Episode Eight: Komorex Klinzhai

"Sit down," Martok grumbled. 

Kapact looked around the small office and resisted the urge stand in the face of the Chancellor's tone. It would show more petulance than dignity, and Kapact, who prided himself on being a good soldier, would not show petulance to his Chancellor. "What happened?"

"A Federation robot tug was destroyed by pirates as it passed through Donatu," Martok said.

"So?" Kapact smiled without thinking.

Martok laughed mirthlessly. "What's wrong with you? We are at peace with them. They are our allies. You are not supposed find amusement in their destruction."

"Why are we concerned that an unmanned Federation ship was destroyed by pirates?"

"Tell me, son of Ab'Qaff, about Ha'Toria. Not the system, but the man."

The smile vanished from Kapact's face. "The Emperor Ha'toria. Ha'Toria the Mad, who tried to clone himself with magicians and sorcerers centuries ago so that he could rule the Empire for all eternity."

"Your ancestor." Martok's were a knife thrust. Angry and accusing.

"More than seven generations past. His sins do not weigh on me."

"He cost your line the throne," Martok said.

"Yes, he did. What of it?" Kapact asked angrily.

"Because someone calling himself Ha'toria sent a message to Starbase 27 claiming credit for the kill and threatening more if the Federation does not immediately withdraw from the Donatu sector." Martok was obviously furious and struggling to keep outwardly calm. "In the interests of diplomacy, the Federation has agreed to keep the information quiet on the condition that we eliminate this threat."

"Whoever this veq is, he cannot be Ha'Toria. That petaQ died centuries ago."

"I don't care who he is," Martok answered darkly. "Find him and kill him."

That turned out to be easier said than done. Every lead that he pursued ended either in more questions than answers or dead witnesses. It seemed that the man calling himself Ha'Toria was building an effective wall of secrecy and death around himself that none could penetrate. Then a crack appeared in that wall. Crews were starting to mutiny. Mutinies were not unheard in the Empire, but exceedingly rare. In the days of crewing their vessels with slave races, mutiny was a constant threat, but in these more 'enlightened times'  the crews were all loyal Klingons, all volunteer, and the thought of mutiny rare and terrifying. But suddenly there had been five mutinies on front line ships in border regions. And the ships always vanished into the darkness. 

Then a manned Federation freighter was attacked by a Vorcha class attack cruiser. The cargo was stolen and the crew slaughtered. Interestingly, the ship was barely damaged. Aside from carefully disabled defensive and propulsion systems, it was intact and set adrift. Scrawled in blood on the bridge's main viewscreen, in the old klinzhai script which had preceded the modern, artful piqad script, the words "Komorex Klinzhai". In the ancient tongue, it translated roughly as "Klingon Empire", but the message was deadlier than that. This was not the Klingon Empire that had forged a strong alliance with the Federation. It was the Klingon Empire that had had been humiliated into a standoff at Donatu V more than century ago.

Kapact wasted little time sending his son and the Empire's newest warship, the Etlh class to find and bring back one of these mutinous crews.

Stepping onto the bridge of the Etlh was a moment that would stay in Sompek's memory for the rest of his life. To be sure, seeing the ship- his ship held within the Kur'ya shipyard was awe-inspiring, and his entry through the dorsal airlock was breathtaking. His first real command. But he had seen the ship in spacedock before. He had even spent time in the engine room and the dorsal torpedo chamber, helping to get systems online. But the bridge module was a different story. For one thing, the original bridge had been destroyed in the battle to take the ship from the Tholians, so this new bridge had not launched into battle. But more importantly, the bridge- this bridge, was his. It belonged to no other. The walls would be painted with the blood of his foes. It's record of battle would be written by him.

Sompek had been on other bridges before, from the utilitarian bridge of the D7 battlecruiser to his father's Ab'Qaff. The Etlh was closer to the classic look of the D7, except that it seemed larger and darker. The command seat was isolated and elevated in the center of the main deck that showed red-tinged light coming up from under a lattice of reinforcing duranium girders. Behind the command deck and slightly elevated, the helm and tactical stations shared a single console, while to the right and left 3-D monitors displayed tactical information. Framing the command deck were four support beams that stretched from floor to ceiling. This was the bridge of a modern fighting ship, and Sompek felt privileged to be in command of it.

He walked around the bridge, examining every station before taking his seat. His female executive officer had followed him and stood to his right as he examined the displays built into the command chair. "Commander Kell, report status of ship."

"All systems ready for flight operations. All Section Heads reporting in. All tactical systems battle-ready."

"Good." He moved towards the viewscreen that dominated the forward bulkhead. "Address intercraft."

"Intercraft is open," she answered immediately.

Sompek looked to each officer on the bridge, at each station. Finally his gaze settled on Kell. She looked young and tense. "Crew of the Etlh," he said. "This ship has already been in battle. It has seen the death of more than a thousand Tholian monsters, and hundreds of our fellow Klingon warriors. Its decks were coated in the blood of enemies and comrades before it was assigned its first mission. Like every sword wielded by our people, it has been forged in elemental fire. And like every Klingon sword, it thirsts for the blood of its enemies." 

Then he recalled the words of his ancestor, the Emperor Sompek. "The heart of treason lies safe and secure, within our walls. It has eaten our food, drank our wine and now enjoys the protection of our House. Let it rest, steadily beating in comfort, for with our launch into the night its end draws near." Then he looked straight at Qorek at the helm station. "Set course the N'Qel system. Engage at warp eight." As he narrowed his eyes and turned to face the main viewscreen, he continued speaking to the crew. "Crew, we sail to confront an abomination in the N'Qel system. A mutinous Klingon crew. We sail for blood!"

"Program combat drills against superior Klingon ships and crews," he ordered. Then he turned to Kell. "Come with me, Commander."

The office that led off of the bridge's starboard side was small compared to the Ab'Qaff's massive situation room, consisting of a desk, a few chairs and a computer station. But from the bat'leth mounted on the wall to the single warped and scorched section of deck plating (from the battle with the Tholians) that Sompek had insisted remain, it was his ship, and that made it more impressive. Sompek glanced at both features before he sat behind the desk and gestured for Kell to take a seat. "What do you know about the Komorex Klinzhai?"

Kell grinned, her sharp teeth showing clearly. "That they don't exist. That is what our leadership tells us."

"The idea exists, even if no organized structure does. The idea that the Empire suffers from its association with the Federation. That we are weak, that we are no longer conquerers. That we are no longer strong." He gave her a hard look. "That we are no longer pure."

"Is it true?" Kell asked.

"You could die for openly questioning the Council," he said. Then he sighed. "Of course we are who and what we are because of the alliances we make. But are we weaker?"

"Some would say that the wolf now lies with the sheep." She watched him for his reaction.

"The wolf understands when the sheep can be counted on as an ally. Especially against a common foe." Despite her challenging tone, Sompek felt that Kell would prove to be a loyal ally. "The fact is, we are only as weak as we allow ourselves to be. If we allow our alliance with the Federation to corrupt our culture then we are to blame. But the Federation has proven itself to be largely dependable. Would those calling themselves Komorex Klinzhai sacrifice themselves to save one of our outposts from a Romulan attack?"

"No," she answered. "They would wait until both sides were exhausted from the fight and swoop in to pick up the pieces."

"That is not the strength of a true warrior. It is the fear of a coward."

"Permission to speak freely?" Kell asked stiffly.

"Granted."

"I feared that you were given this command because of who your father is. I thought that this new warship belonged in more experienced hands."

"Really." Under normal circumstances, his hand would be at his d'k tagh, but he was interested in what she had to say.

"Yes. I even anticipated having to kill you before the mission was over." She showed a feral grin.

"At least I know you put the mission first. It would be a shame if we had to kill each other before we reach the traitors."

She smiled back showing a mouthful of teeth. "We are not there yet."

Sompek laughed briefly. "If they are Komorex Klinzhai, we can expect a ship geared more toward attack than defense. Reinforced forward shields, weaker aft shields."

"Fighting ourselves from a hundred years ago," she said.

"Yes. And unlike a typical mutiny, where we could destroy the ship and move along, we have been ordered to disable it, gather intelligence, and attempt to capture its captain alive."

She made a sound that was half snort of derision and half growl. "Prisoners..."

"No," Sompek said. "Just the captain. If the rest are accidentally killed then our mission is still a success."

"Good," she answered.

The Etlh was met by the Komorex Klinzhai two days out of the N'Qel system.

