TWG - seriestitle - BY A THREAD, HANGING

seriestitle
BY A THREAD, HANGING
by Dominick A. Carlucci, Jr.
(authoremail)

BY A THREAD, HANGING

StarDate: unnecessary...

The chime sounded rather loudly on the Ordinator's desk. Only he didn't have a desk, and there was no chime. What was-? He smiled, and allowed a desk to materialize in front of him. The chime sounded once again. "Come in!"

Without any pretext, Daniels entered. It wasn't very often that you got see the Ordinator, and he'd had to pull off quite a few tricks to get as far as he had. He was beyond agitated. "Sir, we have a BIG problem!"

The Ordinator was non-plussed. "You always seem to have big problems, Mr. Daniels. What is it this time? Something more colorful than that 'Xindi weapon', I hope!"

Daniels produced a PADD-like device and placed it on the desk in front of the Ordinator. "Much worse, sir. Take a look." Instantly, swirls of wispy blue light fountained up from Daniels' device and circled the room, eventually taking on a spheroid shape. The Ordinator sighed. He'd seen this presentation of the time-line too many times before to be impressed. Daniels walked through the interior of the spheroid, anxiously searching; then suddenly stabbed out with his finger. "There, sir! Do you see it?"

The Ordinator squinted. "Narrow the field, Mr. Daniels."

Daniels turned a knob on his wrist pack, and the section of the time-line he had pointed to was instantly bordered in thin green lines. The rest of the spheroid vanished, and the outlined section grew to fill one wall of the Ordinator's office - which had manifested the moment Daniels had entered the Ordinator's presence. Daniels produced a tracing wand, telescoped it out to its maximum length, and pointed. "There, Ordinator. Can you see it now?"

The Ordinator did. And promptly went white. "That cannot be there! An aneurysm in a time-thread? And look how LONG! Over a century!"

"Closer to TWO centuries, Ordinator."

"But how did this happen?"

Daniels froze. After all, he was known throughout history as the Man with the Answers. His reputation had already suffered a severe blow with that incident with Phlox. Poor man, having complete knowledge of a future reality, one which he, Daniels, had helped cover up...and the physician could not possibly speak of it without re-routing time! Daniels was still trying to find a way around THAT anomaly when the aneurysm problem had cropped up. The Ordinator looked closer. "Oh, I see now what really has caused your concern, Mr. Daniels." He chuckled.

"Sir?"

"Commander Charles Tucker, III, late of the first starship ENTERPRISE, immolated himself while saving his ship from a band of thugs in the year 2160."

"True - except you're reading from the aneurysm, and not the true time-line."

"What?" The Ordinator thundered. "I was reading time-streams before you came into existence, Daniels! I know what I just saw!"

Daniels waited for the Ordinator to calm. "Ordinator, do you recall Stanislav's lecture on 'Theoretical Postulates for Time-Stream Analysis'"?

"Well, of course I do! It's basic theory at university! So what?"

"Dr. Stanislav coined the term aneurysm for what we are seeing here, yet stressed that it could only be theoretical. Most of us have forgotten that; it was so long ago that we've come to believe that Dr. Stanislav's theories are all factual!"

"Meaning-?"

Daniels sighed. "Dr. Stanislav only suggested the aneurysm in theory to explain certain problems in time-line analysis that might occur. He NEVER suggested that an aneurysm could occur in reality as its very presence could destroy time!" He pointed again. "This is a variation in the time-stream, yet so closely resembling the original as to have not split off from the main artery - to incorporate Dr. Stanislav's terminology. It represents a situation where a break has been made, yet the time-stream itself has not been able to resolve it, so two different representations of the same event have occurred!"

The Ordinator rose slowly. "Then if what you are saying is true, Daniels, the timestream is at war....with itself ? How can that be possible?"

"Theoretically, it can't, sir. But just as theoretically, it shouldn't exist, either."

"If this isn't repaired, you know what the outcome must be. And it won't be theoretical!"

Daniels paused. "No sir, it won't. Dr. Stanislav chose his terminology with exaction. If the situation isn't resolved, the aneurysm will shatter, triggering the precisely same reaction in the timestream as a burst aneurysm would in any sentient creature."

The Ordinator clutched at his desk. "And THAT would mean we'd be out of work, Mr. Daniels."

Daniels nodded. "I understand, sir." He paused. "Does the gravity of the situation compel you in any way to lift your ban on me contacting Captain Archer prior to his promotion to Admiral?"

The Ordinator did not speak for several minutes. He stared at the time aneurysm, trying to make sense of it all. "I'm not sure, Mr. Daniels, but I think it best that you begin...here." And he pointed to the tail end of the aneurysm....in the mid-24th Century.

Daniels stared. "There, sir? Why at that point?"

"Because of the curiosity of the aneurysm itself. It's not supposed to exist, but it does. And by its very violent internal nature, it should logically continue erupting until it explodes. But in fact, it HAS a resolution point. Or so it seems. The density of the stream suggests two parallel timestreams running in unison from that very point."

