Star Trek Enterprise Bk 03 The War Ch 01

"Future years will never know the seething

hell and the black infernal background of this war -- and it is best they should

not-- the real war will never get in the books."

Chapter one: The Simplest Object

With a creak, Archer opened the lid of his regeneration bed. A creation of his own design, it penetrated his body with metaphasic radiation that strengthened, invigorated and de-aged him. Pulling on his pants he went over and looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was still mostly gray except for his heavy brows and there were still the tell-tale lines of age on his face, but nothing like there should have been for a man that was over nine-hundred. His body had never been chiseled, but he had always taken care of himself and even now he was physically fit and had a soft sculpt to his form. He ran his fingers through his beard and overgrown hair and sighed. He had worn it this way for many years to hide his identity, but now he wondered if it wasn't time for a shave and a haircut. It was highly unlikely that anyone in such a remote century from his own would believe him to be the one and only Jonathan Archer?

With this in mind, he walked through the carved passages of his underground home toward the bathroom, anxious to remove the excess hair from his face. He stopped once to pet Meggy who followed him with adoring eyes and wagging tail. Once he was in his bathroom he took out a straight razor and began to run it against a long leather strop that hung from a towel rack next to the sink. He used long easy movements then when he was satisfied he set it on the porcelain edge then took out a pair of scissors and cut away at the long strands of beard and mustache until it was at a length much easier to shave. He then wet the bristles of his shaving brush which were made from the hair of a badger then rubbed it into a cake of shaving soap in gentle circles until it was good and lathered up.

Carefully he brushed the soap into the remaining whiskers then with a careful hand took up the straight blade and moved it along his cheek. This particular form of shaving was more than a little ancient, but there were some things of the past that Archer preferred and even saw as a form of art that shouldn't disappear in favor of modern technology. Using a straight razor was one of them. It also took a steady careful hand and more finesse and technique then any device they had in the year three-thousand and fifty-two. When he was done he looked at his smooth clean face, noting the lines and in particular his green eyes that were the only give away to his more than nine-hundred years of life. This was not the same man that had once sat so optimistically at the first meetings of the Coalition of Planets, dreaming of a bright future. God, how naive he had been back then.

Now after nearly a thousand years the Federation was rapidly falling apart, ahhh, but how wonderful the dream had been. Sitting at that table with the delegates from Vulcan, Adoria, Tellar and Coridan had been a lesson in both patience and negotiating for the greater good. Whenever he felt he was ready to explode he would look over at his crew and in particular Lt. Danaë D'Arcy and remember the bigger picture. Now his dream was in tatters and he was desperately trying to softly pull the strings of the past to make the necessary changes so that the Federation could continue and even thrive. Unfortunately none of it had worked.

Glancing at his watch Archer reminded himself that in a couple of hours he had a meeting with a Ferengi called Kin in regards to a newly discovered PADD that may or may not have belonged to Noonian Soong and could potentially contain his research and more importantly research done by his ancestors in regards to artificial intelligence. If what Kin offered was authentic and functional then Archer had a rare black opal for payment. It was a prize he had stumbled upon while carving out a new room in his underground home. To the Ferengi opals were better than gold and far rarer. Having an opal of any kind was a status symbol and a black one was even greater. Archer had no issue parting with the stone if it gave him what he wanted. Living in Coober Pedy he had managed to acquire quite a few and kept them for such occasions.

In fact, he kept a variety of things at his fingertips in order to grease the right palms. Different species valued different things and when one is making backroom deals, trading on the blackmarket and using dubious informants (to say the least) one has to have a variety of ways to pay. Often dilithium crystals were ample, but not always. The Ferengi's wanted gold or other precious stones or metal. The Suliban coveted superior genetic abilities. When they were in his employ he worked with a brilliant and skilled surgeon named Huchon that was able to make their wildest dreams come true.

Huchon had been at the top of his class and field until drugs and a nervous breakdown sent him spiraling downward. Archer had found him, cleaned him up and gave him a new start as his personal doctor, head of a clinic helping those like him. In exchange he was required to perform the occasional back-alley underworld surgical procedure. The shady procedures didn't last terribly long as the Suliban soon proved less than able to successfully pull off the jobs Archer had given them. Worse, was that the genetic manipulation had ultimately led to the development of a virus that would decimate the species. Perhaps Archer should have felt guilty for ever authorizing the enhancements, but he didn't.

