Chapter Thirteen – Of Life and Legacy

Esilia shooed Lily and Jon-Henry out the door just as Archer emerged from the shower. They darted off, eager to grab some breakfast before school started. Their father offered a muffled goodbye, his head covered by a damp towel. When the door closed behind them, he sidled over to his wife, clad only in his briefs, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

She looked him over appreciatively. She knew that, by human standards, he was considered slightly more than middle-aged at sixty-eight, but his body was still fit and firm. He still carried himself with command poise, even though his rank was mostly ceremonial now. As the first generation of children born on board Enterprise reached adulthood and assumed working positions, he was no longer called upon to make daily unilateral decisions. The crew still deferred to his judgment, though, and where there were disagreements, his was the last word.

In the eighteen months since Trip had died, Archer had slowly come back to himself. Esilia had feared that he never would, that she had lost him to his despair and grief. From the moment when Archer had reached Engineering to find T'Pol kneeling beside a badly burned Trip, fingers spread and touching his face in a Vulcan goodbye, he had teetered on the edge of desolation. For the first time, Dr. Phlox had offered no miracle, ethical or otherwise, to save the day, and within hours, Trip was gone.

Enterprise had lost not only its Chief Engineer, its heart, that day; it had also, for a long time, lost its First Officer and its captain. Because T'Pol and Archer had both withdrawn into their own separate worlds, each grieving a friend and companion, impossible to reach, uncertain how to go on. Esilia had stepped into the vacuum, gathering the three bewildered children to herself, providing stability to their shattered world.

Now, a year and a half later, T'Pol had fully resumed her duties, dividing her time between science officer on the Bridge and teacher in the schoolroom. In fact, all of the senior staff, as they used to be known, Reed, Travis, and Hoshi included, now taught intensive courses in their respective crafts, rushing to pass along what they had learned through experience and instinct.

Esilia folded Jon-Henry's sleep clothes and placed them at the foot of the bed. Four people living in a space designed for one meant constant tidying, she mused, and she was the only one to whom it mattered. Archer came up behind her, reached around, and took a shirt from her, tossing it aside and thereby proving her point. His lips found that sensitive spot just below her ear, and his arms enveloped her.

Even after all these years, sixteen since she'd first met him, the human scent of him, soap and salt, mostly, could still cause her heart to race. She never regretted, not even for one day, her decision to leave Ikaar and find Enterprise. She knew now that she could never have been happy on her home world. She was grateful to space for giving her this, at least.

"Don't you have to get to the Bridge?" she asked, as he slid her robe down her arms.

"I'm semi-retired, remember?" he responded, rubbing his newly-shaved cheek along her shoulder. Her skin was ultra-sensitive this morning, almost painful; somehow, he knew this and caressed her with the lightest touch. "I make my own hours."

She kissed the dent in the middle of his chin. Someday, he would admit to her that it really wasn't an old water polo injury. She knew he thought she still believed that old fib, and a thousand other half-serious explanations he had given over the years just to get out from under her questions. She supposed she couldn't be too put out; he'd never caught on to the fact that if you did the math, she was much older than he was.

Her hands skimmed along his muscular frame, still damp from his shower. There was a question in his eyes; he was aware that she had been more tired than usual lately, and even though he was roused and ready to go, he would take no for an answer.

She didn't say no.

It was mid-morning, nearly ten-hundred hours, before Archer slipped from underneath his sleeping wife and slid out of bed. He washed his face and gathered his clothes quietly, trying not to wake her. She was typically a light sleeper – all those years aboard a one-person scout ship had left its imprint – but this morning, she didn't stir, even when he snapped on the desk lamp. Out of habit, he pulled on his jersey, jumpsuit, and boots. After twenty-two years, he still couldn't get used to being "on duty" in casual clothes, although he had gradually relaxed the dress requirement for the rest of the crew. He cast an eye toward the bed, rumpled now, and froze.

There were blotches, lavender marks, on Esilia's arms and shoulders. They shouldn't be there, he thought, confused. Their lovemaking, both last night and this morning, had been gentle and easy, Ikaaran style rather than human. He couldn't imagine that he had lost control so much that he had left bruises, and he didn't recall her complaining. The warm feeling of contentment left him abruptly, and he contemplated waking her up. No, he decided he would let her sleep. He could bring it up later.