Daniels was aghast. "Which is also impossible, Ordinator!"

The Ordinator smiled, a very crooked, yet very knowing smile. "Yes, Mr. Daniels. That too, is impossible, yet we see it also." He sat down and shut off the device. "I suggest you get moving, Mr. Daniels. You have a great deal of work ahead of you, I fear. Farewell." And with that, the Ordinator closed his eyes and appeared to fall asleep.

Daniels found himself back in his "office". He stared out the window at the panorama of the vast city, the very window through which Jonathan Archer had once had his first look at a devastated 31st Century landscape. Fortunately, that had been one of his more successful missions. He tapped the PADD against his wrist, wondering how he would handle this one. He thought long and for what seemed like an eternity. When he came to his conclusion, he was shaken by it. He had vowed to Jonathan Archer that they would never meet again. And he had vowed to the Ordinator that he would not contact Archer before his promotion to Admiral. The Ordinator had, of course, told him to start his investigation in Riker's time. He shook his head. There was something oddly wrong with that, but his concern would have to wait. Daniels stared at his PADD again, at the timeline's aneurysm. His instincts told him that there was something missing, something he had overlooked. Perhaps he should start his investigation on May 13th, 2160, the day Charles Tucker III gave his life for his Captain.

Or did he? No, not yet. There was something else Daniels needed to do first. Staring into the night sky, he turned another dial on his wrist pack...

From the Memoirs of Jonathan Archer:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...." I was never much for reading the classics - always wanted to spend my time outdoors, running, exploring; I couldn't wait to see what was over the next hill. Always on the go. Guess that's what got me into StarFleet - the quest, the fascinating, exhilarating sense of adventure and excitement. Never knowing what I might find beyond the farthest planet....

The day I accepted the job as first President of the Federation - Phlox, with his ever-present wry sense of humor, noted that I'd been "roped into it" - has been considered by many as the highlight of my career. I'd prefer to say that the highlight of my career was the day ENTERPRISE was launched - crisp, pristine, intact, with a green crew and an all-too-raw captain at the helm. And with my best friend - Charles Tucker III - as Chief Engineer. But too few know that when I delivered the speech that launched the Federation, my guts were threatening to launch themselves through my teeth (I would never have made it through that day if Phlox hadn't pumped me full of emotion-suppressing drugs - drugs which came perilously close to failing anyway). Trip - my best friend, my buddy through all those "best and worst of times" - would never see it. Oh, maybe he did, if you believe in life after death or reincarnation, as so many do nowadays. I've never been sure about such metaphysical musings. All I knew then was that my best friend was dead - period. Sure, he gave his life in defense of his captain, his ship, and his crewmates. But it seemed so senseless, so disjointed. I've never been able to get beyond that moment when I pulled Trip's battered, broken body from the wreckage, screaming into my communicator for Phlox to get his ass down there...

And I can never forgive myself for his death. "A starship Captain is responsible for the actions of the crew under his command." They drummed that dictum into our heads from the first day of command school. Hadn't there been a better way? Did Trip really have to immolate himself to take out Shran's "associates"? I can never answer those questions now. I will never know. And there will always be a huge hole in my gut with his name scrawled all over it. A hole to match the one in my heart..."

* * * * *

Daniels knew the passage well. But it was comforting to reread it. After all, no matter what Archer had thought of him - and he knew that Archer had never completely understood or trusted him - he had always held Jonathan Archer in the highest esteem. Especially since he had been so completely at ease with himself to bare his soul in his memoirs. Daniels had been even more impressed to learn of Archer's unremitting sense of duty, and his unswerving loyalty to the principles of both StarFleet and the United Federation of Planets. All succeeding generations of both StarFleet Captains and UFP Presidents had held themselves against the precedents established by Archer in the respective chairs. And as the first UFP President, Archer had been wise enough to understand his precedent-setting position, and had taken it very seriously indeed. It was only fitting, then, that he had charged the executor of his estate to have his personal archive remain sealed until a century after his death. Daniels closed the volume and slipped it back into its sleeve in time-space. He'd always liked the way he could store information in time-space. He'd also come to enjoy the feel of physical books, long before the time he'd brought Archer to the 31st Century, when they'd had to rummage through the shelves of a musty old library for information. There was just something special about holding a weighted volume in your hands that you could interact with, rather that scanning the lines on the screen of a PADD, or - worse - reading the images projected into space itself. He smiled. That was also a large part of the reason he liked Archer so much. As much as Archer had embraced cutting-edge technology, some of his most serene moments had come when he was alone, fully absorbed in a book held in one hand, while absently scratching behind the ears of his beloved Porthos with the other.....

/Wait a second/ he thought. /What the-/ Daniels yanked the book out of subspace, reopened it to the passage he'd just read, and stared at it. How could he have missed it? This WASN'T the same passage he'd read before! THIS volume of Archer's memoirs belonged to the alternate time-line - but it was in the slot reserved for the one of the correct timeline! He peered into the subspace time-slot. How had it gotten in there? And where was the correct one?

