Last Full Measure - Michael A. Martin [114]
“Maybe, sir,” Reed said. “But if you don’t mind terribly, I’d like to refrain from praising the MACOs for improvising. It only encourages them.”
Archer and Mayweather laughed and nodded in agreement.
Reed smiled, but didn’t join in with the laughter. He wondered if the reason was that despite his inherent distrust of Major Hayes—and of the threat that the MACO company posed to Reed’s continued smooth management of the tactical landscape aboard Enterprise—Reed found that he couldn’t refute one observation that Ensign Mayweather had made about the MACOs:
There’s no arguing with results.
From Ensign Travis Mayweather’s Personal Correspondence File:
Dear Mom,
I know you must be relieved to be reading this. After all, my last letter dealt more with the dangers of our Xindi hunt, without really saying all that much about the tedium involved.
To be totally honest, I suppose I’ve had more than my fair share of both lately. Not to worry you too much more than I know you already are, I just returned to Enterprise from an off-ship assignment—a mission that not everybody came back from. I’ll spare you the details at the moment, except to assure you that I’m fine, in perfect shape, mint condition, not a scratch (unless you count feeling a bit guilty about that, but that’s going to have to be the subject of another letter). I can only hope that Captain Archer won’t have to repeat this afternoon’s memorial service anytime soon.
I’m pretty sure I can’t count on that, though. We’re still hot on the trail of mass murderers, after all, and I’m certain there’s going to be combat when we finally catch up to them. This Xindi business isn’t anywhere near being finished yet. And truthfully, we don’t seem to be any closer now to finding the Xindi homeworld, or the weapon they’re planning to use against Earth, than we were twelve weeks ago, when we first entered the Expanse. There are times when I really wish I could skip forward to the end of all of this the way you can, since I know you’re going to get these letters all at once, after this Xindi business has all been settled. (I won’t hold it against you if you do decide to take a sneak peek at the ending, Mom; I know you’re just looking out for me, so I guess it’s not really “cheating.”)
But in spite of everything, I still feel as though I’ve contributed to a couple of major victories, even though only one of those directly involved the Xindi. Not only did I help blow up some pretty significant Xindi hardware, I also like to think that I helped tear off the blinders that have been keeping us Starfleet folk and the MACOs from being able to see that we’re all on the same team.
Don’t get me wrong. There’s probably never going to be a love fest between me and Corporal Chang, my compulsively neat roommate (it’s a little like trying to survive rooming with Paul, but I digress). But at least I no longer worry that Chang and I might actually murder each other before this mission ends.
As always, I will continue hoping for the best while preparing for the worst.
Your loving son,
Travis
Epilogue
Sunday, August 12, 2238,
San Francisco
SHADOWS MOVED SOMNOLENTLY beneath a leaden, overcast sky. Another raisin-sized raindrop pattered against the old man’s neck, startling him back into an awareness of his surroundings.
He realized with discomfiting abruptness that young Larry Marvick was kneeling beside him at the base of the Starfleet War Memorial.
“Rainy or not, this place might start getting crowded fairly soon,” Marvick said quietly, nodding toward the nearby gently sloping hillside that lay beyond the monument, where another handful of early risers, most of them evidently out-of-town civilian tourists—judging from their loose-fitting shorts and blousy shirts—were beginning to gather near the young family of four they had seen earlier. The family’s pair of energetic young boys had detached from their parents, and were approaching the base of the obelisk, the older boy walking, the younger one running willy-nilly up and down the rolling hillside’s gentle slope.
The