"Report!" Sompek shouted as he picked himself up from the deck. The ship rocked under him again.

"Five cloaked antimatter mines detonated in close formation as our shields impacted them," Kell answered. "The traitors knew we were coming."

"Shields to maximum. Scan ahead." Sompek found himself peering into the large viewscreen, trying to pick out the enemy ship, assuming that it was the Vorcha and dredging up details of the ship. It had, about fifty years ago, been the Empire's flagship, designed as a 'friendly' counter to the Federation's Galaxy Class. It was very well armed, boasting eighteen ship-mounted disruptor cannons, one large forward disruptor, and three torpedo launchers. Its physical profile was even smaller than the Etlh's though not by much. A one-to-one fight, based on no more than tactical capabilities would be very close. "Activate micro-torpedo array. Autotracking tied into tactical computer. Boarding parties stand ready." The Etlh didn't have nineteen disruptor cannons, but it did have a dozen autotracking micro quantum torpedoes, six heavy disruptors mounted on its wings and two quantum torpedo emitters on its nose. Its warp nacelles were fully inset in the hull which not only presented a less obvious target than any other ship that had warp nacelles at the end of pylons of various lengths, but also made for a marginally stronger structural integrity field. It wouldn't decide the battle, Sompek knew, but it might give him an edge.

"Just picking up a shadow at the edge of sensor range," Kell announced. "Readings are being obscured."

"Obscured", Sompek snorted. "Battle alert. Helm, set intercept course. Full impulse. Tactical, want firing solutions as soon as we have sensor resolution. Target tactical and propulsion systems."

The Vorcha appeared quickly, executing a tactical warp jump that dropped it behind the Etlh. Simultaneous disruptor bolts and photon torpedoes bracketed the newer warship. Without pausing, the Vorcha ducked underneath them and fired more disruptors. As the Etlh rocked again, the comm officer spoke. "Captain! General Kapact is on a secure channel for you."

Sompek looked at him angrily. "Advise the general that-"

"He says it can't wait!"

Sompek moved across the lurching bridge to the comm station. "Stand aside, lieutenant." As the officer moved away, Sompek keyed his personal code into the console that opened the channel. His father's face appeared, dark and shaken. Something was very wrong. "Father, I am in battle."

"Your mother is dead."

"What?" Sompek felt his fire go cold, and his blood freeze. He felt alone and angry and confused. "How?"

"She died in her sleep, son. Of natural causes."

"But that is no way to die."

"Sompek, she was human. And to a human, that is a good death. Peaceful, at home, with loved ones."

"What am I supposed to do? Do you want me home?"

"Finish your assignment, my son. Then come home."

Sompek felt empty. He would finish his work, but there was suddenly no joy in it. "Father... how did she die? Was she happy?"

"She died well, my son. By my side. She would have been happy."

"Acknowledged. Sompek out." The ice in his blood suddenly burned. "Lock all tractors on that ship. Hold it in front of us. Target all weapons, including main and micro torpedoes. Prepare boarding parties. I want the captain alive."

Acting in her capacity as chief tactical officer, Kell obeyed without a word. "Tractor locked on. They're fighting it. Trying to repulse with their own beams." 

"Overpower them. Channel warp power into the tractor if you have to, but hold them."

The ship lurched and the bridge lights dimmed, but eventually the Vorcha became visible on the main viewscreen as it was dragged into direct firing arc of the Etlh's main weapons. "All weapons locked," Kell said. 

"On my order, fire main torpedoes and all disruptors. Then follow immediately with all micro-torpedoes." 

"All weapons ready," she answered immediately.

"Fire."

Two torpedoes belched from the Etlh's forward emitter at the same time that its six disruptors flashed. The weapons hit the Vorcha's forward shield at the same time, momentarily overloading it. Then Kell launched the micro-torpedoes. Before the Vorcha's crew could reroute shield energy, the twelve torpedoes struck the forward pod, destroying it in a blinding flash. "Target shield generators!" He yelled. Disruptors flashed again, skimming across the top of the stalled cruiser. 

"Shield generator is down," Kell announced. "Boarding parties ready to transport."

"Exe-"

"-cute!" The word came out with a grunt. He was on the deck, grasping his stomach and struggling to understand what had happened. He was not on the Etlh. It was a Klingon ship, and from the furnishings, it looked like captain's quarters. He was obviously on the Vorcha. Then he saw a figure, presumably the enemy captain lunging at him. He was wearing a uniform that harkened back to the old 23rd century Klingon uniforms. Flexible black armor and silver chain mail, with simple black pants. To Kapact it looked anachronistic. Then he saw its head. It was covered with a helmet. The same kind that he had been told about. The helmet that guards of the infamous Emperor Ha'toria had worn. "Coward!" He spat the word. "Is this how traitors fight? From behind masks? Show yourself!"

The captain didn't answer. Instead he lunged at Sompek again, ramming his head into Sompek's stomach. Sompek went down hard, clutching his stomach. He needed a chance to strike back. He needed distance, even just a few feet. He rolled almost instinctively away from his opponent but found himself against a partition in the cabin. He grabbed for his dk'tagh. It would have been sheathed to his right thigh before being transported, but must have been dropped when he went down. Very well. He rose quickly and threw himself at his enemy with his fingers seeking out anything to grab, but the helmet made that almost impossible. With no other option, he started to work his fingers underneath the helmet. That's when the enemy captain rammed a knee into Sompek's groin. Sompek wailed in pain and went down again, curled up in a ball and helpless.

He was just starting to see through the red haze when he felt fingers at his throat. The warrior's masked face was inches from his.

"Sompek!" The name sounded like a curse. "Son of Kapact. Son of privilege. Son of weakness. Son of a pathetic empire." The enemy held his hands steady, keeping Sompek trapped and unable to move, but with just enough oxygen to breath. "Your father refuses to take his own name, instead clinging to the memory of a real warrior who died with honor. He beds aliens. Vulcans. Humans. There is even talk that he is the secret love slave of a Romulan." 

Furious and desperate, Sompek began to pry at the fingers wrapped around his throat, while the  traitor continued to taunt him. "Your mother. Your human mother, who died the death of a weak slave. Did she nurse you, Sompek? Did she comfort you through your infant tears?"

"How- how can you know that-" Sompek choked out the words.

"But what I really want to know before I kill you," the enemy said. "You are the coward. The traitor. How do you deserve the name of a hero? Who are you, Sompek?"

Sompek's hands abandoned the struggle to free himself, grabbing at the traitor's own dagger. As he closed his eyes, he shoved an elbow under the enemy's chin and lifted it as far as he could. Then he plunged the dagger into the traitor's neck and felt the body go limp on top of him as his blood sprayed out. "I am my father's son." 

Three days later, Sompek walked into his father's quarters on the massive Ab'Qaff. He stepped up to the desk and looked his father in the eye. Then he dropped the still-masked, disembodied head of the enemy captain on the desk. "The enemy captain."

Episode Seven: "The Effect of Temporal Inertia on Andorian Blood Orchids"

"Personal cloak activated," Smith muttered. "Shhhh."

Lieutenant Jones looked at his shadowy form through the advanced visual acuity contacts. Then she leaned forward and put her lips against his ear. "You sound so serious when you say that," she whispered.

"Be quiet," he answered. "She'll be in here any minute." 

"Don't touch anything," she said. "And behave yourself when she comes in."

"What?"

"She's beautiful."

"And hundreds of years old by now," he said.

"She has a thing for Andorian blood orchids."

"I hate orchids," he said.

"But Andorian blood orchids!" Jones said. "Do you know how hard they are to keep?"

"No," he said. "Who cares? They're flowers."

"You know, that's what I don't get about you," she said. "I've seen you go hundreds of light years out of your way, and go back a thousand years just to have a drink called... What was it called?" 

"Ek'zeru." Smith said. "And technically it was just 800 years at the time. Local time anyway."

"Yeah. A Vulcan cocktail. You went by yourself. Against orders. To Vulcan. Pre-Sundering Vulcan. For a drink. And a flower is too much work? Not worth your time?"

"But it was a good drink," he said. "A really good drink."

"And you didn't bring me one!"

"You don't like Vulcan drinks. No, that's not true. You like water."

"Not even the point," she said darkly. "You went back a thousand years against orders for a drink-"

"A very rare drink."

"And you didn't bring me one. You didn't bring me anything."

"I can go back and get you a shirt or something. Well, they were more like togas. Robes really. But I'll bring you something."

"Don't bother," she said. "So who served you this drink anyway?"