He stalked into his office, or what passed for one. As soon as he had moved, the walls in his apartment had rearranged themselves, having read his thoughts, and there, in the center of the room, was his desk. On it sat the same PADD-like device he had used in the Ordinator's office. He touched it and instantly it opened, thrusting the same timeline view against the far wall. Daniels stared intently, his device narrowing the focus of the field, until Daniels found what he was seeking. The mercenaries. Praetorians, of course! A classical name sarcastically given to a hideous, merciless sub-human race of private armies for hire. Intergalactic thugs was more like it. He knew where he had to go now. Daniels turned a dial on his wrist pack and followed one of the ripples in the time-stream...

An unnamed asteroid in the Sejanus system
Earth Date: December 29th, 2157

"If I were you, Shran," rasped their leader, "I would be very careful with this shipment. You know that we can find out where you live." His compatriots' grunts - which passed for laughter in what passed for their language - made the sheet-metal hut groan in dissatisfaction, and also caused the Andorian's antennae to swirl in anger.

Outside, the frigid wind screamed. /I was a Commander in the Imperial Guard!/ Shran swore to himself. /And now I am but a common courier for a hit squad of these hooligans! Why has this happened to me?/ Shran knew very well why, but his immense pride would not let himself admit his own failures. The Guard had a generous pension plan, but many who had survived to reach the mandatory retirement age were simply unprepared for peaceful inactivity. Peaceful, to a retired Guardsman, was equivalent to boredom, and there was nothing more terrifying to a professional soldier than boredom. Some had opted for mental reconditioning, but that was not always available, was frequently dangerous, and was always hideously expensive. And no self-respecting Guardsman would EVER let such a weakness be known. The number of "retired" Guardsmen who turned to criminal activity - outside of those who succumbed to alcoholism or "recreational" narcotics - was staggering, numbers which the Guard strove ceaselessly to keep under wraps. Shran, though a hard drinker, was too proud to allow himself to succumb to liquid intoxicants, and he'd always considered narcotics despicable. The only path he had felt open to him was illegal "operations" - although as dangerous as his Guard activities, they were far more lucrative, at least potentially. So, here he was, about to deliver a shipment of bio-mimetic gel laced with chloraxine to a notorious black market fence. He shuddered. Even the Imperial Guard wouldn't touch the stuff. No sane man would. He'd be lucky if he came out of this with all his appendages intact.

"You understand me, Guardsman?" The lead Praetorian, Tklar'jed, poked Shran with his disruptor rifle.

"Better than you think -" Shran spat an Andorian expletive that was best translated as "dung-heap". The Praetorian growled. He would have liked to obliterate Shran on the spot but too much money was riding on the consignment. He tossed a pouch at Shran's feet. "Here. Half now, the rest upon confirmation of delivery." He smiled crookedly. "As per our....'agreement'..."

Shran bent and retrieved the pouch, his eyes never leaving the Praetorians'. "As per our....'agreement'...", he repeated thickly. He hated the Praetorians, he hated his work, he hated the situation that had gotten him involved in the first place, but most of all, he hated - inexplicably, irrationally - himself. There had been nothing he could have done to make things different, he believed, yet he still felt deep, vicious anger at himself more than anybody or anything. As he trudged away with the lethal shipment and the pouch heavy with bars of latinum, he felt the Praetorians' stares burning into his back. If he had not been married, with a two-year-old daughter, he would have dearly wished for one of the berserkers to put him out of his misery for good...

Aboard the USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-D
Stardate 47457.1

Will Riker was moping like a forlorn child, and Deanna could see it clearly. As a Betazoid counselor, she had honed her natural abilities to focus in on her patients' energies to find exactly what she - and they - needed to know. In Riker's case, however, such abilities were not needed. As a former lover - who was still deeply in love with him - Deanna Troi could read him so well that she often frightened the Enterprise First Officer with her insights. Fortunately, Riker also trusted Troi like he trusted few others. The deep love went in both directions. "Well, Commander," she teased as she sipped her glass of raktajino. "Are you going to tell me what's bothering you, or shall I have Worf challenge you to a bat'leth contest?"

Riker grinned. "You'd better not, Deanna. You know I'll pull rank on him the moment I get into trouble!"

"Which will occur less than thirty seconds after the match begins!" she rejoined. "So....what IS bothering you, Will?"

For once, Riker caught Troi off guard. "Jonathan Archer."

She gaped. "Jonathan Archer?" she repeated. "THE Jonathan Archer?"

"Well, there's only one Jonathan Archer that I know of, Deanna!"

"But he's the foremost captain in the history of StarFleet, and the first President of the Federation! What is bothering you about him?"

"This." Riker pulled a slim volume down from his bookshelf and handed it to her.

"StarFleet's official biography of Archer's career. Hhmmm. I'm glad to see you're expanding your repertoire of reading material."

He ignored the remark. "It's a whitewash, Deanna. A santitized Jonathan Archer, fit only for a gullible public."

The demeanor in his voice caught her attention. "You don't think StarFleet is telling the truth about Archer? That doesn't make sense, Will."

