The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [15]
Less than a minute later, Travis Mayweather was seated in the very spot that Hoshi had just vacated. And though the young pilot had somehow managed to keep his facial muscles as disciplined as T’Pol’s, there was no mistaking the fire that burned behind his eyes. It was understated and silent, but it spoke volumes.
“I don’t suppose there’s any point in my trying to talk you out of leaving Enterprise, Ensign,” Archer said, not willing to prolong the agony any longer than absolutely necessary.
“No, sir,” Travis said. His gaze was focused intently upon the wall just over Archer’s shoulder.
Archer rose from his chair and walked past Travis, pacing the narrow confines of his ready room. “All right. But I’m not letting you go without a forthright answer to one question.”
“Sir?”
Ducking beneath a beam, Archer stopped and faced his helmsman. “Why? And don’t bother asking me for permission to speak freely. You have it already.”
Travis looked uncomfortable, as though he had not thought through a response to that question because he had never expected Archer to ask it.
After a span of a couple of dozen heartbeats, the young man rose from his seat and stood at attention. “Sir, in light of what happened to the Kobayashi Maru, I cannot in good conscience remain aboard this ship.”
You mean, in light of what I did to the Kobayashi Maru, don’t you, Travis? Archer thought.
Or maybe this was really about whatever mysterious fate may have befallen the Horizon.
Archer decided that in the end it didn’t matter. After all, he was neither a psychologist nor a grief counselor. He knew that if Phlox had failed to dissuade Travis from his decision, then there was a good chance it was neither a youthful existential crisis nor a passing whim.
Besides, the captain knew that he couldn’t afford to entrust the safety of his ship and his crew to any bridge officer who couldn’t stand behind him one hundred percent—even if he did believe deep down that the ensign wasn’t all that out of line to blame him for the Maru incident.
With a determination born of resignation, Archer stalked back toward his desk, from which he took one of the several padds he had left stacked there. Several quick jabs brought up Mayweather’s transfer request, which he completed with a final savage stabbing motion of his right thumb.
“All right, then, Ensign,” Archer said, unceremoniously tossing the padd back onto his desk. “Your request is hereby approved. I’ll see to it that you’re picked up for Starfleet reassignment at our next rendezvous opportunity. Until that time, I’ll expect you to maintain a standard duty schedule.”
Travis nodded. Archer had half hoped that the younger man would bank the angry fire behind his eyes. But unlike Hoshi, he betrayed no sign of any last-minute change of heart.
“Understood, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Archer’s jaw hardened as he answered with a curt nod. “Dismissed, Ensign.”
And fair seas, he thought sadly as Travis vanished through the hatchway that led back to the bridge.
Archer couldn’t sleep. And apparently neither could Porthos, his loyal beagle, who leaped up into his lap as he sat on the side of his bunk, trying with only middling success to commit some of his thoughts about the past few days to text.
“I hope you’re not just trying to let me down easy before handing me your transfer request,” Archer said, laying the padd aside so he could stroke the dog’s short fur. Porthos’s only response was to lick his master’s face.
Setting Porthos aside, Archer rose from the bunk and cinched his bathrobe tighter about his waist. He reached into one of the pockets and tossed a dog treat toward the beagle’s sleeping corner, and Porthos wasted no time pouncing on it.
“All right, Porthos,” Archer said with a weary sigh. “If I don’t follow through on my promise to T’Pol and Malcolm and go for a jog around the decks, I’m liable