He would readily admit that after so many centuries it was possible he had become jaded. The thought of encountering a non-human species and exploring a distant, seemingly out-of-reach star had once held so much wonder and fascination for him. Now it was as commonplace as changing your socks. Then again, maybe his moral compass had simply gone askew over time beginning with the Xindi conflict. Of course, his lack of guilt might have also been because he had made many attempts to talk them out of genetic manipulation. He had offered a variety of rewards as payment, but they refused them all. If there was an aspect he did feel some remorse for, it was the more painful aspect of their business arrangement. Failure to do the job as agreed upon meant returning the 'fee'. How many times had he stood there silently watching as Huchon removed the genetic enhancements while the Suliban on the table screamed in pain? Too many and he preferred to shut that out of his mind and not think about it.

There were times when the Suliban could be bought with a piece of technology such as biomimetic garments and cloaking devices, but that was rare. No, the Ferengi were much easier when it came to blackmarket deals then the Suliban. They had never failed him and the payoff was much easier. Show them a piece of gold jewelry (the gaudier the better) and they would eagerly strike a bargain. Offer an opal, particularly a black one, and they would willingly kill for you. Not that he had ever requested such a thing. He had no use for the pretty iridescent stones except for two that he protected fiercely.

The first was a large black opal that was set into a gold ring and surrounded by diamonds. He had been concerned that the stone would be too large for his wife's long lithe fingers, but it wasn't. A black opal was an unusual choice for an engagement ring and even his childhood friend Danica Erickson had tried to talk him into getting something more traditional. He had a reason for choosing this particular stone. All the veins of sparkling rainbow colors that glowed in the darkness reminded him of a radioactive wavefront that once caused the entire crew of the Enterprise NX-01 to camp out on the catwalk inside one of the warp nacelles.

When he had seen the storm through the window of his quarters he had remarked to T'Pol that he had not expected it to be so beautiful. He soon found that he was not the only one who felt that way. On his way to the lift he had taken a side trip to the mess hall to grab a piece of cheese for Porthos and noticed Danaë standing before the window watching the storm with the same wonder. No one else was in there and he couldn't help watching her thinking how they shared that same sense of awe. Archer hadn't planned on disturbing her, but when he finally looked away and started towards the kitchen, the lieutenant suddenly spoke.

"When you document this storm in your Captain's log call it 'Yūgen'"

"Why 'Yūgen'?" he asked, unfamiliar with the term.

"It means 'a profound, mysterious sense of the beauty of the universe that triggers a deep emotional response,'" she explained. "It's amazing that something can be so soul stirring with its beauty and yet be so deadly." He agreed whole-heartedly and for a moment stood beside her and looked out at the tempest looming before them. For a moment their hands had brushed each other as though out of instinct they were trying to clasp. Wisely Archer decided to forgo the snack and instead walked away calling to Porthos to follow. Before the door closed he turned back to Danaë and reminded her that there wasn't much time and she needed to get to the catwalk. Later when documenting the storm he did give it the name 'Yūgen' and over the years the two would reflect on it.

Over time her description had stuck with him and when he looked into that particular black opal and saw the colors that matched the beauty of that deadly storm, he knew it was the perfect choice. She would know the significance, and did. Another matching stone would be set into a band for himself and even after nine-hundred years he still wore it. The only times he removed it was when the metal needed repair and even then he hovered over the jeweler as the work was done, never allowing it out of his sight. Once, long ago, he had tried taking it off and putting it away, but doing so had felt as though he were removing a piece of his heart and soul.

Damn, how he missed her. Archer was convinced that she was the reason he was pushing himself to keep living. Something was driving him on and Danaë seemed the obvious reason. They had shared so many dreams that remained unfulfilled, all of them really. The federation had always come first. When he had seen her back in the twenty-fourth century while she was still a cadet at the academy he had thought that was what he had needed for closure. Once the moment was over he had fully expected to feel ready to shed his mortal coil, but no, something kept pushing him to keep living. Why? What was it he had to do? When he started noticing corruption in the Federation he had assumed that was why he needed to stay alive. Surely he was meant to fix it and make it right, but nothing he did worked and yet he still felt the unceasing drive to survive.