"No, it doesn't. And here's why." He retrieved another volume and handed it to her. It was Archer's memoirs. "From the beginning, Archer referred to himself as an explorer, an adventurer. He craved commanding a starship, traveling to distant worlds, calling it 'exhilarating'. Deanna, I can't see such a man willingly retiring to become a desk jockey! Remember Captain Kirk? He said they practically had to tear the uniform off him before he'd leave the bridge of his ship! And when they did, he violated half a dozen StarFleet regulations to get his ship back!" He slapped the memoirs with the back of his hand. "Kirk always said that Archer was his greatest role model. Yet StarFleet's official biography of Jonathan Archer paints HIM as a man who couldn't wait to get off the NX-01 and head the UFP!" He shook his head. "There's something wrong here, Deanna. Something doesn't fit!"

/You're quite right, Commander/ Daniels thought, observing from behind a screen. He checked his portable time-locater. Frowning, he slid his index finger over the screen, causing the scene before him to fluctuate. Inside the aneurysm now, he could not tell which time-stream he was observing. He stared at what his instrument was now telling him. The adjacent time-streams were, in fact, interacting - exchanging information, blurring. He could no longer tell which was the correct one...

Troi frowned, staring at the two books, one in each hand. "You're right, Will. There IS something wrong here...."

Her voice trailed off as Daniel faded from sight. It was time.....

Inside Shuttlepod 2
Over Rigel X
Earth Date: May 13th, 2160

The inside of the shuttlepod was incredibly confining, and at the moment it was filled to capacity. Mayweather kept as close to Archer in Pod 1 as he dared - the high winds were making the descent incredibly dangerous - but if he held back too far, he'd lose visual contact. And as much as he'd been trained to rely on his instruments in all conditions, Mayweather hated to lose visual contact when he was flying. Another old habit instilled in him by his father....

In the next seat, on the starboard side, Daniels looked across what passed for an aisle at Tucker and T'Pol. They sat as far aft as possible, and were talking quietly. Daniels felt curious. There was no objective reason for him to be here, he believed, yet something had compelled him to take some time away from his investigation of the aneurysm and come here. /Perhaps I'll learn something that might help me/ he thought. He focused his awareness during a break in their small talk, then suddenly T'Pol fixed a far-away looking Tucker with a stare. "Do you ever....miss me?"

Trip turned slightly. "You mean-"

"Yes." Though spoken sotto voce, the single word was like a rifleshot.

Trip paused. "You know how long it's been?"

"That's not what I asked you." A longer rifleshot.

"Well, um, yeah, I guess. Sometimes." Trip's return stare was more a blank face.

"I hadn't thought of those days in a long time."

"Benefit of being a Vulcan." Return volley. With feeling.

T'Pol paused, momentarily uncertain how to proceed. "After talking with Chef, I realized we may never see each other again."

"What're you talking about?"

"We're taking different assignments. There's no way of knowing-"

Trip allowed his rising unease creep into his voice. "There's every way of knowing!"

For one of the very few times in her life, T'Pol was completely unable to speak. She could never admit that the man before her had caught her completely off-guard, but he had instantly seen into her soul the moment she had allowed her feelings to show. And as she stared back at him, she realized that though the physical portion of their intimacy had ended many years before, there might indeed be more left over than she had anticipated...

And Daniels felt the energy shift, and heightened his concentration.....

Trip plunged ahead. "I guarantee you we're not going to lose touch. Stop thinking like that!"

And T'Pol, for one of the even fewer times in her life, spoke without at all considering what she was about to say. "However long it may be....I believe I'm going to miss you..."

And Daniels realized he had found what he had been seeking - without knowing he had been seeking it...

Aboard the Praetorian ship
Earth Date: May 13th, 2160

"You'd better get me more speed, worm," Tklar'jed thundered, "or I'll shove your worthless carcass out the airlock!

His helmsman whirled, his itchy fingers tapping his blaster. "Fornicator! I should shove your ugly snout up your solid-waste port for that!"

"But you won't, p'fsarggot! You don't have the nerve to try it!"

The helmsman roared out of his seat, only to be stunned by a bolt from Tklar'jed's blaster. "Grott! Take his place! And get me more speed! Now!" Tklar'jed kicked the unconscious form at his feet. "Fornicator, eh? Next time you see your mother, krelop, ask her!"

"I have warp 6.85!" Grott called. "I don't think this ship is capable of much more."

For once in his dismal life, Tklar'jed's face hinted at a smile. "Good. Then we're traveling almost twice as fast as ENTERPRISE. Activate the cloak! Archer and Shran will never know what's going to hit them..."

Within the Aneurysm

Daniels checked his time-locator. He was coming up on the breakpoint fast, and he knew he'd have to be prepared. The aneurysm was buckling now, whipping back on itself. He negotiated the slipstream as best he could, but even so, he could only guess at the timing. He studied the murky, flowing region around him in all directions. His trans-dimensional suit began to suffocate him as he realized he might have only one chance to navigate to the crucial point before the aneurysm imploded, with all its fearsome consequences...

