade level. Naturally.

"There are lots of important people around, Charlie. I'm glad that I'm important to you." Very glad. I hugged him. "Want to read a story?"

"OK." He got up and went over to the shelf. "Which one do you want to hear?"

"Why don't we read about Dad?"

Charlie made a face. "Can't we read about Thunderman and the Lightning Kid?"

"It's important to remember your dad." I did, every minute of every day, especially when I was with Charlie. I couldn't help it.

"I know," Charlie sighed, bringing both "My Daddy" and "Thunderman and the Precipitation Palace" over to the couch. "But I remember him lots. Sometimes, I just want to read about Thunderman."

"Well, we'll read 'My Daddy' first, and 'Thunderman' second, OK?"

He sighed, activated the PADD, and began to read. "'My Daddy was a very special man.'"

***

2164

"Then me and Brandon thought it'd be cool if we reprogrammed the bells to ring ten minutes before recess started." "And that's why you spent the afternoon in the principal's office?" I looked across the dinner table at Charlie, who nodded innocently before clarifying:

"Well, that and we told Mr. Richards that Lindsay and Emily were fooling around in the girls' bathroom and locked him out of the class."

I didn't want to ask, but I had to. "Why did you do that?"

"So we had more time to work on the bells." He looked up from his spaghetti. "Are you mad at me?"

"Yes, Charlie. That was very irresponsible. You're in the sixth grade, you should be setting an example for the younger kids."

"I'm sorry." He got that hangdog expression, just like Trip's, and I wished, not for the first time, that T'Pol was around to be the disciplinarian. I briefly considered calling her up on Vulcan for some advice.

I decided on the next best thing.

When I'd sent Charlie upstairs to do his homework, I went over to the comm.

"Jonathan!" Mama Tucker smiled at me from her retirement complex in Palm Beach. "What a pleasant surprise. How's Charlie?" She had cried the first time I'd brought her "grandson" to see her, but she'd quickly gotten over it, in the same way I had. Charlie was our present from Trip, our souvenir to remember him by.

And, as was usual with Trip, sometimes, Charlie seemed like a gag gift.

"He's driving me crazy." He didn't listen to me, he got into trouble at school, he had a brilliant mind, but he didn't apply himself. "What can I do?"

Mama smiled supportively. "Treasure each moment, Jonathan." I considered that. I supposed she was right. It could all disappear in the blink of an eye, I knew that. I was about to thank her for that philosophical thought, when she added: "It'll seem like a picnic once he hits puberty."

***

2169

I hadn't known Josh Kemper very well on "Enterprise," but since we'd come home, I'd seen a lot more of him. Naturally, since I'd given Hoshi away at their wedding.

They had their own children now, twin girls, and Commander Sato had gone back to her teaching career, training communications recruits at the newly established Starfleet Academy. This, of course, gave her a never-ending supply of anecdotes, including one about the student who had asked if any of the "Enterprise" crew had slept with aliens during the voyage. "I told them we were too busy sleeping with each other," Hoshi smiled, looking over at Josh.

"You mean you didn't mention Ravis?" I sipped my beer. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"I'm the dignified old professor," she replied. "I don't have sex with exotic strangers." I laughed, but it reminded me that Hoshi was fast approaching her fortieth birthday. And I was old enough to be her father.

"Hey, guys!" The person to whom I actually played that role came in a few minutes later, a basketball under his arm.

"Hi, Charlie." Hoshi smiled up at him. "How's school?"

He shrugged. "You know. Same old." He casually tossed the basketball and caught it, flicking back his sweaty hair. He insisted on wearing it in some kind of modified bowl cut that was apparently all the rage with the modern sixteen-year-old. It reminded me of Trip's less than successful hairstyles, but of course, the more I mentioned that, the more determined Charlie was to keep it.

"Hoshi brought you a brochure from the academy. I put it in the kitchen. There's a lot about the engineering program." It was a casual, innocuous comment, but Charlie reacted like I'd accused him of mugging old ladies.

"God, why can't you just leave me alone? I'm not him, OK, and I never will be, so just drop it!" He stormed upstairs, and a moment later we heard the slamming of his bedroom door.

