1Archer was certain he'd never seen an odder looking creature, yet he fought that thought back. This alien was surely sentient, and humanity's ticket out of how it had been held back by its own fears and prejudices. He studied the ornate knife that had been taken off of the wounded alien when the farmers had shot the weapon out of his hand.
"Okay. So you're a warrior. A warrior species, maybe?"
The female Vulcan who entered the room heard this query.
"Indeed. His is a warrior race. Strange, but honorable. They find our own philosophies to be a cipher, but do not attack what they concede functions well for us. As your father was fond of saying, opposites attract, as like repels."
Jonathan caught her drift.
"Another warrior species? The ones that wounded him?"
Ambassador T'Pau, cutting an even slighter figure than normal in her layered robes, nodded.
"His is a race that boasts of the blood it has spilled after it has spilt it. Tellingly, the race that did this boasts of the blood it will spill before it spills it. Despite their enmity, the Tellarites and the Andorians--for such is our guest---are compared by some to the feuding brothers of Vulcan's legend, Surak Who Stayed and S'task Who Departed."
Jonathan tried to recall a name he'd been taught.
"Rihannsi. You called those that departed the Rihannsi. Are they real?"
The older, but not yet older looking woman shrugged, albeit in a very Vulcan way.
"Who can say? We have searched, of course. Since true contact between our peoples a century back, the improvements in overall warp efficiency have accelerated that search, as the exchange of ideas pushed each race.. forgive me, species...further. How fast is this new Icarus-Class?"
Archer appreciated the correction. While in Vulcan phraseology, 'race' meant the exact same thing as 'species', it obviously had negative connotations for Terrans.
"It can reach Warp 4.5. It could withstand a direct hit from a Green-Class ICBM, circa 2080. Since the UT is still just a pipe dream, Space Fleet Central has provided us with Sato Hoshi, who's trained in languages and dialects on both worlds. Our engineer claims the matter disruptor can now be used to actually transport simple supplies like water and air. But it still lacks what I believe would be an important asset, Ambassador. Especially in a potential war zone."
In this instance, she caught his drift.
"It is as I told your father, Jonathan. Our peoples are not yet ready to serve together. Our apartness must needs stand. For all that our human admirers see, we of Vulcan walk a tightrope. I live in mortal fear of what would happen to all of us should we lose our footing. I have personally vowed that as Sra Sra, no human should ever witness what happens in those instances our control fails. The embarrassment would be too great. You are human, We are Vulcan. Even Infinite Diversity may only function if in fact we are diverse. The wild animal passions you have learned to live beside we must put aside. There is no other way."
Archer was about to dispute her on any number of points, when he recalled something she had said offhandedly.
"Sra Sra? Then--your mother has passed?"
Her eyes closed, then opened once more.
"The tears that are not seen do not diminish us, yet still they are wept. So you see, you humans must travel this path alone, for a time. I am the only Vulcan capable of this journey, and I am now to become as Vulcan itself incarnate. I will assume the high speech, and fast until I am more prune than woman. You, like your father before you, are the only human capable of doing this."
Archer shook his head.
"There are lots of capable humans."
The Ambassador looked as serious as she ever had.
"Not for this. Perhaps we Vulcans pushed too hard for you to leave your nest of a solar system, and yet it must occur. Beware your species tendency to reach back womb-ward, Jonathan. Before my friendship with your father, I held all humans in utter disdain. I yet still hold such an opinion for most. I fear the interaction of our two species worst aspects, and that has never changed."
Archer almost gulped. The aunt-like woman who seemed to embody gentleness and politeness had almost verbally slapped him about. Just as suddenly, though, the aunt peeked back.
"Skonn has requested that you attend his bonding ceremony, after the private rituals are done with."
Jonathan smiled.
"Now I know for certain the universe is changing. Your son is the closest thing to a confirmed bachelor Vulcan ever had."