"What? Nobody."

"What did she look like?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your eyes are sparkling and you're turning red. I struck a nerve."

"You've hit them all at one point or another."

"No, really. Was it some gorgeous Vulcan priestess?" She grinned wickedly. "Come on. You can't tell me you weren't looking for them. I know you like Vulcan women."

"Baby I love you. Only you."

"Hah!" She laughed. "Enterprise. NX-01. October 23rd, 2155."

"It was research! And you were there. Twenty people were in the room. And she was-"

"T'Pol."

"I didn't go anywhere near her."

"But you were watching her." She struggled to keep from laughing. "You were watching her the whole time. And Saavik. Tell me you didn't think about 'researching' her." She folded her arms against her chest and glared at him. "It's like an obsession with you." 

"Wait, what?" He asked. "What's gotten into you? How did we get on to my problems? Which aren't obsessions, by the way."

"If you really love me..." She let her words trail off as she turned her back on him.

"What? What do you want?"

"I shouldn't have to tell you. You should know."

"What?"

"Bring me one."

"A Vulcan?"

She laughed. "You wish. You're disgusting."

"Well what do you want?"

She turned back to him and answered, punctuating her words with kisses on his neck. "Andorian. Blood. Orchid."

"Do you know how hard they are to keep?"

"Shh," she said, suddenly all business. "Here she comes."

Ekaterina Romanova entered her quarters and moved immediately to the safe built into a bulkhead. After she keyed in a ten digit combination, the door slid open to reveal, among other things, a small glass case half full of glowing blue/white crystals. She removed the case and set it on her desk. Then she accessed her personal computer console. "Computer, scan grid 1138."

"Acknowledged."

"Is Temporal Pulsar 327675 present?"

"Negative."

Romanova wrinkled her nose in frustration. "When is it due to reappear?"

"In sixty seconds."

"Continuous scan of area. Enhanced visual on monitor."

"Acknowledged." A section of the bulkhead shimmered to reveal a large monitor that revealed what appeared to be an empty region of space. 

"Time to appearance?"

"Forty five seconds."

"Focus holo-recorder on the case on my desk. Begin recording when the pulsar appears."

"Acknowledged." For thirty seconds, Romanova sat quietly, her gaze switching from the monitor screen to the glass case and back. 

On the floor, in the corner and safely cloaked, Smith and Jones watched the entire scene quietly, mouthing words to each other.

"Whose idea was this?" Smith mouthed.

"Seven", Jones replied silently.

"Agent number seven? Isn't she retired?"

She rolled her eyes. "Like a hundred years ago. I'm talking about Gary Seven. Supervisor 194."

"Why does he care about orchids?"

She raised one fingernail to his cheek and tapped in time with her words. "Andorian. Blood. Orchids."

"I get it. Andorian blood orchids. So what?" 

"Because they're temporal-blooming flowers."

"And?"

She rolled her eyes and struggled to contain her frustration. They might be cloaked, but they still couldn't make a sound without being detected. Which means that her desperate need to shout or laugh had to be restrained. "Just watch. And stop thinking about Vulcan Priestesses. Your pheromones are starting to smell." 

Smith instinctively raised his arm to sniff at his underarm and saw her cover her mouth to avoid laughing. "I don't smell," he mouthed.

"Idiot."

"What?" He flashed innocent eyes. "Sorry, I didn't get that."

"I said you're very perceptive. A credit to your gender."

"Yeah," he grinned. "And my wife." A brief flash in the corner of his vision caught his attention. "What was that?"

Jones rolled her eyes. "Just the temporal pulsar we traveled 700 years to see."

He grinned the crooked grin that had helped win her heart years ago. "Oops."

She replied by rolling her eyes.

Still unaware of them, Romanova's eyes were glued to the orchid now in full bloom inside the glass case.  "Computer, confirm that Andorian Blood Orchids only bloom during the appearance of a temporal pulsar."

"Confirmed."

"Scan contents of display case. Confirm that it contains a genuine Andorian Blood Orchid, and not a replicant or imitation or variation, such as an Aenar Orchid."

"Confirmed. The case houses a pure Andorian Blood Orchid."

"And confirm that Temporal Pulsar 327675 is no longer present."

"Confirmed."

Romanova set her jaw and let out a low growl of frustration. "Can you offer an explanation for the orchid's behavior?"

"Negative."

"Computer, I'm going to make some statements about the behavior of Andorian Blood Orchids, and I want you to tell me if I get anything wrong."

"Acknowledged."

"There has been no recorded instance of an Andorian Blood Orchid remaining in bloom for more than point five microseconds. There has been no recorded instance of an Andorian Blood Orchid blooming without an accompanying temporal pulsar flash. Furthermore, Andorian Blood Orchids are temporally synced with specific temporal pulsars." She paused, waiting for the computer to respond. It didn't. "The continued bloom of Andorian Blood Orchid designated 327675 represents a paradox." She raised an aristocratic eyebrow towards the computer, waiting for it to disagree. "Am I right so far?"

"Affirmative."

"Can you suggest a theoretical explanation?"

"Professor Sammie Jo Archer theorized that if a temporally synced item were to be removed from its native time period, it could display atypical behavior before such an incident occurred." 

"Sort of a temporal causality loop."

"That is an imprecise analogy," the computer answered. "What the professor described is more accurately described as inverse temporal inertia. The effects of an event in the future having an effect on events or behavior of an object in the past."  

Romanova swallowed her annoyance at the computer's manners. "Is there any way to verify that this may have happened in this case?"

"Negative. However, the duration of the orchid's appearance would be proportional to the displacement period."

"Meaning?"

"The shorter its continued existence on this plane, the closer the event of its disappearance."

"Hmm. Computer, can you theorize any other possible explanation?" At that second, the orchid vanished. "Computer belay that line of inquiry. Estimate projected time until theft of the orchid based upon its disappearance just now."  

"Estimate five to thirty minutes. However, since this is a hypothesis the estimate is only-"

"Bridge, yellow alert. Shields up, security condition two. Scan for intruders or temporal anomalies in the area or on the ship." She looked at the case, again apparently empty. "They could be here, now, ready to take it." Then she looked into the empty space of her quarters. On impulse, she sniffed the air. "Come out of hiding, whoever you are!"  

On the floor and still invisible, Smith grinned at Jones as he cradled a small round object in her hands. "See, I told you I'd get you one!" He mouthed. 

"She knows we're here though," Jones replied silently. "It's your fault!" Then she wrinkled her nose in mock distaste. "She can smell your pheromones."

He instinctively sniffed his underarm again, just as she activated the retrieval switch. Seconds later they both vanished and were pulled back to the 31st century. 

Episode Six: "Broken"

This is my September episode of Temporal Wars. Also very much an anniversary salute to the franchise, from Captain Pike to Nero...

Star Trek Temporal Wars "Broken"

Excerpt from "Star Trek" 2009, written by Roberto Orci & Alex Kurtzman

Excerpt from Star Trek (TOS) "Where No Man Has Gone Before" written by Samuel A. Peeples

Gary Seven stepped into the darkness of his transporter alcove with Roberta at his side, and suddenly found himself standing at the entrance to Keeler Station, the research outpost that both guarded and studied the Guardian of Forever. A Vulcan woman wearing civilian garb approached him. "You are Mister Seven?"

Seven nodded, and indicated Roberta. "And my assistant, Miss Lincoln. We have a permit from the science council for a limited duration observation of Canopus Planet, in the 21st century." He showed her that they were both wearing arm bands. "Personal cloaks. We won't be visible to the indigenous species."

"Acknowledged." The Vulcan gave Lincoln a hard stare. "Be careful."

As they walked toward the Guardian, Lincoln turned to Seven. "Got some writing to do?"

Seven ignored her joke. "Guardian, show me Canopus Planet, from the start of the 21st century, old earth calendar." He watched as the smoky, shimmering images began to flow across the face of the Guardian. It showed mostly desert scenes with apparently peaceful, nomadic tribes. "Activate cloak, Miss Lincoln." He activated his just as she did. Then they stepped forward, across the threshold and into the past.

They found themselves in the middle of a barren desert. Seven pulled his servo from his breast pocket and activated it. Then he used it to scan the area. "No life forms in the area. Deactivate cloak." They both shimmered into existence, along with a small, disc-shaped craft.  He spoke into the servo. "Computer, lower ramp and activate systems."

A smooth ramp seemed to grow from the upper curve of the disc, sliding gracefully down to touch the sandy surface. "Flying saucer," Roberta commented. "Groovy."