There was a brief moment of silence, which Josh broke with: "Leanne and Kelly have a school concert next week. It'd be great if you could come."

"Excuse me a minute, guys." I put down my beer bottle and headed upstairs, the ageing Aramis following at my heels.

Charlie's room looked like a shuttle—carrying a load of heavy metal posters, comic books and scientific paraphernalia—had crashed in the middle of the carpet. I stepped over a small mountain of cartoon character boxer shorts and sat on the clearest spot I could find, on the desk chair next to a dismantled vid display screen Charlie was trying to turn into a holographic projector.

"That was very rude," I began, although we had been down this trail many times before.

Instead of his usual snit, Charlie said: "I'm sorry, Dad." He didn't have the puppy eyes this time. He looked sincerely apologetic, quite possibly for the first time since hitting high school.

"What is it, Charlie?"

"I don't know." He tossed the basketball up and caught it.

I stood up. "Well, we have guests. If you want to talk, you know where I am." Not that I held out much hope. "And clean your room, would you? Preferably before you get the plague."

"In social culture class today, we were talking about our families." Charlie said suddenly. He let the basketball fall to the ground and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed that still had "Thunderman" sheets. Leaning down, he picked up Aramis and settled him on his lap. "There were all kinds. Kids with two dads, or two moms, or a mom and a dad, or stepdads and stepmoms. Carolyn, you know the one in my xenobiology class?" I didn't, but I nodded anyway. "Her mom married a Denobulan, so she has like fifteen stepparents."

"I bet Christmas is fun," I smiled, touched that Charlie was confiding even this much in me. At one time, I'd been his hero. I still had the project he'd written on me in the second grade, but lately, those days seemed long gone.

"Yeah," Charlie grinned. "But they need like three tables at the graduation dinner."

I picked my way back over, and sat beside him on the bed. "But no one else just had a dad?"

"No, lots of people did. But they all had a reason, like their parents were divorced or their mom died or something. No one else was like me." He picked at his sheets, and for a moment, he looked eight years old again. "No one else is alive because they were cloned to save a guy who was dying."

"You know it's not like that."

"If I'd done what I was made to do, you'd be here with him, and I wouldn't be anywhere. And you'd be happy."

I blinked, speechless. "Charlie, I…"

"I know you want me to be like him, because I look like him, but I'm not. I wish I could be. I wish," he sighed. "I'd done what I was supposed to."

"Trip's dead," I said, suddenly very aware that speeches had never been my strong point. I sighed, wishing I knew how to express my feelings. In the end, I just winged it. "But he's not really, not as long as you're around. I love Trip, a lot, but I love you, too. You remind me of him, and that's important to me." It was how I'd felt, since the first time Phlox had made me pick him up in sickbay. "For as long as I knew him, Trip wanted kids, but he never thought he'd have any. You're exactly what he would have wanted, and he wouldn't have wanted you to die for him."

"I'm sorry you have to be alone because of me."

"I'm not alone. Because of you." I reached out awkwardly, unsure how he was going to react.

I definitely didn't expect him to lunge forward and throw his arms around me, squeezing hard. I hugged him back, wondering if I had been like this as a teenager. And if my father had ever come away from his workshop long enough to notice.

Charlie's hair was still as soft as it had been when he was a baby, although considerably more pungent. I winced as I caught a whiff. "Take a shower before dinner, OK, buddy?"

"I will." He pulled away. "Do you still miss Trip?" He never called him Dad. Too confusing, he said.

"All the time," I answered, honestly. Especially at moments like these. I'd always had the idea that Trip would be good at the Dad thing. "But I have you to remember him by."

"Do you think he'd want me to go into engineering?"

"I think he'd want you to do whatever you want." When Charlie was much younger, Phlox and I had discussed this. He was genetically identical to Trip, but, as Phlox had explained, his upbringing had been considerably different. Nature versus nurture, Phlox had said. He'd admitted that he would have liked to study Charlie, to find out exactly what similarities and differences there were between him and Trip, but he was still struggling with his own ethical issues over creating Charlie in the first place. I didn't mind. I knew he was the only reason I'd survived the loss of Trip.

"I don't know what I want," Charlie admitted.

