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He knew that whistle wouldn’t quiet down before he’d reached a decision—a decision that only he was empowered to make.

Settling back in his chair, Samuels addressed the entire room. “A great man once said, ‘When you come to a fork in the road, take it.’ And after much consultation with all of you, I propose that we do exactly that.”

He paused, looking from face to face to face during the ensuing silence. Blank stares. Completely, utterly lost, all of them, except perhaps for Vanderbilt.

Good. There were times when an uncommon familiarity with the obsolete sport of baseball could be a useful thing rather than a mere oddity.

“We will indeed pool our shipbuilding resources,” he said at length. “Though possibly not in the way any of you might have expected. We’ll address our need for large numbers of ships by amping up the production of Daedalus spaceframes.”

“Respectfully, Mister Prime Minister, that will not address our need for large-scale high-warp capability,” Black said.

“It will if we use all the resources of Starfleet and UESPA to integrate our NX-class propulsion expertise with our much more efficient Daedalus production capabilities,” Samuels said. “And if we also give the NX and Daedalus teams full and complete access to the interim results of the warp-seven research program, who knows what we might accomplish?”

One by one, Samuels made wordless eye contact with Black, Gardner, Stillwell, and Casey. Each of them seemed to mull over his idea with commingled skepticism and pleased surprise, as though only their internecine rivalries had prevented each man from forging precisely the same chain of reasoning on his own. Stillwell, who had always taken a highly proprietary interest in the warp-seven research program, appeared more skeptical of Samuels’ plan than anyone else in the room, though he held his tongue.

Gardner was the one who finally broke the silence. “Mister Prime Minister, I have to admit that your plan makes a lot of sense, at least conceptually. But I’ve spent almost half my career helping to shepherd the NX design through every stage of its development. It’s the most advanced production spacecraft Earth has ever developed.”

“I know it is,” Samuels said, hoping the sympathy he felt was coming through in his manner. “And I’ve always tried to give your efforts as much support as possible. But the world is changing, Sam. And we have to change along with it.”

Gardner offered a deferential nod. “And I appreciate that, sir. But I’d hate to think we’re taking a step backward just for expediency’s sake.”

“I prefer to think of it as a step toward the smallest number of moving parts,” Samuels said, standing to signal that the meeting had come to an end. “After all, ‘less advanced’ can also translate to ‘not as much can go wrong.’”

After his colleagues and advisers had filed out of his office, the prime minister decided that such questions were best left to be settled by the historians.

And with any luck at all, he thought, humans will be the ones who’ll write those histories, and not the Romulans.

THIRTY-ONE

Enterprise, en route to Earth

HOSHI SATO WONDERED just how long Ensign Elrene Leydon’s hand had been waving just centimeters from her face.

“Oh, good. You’re still in there somewhere,” said the helmsman as she withdrew to her own side of the small table in the mess. “I was afraid for a second I might have to get Doctor Phlox over here to revive you.”

Sato tore her gaze from the patch sewn onto Leydon’s left sleeve; the patch, which matched the one on her own sleeve, was emblazoned with the motto that Captain Archer had selected from a list of contenders submitted a few weeks earlier by personnel from every department, thanks to an ancient tradition that had been revived aboard Columbia.

Ire audaciter quo nemo ante iit.

Although she agreed wholeheartedly with the motto’s sentiment, it wouldn’t have been her own first choice; she still preferred her own submission, the pithier Scientia, scriptatum in astra: “Knowledge, written in the stars.”