There! Directly ahead! Daniels forced himself to concentrate and-

Aboard the USS Enterprise, NX-01
Earth Date: May 13th, 2160

Trip had no idea how Enterprise had been found, or how the Praetorians had gotten aboard. /Where the hell are those damned MACO's/ he swore to himself. /At least Jonathan's alive back there. I hope he forgives me for making them knock him out/ His mind thinking furiously - which one is wont to do when staring down the snouts of several wicked-looking blasters held by beings completely unafraid to use them - Trip led Tklar'jed and his pack down a side corridor.

/The auxiliary comm station! There's still a maintenance order pending! Maybe I can-/. He made eye contact with Tklar'jed, and pointed. "I've got to open this. Is that okay?"

Tklar'jed nodded, brandishing his weapon. "But keep your hands where we can see them!"

"No problem." Trip turned and hit a switch, then pulled off the maintenance panel. He pried a junction cable out of its socket, then pointed to another panel in the ceiling. "Now all I need to do is connect this to the relay inside that panel."

"Stop!" Trip did. Tklar'jed motioned to Grott. "Open it for him!" Then he pointed his blaster at Trip's head and added, "If there's a weapon in there, you're going to die before the Captain!"

Trip froze. And with a moment to breathe, the enormity of what he was about to do hit him, and his knees began to buckle. /What a way to finish things/ he thought. /But at least I'll take these goons along with me/ A fleeting image of T'Pol passed across his mind, and Trip had to swallow hard to hold his composure.

Tklar'jed did not notice. He was staring upwards into the now-opened hatch. He saw only cables and more relays. "Satisfied?" Trip asked laconically.

"Proceed." Tklar'jed rasped. Trip climbed, holding the cable in one hand, and reached up for the relay. "Hurry up! You're running out of time!"

/This is it! One do-it-yourself short circuit and-/ Trip grasped both cable and relay, about to join them. "There's just one more thing I've got to tell you..."

Around a bend, a few yards down the corridor, Archer groaned and started to roll over. "Trip?" he whispered. His mouth was swollen - he could taste blood. Then he saw it - something - off to his left - it-

Tklar'jed saw nothing but Trip, yet he was vaguely aware of SOMETHING...

"YOU CAN ALL GO STRAIGHT TO-"

Before he could finish, Trip saw the shadowy form rushing towards him, yet he knew he'd never be able to stop either his hands or his mouth-

-HELL!"

And cable and relay were slammed together, but even as the current surged through the line, Daniels' projected force-field rocketed in front of Trip, attempting to seal him off from the imminent explosion.

It didn't.

Daniels felt his stomach rip itself apart as he watched the explosion tear through the chamber. Tklar'jed caught the brunt of it, and was burned beyond recognition. The concussion killed Grott and the rest of the Praetorians almost instantly, including the guard Tklar'jed had posted over Archer, who had crept forward to see what was going to happen.

Archer staggered around the bend in the corridor, only to enter a scene ripped from Dante's "Inferno". Burned bodies, and pieces of burned bodies, lay in haphazard fashion among the flaming wreckage. /And this is out here in the corridor! The comm station-/ "Trip!?"

Then he saw him. His engineer had been slammed against a side bulkhead of the chamber proper, which had ruptured in the blast and had crashed down on him. He lay covered in smoldering metal. Archer clambered over the wreckage to get to his friend, furiously throwing white-hot metal aside, not caring about the burns on his hands. "Trip! Trip!" A few more chunks and-

Trip's body was twisted grotesquely, broken, and he wasn't- "No! Breathe, damn you!" Then Archer remembered he'd been wearing his communicator. He fairly ripped it off his uniform. "Phlox!" he roared. "Get your ass down to E deck now! Trip's-!"

* * * * *

They were in Sickbay, about to put Trip into the hyperbaric chamber. Archer and a MACO practically heaved him onto the sliding gurney. "Clear!" Phlox commanded, and sent the engineer into the deep tube. Archer's last view of his severely-burned friend was a weak smile and a feeble thumbs-up sign. Then Phlox sealed the door, and regarded his captain with the most horrified look Archer had ever seen on the Denobulan. There was no hope in the doctor's face.

None at all.....

Daniels watched the proceedings from behind a screen. He waited, his finger on the main control of his wrist device. He did not want to leave Archer just yet, but he knew he had to. The aneurysm was about to rupture, and he had failed to...

He stole a glance at his chronometer, and arched his eyebrows. THAT was impossible! The readout was a full minute PAST the time he had calculated for the rupture! He looked up, startled. T'Pol had just entered Sickbay. He watched as she conferred with Archer and Phlox, then left, hurrying towards her quarters.

Daniels reached out and touched Trip's mind. Yes, there it was. Floating between life and death, Charles Tucker III had somehow become aware of T'Pol's presence in Sickbay. He touched the control and vanished, sliding upwards through the time-stream. It was all up to Tucker now. The battle for life had been joined...