He was about to leave the cabin when he remembered his padd. He still had the Ikaaran database on it. He could do some private research.

x x x

Archer slowed down as he recognized the light footsteps that were gaining on him. T'Pol appeared by his side, wearing one of her trademark catsuits, today in deep pink. She still had the figure for it. "Good morning, Captain," she greeted him pleasantly, completely at ease now using human conventions.

"What's the good word, T'Pol?" Archer loved asking the Vulcan rhetorical questions, just to see if she'd bite and try to answer.

Today, she didn't. "I have just spent three hours trying to convey theoretical physics to a group of teenagers who are more interested in the Class M planet we're orbiting. I may need to visit Dr. Phlox."

Archer laughed. "Well, our scans show no viruses, pathogens, or boogiemen, so we may be able to start sending shore leave parties down in a day or so." The whole crew was practically vibrating with excitement over the prospect of walking on actual soil for the first time in two decades. None of the children of Enterprise had ever been off-ship.

"No rock people?" T'Pol asked quietly. Archer stopped short to stare at her. She rarely made jokes, and almost never dropped references to Trip into conversations. But here she was, clearly referring to the first planet Enterprise had ever visited, the one Starfleet had unimaginatively named "Archer's Planet," where the landing party had succumbed to some psychotropic pollen. Trip had held her at gun point, claiming that she was in collusion with creatures in the rocks only he could see.

"We'll pack an antidote, just in case," Archer answered with a slight smile. "Do you want to be in the first party?"

"Actually, I may stay aboard and take advantage of the quiet. And you?"

The captain indicated the padd in his hand. "I have some reading to do."

The next morning, at the captain's insistence, T'Pol ended up piloting the second shuttle, filled to the brim with chattering children and their chaperones. The sight of the children piling out of the pod, shrieking with excitement, almost caused her to smile. For the first time in their lives, they felt natural sunlight on their skin, and sharp blades of grass under their shoes. They ran until they were breathless, with no walls in sight, then flopped down upon the ground to gaze up at real clouds. As she studied their faces, she recalled the bright, wide smile of her husband, then her nemesis, as he bunched that first landing party together and took their picture.

She intercepted Lorian as he pulled out his scanner and began to study the surrounding area. "Son," she said, "why don't you simply enjoy the environment."

He looked at her in surprise. "These readings may prove valuable, Mother."

She replied with Trip's expression, in Trip's voice, as she eased the scanner from his hand. "Go. Live a little." She pointed a few meters away, where Lily was playing tag with Jon-Henry and several of his friends. "The data will wait." He eyed her for a moment more, then dashed off, grinning Trip's grin.

Late in the afternoon, the shuttle pod landed and Archer stepped out, sporting his NX-01 cap and aviator shades. He stayed only an hour, though, before taking a group back to the ship. The captain had been as enthusiastic as anybody else about walking on a reasonable facsimile of terra firma the day before; this morning, however, when the groups had assembled, Archer had been conspicuously absent. And now, he hadn't even stayed to play. T'Pol felt a small niggle of worry.

x x x

Archer studied the monitor readings, swallowing the urge to take out his frustration and anger on the Denobulan doctor. More damn secrets, more information kept from him. First, his science officer's Pa'nar Syndrome, now his wife's radiation sickness. The doctor stood silent, aware that his normal response of "patient confidentiality," while perfectly appropriate, was likely to set the captain off completely.

"When were you going to tell me?" Archer asked quietly, holding Esilia's gaze. The information displayed on the medical monitor was consistent with his research. The doctor's readings confirmed it; Esilia was dying from radiation poisoning. He looked with disgust at the fingerprints he had unintentionally left on her bare arm, even as he had helped her lift herself onto the biobed. The weeping bruises testified to the irreversible cellular degeneration that signaled the last stages of the disease.

"Jghonn," she said regretfully, taking his hand, "how could I?" She squeezed his fingers, but he was careful not to exert any pressure back.

