“In what?” His frustration came out once again. “Does he think that Starfleet Command is going to take a look at this, apologize, and send us on our way?” He realized that he had crossed the line. He handed the padd back to her and went to get Porthos his dinner. “Tell him it was a nice try.”
T’Pol, however, didn’t leave. “Is this what humans refer to as ‘feeling sorry for themselves’?” she asked, as much in honest curiosity as to make a point.
“You’re out of line, Sub-Commander.”
“I apologize,” she said, though not entirely meaning it. [54] She turned to leave, assuming that the conversation had ended.
“I wish I was simply feeling sorry for myself.” He stopped her as he put the bowl in front of Porthos. “But actually, I’m feeling sorry for a whole lot of people—every member of Starfleet, in fact. Their futures depended upon my ability to succeed at this mission.” He threw himself back into his bed.
T’Pol proceeded carefully, knowing the full weight of what she was about to say. “As soon as we learned about the consequences of the explosion, I knew the Vulcan High Command would take advantage of the situation.”
“What’s your point?” he asked, focusing on the obviousness of her comment but admiring the fact that she actually had the Vulcan equivalent of the courage to say it.
“You have a responsibility to dispute their recommendation.”
“Starfleet already bought their recommendation hook, line, and sinker.”
“Then you have a responsibility to convince them as well,” she insisted.
“And just how do you suggest I do that?”
T’Pol paused for a moment to prepare her argument. “You were very adept at listing the questionable decisions you’ve made,” she reminded him of their earlier conversation. “But there have been other decisions—many of them—that no one would question. I’m willing to try to convince my government of that. Are you willing to try to convince yours?”
The question hung in the air.
[55] Archer was pleasantly surprised by her offer and finally softened with even a bit of a smile forming. “You know, this has got to be the first time a Vulcan has ever attempted to cheer up a human.”
T’Pol chose to leave his comment hanging. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
On another part of E-deck, there was more unusual activity at the increasingly late hour. Having finished his shift a few hours before and willing to sleep, Trip needed something to do.
First he had sought out T’Pol hoping to spend some time with her before she left the ship. The two had been moving toward a friendship, so he wasn’t surprised to find that he was sad that the Vulcan was about to be out of his life, probably for good. He knew that she certainly wouldn’t have expressed the same feelings of camaraderie, but it would have been nice to spend a little more time with her. Unfortunately, Mayweather told him that she had been called away by Lieutenant Reed before the commander could find her.
Failing that, Trip decided to visit with Phlox for a bit. He felt as if he had hardly gotten to know the doctor, and now he too would be gone. It was only one of the regrets over things he hadn’t managed to do during their mission.
“Commander, could you hand me that diagnostic tool?” Phlox asked, indicating a table beside one of the biobeds in sickbay.
“This one?” he asked, holding up one tool from a collection neatly lain out on the table. When he had entered [56] sickbay he found the doctor, rather cheerily packing up his things, and offered to help.
“No, no, that belongs to Starfleet.” Phlox smiled. “I’m only taking what I brought aboard.”
Trip put the tool back down. “I’d take whatever you want. This ship is most likely gonna end up in mothballs in a couple of weeks.” He moved over to a small group of cages, curious as to their contents. As he reached for one, a strange alien chirping began, that quickly became quite agitated, causing him to jump back. At least somebody here other than me is not happy, he thought.
“That’s all right, Commander.” Phlox came over to the cage to put the critter at ease, carefully guiding Trip away. “Your company is appreciated, but it would be best if you left the packing to me.”
“I would’ve thought you’d be a little more upset about leaving Enterprise,” Trip commented as the doctor continued to pack.
“I did expect this posting to last a while longer, but I’m sure an equally adventurous opportunity will present itself.”
“I wish I had your attitude,” Trip said, although he couldn’t imagine ever just thinking of this mission as a simple posting.
“Humans seems to be naturally optimistic,” Phlox noted with a smile. “I’m surprised you don’t share my outlook that something exciting is always waiting around the next nebula.”
Trip was amazed by the fact that Phlox seemed to be ignoring the obvious. “That’s just the point,” he reminded [57] the doctor. “There won’t be any nebulas in Starfleet’s future. At least not for a decade or so.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Phlox said with his cryptic brand of optimism.
“You’re wrong, Doc.” Trip’s anger was building, much as it had been since they found out the mission was canceled and they had been recalled. “You worked with Vulcans. You know what they think of us.” Trip needed to move. He needed to do something. “Enterprise coming back to Earth with its tail tucked between its legs. It’ll be Soval’s crowning achievement. They’ll probably give the son of a bitch some gaudy medal and then cart him off to wherever they send bitter old Vulcans to retire!”
“Ambassador Soval’s service record contains an impressive list of accomplishments,” the doctor noted as he went on with his packing.
“You have to find something good in everybody, don’t you?” Trip knew that to be an admirable quality, but in the current moment of frustration, praise for the bitter old Vulcan was the last thing he wanted to hear. “I gotta tell you, that’s one of your unique qualities that drive me crazy!”