Archer sat next to T'Pol in Trip's quarters. They both had felt they would be closer to him here than anywhere else on the ship. He surveyed the room, drinking in every detail. It was almost more than he could bear. He thought were jumbled, confused. It was difficult to sort things out. "When I took command ten years ago," he rambled, only half-speaking to T'Pol, " I saw myself as an explorer. I thought all the risks would be worth it, because just beyond the next planet, just beyond the next star, there would be something magnificent, something noble." He paused, asking his heart to lead him. "But now my best friend is virtually dead - meaninglessly - and I have to give a speech saying how worthwhile it's all been."

T'Pol looked at him. Outwardly she had regained her composure, but she felt inner turmoil like she had never experienced. /How can humans possibly live with these feelings/ Not for the first time, she breathed a silent prayer to Surak's katra. Only his philosophy was going to get her through this. She regarded Archer thoughtfully. "Trip would be the first to say it was all worthwhile."

Archer nodded, feeling the logjam in his throat. There seemed very little in his life now that carried any real meaning for him...

Aboard the USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-D
StarDate 47457.15

"Will, I think you should go back to the holodeck."

"Why? I've already decided to speak to Captain Picard about the Pegasus..."

"I know, but I still sense some uneasiness in you. Finish the program. There's something else you need to see."

"Like-?"

Deanna took a breath. "Captain Archer's speech at the signing of the Alliance Charter. How he managed to get through it while his best friend lay dying in Sickbay."

Riker nodded. "It must have been extraordinarily difficult for him, not knowing the outcome."

"It was. And he refused both Phlox' offer of emotion-suppressing drugs, and T'Pol's neuro-pressure treatments. No one knows how he got through the speech. Even he didn't know."

Riker visibly relaxed. "By all accounts, Jonathan Archer was quite a man, Deanna!"

She smiled and took his hand. "To the holo-suite, Commander. One last time!"

The doors of her quarters swished open, and Riker, ever the gallant gentleman, indicated that she should exit first. "To the holo-suite, Counselor!" With a light-hearted gait, the pair made their way to the turbo-lift.

And the Daniels saw it. And promptly smiled....

"Computer!" Riker called. "Begin program at this time-index." He touched the controls and the panorama of StarFleet's Main Auditorium in the year 2160 appeared before them in all its resplendence, its great crimson Aldebaaran carpet, specially prepared for the occasion, dominating the scene. Riker and Diana then passed under the arch and-

They never heard the hum, as Daniels had ensured that the frequency was well beyond the range of even a Betazoid's capacity to hear it-

-and stood behind a low barrier in the uppermost balcony section. As Riker surveyed the audience - which had risen to its feet to greet Jonathan Archer's entrance with earnest applause - he noted that the holo-program had replicated the moment in time to stunning perfection. Beside him, Deanna seemed ready to burst with child-like glee. /I don't think I've ever seen such precision in a holo-program before/ Riker thought. He made a mental note to check with Data and Reg Barclay to see if they had been tinkering with the holo-replicators' matrix again......

"I had to memorize this speech in grammar school," the counselor gushed. "You wish you could tell them that this Alliance will give birth to the Federation."

Riker turned to her. "I think I'm ready to-" he began, then stopped. He blinked, then stared, then finally decided it was gas or something. Fortunately, Deanna didn't seem to notice anything amiss. "Ready?" he said.

"Ready? For what?"

"To see how much of your memory of this speech remains intact!"

She looked at him strangely, and put her hands on her hips, tilting her head. "William T. Riker! I will bet you two month's pay that I've FORGOTTEN more of this speech than YOU'VE remembered!"

Riker chuckled. Of all the things he loved about Deanna Troi, her reactions to his 'challenges' remained among his favorites. "You're on, Counselor!"

In StarFleet's Main Auditorium
EarthDate: May 16th, 2150

Archer paused and measured his audience. Even though he had been at the podium for nearly an hour, the eyes and sensors of some of the most important individuals in the galaxy were totally focused on him, in rapt anticipation of his next words. "For the people of Earth, deep space travel is a relatively new phenomenon, and one I personally wouldn't trade for anything. For a time, I wasn't really sure if it was all worthwhile. But it is - every second of it, every parsec and light-year traveled." He paused as the audience rewarded him with another burst of applause. "I'm sure many of you have heard the rumors - that I'm to be promoted to Commanding Admiral of StarFleet in the not-too-distant future." He hated the idea, and sucked in his breath before continuing. "And for a Captain of a starship, I can't think of anything worse that being shoved behind a damned desk." A few nervous chuckles floated through the hall. Suddenly, Archer's features hardened, and he strained to keep any edginess out of his face. His voice, however, remained calm, though it rose in intensity. "So to all you present and future starship Captains out there - human or not - in this hall or not - let me give you a bit of unsolicited advice..." The fire in Archer's eyes was unmistakable. "Fight any transfer, fight any promotion, fight anything and everything that threatens to take you off the bridge of your ship. Because while you're there, believe me, you can make a difference!" Pause. "I've been damned lucky to be in a position to make a difference, on numerous occasions, and people have told me that this fledgling Alliance is the result of..." Archer was stunned as the entire audience swiftly rose to its feet as a virtual tidal wave of applause thundered through the room. It went on for a long time. He stared down at the podium until it subsided. "Thank you. Forgive me, I'm really bad at accepting compliments but......that means more to me than you can imagine." As his eyes swept the auditorium, they somehow found Erika Hernandez, the captain of the NX-02. She gazed up at him, her face radiant as the audience resumed its applause. Archer smiled back, completely oblivious to how deep her feelings for him ran....