--------------------
Doctor Phlox had the Andorian secured at the crux of his major muscle groups while Hoshi labored with a PDA to break through a thick language even Vulcans had abandoned in favor of Text-Voders. Tucker shook his head as he watched the scene.
"Cap'n--why don't we just leave this one to the Vulcans? They know his people. They know the space we're heading into. Why knowingly walk into what could be a war zone?"
Tucker was a born spaceman, and yet all had heard these arguments so often, both inside and outside of Space Fleet Central, some of it had to seep in. So the captain fought extra hard to insulate them all. Archer stared out the port at Saturn as the seven-week journey began in earnest.
"This is our journey, Trip. Ours."
------------------------
2
While the descent continued outside, Hoshi rubbed her head after her latest attempt to communicate with the wounded Andorian.
"He says that the children of Andor will gratefully welcome his safe return. He then says that the children of Andor will deliver up a great fury when he is brought back, and seek undying vengeance for this same reason."
Archer frowned. The sessions had pretty much gone in this way. Reed, there to report on the reatmosphering process, suddenly snapped his fingers.
"Roses."
Hoshi shook her head.
"Chocolates. Only thing for a migraine."
"No. Roses. The War Of The Roses, in ancient Britain. Wouldn't both the Houses of Lancaster and York have called themselves English subjects? I'll lay odds he's talking about rival clans."
Hoshi hardly minded the intrusion on what was widely known as the most thankless job in Space Fleet Central.
"He did use a slightly different inflection each time he recounted his people's potential reaction. But he's so tired, I just took it for his voice breaking."
Another tired person with a breaking voice then turned in, her efforts having another two weeks to yield the necessary results. Archer and Reed returned to the Bridge of the arrow-shaped box of a ship.
"Ever hear of The SS Valiant, Mister Reed?"
"No, sir. My job is hard enough, getting the current ships not to leak, implode, or scatter us like organic paint on the wall when the local inertial dampeners aren't in sync with the ship-wide ones. History is something I try to avoid making, for the most part."
Archer watched as the alloy hoses withdrew, their work of drawing in precious oxygen and moisture done. The exchange took only twelve hours aboard an advanced ship like Enterprise. Still, Tucker had made it clear that CO and CO² levels had gone beyond the level of the on-board foliage's ability to supplement the filtration system. A week more without sighting a like planet was doable, but dangerous.
"The S.S. Valiant was one of those anxiously-built post-Contact Kronos-Class way-openers. One day, it reported a routine oxygen/hydro exchange above a planet just like this one, about ninety years ago. That was its next-to-last report. Its last report was of a nova none of our geniuses had predicted, and that it had opened a time-warp doorway to the nearest of the galactic edge systems."
Reed was even more mindful of the hoses than was his CO.
"I don't follow you, sir."
Archer turned and looked at him as final ascent began, the heat shear being used to boil the gathered moisture down.
"They went from a week's worth of simple reatmosphering to becoming an urban legend of space in one bold stroke, Malcolm. So maybe history can't be so easily avoided."
"One would hope you're wrong, sir."
----------------------------------------
3
The air, but not much else, shook as the enemy missile had about as much success as the previous volley had. But Tucker was not given to celebrating, just yet.
"People, I have just used up every trick I had left to avoid that torpedo. Now, the Vulcan database is just chock-full of suggestions, but most of those involve calling for back-up we do not have access to. I may not be a Vulcan, but right now I'm all ears."
Reed closed his eyes.
"This is like a child's board game. We're each guessing where the other is, firing in a hopeful pattern. Only it won't require multiple hits to score a victory."
Having quickly given up on trying to contact and talk down the attacker, Hoshi added in.
"And we're not made of plastic, and we can't cheat by looking over at the other side."
She was right, and Tucker knew it. Viewscreens and long-range sensors were useless this deep out, as dueling EM patterns conspired to throw off all efforts to ID another ship. So it was time to check on the situation he could affect.
"Tucker to Sick Bay. Doctor, how is the Captain holding up?"