"We don't have any time to lose, Miss Lincoln." Seven led her up the ramp and into the cramped  interior of the saucer. "We have an appointment in the 40 Eridani A system."

"40 Eridani A?"

"Vulcan. The local stardate is 2258.36," he explained as he settled into the small two-seat cockpit. "Based on interviews with Ambassador Sarek, the planet Vulcan will have been destroyed by 2258.75. Perhaps earlier." 

"Even though Sarek was reported to have died on Vulcan on stardate 45233.1," Roberta said.

"And I was on 29th century Vulcan last month," Seven countered. "We've just summarized the very need for Aegis. There are parties playing with space/time like it was a commodity to be traded and manipulated. Someone needs to counter that." The saucer recloaked and rose quietly into the sky. Once clear of the atmosphere it disappeared into warp.

The saucer dropped out of warp a day and a half later on the outskirts of 40 Eridani A with Seven seated next to Lincoln in the cockpit. "This doesn't make any sense," Seven said. They were already in the gravitational influence of a large moon of Vulcan. "According to our charts, there are no large Class M moons of Vulcan. Computer, identify this body."

"The moon has no designation," the computer answered immediately.

"Can you obtain a designation from any nearby monitor stations or subspace data-links?"

"Working." The computer was silent for a few seconds, then responded. "The moon is designated Delta Vega."

"But that's-"

"Impossible, yes," Seven answered. "Computer, query subspace data-links. Is there a planet designated Delta Vega located just inside the barrier at the edge of the galaxy?"

"Working." Another moment of silence. "Negative."

"Access official log, USS Enterprise, stardate 1313.1. Play back audio."

"Working." Then it played the log. "Stardate 1313.1. We're now approaching the planet Loeb 363. Course set for a standard orbit. This planet, completely uninhabited, is slightly smaller than Earth. Desolate, but rich in crystal and minerals. Kelso's task, transport down with a repair party, try to regenerate the main engines, save the ship. Our task, transport down a man I've known for fifteen years, and if we're successful, maroon him there."

"But that was Captain Pike's voice!" Lincoln said.

"Yes. Even though we know that Pike was off of the Enterprise by then, and Kirk was in command. And the planet shouldn't have Loeb 363. Somebody has been very active in our past, Miss Lincoln."

"Nero?"

"He could have been responsible for some of it. Perhaps he somehow affected James Kirk's entry in Starfleet. But this business of Delta Vega suddenly being an icy moon of Vulcan. No, that points to something else."

A yellow alert signal interrupted his thoughts. "Report, computer." 

"Subspace disturbance in the vicinity. Large number of craft coming out of warp."

"Maintain cloak and bring us within scanning range of the ships." The saucer moved out of range of the icy planet and towards the orbit of some of the inner planets whose orbits were bringing them into close proximity. Suddenly, a large number of white flashes could be seen. A fleet of Federation starships. They were unmistakably Star Fleet, but also with numerous subtle differences. Like an alternate universe version. They were immediately targeted by a huge black construct that came around from behind Vulcan. "That looks like a 24th century Romulan mining ship," Seven observed. "But it's been modified..." They were stunned into silence as the Romulan ship tore a swath through the much more primitive Starfleet vessels.

"We have to stop this!" Lincoln yelled. "They're being slaughtered!"

"The prime directive...," Seven muttered. "Damn it. Computer, can you lock a tractor onto the Romulan ship?"

"Negative. Distance must be-". The saucer suddenly rocked and was sent spinning.

"Report!"

"Debris impacted against our outer shields. Overload damage to displacement drive. One more such impact could impede ability to escape."

"Back us away from the combat area. Deploy exocomps to begin maintenance on displacement drive."

"You can't just leave them!"

"Roberta, this is not a combat ship. We aren't built to fight that thing out there. If we don't survive, we can't help anyone, and we'll be stranded here. This may sound very cold to you, but there are larger concerns here. Even larger than all of the people on those ships."

She knew in her heart that he was right, but she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge that. Instead, she folded her arms on front of her and closed her eyes.

"That's probably for the best," Seven said to himself. But he forced himself to watch anyway. The battle ended very quickly, leaving the mining ship hanging menacingly over Vulcan with a drill extended. "Wait. What's this?" Seven was watching a sensor readout. "There's another ship coming out of warp." He looked at Roberta, who was looking again. "I'm going to see if I can get a look at the registry."

"They're communicating..." Roberta muttered, looking at a blinking light on the console. 

"Thank you," he said gently. "Computer, give us the audio. And analyze the action being taken by that mining ship." The audio came through quickly.

"I'm Captain Christopher Pike. To whom am I speaking?"

"Hi Christopher, I'm Nero."

"You've declared war against the Federation. Withdraw, and I'll agree to arrange a conference with Romulan leadership at a neutral location."

"I do not speak for the Empire. We stand apart. As does your Vulcan crew member. Isn't that right, Spock?"

"Pardon me, I do not believe that you and I are acquainted."

"No, we're not. Not yet."

Seven switched off the audio. "I think we've heard enough. Computer, analysis of procedure being undertaken against Vulcan." 

"Formation of a micro-singularity at the heart of Vulcan."

"Oh my God," Seven muttered. "Roberta, we have to get out of here. We'll be destroyed."

"But--" Roberta spluttered. "We- we can't just leave, like its nothing. What kind of monster just flies away while billions are being killed?"

"Computer, get us out of the system, transwarp factor 8." Then he turned to her. "The kind of monster who has to choose between saving a few people from a doomed planet or not being able to warn others about a mad man who has declared war not just on the Federation, but the timeline. Your life, my life, trillions of lives. Nero has no reason to stop once he's finished with Vulcan. Earth is close by. Earth and every moment from now on. All of the people yet to be born and die. Your counterpart is there somewhere, as is mine. In an office somewhere, maybe in Chicago rather than New York, but the same two people. They need us to make sure that the warning goes out. We have to be able to continue our work. If we go into the middle of that now," he indicated the storm brewing even now inside Vulcan's core, "we reveal ourselves. We might get maybe twenty or thirty people off. Our null-space cargo hold isn't that big. But the point is, those twenty or thirty people will not save that planet or its population. And each one will know so much about the future, or a possible future, that they could pose as much a danger to us as Nero. I'm sorry. None of that will ever mean as much as condemning them to death, nor should it. You know what the Vulcans say. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. That is a horrible thing to us because it reduces lives and souls down to simple mathematics. But the ugly truth is that sometimes we don't have a choice. The trillions of lives at stake in this reality and perhaps others don't have a voice in this decision, so we have to be their voice. We have to make the horrible choice to save them. Hate me if you have to. Call me a monster. Quit Aegis if you want. I sometimes wish I could. But the job will still be there, needing to be done. Those lives will still be out there, needing to be saved."

"Go to hell."

The trip back to Canopus Planet, and eventually back to Aegis Headquarters in the 31st century was long, quiet, and uncomfortable for both.

Episode Five "Night Watch"

"Personal log. Captain Ekaterina Romanova, USS Nevsky. Encryption matrix willstown delta three."

I'm not entirely unfamiliar with the work of the Department of Temporal Investigations, or their sometimes cousins and sometimes adversaries the shadowy group known as Aegis. DTI reminds me, more than anything else, of that twentieth century classic "Dragnet". A bunch of grey agents knocking on doors and demanding 'just the facts'. You know, 'it was September, 2378. I was working the day watch in the James T Kirk office' etc. And yes, they do have an office and a team devoted exclusively to James Kirk. I pity those guys. But here's the thing with DTI. I've seen them work hand in hand with Aegis, and I've seen them work against Aegis. I've seen them do some things that, by all logic, go against our interests. Then I've seen them work to stop Aegis from apparently doing the same.  When it comes down to it, DTI is an agency of the present or near-future. They are operating without the resources available to Aegis, but their interests are a bit more grounded in the here and now and not so much in the far flung future. But it's also a bureaucracy, and therefore not to be trusted blindly. 

Aegis is another matter. I have reason to believe that I've been an occasional unwitting agent for Aegis, and there are times when they rival the mythical Section 31 for ruthlessness. I've spoken at length with a man named Gary Seven about the Krenim, and made him explain exactly how I once found myself crawling through a Jefferies Tube in the bowels of the starship Voyager which was itself in middle of the Delta Quadrant. I confronted him about the presence of Tricobalt torpedoes on Voyager as well as the improbable chain of events that culminated in Voyager's trip to the Delta Quadrant, as well as Voyager's coincidental appearance in just exactly the right time and place to destroy a Fury base and halt their invasion of the Alpha Quadrant. His answers came only with the promise that I would keep the information confidential, particularly from Starfleet Command.