Despite Trip’s outburst, the doctor cheerfully continued to do what he was doing with a bit of a chuckle. “I’ll certainly miss your outspoken personality, Mister Tucker.”
How do you argue with someone who won’t argue back? Trip wondered. With an exasperated sigh of resignation, he realized that his little visit was not the calming conversation he had been searching for. “I’ll see you later, Doc.”
Trip headed for the door, lost in his thoughts. As it [58] opened, he nearly barreled right into Crewman Elizabeth Cutler.
“Oh, hi, Commander,” she said, stepping out of the way.
He did little more than grunt in response.
The door shut behind him.
“I see the commander’s in pretty much the same mood as the rest of the crew,” she said to Phlox, who appeared to be absorbed in categorizing medications.
“I would say so,” he absentmindedly responded, separating the medicines into containers for himself and Starfleet. “Is there something I can do for you?”
Cutler smiled. “I think that’s what I’m supposed to be asking you.”
Phlox was momentarily confused by her comment.
“I’m here to help pack,” she said, “remember?”
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot,” Phlox said as he put the last bottle in the Starfleet container. “Everyone does want to be so helpful all of the sudden.”
“I think we’re all just looking for something to keep our minds off things,” she said, sitting up on a biobed. Her feet swung casually
“It was a tragedy,” Phlox agreed.
“Yes, it was,” she said. “And it just keeps getting worse.”
“Now, now.” Phlox remained positive. “I don’t need to go over the same things I’ve said to Mr. Tucker. I’m sure Starfleet will have some plan for the future of this program.”
“I was actually referring to you leaving the ship,” she said. “I feel like we were just starting to really get to know each other. I’m going to miss you.�
��
[59] The doctor was a little taken aback. Their friendship had always confused him a little. She was so unlike Denobulan women, especially his wives. “Well, yes,” he replied uncomfortably. “I’ll miss you as well. Along with the rest of the crew.”
“Of course,” she said with a playful grin at his suddenly formal tone, “you’ve been an invaluable resource.”
“I do hope you have a chance to keep up with your studies,” he replied in reference to the medical tutoring he had been providing her.
“Oh, yes,” she said, having some fun. “And I hope you have a chance to keep up with your three wives.”
Now the doctor was actually flustered. He wasn’t sure if they were flirting or if she was being serious. Maybe I should have spent some more time studying human behavior while I had the chance.
“At any rate,” she said, hopping down from the bed, “I will miss you as more than just a valuable resource.” Leaning in she gave him a slightly prolonged kiss on the cheek.
For about the hundredth time since Phlox had met Elizabeth Cutler, she had rendered him speechless.
“Well,” she said with a giggle, “we should really finish up this packing. It’s getting late.”
Chapter 6
“Come on, Porthos,” Archer said, rubbing behind his beloved pet’s ear. “Time for bed.”
He had stripped down to his blue shorts and tank and lain back on his bed, ready to let another day mercifully end. Archer knew that sleep probably would not come—as it hadn’t the night before. Mulling over his regrets in the dark wasn’t much different than considering them in his waking hours. Preparing himself for the long night of remorse, he turned off the lights.
He patted on the bed beside him. “Porthos, up!” In the brief moments of silence that followed, his subconscious mind picked up on the subtle changes. The sheets felt different against his chest. In fact, they now covered him, rather than lying beneath him. The bed felt different. Even the air smelled different—familiar, but different—certainly not the recycled atmosphere he had been breathing for the past several months.
[61] And yet, his conscious mind had not quite grasped the significance of the changes. He had notice that Porthos still wasn’t beside him. “What’s the matter, boy?” he reached for the light. “Don’t tell me you’re ...”
The lights came back on, leaving Archer shocked by his surroundings. He was back in his apartment in San Francisco. Leaning up on an elbow, he noticed that the place looked exactly as it had before he had closed it up and left on his mission.
Pushing the covers back, Archer found himself now dressed only in pajama bottoms. Understandably disoriented, he moved to the window, pulling back the sheer white curtains to confirm that the San Francisco skyline was indeed outside.
“Porthos.” He bent to find his pet curled up in a doggy bed, also awake. “What’s going on here?” He didn’t expect the dog to answer, but considering that he had just traveled thousands of light-years in the blink of an eye, it wouldn’t be the largest surprise if Porthos had suddenly gained the power of speech.
The chirp of a companel pulled Archer away from his pet. Stepping down into the sunken living room of his studio apartment, Archer tapped the wall panel, wondering who could be calling and if that person had any answers.
“Hello?” he tentatively greeted the caller.
“Sorry to call so late, Captain,” the voice of his friend, Trip, came over the com system. “But all three inspection pods are getting their weekly overhauls tonight. They tell [62] me they won’t be ready until noon. So I figured you might ...”
“... want to sleep in,” he whispered in concert with Trip as he finished the statement. Archer hesitated, realizing that he had gotten this call before. It had been shortly before his life had taken a major turn.
“What do you say to breakfast at nine-thirty,” Archer suggested, testing the waters with his recollection of events. “Spacedock cafeteria?”
“You must be reading my mind,” Trip confirmed with a smile that could be heard over the com. “I was just about to suggest the same thing.”