"That's OK, too." I'd been expecting that. "You're only sixteen." Trip hadn't chosen engineering until he was eighteen, and even then, he'd had his heart set on being a mining engineer for a number of years. "You're still a kid."

And he promptly reminded me of this by bouncing off the bed like nothing had happened, grabbing a towel from the floor, and saying: "Can you make some extra hamburgers? I've gotta bulk up before tryouts."

***

2175

I didn't spend much time at Starfleet these days. My semi-retirement had grown into full retirement a year earlier, when I turned sixty-five. I still couldn't believe it. When I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror these days, I was usually convinced it was my grandfather looking back at me.

Going back to Starfleet now, I hardly recognized anyone, but they all knew me. One of the young whippersnapper admirals, a mere child of fifty-five, met me as I arrived, Hoshi at my side.

"If you'll come this way, Admiral Archer, Commander Sato, we've reserved you seats on the platform."

"Really, the audience is fine," I looked down at the crowd of proud parents and excited graduates.

"Right this way, Admiral," the admiral repeated, forcefully ushering us towards the stage.

We were nearly there when I ran into a familiar looking, if slightly more lined, face. "Major Hayes?"

"Colonel Hayes, sir." He corrected, turning around. "Retired."

"What are you doing here?" I shook his hand. The last I'd heard, he'd been on Captain Reed's crew, keeping the peace in the Expanse.

"My daughter is graduating today. Ensign Heather Ramirez." He almost managed not to grimace as he added: "Security."

"I didn't know you had children." Although I remembered how he'd played with Charlie back on "Enterprise," and it didn't surprise me.

"Just the one. I divorced a long time ago. My former partner raised her." I followed his glance over to where a grey-haired man in his fifties was taking pictures of a pretty young woman in Starfleet uniform. "Did Charlie end up…"

"Engineering," I confirmed. I guess it was nature, after all. Hayes and I looked at each other for a moment, then our escorting admiral cleared his throat and I said: "Well, congratulations, Colonel," as we were subtly hustled along.

We couldn't have been more obvious if they had placed us in an illuminated box on the stage itself. Then, to make it worse, the dean of Starfleet Academy, Commodore Findley, pointed us out in her opening address. I could feel Charlie wincing from a hundred feet away.

When he first went into Starfleet, Charlie was worried about following in our footsteps. He thought either that professors would expect more of him because he was (as we told people, and as was printed on his birth certificate) the biological child of Commander Charles Tucker the Third and the adopted child of Admiral Jonathan Archer, or that the other cadets would think he was getting an easy ride for those same reasons.

I kept as low a profile as possible during his career at Starfleet Academy, even though I knew there was no reason to. Just like Trip, Charlie was smart enough, likeable enough and dedicated enough to succeed on his own, and anyone who couldn't see that had their own problems.

This, of course, was "Dad talk" and not appreciated by Charlie.

Thanks to alphabetical order, and the fact that I'd foolishly given Charlie Trip's last name instead of my own, Hoshi and I had to watch-looking interested, of course, as we were on public display-as one hundred and sixty-seven new ensigns passed across the stage. Hayes's Heather was one of them. With her pale skin, dark hair and slight build, she actually reminded me more of Malcolm than Hayes, at least before Malcolm grew the beard.

I was nearly dozing when Findley finally announced: "Ensign Charles Tucker the Fourth." Hoshi nudged me, but I was already attentive. Smiling widely, Charlie crossed the stage and accepted his degree from Findley. I remembered attending a similar ceremony when Trip got his second master's, from a civilian university via correspondence, because that was the way things worked back then.

We watched as a few Wilsons, Wongs, Youngs and Yus crossed the stage, as well as the very unfortunate Ensign Zylestra, then Findley came back to the podium and announced: "Ensign Tucker will now give the valedictory address."

Hoshi kicked me in the ankle as Charlie took Findley's place onstage. "You never said anything!"

"Neither did he," I replied, blinking. Trip had been a top student, but never the valedictorian of anything.

I watched as Charlie took the podium and looked out at the crowd. "As many of you are aware," he began, after a moment, "My fathers are the late Commander Charles Tucker the Third and Admiral Jonathan Archer. As many of you also know, Commander Tucker died onboard the 'Enterprise,' in the middle of its mission in the Delphic Expanse."