In Sickbay, Phlox stared over at the unconscious Jonathan Archer. When the first missile came, its near-impact had combined with a sudden negation in gravity to knock the showering CO for a hard loop.
"The impact was telling, Commander. But while no permanent damage was done, I want him here for now."
Tucker nodded at a man who could not see him.
"But only for now, Doctor."
He saw Reed inputting some calculations.
"Something to make our missiles more accurate, Mister Reed?"
Reed shook his head as he pressed a few buttons, leading to an energy discharge outside the ship.
"More like something to make their missiles largely less so, Commander."
An explosion was felt, but it was so large and final in nature that the fact they were all still breathing air meant it had been from the other ship. Tucker saw the calculations as he checked Reed's station.
"A general EM Pulse. Kept the enemy torpedoes in their bays--permanently. Suppose we'd been auto-launching, when you did this?"
"Not a chance, Commander. For you see--we're out of missiles."
A welcome voice joined in as the Bridge doors opened and then resealed.
"Then that was superior thinking, Mister Reed. Have we scanned the debris, just yet?"
Until the rumored sensor filter finally emerged, each station had a secondary sensor scanner, on the old theory about the value of several sets of eyes. Hoshi answered Archer.
"I've got what's either an escape pod or a space-stasis coffin, Captain. What's inside is vague, except for not being human."
Tucker saw Archer grabbing the rail a bit, and felt compelled to speak.
"Should you be here, Captain? Cause' Doctor Phlox surely did not think so."
Slowly but surely, Jonathan found his chair.
"Consider yourself fortunate, Trip. I'm inaugurating a new tradition. In it, sometimes Captains have to ignore their Doctors' concerns. Now, let's get that debris in here. I want to know the five W's and H, and maybe exchange four-letter words with a new species."
--------------------------------------------------------
In Sickbay after the recovery of the debris, Phlox opened the stasis pod. The hominid-type had porcine features and appendages, as well as rings of fur. As Archer returned for some medical attention and to hear the report on the new alien, Phlox made an educated guess.
"I'd say that this man is one of those Tellarites that Ambassador T'Pau mentioned. I'd also wager that somehow they knew of our other guest..."
As he had five times before, the Andorian rose, this time with scalpel in hand, screaming as he ran towards his mortal enemy.
"Erfpdie Teeelloriu Blioan!!!"
A very fed-up Archer pushed back the attacker's scalpel-wielding arm and then punched him square in the nose at point-blank range. The Andorian fell back, and unconscious back into his own bed. Archer rubbed his hand, but held his grimace with resolve.
"You really had that coming."
----------------------------------
4
Tucker and Reed finished cycling the last of the bodies through the matter disruptor. A task that left not a trace of residue was yet the very grisliest task of all. Wasted potential could not be wiped off the walls. The living smell of once-bustling corridors kept on despite oxified bleaches and creams and molecular perfumes.
"This could have been our ship. I mean, this could really easily have been our ship."
Reed closed his eyes. What had happened here was easily recognized. It was easily made to vanish. It could not be forgotten, though, and forgiven would require a lot from even the most understanding human.
"Skonn, the Vulcan instructor who taught me how to use this--thing--said that, historically, it has always been easier to destroy than to create. I wonder what he would have said about this."
Tucker was fighting down pure rage.
"I'd say that it proves his point pretty damned well."
With contracts checked and liens processed revealing no claimants, the two began the even grislier process of stripping the traders' ship of its useable parts.
Aboard Enterprise, the sole survivor of the massacre was shown the Andorian and the Tellarite via a remote camera. He nodded.
"It was them. Their messages came through the text-reader. Blocky stuff, but we knew sure that they meant business. Each side demanding to know what side we were on. Neither side believing we were neutral. Both sides using their matter disruptors to send living men through our hull, and each losing half as they did this. Everyone was killed in a crossfire. The dead fell on me like corkwood. Like human shields."
Archer punched his fist against the wall.
"And you say this has happened before? To other trading ships? Why in hell didn't you people report this?"