As Archer concluded his speech to a deafening standing ovation, the Ordinator appeared behind Daniels, who was observing Riker and Troi from a discrete distance. He strode over to his agent, and surreptitiously laid a hand on his shoulder. "Congratulations, Mr. Daniels - you figured it out after all."

Daniels whirled, stunned. "Ordinator! I-I what? Figured it out?"

The Ordinator beamed. "Oh, yes, Mr. Daniels. This was your final examination! Surely you didn't think this 'aneurysm' caught ME by surprise, did you?" He winked. "You've succeeded admirably, and might one day even be considered to replace me."

Daniels gaped, stunned as an inner veil parted in his mind. "You....CREATED the aneurysm, didn't you?" The words were less a question than an accusation.

"Well, of course I did! What sort of 'final exam' would it have been without a major problem to solve?" The Ordinator's eyes twinkled with unrestrained merriment. "Besides, who do you think proposed the idea of a time-aneurysm to Dr. Stanislav in the first place, eh?"

Still beaming, the Ordinator turned and vanished before anyone spotted him.

Daniels stared after him, not quite certain what to make of the Ordinator's pronouncement. It was a lot for him to swallow, and he ruefully admitted to himself that it would take much time to digest....

"Feeling better, Commander," the Betazoid counselor asked, "now that you've heard Archer's speech?'

Riker paused to consider, then nodded. "I think so Deanna. I certainly understand him a lot better. Thanks for suggesting the holo-program. It certainly brought the man to life." He looked down as Archer stepped away from the podium and began the long, slow walk back up the carpet. "And throughout that entire speech, with all the pressure he was under, he held himself together. Amazing."

She smiled warmly at him and touched his sleeve. "I thought you'd like it. Tea?"

Riker's grin had always delighted her, and the one working into his features was no exception. "I'd love some!"

Instantly, Daniels twitched his left index finger, bringing them back to the holosuite of the Enterprise-D. "Computer!" Riker called, not noticing the difference. "End program!" Still behind them, Daniels watched them exit through the holosuite's arch, then twitched his finger again to return home.

But the yellow box-lines before his eyes did not dissolve into his 31st Century home. Instead, Daniel's inner mind caught a brief glimpse of a chuckling Ordinator, and then Daniels found himself in the lounge behind the stairway below the red-carpeted ramp of the assembly hall he had but recently left. Archer had come down, and was just ushering out the lieutenant of security, having asked for a few moments to collect his thoughts before his appearance at the inevitable press conference. He stood opposite the stairs, staring out one of the small, circular windows at the San Francisco landscape, then walked stiffly over to the couch and sank heavily into its cushions. For several minutes, he just sat - neither able nor even wanting to move. Then, by some inner trigger, he turned and saw the time-agent. And his reaction was the last thing that Daniels had ever expected. Archer threw back his head and laughed. "You son-of-a-bitch! You weren't gonna miss this for anything, were you!"

Daniels walked over to him, his face a mask of confusion. "Do you really think I came here to gloat, Jonathan? I would much rather congratulate you!"

"Oh come on, Daniels! Don't try to tell me this was my 'destiny' - that I was somehow meant to be here! You really think I WANT to be here?"

Daniels stared at the floor, knowing what the man before him would one day write in his memoirs - in about 35 years. "No, I know you don't. But I wouldn't say that you'd be entirely comfortable walking away from anything you perceived as your duty." Before Archer could respond, Daniels continued. "Yes, it's true I was pushing you in this direction, but remember, I was pushing you towards what I knew to be the correct timeline, and your role in it. And more than once, you nearly screwed it all up by disregarding me!" And as a wry smile broke out across Archer's face, Daniels administered the coup de gr�ce. "So you see, my friend, you got here in spite of both of us. What does that suggest to you?"

Archer chuckled and shook his head. "That I was meant to be here after all."

"At last you begin to understand, Jonathan. I salute you."

Archer gazed deep into Daniels' eyes, knowing he would never completely understand the enigmatic being before him. Then he stood and offered his hand, and Daniels took it, clasping it firmly. "Thanks, Daniels, for everything." Archer whispered. "I can't say I'll ever figure you out, but I'm damned sure I'll never forget you." Pause. "I'll try not to screw this one up." And he covered their still-joined right hands with his left. And Daniels was stupefied to see Archer's own eyes begin to mist over. "Any time, Jonathan," he answered. "Any time." He stopped. "I have to go," he blurted abruptly. "You're about to have....company." Unsure of what to say, and with myriad emotions ripping through him, Daniels twitched his finger and vanished....