Some of those answers are now having a direct influence on my ship and crew. Mister Seven sent an associate, a Mister Daniels to meet with me at the UESPA museum in Riverside, Iowa, supposedly to consult on historical research into Starfleet's pre-Federation history. In fact, Mr Daniels handed me a packet that included orders and a briefing from DTI to travel, quite literally, where no Federation starship has gone before. With permission, anyway. 

Now as we get closer and closer to Tholian space, I find that I can no longer put off thinking about those disturbingly personal aspects of this otherwise historic mission. There is a reason that some of our records show an NX-01 Enterprise, and some show an NX-01 Yorktown. The same reason that two different sections of the Memory Alpha library complex show two different dates and circumstances of a 'disastrous' first contact with the Klingons. Based on exhaustive study of records in the 23rd century, Spock was known to be the first Vulcan in Starfleet, and yet, Ambassador T'Pol once served with distinction as a Starfleet officer on Enterprise NX-01. The seeming contradictions grow and grow as the years go on. Most people don't know anything about it, but the Department of Temporal Investigations has briefed me fully.

There was, or will be, something called a Temporal Cold War stretching from the 31st century back to the 22nd. As a result of that, as well as a mission that the Enterprise-E undertook to April 5th, 2063, we had the Enterprise NX-01 launching in 2151 and all of the changes that came with it. And involved heavily in that temporal cold war was the Suliban race, under the direction and sponsorship of a power that we believe to be future Romulans. There did eventually come a time when the Suliban abandoned their benefactors and sided entirely with the Coalition of Planets, but were heavily punished by those same benefactors. Every world that the already nomadic Suliban had settled on was destroyed, and the surviving 33,000 Suliban were forced to flee.

It was fifty years later that Suliban bases, known as helixes began to be discovered in wildly random and remote places, and the Suliban began to flock to them as homes. Since then, the Federation has actively but quietly worked to find more and more helixes for the Suliban to live on, and powers and races that would allow the Suliban to live in their neighborhoods. Two leading civilian proponents of Suliban refugee relief in the 24th century are descendants of two legendary names in Starfleet history. Sammy Jo Archer and Jamie Lynn Kirk are also good friends of mine, and they were investigating a reported massive Suliban helix near the Tholian homeworld (incredibly, at the request of the Tholians) when they disappeared. The Tholians have now demanded that Starfleet dispatch a sufficient force to find the two humans and the helix and remove all from their space.

While I am an advocate for any refugee, and I harbor none of the ill will that some still cling to against the Suliban for crimes and aggression by their ancestors in the 22nd century, I have to say that I have taken issue with some of the risk-taking that my two friends have engaged in up until now. While it is true that civilians can often go places and open doors that military or government members can not, they are also not afforded some of the protection that fleet and ambassadors can offer. 

This is a deeply personal matter for me, and I will admit that the sense of thrill and wonder and anticipation that comes with entering what has been until now forbidden Tholian space is deeply overshadowed by a very personal stake I have in this operation. It is extremely disquieting, and I am concerned that my sense of objectivity will be challenged along the way.

Episode Four "Microfractures"

"Now that's unexpected," Gary Seven muttered.

"What is?" Roberta Lincoln asked. Then she looked at the image displayed on the Beta V computer console. "Wow! I love the tat!"

"You shouldn't," Seven said. "That is a Romulan mourning tattoo." He zoomed the image out to show the entire face. It was unmistakably Romulan, but without the trademark forehead ridges and with a clean-shaven scalp. "This is Nero, after the destruction of Romulus."

"Wow." She looked closer at the tattoo, and into Nero's eyes. "So what's so unusual about it?"

"What is unusual is that this image was taken from a visual scan of the Guardian of Forever, depicting events that occurred in the 23rd century." He pulled the image back even further to show that Nero was with a group of other similar-looking Romulans in what seemed to be a prison facility of some kind. It was a still picture, but they could both see the quiet fury in Nero's face. "Computer," Seven said, "close on and enhance grid 335." The image shifted quickly to focus on two guards in the background. "Fascinating. That helmet looks Klingon, but I've never such a thing used by them." He glanced at Roberta, who was, for once, silently watching and studying. "Computer, search for any instances of that helmet appearing in the Klingon database. Past, present or future."

"Working," the shrill tone of the Beta V said. Then it displayed a grainy image of another helmet that seemed to be cast in bronze and beaten into shape. "A similar helmet was used during the brief reign of the the Klingon Emperor Ha'toria, by his personal guards, in the Year of Kahless 327. Old Earth calendar 1702. Following the death of Ha'toria in dishonorable circumstances the helmet fell out of usage and all records of its use destroyed."

"But if the records were destroyed...?" Roberta asked.

"Agent 597 filed the report last week after a mission to that time period," the computer answered.

"We have no records, aside from this image, of the helmet being used in or since the 23rd century?" Seven asked.

"Negative."

Gary Seven was silent for a moment as he considered the ramifications. "Transporter. Program destination Aegis Headquarters, 31st century."

Almost instantly, the large safe dominating one wall of the apartment opened to reveal the transporter alcove. "Isis? Miss Lincoln? Let's go."

As they followed him in, Lincoln muttered "You could have asked me first."

As they stepped into the darkness that was the Aegis control room, Isis had assumed her humanoid shape but maintained her position between Seven and Roberta Lincoln. "Yeah, whatever," Lincoln said.

"Commissioner Thoris," Seven said into the darkness. "We need to speak."

Ten minutes later, all four of them were sitting at a nondescript table in a nondescript office that could have doubled for the main briefing room in a 23rd century Constitution Class starship. "What's going on, 194?" Thoris asked simply.

"I have reason to believe that there is time travel going on that seems to," he paused, looking for exactly the right word, "circumvent all methods governed by the Temporal Accords. In fact, there almost seems to be a dimensional split of some kind going on."

"Would you care to explain that?" As Seven was about to speak, she held up her hand. "Wait. Computer. Coffee. Black. Anyone else?" Seven accepted the offer, Isis ordered a steaming red beverage that was favored on her homeworld, and Roberta asked for a root beer. All four drinks materialized on the table instantly. "Okay. I thought we could all use a drink of some kind, if your tone is any indication. Go ahead, please."

Gary Seven revealed what he'd discovered about Nero and where and when he had been seen, along with the mysterious klingon helmet. "I've rechecked records from the era, as of our current timeline, and we still find that Vulcan has not been destroyed, despite what the Guardian revealed to Ambassador Sarek and Admiral McCoy. And yet, this image of Nero was obtained from the Guardian, just as the destruction of Vulcan was."

"And why is Nero adorned with a mourning tattoo?" Thoris asked.

"The first assumption is that a wife or lover died."

"And?" She pressed him.

"Computer, this is Supervisor 194. Access records, Romulan census through the first decade of the 25th century."

"Working." Seven noted that the computer voice was identical to the one he'd heard years ago on the Enterprise. "Records accessed."

"Status of wife or lover of Romulan known as Nero."

"Spouse of Nero still alive as of the end of specified time period."

"Do the records indicate the death of anyone known to be closely associated with Nero?"

"Negative."

"Is there a file image of Nero from that era?" 

"Affirmative." A picture appeared on the screen, showing the same Nero that had been seen in the Klingon prison, with one glaring difference. There was no mourning tattoo.

"Well that is unexpected," Thoris added. "Do we actually have any idea how the Guardian works?"

"No." The answer came from Isis. "My people have studied it with the Vulcans. It's even allowed us to scan it, but we can't get anything from the inside."

"Kirk asked it what it was," Seven said. "'Are you machine, or being?', was his exact question."

"And it answered, 'I am both. And neither'." Isis added. "We thought that it might be biomechanical, but that's purely speculation. It's not like scans were blocked. They just came back with a null reading. So even the biomechanical theory is just speculation."

"I ask because the easy answer would be that the Guardian somehow made a mistake," Thoris said. "But I don't think that's the case. I think that it's shown something that really, inexplicably is the truth. But it's all guess work if we can't get a grip on just how the Guardian is showing things that can't possibly be real. If we don't know how it works we can't analyze its methods."

"That's why I thought of a dimensional split." Seven said.

"A mirror universe," Isis added.