Looking once more at his watch, he was confident there was enough time for a haircut before meeting the Ferengi. Archer moved through his underground home to his office and approached a cabinet set against one wall. Taking his key ring from his pocket he unlocked the doors and opened it up. Inside was a collection of items he had saved over the many centuries of his existence. There were objects that brought back memories of his childhood, his mom and dad. There was stuff on those shelves that recalled adventure and exploration in the reaches of space and the friends and crew that had been a part of it. He had things that brought back memories of his sons and grandchildren. There was even a leather collar that had once been worn by his first beagle, Porthos.

Archer reached for a ceramic box sitting on one of the shelves and removed the lid, uncovering the precious black opal and sliding it into his pocket. He then went to put the lid back on the container, but his hand inadvertently bumped his almost completely worn out copy of The Cosmos A to Z. The book fell against another box knocking it off the shelf and onto the floor at Archer's feet. He bent down to pick it up but age had made the case fragile and it broke apart spilling its contents. He removed the shreds that remained of the container then picked up the item it held.

The object was square, dark gray and had a series of lights across the top that would glow in a myriad of green, red and orange when activated. Normally it was activated by simply flipping it open granting its owner access to various screens, buttons and information. This particular item was a standard tricorder and had been created back during the twenty-fourth century. This one, held in Archer's hand, looked terribly rough after so many years and had wires hanging from it where it had been altered from its original state. Brought on board the Enterprise-E around the year twenty-three-seventy-five along with other new updated equipment, it never saw its intended use. Rather, it was snatched from engineering shortly after its arrival by Danaë Picard to be used for the sole purpose of mischief and pranks.

Looking at the modified tricorder, Archer wondered what an eleven-year-old Danaë would say or think if she had known how this one little piece of equipment would help shape history. This hand held square piece of metal, plastic, wires, light, memory cards and more, silently ended a war that ultimately gave birth to The United Federation of Planets. Perhaps that was why he was still forcing himself to keep living. He longed to make all of Danaë's dreams come true, just as she had worked to build his future.

Carefully he set the device back on the shelf then leaned down and started to pick up the broken pieces of box off the floor. As he cleaned up the remnants he noticed an envelope lying beneath them. He picked it up and saw that the paper was yellow with age and the glue that had once sealed it had now come apart. He turned it over and saw 'Jonathan' written across the front in elegant handwriting that he knew all too well. It was the letter Lt. D'Arcy had written to him before leaving on a covert mission that would decide the Battle of Cheron. Archer had never opened it and after so many centuries he was afraid, not only of what it might say, but that it would disintegrate with even the slightest touch. Until this moment, he hadn't even known it still existed. He could only assume Danaë had placed it in the box at the same time she had put the tricorder in there.

With a deep breath he very gently picked up the aged and fragile envelope and stared at the writing. For a moment, short, quick flashes of memories danced before him. They were small half-second tastes of the past coming back to haunt him. In them Archer could see the bright lights of phase cannons and torpedoes lighting up the endless darkness of space like countless fireflies and plastic glow sticks. These, however, were not mere bugs or children's toys, but lethal weapons capable of tearing apart a star ship as though it were only made of tinkertoys. He recalled the faces of dead and injured crewmen, as well as the feeling of helplessness as ships from Earth's allies were blown out of the stars.

Archer squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, but he couldn't stop the screams and cries of pain from his crew echoing in his ears along with the groans of broken, twisting metal. His senses were being overwhelmed by the past and the price of war. He could smell burning wires, melted scorched textiles and blood mingling with charred flesh. It had been a long time since he had experienced such a powerful flashback, but when he did, he always felt as though he would never find his way out of it. Yet from somewhere deep inside his recollection a woman's voice seemed to break through the memories of war and carnage.

"Jonathan," the voice whispered, cutting through and silencing the chaos and noise of the past.

"Dani..." he managed to say, speaking the name that only he ever used for Danaë.

"Rest for a while, Jonathan," She spoke so softly that it seemed barely above a breath next to his ear and calmed all of his senses. He was certain he even felt her small soft hand slip into his followed by a gentle sigh. Immediately he opened his eyes only to find himself once more alone in his underground home. He looked down at the ancient, fragile, and discolored envelope in his hand and murmured to himself.

"How do I find you again, Dani?"