His anger and rage long past spent, the grieving young man gave the only answer he had.
"Captain, when the first trading ships went out past the Neptune/Pluto border, it was considered worth the risk because our people would soon be joining us. The lawless West quickly loses its romantic feelings out here. Well, we've been waiting for generations, and the people of Earth are still keeping to the homeworld. They thank us for the exotic things we bring--and they also pass laws that make it difficult to exit this life, in the long-run. We woke up, Captain. We learned to stop depending on you. Now with my father's ship gone, I'd like passage back to Earth. And if Customs even mentions the Return Penalty, I'll let this dirty little secret become a very open subject."
Archer calmed down, and thought. An idea came to him.
"I want you to do just that. Make the folks back home brutally aware. Aware of what's out here, and aware of why we need greater numbers. How would you like to do all that, as a part of my crew?"
The former trader nodded.
"Shake things up? I think I'd like that very much, Captain. But I'm a helmsman, and I encountered your helmsman in Sickbay."
Archer frowned.
"You mean you encountered your predecessor. I need to make a call. Then follow me to the Bridge."
Through the comm-system, Hoshi was contacted, then she in turn contacted Tucker and Reed. When the connection was made, the two officers were incredulous.
"Rip out the traders' whole main computer? Sir, its light enough. But getting it disconnected is going to be a bear."
"Thought you were descended from Davy Crockett, Trip. Kill that bar and get its carcass over here. Cause' we're heading for the Alamo."
Back on the traders' ship, Reed asked a question.
"Sir, I only know a little history from the colonies. But couldn't you choose a better analogy?"
Tucker agreed.
"Hell, I'll even take Appamattox over that one."
Whatever Archer's reasons for wanting the device, he and the young trader left for the Bridge. The shifting stairwells performed as well as they were supposed to, and in a minute they had reached a point twenty-seven meters above and to the right of their previous position. Jonathan looked at his helmsman, and smiled.
"Mister Berling, you are relieved of duty. Permanently."
The former (by state request) New Jersey resident laughed his annoying little laugh.
Hofstrom R. Berling was the worst sort of person to have in tight quarters. A combination of dire need, connections, deceptions and plain dumb luck had placed him around the neck of Jonathan Archer. Whatever his true qualifications, he seemed mostly a con artist at heart.
"Captain! Now, I had thought that we agreed on all that business. Your minor little injury was wholly unavoidable."
Archer shook his head.
"You agreed. And its not about my injury. During that first wave of missiles, you ignored no less than seven vital protocols, among them, not keeping a direct watch on your post and not taking evasive action immediately, because you labeled the missiles as 'space turbulence'. You endangered the ship that has been placed in my trust. So in turn, Mister Hof Berling, you no longer have my trust. Report to your berth and await reassignment. Now!"
Berling got up and walked off in a huff.
"The day will come when I can buy and sell this ship. All I'll need is the right opportunity--sir."
As Archer watched the big-talker stalk off, his chosen replacement familiarized himself.
"Its a go, Captain. If I could coax life out of that hearty old Caspian-class, then this Icarus-class should be no trouble at all."
Tucker and Reed came in an hour ahead of schedule, but Jonathan was coming to expect that. He gestured at them and Hoshi.
"Your thankless jobs are about to become twice so. But we need what I have specified in this work-up. We do not have a Universal Translator. But this little gagdet just might do the trick in getting around that."
Which each correctly took to mean that the mission now had new
meters. Archer let that sink in, and then pointed at the newest member of their circle.
"Mister Berling is gone, as I promised I would do the first chance I got. I don't think any of you had a chance to actually meet our surviving trader. He needs a chance to grieve, and he wants to do it by helping to end this conflict we've stepped in the middle of. Ensign--please make the rounds."
The helmsman rose and shook each of their hands.
"Travis Mayweather--at your service."
-----------------------------------
5
Archer shook his head at Hoshi's pronouncement.
"How off could the translations be? The text-voder is based on Vulcan technologies that all three species have access to, and according to our guests, use as often as we do."