"It's not 'that' mirror universe, if that's what you're thinking," Thoris said. "I've had some discreet conversations with our counterparts there, and while I can't reveal the details of what we talked about, I can tell you that Vulcan recovered from Tiberius' attack in the late 23rd century rather well and was still prospering as of last week."

"That eliminates that universe," Seven said.

"So we only have to check about a zillion more," Roberta added.

Thoris raised her eyebrows and Seven rolled his eyes. "We might have to go through the Guardian ourselves," Seven said.

"That wouldn't be my first choice," Thoris said. "But then I suppose we're already past 'first choice', aren't we?"

To be continued...

Episode Three: "Wind Shear"

(2155)

Jonathan Archer gazed through the telescope to the glittering structure in geosynchronous orbit over San Francisco. Within the spacedock, he could just make out the shape that was Enterprise. It was a shape that had found its way into his heart just as the crew had. And now that shape was changing. Inside, Trip was supervising an engineering team alongside Admiral Drexler as they completed the refit to the ship. Though he couldn't quite see it from here, he knew that the secondary hull was attached, and a new warp core was being integrated into the power system.

"She's beautiful, Jonathan."

Archer jumped at the familiar voice and turned around. "Daniels!"

"Sorry if I startled you." Daniels was wearing a generic Starfleet jumpsuit that showed the rank of lieutenant and bore a Starfleet Command patch. "You know, you can view it from headquarters. There are plenty of monitors..."

"If I can't actually be there, I'd rather see it this way. It's just a little more real."

"Life support will be back online tomorrow," Daniels said. 

"And tomorrow I'll be up there to see it." Archer struggled to keep the anxiety out of his voice. "At the risk of sounding rude, why are you here?"

"I was actually here on other business," he answered. "But I wanted to caution you about something."

Archer sighed. "Are you telling me to put off the launch?"

"No Jonathan. Quite the opposite actually. But I wanted to warn you that events are about to-" he hesitated.

"About to what?"

"If you'll excuse the expression, they are about to take a quantum leap forward."

"What the hell does that mean?" Archer asked, not trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

Daniels hesitated again. "I told you that things had been reset. That the Temporal Cold War never happened."

"Yes?"

"As it turns out, that was a premature assessment. There were races that possessed time travel technology that we simply weren't aware of. One in particular wasn't specifically interested in the 22nd century as a front, nor were they interested in the Alpha Quadrant-"

"Alpha Quadrant?"

"Forgive me. This part of the galaxy. But they did have an encounter with an Earth ship that was lost tens of thousands of light years from home. And that piqued their interest. They never signed the Temporal Accords and have been looking to form alliances with other powers. This isn't about your mission, or the founding of the Federation, but it does mean that parties who went dormant may not stay that way. They will be tempted to action, and yes, some of that action will take place in this part of the galaxy, and soon."

Archer looked longingly at the telescope, and glanced toward the sky where Enterprise was being refitted. It all seemed suddenly far away. "Just what are you trying to tell me? No mysteries. No hints. No vague warnings. Plain English. What are you telling me to do?"

Daniels shook his head, and glanced upward, just as Archer had. Then he looked at Archer. "Be prepared for the unexpected. Lots of it."

Trip Tucker could feel the sweat inside of his EVA suit but couldn't do anything about it. Then he glanced at Admiral Drexler to his right and saw the man working calmly and quietly, cool as a cucumber. "Admiral, everything checks out here. Seals are tight. Plating looks good. EPS lines are good. All green lights."

"That's just fine Commander. We'll just make sure the other teams show the same thing, then we can lock things up."

"I have to say, this has gone smoother than I expected. You, uh..." Tucker suddenly wondered if he was being too familiar with the Admiral. Sure he was an engineer, but he was also a flag officer. "You seem awfully comfortable out here. Spend a lot of time crawling around the outside of starships, do you?"

Drexler smiled behind his helmet. "Oh yes. Between Starfleet and UESPA and a few other places, I've spent my share of time crawling around the hulls of ships. It gets to be second nature after a while." Vulcan ships. Klingon ships. That Tholian cruiser. All sorts of ships, Drexler thought. In all kinds of time periods.

"I suppose so," Tucker said. "Never gets any easier to scratch your, uhh, to scratch an itch, does it?"

"No it doesn't." Drexler laughed. "They never seem to think we need to worry about that." That was when the six other teams crawling around the Enterprise began to report in.

Hours later, Archer was on his bunk in visiting officers quarters at Starfleet Command when his comm panel beeped. He reached over and tapped it without bothering to turn on the light. "Archer."

"Good evening, Captain." It was Trip. "You gone to bed already?"

"I decided I needed a good night's sleep."

"You sound worried," Trip said. "Should I be?"

"I'm not even sure I should be, Trip." Archer swung his legs over Porthos and onto the floor. "What's up?"

"Just thought I'd let you know the new warp core goes online in the morning. Life support will be up next, and we can load the crew and get underway in a day or two."

"Sounds good Trip."

"You don't sound too enthusiastic, Captain. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Trip. I'll see you in the morning." Archer closed the channel and sighed. Damn. 

Archer felt better in the morning, but still with a sense of creeping anxiety. Nothing was ever easy or straightforward. But the view from the shuttlepod helped. She was as beautiful as ever, only more so. While there were several cosmetic changes, including several external phase cannon ports, as well as the stylized Starfleet delta arrow on the warp nacelles, the most obvious change was a secondary engineering hull beneath the saucer and nacelles. A large gold deflector dish dominated the front of the new hull, and the pylons that had joined the nacelles to the engineering section had been extended to connect with the secondary hull. The original deflector was still affixed to the front of the saucer, for use in case of an emergency saucer separation. That concept made Archer nervous, but he knew better than most that you couldn't underestimate the hazards of life on a starship. With that thought in mind he tried his best to enjoy the exterior tour that Trip was giving him until it finally ended in a shuttle bay at the rear of the secondary hull. 

The ship was still mostly empty, with scattered work crews mostly cleaning up. "She's beautiful Trip," Archer said. "Everyone's done a great job."

"Glad to hear," he answered. "So you want to tell me what's wrong?"

He waited until they got to the bridge, which still had work crews completing system installs and testing equipment. There were some differences here too, but not as dramatic as the changes to the hull. "In here," he made his way to the ready room. Once inside, he moved quickly around the desk and had a seat. Trip opposite and waited patiently. Archer began slowly. "I, uh... I had a visitor yesterday, while you were up here."

"A visitor?" Trip asked.

"Yes," Archer answered. Then he told Trip about Daniels' enigmatic warning. When he was finished, he stood up and paced in the small office. "I thought we were finished with him. I sometimes feel like our entire mission so far has been tainted by all of these people from the future and their 'Temporal War'. I was really looking forward to being away from all that. Exploring."

"And fighting Romulans," Trip added gently.

"It seems like that's bound to come to a boil soon. But at least they're in the here and now. At least they aren't working for someone who is working for someone else centuries in the future." He sighed. "A little more straightforward. That I can handle."

"So Daniels didn't try to tell you do or not do anything specific?"

"No. Just be ready for the unexpected."

"Yeah," Trip said. "When you least expect it, expect it."

"Exactly," Archer answered. "I'm going to talk to Admiral Gardner in an hour. I want us ready to launch tomorrow."

"I'd like a couple of days to complete tests, but it's nothing I can't handle today. You... you have some place specific in mind to go?"

"No," Archer said. "But I think we need to be ready for whatever this unexpected turns out to be."

"You got it, Captain." Trip grinned at his friend. "We've faced off Klingons and Suliban and alien Nazis from the future. How much worse can it get?"

Archer forced a smile. "Maybe you're right. Thanks Trip."

In Admiral Gardner's office, Archer got his first taste of Daniels' 'unexpected'. "You will launch tomorrow, Captain. The Vulcans have passed on a request from the Suliban ambassador to meet with you on Vulcan. As soon as possible."

"I didn't realize there was a Suliban ambassador."

"Neither did we. Neither did the Vulcans. But they want to talk, and they want to talk with you." Gardner stood and looked at a monitor showing the Enterprise still in space dock. "We don't have many reasons to trust the Suliban. In fact we have more reasons to not trust them. But they want to talk. There has to be a first step, and they've taken it by meeting us in Coalition space. We have to answer that with a willingness to hear them out."

Archer stood. "I'll be there."