He paused, but didn't look in our direction. "What you may not know is that I was born on the very day that Commander Tucker died. In the midst of that terrible time, my father and his friends put aside their grief to give me as normal a life as possible. They've been doing it ever since."

Hoshi put a hand on my leg, but I barely felt it. Charlie cleared his throat and continued: "I know that all of us have family and friends who have made sacrifices to get us to where we are today. I would ask you to remember these people always. They are the reason we are exploring the universe, they are the reason we are striving to protect the Earth. They are our reason for living, and we should never forget that." This time, Charlie glanced at me, and I felt a lump come to my throat. "Thank you."

The crowd applauded as he returned to his seat. Hoshi whispered something in my ear, but I didn't hear her. I was too busy staring at my son.

It didn't hit me like a bolt of lightning, but then, I'm often not the swiftest guy around. It took, in fact, twenty-two years, four months, and most of a graduation ceremony for me to finally get it.

His entire life, I'd seen Trip every time I'd looked at Charlie. These days, now that he was the age Trip had been when we'd first met, I'd had to consciously remind myself that they weren't the same person.

And they weren't. It wasn't Trip's genes that had written that speech, it was Charlie. He wasn't a replacement Trip, he was a man in his own right, no matter how he'd come to be.

And Trip was really gone.

I didn't hear the rest of the speeches. I didn't consciously absorb anything until after the ceremony, when we joined the new graduates in the Starfleet officers' lounge.

"You should have told us you were speaking!" Hoshi scolded Charlie.

"I wanted it to be a surprise," Charlie smiled sheepishly.

"It certainly was."

He hugged Hoshi, then looked at me. "Did you like it, Dad?"

"It was great. Son." Not "substitute." I tried it on for size, and it didn't sound too bad.

"Good." Charlie smiled leaning in for a brief, one-armed hug. Then he glanced over his shoulder and said, "Hey, there's someone I want you to meet." He reached out a hand, and a slightly older man with lieutenant's pips and green uniform piping came up. "Dad, Hoshi, this is Lieutenant Harvey. Jim. My boyfriend."

"Pleasure to meet you, sir, ma'am," Jim replied nervously, extending a hand to me. A day of surprises, certainly. Not least of which was Jim's Southern accent.

"And you, Jim." I looked at Charlie, who beamed happily as Hoshi asked:

"How did the two of you meet?"

Jim looked at Charlie, who replied: "I was in 602 one night and some morons were hassling me about you. Telling everyone that you weren't that great, that you only got where you were cause of Grandpa Henry. Jim came up and told them that you had more leadership ability in one ass cheek than the rest of them had in their entire bodies, put together."

"I meant it positively," Jim put in, quickly. "I'm a great admirer of yours, Admiral, sir. I've read your memoirs at least five times."

"You have my sympathies," I smiled at Jim. Before he could get himself worked up any further, someone called: "Charlie! Jim!" from across the room, and Charlie said: "We'll be right back, Dad." He disappeared, dragging Jim in his wake.

"I'm going to the ladies' room," Hoshi told me, as he left. "If I'm not back in an hour, pull the fire alarm and clear the place out for me."

She'd barely left when Hayes appeared. "He makes me sorry I didn't know Commander Tucker better," he said indicating Charlie, who was laughing with his friends, one hand on Jim's shoulder.

"He's not Trip." And now that I'd finally realized it, I wanted to make sure everyone knew. Trip was dead. Charlie was someone else I was lucky enough to have in my life, someone I could keep even as I let Trip go. Finally.

And, maybe, as I finally moved on.

I turned to face Hayes. "Can I get you a drink, Colonel?"

"Matthew," he corrected. "Or Matt."

I smiled. "Heather's father, right?"

"I guess you could say that," he smiled back, uncertainly, and I held out my hand.

"I'm Jon. Charlie's dad."

Matt smiled. "He gave a great speech. You must be very proud of him."

"I am." And as we headed for the bar, I got the sudden, completely illogical feeling that somewhere, at long last, Trip was proud of me, too.