Hoshi was pressed as to how to explain this, so she used an example.
"Voder--translate the English word, 'decide' from the standard, through Andorian, and then back to English."
In fifteen seconds, the word was done with. Just not how Archer ever imagined.
"CutChopKillSever."
Archer stared at the jury-rigged device.
"How could it be so wrong?"
Hoshi smiled. Languages were her secret language, after all.
"It isn't. The voder locked onto the Latin roots of the word. 'Decision' and 'choice' both come from other words for 'chop'. 'Option' works better--mostly."
Hoping to have better luck in the weapons department, Archer moved onto Reed.
"You have got to be kidding me!"
Malcolm handed the modified entry-makers to his Captain.
"They deliver small explosive charges to sealed doorways from a distance. They have now been made, via the same projector beam, to produce stunning, sophisticated charges that do much the same thing. To enter the subject without collapsing the structure. In this case, the body is unharmed, while also rendering its occupant harmless."
The things could miss. The things could misfire. The things could deliver too much charge, or too little. They could be useless, or far worse than useless.
"Do we have anything else?"
Reed shrugged.
"If you want, I can always set up a Bell-Riot Era encircling foam gun. But I had thought our aim was to move away from such barbaric tactics."
If Hoshi was doubtful and Reed sarcastic, Doctor Phlox was as near to contemptuous as someone of his manners and demeanor could allow.
"Humans have many admirable qualities, Captain. For example, with the exception of some isolationist bumps, you are born explorers of the unknown. But when it comes to your own health, you are notably somewhat ignorant. The RNA-DNA resequencing you ask for can be used any number of times. And any one of those times can result in cellular collapse. When, not if, Captain."
Jonathan's eyes then took on another mixed quality of human behavior : Steely determination.
"If it will work, Doctor, then I have no choice. But will it? Will it keep me intact during the process?"
Phlox sighed.
"I am going to destroy my notes on this. I am going to remove all evidence from your body on how this was accomplished. If asked to do it again, I will resign, and make certain my successor can't do it, either."
Archer knew what this meant, and smiled.
"Good to have you aboard, Doctor."
Tucker was Tucker, and he could not be anything or anyone else.
"Begging the Captain's pardon, but this is the dumbest idea I have ever heard. The two sides are gonna meet aboard this one ship to formalize the war?"
Archer kept on suiting up. It was all coming, soon.
"War formalities are not unheard of, Trip. Didn't you tell me that Lee and Grant, when all was done, sat and chatted about that era's war in Mexico?"
Tucker nodded.
"They sure did. And days later--a great leader lost his life. Follow me?"
Archer activated the last of Dr. Phlox's patches.
"If I recall correctly, that man died for the causes he believed in. Trip, we either have to end this war, or let these folks know that we want nothing to do with their conflict. The isolationists back home aren't large in number, but they are loud. An alien war out here that doesn't ask about innocents is going to be their best ally, if we don't do something."
Tucker reluctantly led Archer up to the matter disruptor pad, the Captain's conductive white jumpsuit showing through beneath his basic shirt and pants.
"Remember--Hoshi's gonna need a moment to get the advanced voder working, and that's if you get through. We're firing your atoms into a secured room with
noid aliens, Captain. And there's no pulling you back. They kill you, or take you prisoner, the only way out, alive or dead, is for us to take you out is with their permission, through the front docking bay."
"Anything else, Trip?"
"Yeah. This is gonna hurt."
And a beam meant for clearing debris and that had never transported anything more complex than coffee began work that would somehow never quite become foolproof, despite the passing of centuries.
Centuries are what Jonathan Archer began to experience. Centuries of pain. Howling, nerve-ripping pain. He began to scream, and when he stopped screaming, he stood atop--not inside of--a table, in a room of Tellarites and Andorians, where he was the only one wielding any weapons at all. Feeling the voder-link shake, the first Human ever to successfully use a matter transport program tested what his crew had given him. In a tinny, dry computer-voice, he made his intentions clear.