True to his word, Trip had Enterprise ready to launch the next day. When Archer stepped onto the bridge, he was more struck by the familiar than the new additions to the ship. His crew was fully in place. His family. Archer looked around at every familiar face and smiled. Nice to know there were still things he could count on. "To the future," he said simply. Then he added, quietly, "To boldly go. Take us out Travis. Set course for Vulcan." And he watched as the frame of space dock receded on the viewscreen to reveal open space. It was almost possible to forget about Daniels and his cryptic warning in the beauty that they were flying into.

It was a day later when it showed up. "Captain, there's a ship fifty thousand kilometers ahead of us." Travis announced. "At station-keeping."

Archer stood up. "Identity?"

"It is a Vulcan cruiser," T'Pol answered. "The Seleya."

"Hail them, Hoshi."

"They're hailing us, Captain."

"Of course," Archer said. "Put them on."

The image on the viewscreen changed to reveal Ambassador Soval. "Greetings Captain. You'll have to forgive this change of plans, but it was deemed necessary for the sake of security."

After a quick glance at T'Pol, Archer answered. "That's okay Ambassador. What can I do for you?"

"If you will please come aboard immediately, I'll explain."

"Very well," Archer answered. "Stand by." Then he turned back to T'Pol. "Let's go see."

A few minutes later, Archer and T'Pol were escorted into a conference room where Soval waited with a male Suliban dressed in the same maroon colored uniform that the members of the cabal wore. Archer had trouble taking his eyes away from the Suliban. And then it's appearance changed and shimmered to reveal Silik. "Hello, Captain."

"Silik? I thought you were killed!"

"I was. But it seems that nothing is necessarily permanent anymore. I remember dying next to you, on Earth. In the past. Then I awoke on a Helix." He said. "But that's not why I need to talk to you."

Archer looked from Silik to Soval, then back to Silik. "So what do you want?"

"I speak for the cabal, Jonathan."

"And?"

"We have cut ties to our benefactors from the future. They finally showed that they had no interest in us beyond what we could do for them."

"You can't tell me you never thought of that before," Archer said.

"Of course. We benefited from their genetic manipulation. But in the end they started to weaponize our people. We became aware that Suliban were being made into biological weapons. They were bred as biological suicide bombs. A dozen innocent, unaware but highly infectious Suliban refugees dropped into a population, killing millions and dying themselves. We decided that we couldn't be a part of that anymore. So I have been sent to appeal to your Coalition for assistance. We've cut ties with the future, and our past."

Archer was silent for a moment. He didn't trust Silik. This was just the kind of thing he would do to get inside their defenses. He felt T'Pol's eyes on him, and saw Soval staring at him. Was this Daniels' 'unexpected'? "Why you? Why me?"

"Because we know each other. I somehow felt that you would trust me more than any other Suliban."

"Silik, I-"

"You have no reason to trust me. No proof. No evidence."

'Is it my imagination, or has his voice lost its smugness?' Archer thought to himself. "You're right. I don't. So why should I take your word?"

"Because if this was a trap or a trick you know I would be much more clever. I would give you no choice but to trust me."

"You son of a bitch," Archer grumbled. "If you're lying..."

"I'm not," Silik answered. "I'm trying to save my people."

"Okay," he said. Time to take that leap of faith. Embrace the unexpected. "Come back to Earth with me. I'll present you to the-" 

He was interrupted by an alert klaxon. They all stood up, and Soval moved to a bulkhead-mounted comm panel. "Report."

"Ambassador, we've just monitored an alert. Hundreds of planets all over the quadrant have just... have just..."

"Have just what?" Soval demanded.

"They've been destroyed. It is believed that subspace devices of some unknown configuration were used. Rigel X. Antidian III. Parcal V. There are hundreds."

Silik sat back down and seemed to shrink into his seat. "They found out. How could they have found out so quickly?"

"What?" Archer asked gently.

"Those are all planets where Suliban have settled. Cabal and civilians. They found us everywhere and have punished us. Somehow, from the future, they found out and punished us."

Episode Two: "Strike"

Strike

Lt Jones sat in the cockpit of the time pod while Supervisor 194 continued to talk to her through the subcutaneous transceiver in the skin just behind her right ear. "The probe will be launched from a cloaked orbital platform at midnight. The target appears to be the Kremlin."

"And of course they will blame it on the West."

"Al Qaeda."

"That's ridiculous. Al Qaeda had no interest in Russia at that point."

"And Russia knows that. The threat is from Gasparov, a Russian separatist with ties to the Eastern Coalition. If the western powers were to learn that there is a separatist movement in Russia, they might covertly support it. But claims of an Al Qaeda attack on Russian soil- on the Kremlin could win western sympathy and support."

"Can't I transit straight onto the platform?"

From his office in 21st century New York, Gary Seven adjusted the controls of the Beta V terminal until a computer generated image the platform appeared in the velvet of space. "That was my first thought, but there is a temporal detection grid surrounding it. Someone is apparently expecting interference." He sighed. "We'll need to drop you in behind the moon. You can set the pod to take you in towards the platform and beam you on board."

"A temporal detection grid on a cloaked platform orbiting earth in the 21st century? Who is sponsoring this guy?"

"That is a different line of investigation. Just focus on the probe, 135."

Jones knew that Seven meant business when he dropped the names and started going by numbers. "Acknowledged, Supervisor 194. I have the schematics committed. Ready to launch."

"Launching." Seven sent the relay signal that according to the tech specialists at Aegis Headquarters didn't so much launch 135 from the 31st century as it pulled her towards the 21st. It was a matter of quantum and temporal physics that he understood enough to utilize and work with, but no more.

Jones felt her ears pop as the travel pod appeared in normal space/time. After checking the locator readout, she rose from the control panel and turned. "Transit successful. Some of the automatic circuits seem to be non-functional. I'm going below to manually prep security protocols."

"Acknowledged." 194's voice sounded distorted and attenuated, but that was a normal effect of trans-temporal communications. "That's been known to happen. Something about the biocircuits reacting to the time travel. You have two hours before the probe is launched."

"I should have plenty of time," she said as she moved aft to the craft's interior maintenance hatch. Without another word, she opened the reinforced hatch and descended into the time pod's null space compartment. This compartment, a storage and maintenance area larger in volume than the exterior hull of the roughly cylindrical time pod was composed of null space, an outgrowth of the 'portable hole' physics cheat developed in the experimental R&D labs of ACME Corp. The null space compartment made possible some of the more exotic propulsion systems of the pod, as well as providing easy access to the biocircuitry that made the whole thing possible. Jones didn't pretend to understand the physics behind null space, except that it had something to do with a portable subspace generator and the way it affected time and the relative dimension in space. And even that was rumored to be a ruse created by the same brains that created the null space generator. "Just don't close in on me" she thought outloud as she opened an access panel and enabled the tracking/retrieval feature that would automatically return the pod to the 31st century within a set amount of time. Once it was set, she closed the access panel and climbed back up to the cockpit. Out of the null-space environment, she could contact Seven again. "I set auto-retrieval for five hours.

"Acknowledged 135. You'd better get moving."

"On my way," Jones answered curtly, cutting the comlink. "You're such a ray of sunshine," she muttered. Then she moved to the cockpit and sat down and swiveled the chair around to face the control console. Accessing the pod's sensors, she found the cloaked platform exactly where Seven said it would be. "Computer, engage cloak and set course for the platform. Notify me when we're in transit range."

"Acknowledged."

It took just a few minutes for the pod to slip through space. Before long, Jones saw a computer generated wire-frame outline of the platform. A muted 'ping' from the console indicated that transit range had been reached. "Transit enhancers active. Scan for life support status."

"Transit enhancers active ," the computer repeated. "Life support simulating Class M."

"Beam me to an area that doesn't contain any life forms." Jones paused for a moment, allowing the computer to locate such an area. She had committed the layouts (gathered from 194’s all-knowing, all-seeing Beta V computer) to memory, so she had an idea where that would take her. Her breath caught as the beam caught her, and transited her to the platform.

“What the hell?” She was in what appeared to be the launch deck. Filled with people. And all of them pointing energy weapons at her.

“Computer! Emergency transit!”

Seconds later, she found herself back in the pod. “Alert! Alert!” The computer announced.

“What happened?”

“Probe launch ahead of schedule.”

Jones swore. “You were supposed to beam me to an area without lifeforms!”

The computer seemed to hesitate for a moment, then it went on as if she hadn’t said anything. “Probe will enter the atmosphere in five minutes. Target, Kremlin. Moscow. Russia.”

“What happened?” She shouted. “There were lifeforms there! Lots of angry lifeforms!”