Archer wanted to talk to his friend about what was going on, but since Trip didn’t seem to notice anything out of place, the captain decided against it. “See you in the morning.”
He tapped a control, shutting off the com, his mind grappling with all the possible explanations. “If you’re trying to tell me the last ten months was a dream,” he said to Porthos, the only other body in the room, “I’m not buying it.”
Considering his options, Archer came up with an idea to test his unlikely theory. Moving into the main living area, he bent over his desk, tapping another companel, which activated a monitor screen. Scrolling through a series of data, he found the information he was looking for and hit the appropriate commands.
After a beat a receptionist popped up on the screen. She looked quite awake, considering the late hour.
[63] “I.M.E. Can I help you?” she asked, looking back through her own monitor.
“This is Jonathan Archer.” His mind was still focused on his predicament. “Starfleet authorization Alpha-Six-Four—”
“I know who you are, Captain,” she interrupted him. “What can I do for you?”
Ah, the price of fame, he mused, wondering how soon it would be before people started recognizing him for less pleasant reasons. But he had more pressing matters at the moment. “Do you have a Denobulan doctor in the Interspecies Medical Exchange?”
The woman referenced his question on a nearby screen. “Yes, a Doctor Phlox.” She continued to scroll through the information in front of her. “He’s assigned to Starfleet Medical here in San Francisco. Would you like me to contact him for you?”
“No, that’s all right,” Archer replied, not knowing what he would say if he had managed to speak with the doctor. Besides, he had gotten the information he needed. “Thanks for your help.”
He tapped another button and the screen blinked off. Turning back to Porthos, he continued to go over the little clues he had been collecting since the lights came on. “I didn’t even know Phlox existed before they brought Klaang in. And that was the day after I got the late-night call from Trip.”
“You’re not dreaming, Captain,” a familiar voice said from behind him.
Archer whirled to see a man who should have been [64] dead. He was stepping out of the shadows, dressed in a Starfleet uniform—looking exactly as Archer had seen him before his supposed demise.
“Daniels.”
“This must be very disorienting,” Daniels said, looking contrite. He was wearing his Starfleet uniform, though Archer knew that the man was not a part of the organization. “I apologize, but I had no choice.”
Still suspicious, Archer moved past the apology in search of information. “Commander Tucker told me you were dead. That Silik killed you.”
“He did,” Daniels cryptically replied. “In a manner of speaking.” But Daniels did not intend to get into an explanation on his miraculous recovery from death. “We have to talk, Captain, and it’s essential that none of the other factions know about it. I doubt any of them would think I’d bring you here.”
By here, Archer knew that he wasn’t talking about San Francisco. “So you’re telling me you brought me back ... what ... ten months ago?” He could not believe what he was saying. “How about Jonathan Archer ten months ago? Where’s he?”
“He’s you.”
“Then who just climbed into bed aboard Enterprise?”
“That hasn’t happened yet.”
And is Porthos really Porthos or did he come back in time, too? Archer thought. Instead he said, “That’s a load of crap and you know it.”
Daniels had a look of annoyed frustration on his face as [65] he took a seat. “I’ve had this conversation with half a dozen people. It always turns out the same way.”
Well, you’ve never had it with me, Archer thought, offended by the dismissive attitude he was receiving. “Can’t you ever give a
straight answer?”
“It depends on the question.”
Archer knew that he had to choose his words carefully until he figured out what kind of game Daniels was playing. “All right, try this one. Why am I here? I thought you were supposed to protect the timeline, not screw with it.”
“It’s already been ‘screwed with,’ Captain,” he said, choosing to use Archer’s own colorful language to explain. “That explosion at the Paraagan colony ... it wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Of course it wasn’t,” Archer replied. “It was an accident.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Daniels tried to explain. “History never recorded the disaster. Someone violated the Temporal Accord ... someone who doesn’t want your mission to succeed.”
How is our mission dangerous? We’re simply exploring, Archer thought. He sat down as his mind latched on to a more important concept. “Are you telling me that Enterprise didn’t cause that explosion?”
Daniels eyed him, choosing not to answer the question. “Do you remember the Temporal Cold War I spoke of?”
“It’s kind of hard to forget,” Archer replied, still awaiting a straightforward answer.
“Then listen to me carefully,” Daniels insisted. “We don’t have much time.”
[66] Archer did listen carefully as Daniels detailed the plan. What the man was saying seemed impossible, and yet, Archer was sitting in the middle of his living room, which he knew to be an equally infeasible feat. Slowly the pieces began to fit together. Archer realized how coincidental it was that these events seemed to be set in motion the moment he had stepped into the captain’s mess with Trip and T’Pol both one day ago and ten months from now. That was the room on Enterprise where he had come to know this time traveler who was standing before him. Of course back then he had thought Daniels to be nothing more than a simple steward.
Chapter 7
September 2151
Six Months Ago
Archer sat alone at the table of his private mess, reading a padd and sipping a cup of coffee, preparing himself for the day ahead. One of his stewards, Crewman Daniels, entered carrying a plate of scrambled eggs.
STAR TREK: Enterprise - Shockwave Page 5