"I'm Jonathan Archer. I'm here to stop your war."
-----------------------------
6
Captain Archer began to charge the weapon he held. He pointed it at the lead Andorian representative.
"No. Not a great idea. Getting up, I mean. I know what your people can do, with just a little room to maneuver. So sit down."
By keeping his words simple, Archer kept the text-voder nearly in sync with his own voice. But the aliens were very much his equal, as the lead Tellarite now proved, by shouting in the voder's input.
"This is wholly unacceptable!"
Archer nodded.
"I couldn't agree more."
The Tellarite seemed to wince.
"You're not supposed to agree with me."
The Andorian leader, whose name was likely translated as Ango, sneered as he spoke. His words were more complex, and took greater time for the voder to make sense of. They would also have the greatest impact on Archer's mission.
"You act with hints of civilization for one of (Those That Strike And Strike Only ). If you have us, why not kill us? It is your way, that we have seen."
Perhaps not to be outdone, the Tellarite who might have been called Gavra now spoke again.
"For almost ( multiple ten-year increment) you (Those That Strike And Strike Only) have come at us, with no stop. You have forced us two to war, for fear that one will ally with you over the other. Ango's clan and mine have a blood-feud that may now never be settled, as a result. An insult to all our ancestors!"
Archer's head began to piece together a very unforgiving puzzle. He knew that outside of small groupings of traders, who never went heavily armed so as to keep cargo room free, humans simply had not been a presence in space. Certainly not this far out.
"There's someone out here who looks like us."
----------------------------------------
Aboard Enterprise, Tucker had a very mixed bag of luck. Reed worked the pre-set voder while Hoshi gargled with a hideous-smelling salve for her strained throat. The Phlox-crafted remedy would be a few minutes in doing its job.
"Now, Malcolm, let me see if I have this straight. The Tellarites understand why we blew up their ship, but both sides hate us because of what the Captain did?"
Reed re-checked the printed text, as far out of his depth as he cared to be.
"They say that the ship and its crew fell in fair combat. Fortunes of space. But war pretion rituals are as close to sacred as a secular event gets for them. Interfering with such demands retions beyond imagining."
A price Tucker was pointedly not willing to pay.
"I take it the Captain still has their war leaders?"
Reed stared at the screen and gulped, so Hoshi held up two fingers and nodded rapidly. Tucker knew he had to get Archer out, but no matter disruptor he knew of yet had a receive function that could keep a sentient intact. It was the front door, or nothing.
"We want our leader out, they want their leaders freed. So both sides have a very similar agenda. Kind of like--strip poker."
Despite centuries of change and a trust of her crewmates, Hoshi gulped and spoke at that reference.
"Forget it. For one thing, I wouldn't even know how to start to translate it."
Tucker shook an opened palm in the air.
"That's a cadet game, Hoshi--for those that still need em'. No, I was just talking about how, when I played that game, the guys and gals would both cheat like crazy--to lose fast. In real poker, the point is to play long and walk away with as much money as possible. But in strip poker, that's about hormones and getting down to business. So while staying in uniform, I'm gonna fold our hand."
Hoshi sat back down at her station. Trip walked over to Mayweather.
"Travis, if I tell you to guide us into docking with their ship, can you be ready for any quick revenge they might dream up?"
Ensign Mayweather smiled.
"Docking is kind of like what follows strip poker, Commander. Its very easy to do wrong if you just know how. I'll keep us out if you say that's a good idea."
Tucker then did the most difficult thing possible.
"Hoshi, get back on the horn and tell them we'll guarantee the lives of their leaders with our own lives--and the Enterprise itself. Time to get -vulnerable-, get in position and then get down to business."
-----------------------------------------
Inside, three leaders were coming to terms.
"You? You are the Humans (Overt Ones) the Vulcans (Sealed Ones) mentioned? Bah! They never speak enough, until you wish them to cease speaking."
In a pattern that was becoming ever clearer to Archer, the Tellarite disagreed.