“Probe will enter atmosphere in four minutes 50 seconds.”

“What’s wrong with you?” She shouted.

“A self-diagnostic will take ten minutes. Probe will enter atmosphere in four minutes 40 seconds.”

“We aren’t finished with this. Intercept probe. Prepare to fire phasers.”

“Probe will enter atmosphere in four minutes 30 seconds.”

“Time to intercept.”

“Three minutes 30 seconds. Probe will enter atmosphere in four minutes 20 seconds.”

“That’s too close. Accelerate. Prepare to fire phasers.”

“Probe will enter atmosphere in four minutes 10 seconds.”

“Fire!”

“Pod is not in range to assure destruction of-“ 

“Override and fire!”

“Firing.”

Jones was vaguely aware of the pod vanishing around her… the she seemed to catch up with it. Then she was transited outside of the pod. She found herself walking into Seven’s office, coming out of the transit chamber built into a wall.

“Your pod was returned to the 31st century. What happened?”

Jones had to stop before answering him. She still hadn’t caught her breath from the harrowing evengts of the last few minutes. “The computer beamed me into an inhabited and heavily guarded section of the platform. I was almost killed. I ordered the computer to beam me back, and as I materialized, the probe was launched ahead of schedule. I attempted to intercept. Phasers were firing as the pod was retrieved.”

“The mission was not a complete failure,” Seven said dryly. “The probe was not destroyed, but it was disabled. It broke up in the atmosphere and has been reported, thanks to agents 371 and 195, as a meteor strike. It rained down over the Ural Mountains in Russia. More than 1,000 people were injured in the Chelyabinsk region. Most reliable sources have accepted it the story.” Seven sounded almost mournful. “Our people will recover the debris and scatter a sufficient amount of extraterrestrial material to satisfy the souvenir hunters.” He stepped slowly behind his desk, but didn’t seat himself. “So what do you think happened?”

“I don’t know. Either those weren't lifeforms on the platform…” she began.

“Or there’s something wrong with the computer,” Seven finished.

Episode One: Introduction

In the 31st Century...

"What is the decision of the Tholian Assembly?" Thoris asked.

In response, the dark, swirling column came to life. "We will observe," it said in a series of screeches and clicks that the computer translated into Federation standard. And while the image was more shadow than anything else, the outline of a Tholian was unmistakable in the telepresence chamber. "We will not commit ourselves further."

"Acceptable" Thoris answered. "Is the Zantari representative present?"

Another telepresence unit lit up in a swirl of smoke and static, This time there was no discernible outline, but rather a muted representation of the flashing colored strobes that was the natural state and form of communication of the plasma-based lifeform. The universal translator hesitated for an instant before providing a translation. "The Zantari Coalition hereby withdraws from the Temporal Accords." With a distinct 'pop', that telepresence chamber was gone.

"Okay", Thoris said as she finished her first cup of coffee. "Mr Daniels, is there any word from the Romulans?"

Daniels walked into the darkened chamber wearing a 24th century Starfleet uniform. "Forgive me Ma'am. I just left a meeting with Ambassador Spock. He reports that his fifth attempt to enlist the Romulan government's assistance to locate Nero has failed. The Romulans aren't talking to anyone."

"I guess we'll find him eventually," she said quietly. "Or he'll find us." Then she spoke into the darkness. "Computer, access please." She reached her hands ahead of her and holoprojectors built into the bulkheads created a virtual access point in the air, within easy reach. She swiped her fingertips across the screen, and an image of a 20th century rocket gantry appeared. She touched a portion of the image, and it zoomed in to show a human in a business suit from the era lying prone and working inside a panel. "One-Nine-Four is about to find himself on the Enterprise." Her eyes narrowed as she saw a black cat come into the picture crawling carefully next to the man and meowing impatiently. "Isis is with him. That seems to be going well, but I'm keeping an eye on him anyway."

Daniels turned to watch the scene. The tell-tale sparkling of a 23rd century transporter began to manifest itself, and One-Nine-Four sat up and picked up the cat. "It never hurts to pay special attention when the Enterprise is involved."

"Any Enterprise," she added with a grin. "So what can you tell me about the Furies?"

"Six months and not a sound. I think they're gone for good this time."

"What about the Krenim? They threatened-"

"Let me show you." Daniels swiped at the virtual display. It shifted to show an area of unidentifiable deep space. "This is the outer perimeter of Krenim space at its heighth." Suddenly a Federation Intrepid class starship appeared. "Voyager is just entering their space. There is a bit of temporal flux, but the computer gives a 95% probability that Janeway will put an end to their machinations."

"Good," Thoris said. "But again, we'll keep an eye on them."

"There is also a report from Five-Nine-Seven."

"Refresh my memory."

"Los Angeles. Early 21st century. Miss Eden seems to be handling her challenges very well."

"Right. You didn't go back again, did you?"

"No," he smiled. "But as it turns out, Five-Nine-Seven-"

"Wait. 'Five'? Aren't all 'fives' Klingons?"

"Yes Ma'am. Five-Nine-Seven is the only Klingon authorized in that sector in that era. He has been heavily vetted, and surgically altered to pass as human. He is in contact with Miss Eden through social media of the day and reports that despite some setbacks, her work is progressing nicely."

"Well, that's good to know. There's alot riding on that one." Then she turned to the darkness but continued to speak to Daniels. "Well, the Klingon representative to this council is unable to attend today. The Andorian representative is protesting what his government considers 'temporal imperialism'. So as we do not have a quorum, there will be no meeting today. Was there anything else, Mr. Daniels?"

"There is some news regarding the Andorians that should be discussed privately."

Thoris glanced at the sparkling and humming column that was the Tholian's telepresence chamber. "Away from 'observing' eyes?"

"Yes ma'am," he smiled uneasily. "There is just one other, well, unusual piece of business."

"Mr. Daniels, we redefine 'unusual' every day. Bring it on."

"Very well." He tapped the ancient comm badge on his chest, then caught himself. "Forgive me. I was in the 24th century for six months. You pick up habits." Then he spoke to the darkness. "Please come in, gentlemen."

Thoris turned her gaze to the sound of reinforced double doors opening and the sight of filtered light streaming into the normally dark chamber. She quickly recognized two figures. One tall and lanky, pushing another in what appeared to be an ancient motorized wheelchair. As they approached, she recognized them. Ambassador Sarek and Admiral Leonard McCoy. "Excuse me, but what the hell are they doing here?" she damanded from Daniels.

"Madam," Sarek said with a strength that belied his obvious age. "You will forgive our intrusion. But my son is missing. Or, rather he will be missing. We require answers."

"Yeah," McCoy added. "What the hell are you people playing at?"

"Gentlemen, I won't answer any questions until you tell me what you're doing here." Then she turned to Daniels. "Well?"

Daniels cleared his throat. "The Guardian of Forever-" He stopped as she made an angry noise and rolled her eyes. "In the 24th century, the Guardian revealed a past that included the destruction of the planet Vulcan in the 23rd century. These gentlemen-"

"The Temporal Accords were in place by then," she interrupted.

"These gentlemen employed the Yridians, who had not yet signed the accords, to investigate. They eventually traced the, well, discrepency to an incident of time travel in the 25th century. At that point Ambassador Spock seemed to go off the grid."

"It is reasonable to assume that Ambassador Spock traveled back through time," Thoris concluded, "and somehow, as a result Vulcan was destroyed."

"Poppycock!" McCoy blurted out.

Sarek looked down at McCoy with practiced indulgence. "The Doctor is essentially correct. The planet Vulcan exists today. That is a fact. Despite what the Guardian revealed. The next logical step would be to send trusted associates through the Guardian to this altered past to investigate."

"You can see why I felt the need to intervene," Daniels said.

"Yes," Thoris said. "But why bring them here?"

"Mr Daniels' protestations were insufficient to deter us." Sarek answered.

"In other words, we didn't buy it. And we still don't."

Thoris directed a pained look at McCoy, then turned to Sarek. "Mr Ambassador, we want to know what happened to your son, and Vulcan. But we have the resources to do that without introducing some of the," she said paused, choosing her words carefully, "variables inherent with travel through tthe Guardian. Will you please allow us to oversee the investigation?"

"That would be acceptable."

"I don't like it one damned bit," McCoy protested.

"As long as we are satisfied with your progress," Sarek added. "Otherwise we shall return to the Guardian."

"Mr Daniels, make it a priority. And get these gentlemen home."

"Yes Ma'am."

"And then we talk about the Andorian problem."