And as Archer turned towards the now-opening door, he saw a beaming Phlox guiding in a computerized wheelchair, escorted by a serene-looking T'Pol. Archer's features visibly softened as a heavily-bandaged Trip Tucker forced his facial muscles to smile. But to Archer, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "Trip! I-I cant-"

Even half-alive, Trip's warp-powered smile lit up the room. "Summa-ma-bitch, Cap'n! You think I was gonna miss this? Hell, no! WHAT have I been telling you the last coupla weeks? Ain't gonna let nothing or nobody stop you from giving that speech!"

Archer wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He wound up doing both. "And you practically killed yourself to make your point, damn you!" But as he bent down to hug his dearest friend, Phlox intervened. "Try to restrain yourself, Captain. Commander Tucker is still very weak."

"Besides," T'Pol added, "he insisted on delivering a present."

Archer was taken aback. "A present? You-"

Tucker reached inside his robe. "There's one other member of the crew that wanted to be here, Cap'n, and I promised him he would." And with a flourish worthy of Houdini, Tucker produced...

"Porthos!" Archer laughed. "Damn, have I missed you! C'mere, boy!" And he laughed heartily as he picked up his pet beagle, which promptly nipped and licked his nose.

"Captain, you will recall that a few years ago, the crew voted unanimously to make Porthos an official member of the crew?" Phlox asked.

Archer grinned. "Yeah, with Trip insisting on the rank of 'Crewdog'!"

"Well, the crew circulated a petition among themselves in the last few weeks, and has asked me to present it to you." Phlox produced a PADD and handed it to his captain.

Cradling his pet in his left arm, Archer flipped through the PADD's contents. His eyes moistened again. Then he grinned hugely, and regarded his shipmates. "Please inform the crew that I would be honored that my last official act as the captain of the ENTERPRISE will be to promote Crewdog Porthos to the rank of Ensign!" Trip beamed, and reached up to scratch Porthos behind an ear. Phlox' distinctive Denobulan grin threatened, literally, to split his face in half. Even T'Pol did not wear her usual bemused expression, but just what she was thinking or feeling at that moment, no one ever knew.

The lieutenant of security appeared. "Excuse me, everyone, but they're clamoring for the Captain downstairs."

Archer kissed Porthos on the forehead and placed him in Tucker's waiting arms. "Trip, I ju-"

The engineer shook his head. "Go on, Cap'n. You're the hero of the day. I'll be okay."

Archer touched Trip's shoulder, and he looked at his three friends for a brief moment, then hastened to follow the lieutenant. But as he passed Phlox, their eyes met. The doctor nodded. "He's going to be all right, Captain, but his recovery will take quite a long time. Don't worry. I'll take good care of him."

"Thank you, Doctor. Again." And then Archer was gone, into the swirl of security agents who would escort him to the press conference. Trip gazed after his friend long after he'd vanished from view, then turned to Porthos. "What do you think, pal? Time to find something to eat?"

As Porthos' wagging tail went into hyperdrive, Phlox and T'Pol simultaneously cried, "No cheese!"

From the Memoirs of Jonathan Archer:

The day I accepted the job as first President of the Federation - Phlox, with his ever-present wry sense of humor, noted that I'd been "roped into it" - has been considered by many as the highlight of my career. I'd prefer to say that the highlight of my career was the day ENTERPRISE was launched - crisp, pristine, intact, with a green crew and an all-too-raw captain at the helm. And with my best friend - Charles Tucker III - as Chief Engineer. But too few know that when I delivered the speech that launched the Alliance that eventually led to the Federation, my guts were threatening to launch themselves through my teeth. Trip - my best friend, my buddy through all those "best and worst of times" - was, as far as I knew, still locked in the hyperbaric chamber in Phlox' Sickbay, and neither the doctor, nor anyone else, knew if he would recover or not. I had to deliver that damned speech believing that my best friend was, for all intents and purposes, dead - and yet there was no word from Phlox one way or another. The agony of NOT knowing, I discovered, was actually far worse than the pain I would have felt had Trip, in fact, died. At least, I would have had closure.

I'd never been one to believe in life after death or reincarnation, as so many do nowadays. I've never been sure about such metaphysical musings. But after ten years of commanding the ENTERPRISE, a lot of perspectives changed. It's actually comforting to feel that, had Trip died then, he might well have observed my speech - the speech he fought so damned hard to ensure that I would be alive to give - from some alternate level of existence, or consciousness.

And to think that I kidded him during his recovery about flagging his record with a reprimand for disobeying orders, and unnecessarily risking the ship! "A starship Captain is responsible for the actions of the crew under his command." They drummed that dictum into our heads from the first day of command school. I told him I wanted no part of being responsible for what he had done that day. We both laughed long and hard over that, but he understood that I had wished there had been a better way - so had he. But no one can answer those questions now. We will never know.

And I, for one, am damned happy that we won't!"

* * * * *

Daniels closed the volume and slipped it back into its sleeve in time-space, idly wondering if Archer liked cheese with his eggs...