The old man removed the contacts from his eyes and brushed back his shaggy half-grey, mane of hair with his hand as he entered his bedroom. He felt a strange combination of both fatigue and vitality all at once. His exhaustion stemmed from his many long endless battles to try and change the past so the future would be better than it was. He wanted to remove the corruption that had infiltrated the Federation and somehow keep it pure, idealistic, a place of exploration, one of learning and discovery just as it had been in the beginning. The war he waged was not one anyone knew about or could see with the exception of a select group of beings who worked for him in exchange for 'favors'. His battleground was the timeline and the old man did all he could to softly manipulate the past in hopes of changing the future. So far he had been unsuccessful in his endeavors, but he was undaunted. He had to make things right, make them perfect for future generations... and for her. He had promised he would make things right and was determined to do so.
The strange energy that filled him came from a different source, but certainly had links to the exhaustion. Danaë Picard was the inspiration for all that he did at this phase of his life and he knew that he would be seeing her soon, the real live person. Just that thought made his heart beat a little faster and filled him with hope. His mind was still playing the image of that young woman over and over again as he sat down on his bed. Her eyes were so bright. so full of life and hope. How could he have failed so miserably at keeping her from meeting Jonathan Archer? It was the Suliban. He had been a fool to trust them with such a delicate mission. They had already failed at recovering the Klingon that would set in motion Starfleet's entry into space exploration, so why did he think this would be any different? Instead of changing the past, it had all happened anyway.
For a moment he rubbed his green eyes, telling himself that they were simply tired and that those were not tears trying to break through. Swallowing his emotions, he flexed the joints and was greeted by the familiar sensations of stiffness, swelling and slight pain. His age was starting to creep back into his body. He would need to spend the next twenty-four hours laying in a special bed so that his flesh and bones could soak up rays of metaphasic radiation thereby healing and replenishing his body.
The old man got up and went into the next room where a tube shaped berth sat open. It was filled with long special light bulbs made from a special quartz-like material mined from a moon that orbited the planet Lior. These minerals, combined with the right amount of energy, pressure and light produced the metaphasic radiation he needed to keep living. He removed every last stitch of his clothing then touched the small screen at the foot of the bed to start it and set the timer. He laid down on the platform then taking a hypospray and setting it to the right dosage, he injected himself with a sleeping draught then soon faded into a sort of hibernation.
For an entire cycle of the Earth the old man remained in a perfect repose. His mind revisited happier times and lighter days, all of which was his favorite part of this procedure. Upon waking his heart momentarily sank as he remembered where he was and what year it was. He had to forget the past, but he didn't know how to set aside the best part of his life. Pushing the disappointment aside, the elder stood up, his body feeling stronger, younger and his mind was sharper and more focused. There were no aches in his joints and he had less grey in his hair. He still looked aged, but nowhere near as ancient as he should look or feel.
He left the room where he kept his special bed, then showered and dressed. He went to his desk and began to go over some research information he had requested. He barely read through the first paragraph when his mind began to drift back to her. Seeing that his remunerations would give him no peace, the old man took a key from a small polished coral box sitting on his desk and unlocked his bottom desk drawer. Inside he took out a wooden box that he carefully set on the desk. From the case he pulled out two personal hand written journals. They were artifacts that had been carefully preserved for more than two hundred years.
The first was a simple black notebook that was becoming well worn around the edges and was tied shut with a simple leather strap. The entries were written in a fine masculine hand and the author was none other than Captain Jonathan Archer himself. The other was slightly smaller and made from brown leather that was imprinted with a Mandela circle and at one time possessed a lock on the front that had long since broken. The author of this diary had a delicate femanine style and was recorded by one Lt. Danaë D'Arcy Picard. Both documents spoke of the early days of exploration on board the Enterprise NX-01. In an era when technology had rendered paper and pencil a rare commodity, it was unusual for someone to choose to keep a handwritten journal, but the old man understood the need for such an archaic record. These books contained thoughts and emotions that their authors could not show or express either to themselves or to anyone else. They had certainly never intended for these books to survive for such a long time.
The old man quickly turned the pages of both logs until he reached Stardate -69008.41. This particular date held great significance for him. It was when the individual course of these two authors would change and intersect in unexpected ways. He knew both accounts well, although there were times he wished he could forget it altogether, or feverishly study every miniscule detail in hopes of finding a way to change it. He looked at the writing in both books then leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and began reciting the words spelled out before him. What they spoke of he could visualize clearly as though it were happening all over again, beginning with the entry from Danaë's notebook.
Stardate -69008.41
Lt. D'arcy was lying with her head on the table in the Command Center of the NX-01 dreaming of another Enterprise and another captain. She had been studying all of the information on the mysterious spheres they had discovered in the expanse hoping for a breakthrough, but had found nothing. Her lack of progress was infuriating to her. She had always prided herself on how quickly she could break down technology whether it was the Federations or anyone else's. Trying to solve this puzzle made her feel like a bumbling idiot.