"No! We should have enquired further. The (Sealed Ones) yield up nothing without multiple queries. Any fool knows that."
Archer fought off the urge to shake his head. Innocent dead abounded because of a common foe unrecognized, information that was available but not used, and plain, simple, unthinking fear. The heavens, it seemed, yet contained much of Earth. Needing to undo his own error, he gambled his very life in the cause of long-term peace.
"You good people have my apologies, and my weapons. I ask only that my crew be allowed to leave unharmed. I alone will answer for what I've done."
Pushing his weapons well away, Archer got the surprise of his life. Gavra pointed, and slammed his beefy fist on the table.
"No, Human! Do you think to leave without offering up alliance between our worlds?"
Ango nodded, as well. The voder was at last starting to adapt, thankfully.
"If the Vulcans and Humans were allied with us, we could not only turn back those that strike and strike only, but those who strike only for quickest gain, as well. Our war could be put down, and normal feud conditions prevail."
Wonderful, thought Archer. On one side, some manner of human-seeming, quite ruthless, war-mongering expansionists. On another side, the oldest threat, in the form of a group of economic pirates. Two decent species, wishing an alliance with the worlds he knew so that they could kill each other in peace.
"Oh, Boy!"
Happily, the group understood Archer's relaying of this to his superiors. As he walked out of the conference room with them, he met Tucker and the others, escorted by the soldiers from both species. Trip rolled his eyes.
"We came here to rescue you, sir!"
Archer pointed around at the former war party.
"Well, you had good timing, Mister Tucker. Gentlemen, this man is Travis Mayweather. By your rules as I understand them, I purchase back my actions against you by way of the wrongs you have done him. Any objections, Travis?"
Mayweather spoke as he had before, in private with his new Captain.
"I'm a trader, sir. A trader opens the way for other traders, and does nothing to make the way any rougher. If foregoing vengeance purchases the future, its a tiny price."
Ango and Gavra, who were apparently as used to working together as they were being at odds, spoke almost out of voder-range.
"All of them seem to resemble those that strike and strike only."
"Yet none of them do. Is our debt to their dead too great to be overcome? Neither of our worlds can afford proper blood-feud with a third party. My tribute to the local enemy clans' forebears, when combined with yours, threatens already to break me!"
Reed raised a hand.
"Captain, our database has encoded pictures of every type of human. Perhaps our new friends should have a look at that."
Which would prove useful in any event, thought Archer.
"Lets all get to know each other."
--------------------------------------
CAPTAINS LOG
*I have committed my ship and my world to a new course. We came with one Tellarite and one Andorian. We now leave with the same, albeit their war-leaders. They seem to like not getting along, but in their own way. Its kind of a like a cold war, I suppose. T'Pau has delayed her investiture ceremony. I'm also told she intervened against this ship being recalled for possibly exceeding our vague mission
meters. Why a person who said she holds grim feelings about my people holds me in such esteem is a mystery I will one day penetrate. But that must be put aside, in favor of another mystery. The true identity of those who strike and strike only is a stumper.*
------------------------------
Hoshi presented the translated findings.
"Malcolm had no luck whatsoever, til he accidentally showed a picture of a projected cultural stereotype. The man in the picture didn't even exist. It was a bigot's conception of what a human male of Mediterranean descent might look like. To use the pejorative--he's *swarthy-looking*."
Archer saw the beard, darkish olive-skin, and oily-seeming, slicked hair. Part of a study meant to combat racist thought, the picture still threw him off.
"Let's hope the enemy is better-groomed than this."
It was an enemy Jonathan Archer would never meet, even once. But the world that he would help to build would be profoundly affected by the men who resembled this image. And for seventy years after the meeting--there would be war.
For now, the Enterprise had to repeat its seven-week journey, in the other direction. History had a true starting point, despite what some might say.
( Note: Thanks to everyone who read this. More is to come, have no doubt. But since I'm obviously recombining ENT eps, I have to choose exactly where to go next---Rob )