"Did we do this to her?" Archer asked Phlox, still unable to look at the doctor. Instead, he rested his gaze on the floor. "Living among humans, in a human environment, I mean."

Phlox shook his head. "No, Captain, it is more likely the result of years of travel in the scout ship. She's probably been the safest on Enterprise, these past fifteen years, with its more effective shielding." He slipped a hypospray out of his pocket, with a movement halfway between a twitch and a shrug. "I can make you comfortable here in Sickbay, Esilia – "

"I want to go back to my quarters," she interrupted, raising a hand for her husband to help her off the bed.

Phlox started to protest, but Archer silenced him with an angry glare. Pitching his voice low, the captain said, "You knew that every time I touched her I damaged her more, and you didn't warn me. I don't care about Denobulan ethics. That was just cruel."

x x x

Archer lifted Lily off the bed and placed her on the couch, still asleep. He closed the book she had been reading to her mother and knelt down by the side of the bed. He had taken to sleeping on the floor, afraid that he would roll over in the night and touch Esilia. Every contact nowadays caused her pain; she was now so sensitive that even the bed linens tore her skin.

She turned to him and smiled. "I wish you would just hold me, Jghonn."

"You know I can't do that," he answered gently. "You hurt everywhere."

Mischief glinted in her eyes. "Well, not everywhere. . ." A smile tugged at her mouth as she recalled their favorite movie and tapped the smooth space just above her left eye. "Here's good." Archer kissed her there. "And this spot," she pointed to the tip of her nose. Another kiss. Just like Indiana Jones, she impishly indicated her mouth. "How about here?" He grinned, on to her game, and gave her a third-date kiss. If it caused her any discomfort, she didn't let on.

"I think you're beautiful," she commented when he let her come up for air.

"Well, your standards are a little suspect," he retorted, "considering you don't have any, you know, eyebrows."

"I hope I've made you happy, even though I wasn't your first choice." Her long eyelashes swept down to hide her uncertain expression.

"You weren't my first choice," he agreed, "but you were by far the best choice I ever made in my life." He lowered his head to kiss her again, feeling his time with her slipping away. Pulling back, he rested his head next to hers on the pillow. "You know, I never got around to reading about Ikaaran, um, . . . well, what would you like me to do with you, when you're . . . gone? Is there a ceremony, or . . ." He trailed off uncomfortably.

She lifted a hand and played with his hair. "Well, in order to do it right, you'd have to find twenty meters of yellow silk and wrap my body in it. Then find a planet with a red sun, and bury me in the shade of a tall tree near a river. Then you need to recite all the verses of the Book of Light."

"How many verses are there?" Archer wanted to know.

"Only ten thousand, four hundred sixty-seven. It should only take you about a month and a half, by your reckoning, if Hoshi translates it properly."

Archer stared at her, mouth open. "Are you kidding me?" A month and a half in orbit around some damn planet, spouting poetry?

She smiled. "Yes, Jghonn, I am." It took a moment before enlightenment crossed his face, and he scowled playfully. "Who says I can't tell a joke."

"Trip would be proud," he conceded, his voice breaking only a little as he spoke his friend's name. He stroked the ridge of her nose tenderly. "Of both of us. Did I ever tell you the one about the guy who's caught in a flood . . .?"

x x x

One good thing about serving aboard a starship was the ability to jettison certain customs prevalent on Earth. In Archer's culture, family and friends gathered after a funeral at the mourners' home, to eat and drink and reminisce about the deceased. He always thought that was a ridiculous practice; why should the bereaved have the task of feeding and entertaining everybody? So, instead of a long, drawn-out ordeal, the crew and their families gathered in the launch bay to say goodbye to their adopted crewmate, with little ceremony.

The crew's support was palpable as Archer simply laid a hand on the hatch of the ship while Hoshi, Esilia's first and closest human friend, read a lovely poem and Kelly sang an ancient hymn with no accompanying music. Afterwards, Archer retired to his quarters to be alone. Travis programmed the scout, carrying Esilia's body, to enter a decaying orbit around a small, uninhabited planet. A few hours later, alerted by the senior helmsman, Archer, Lily, and Jon-Henry watched the short, sharp flare of Esilia entering the atmosphere from the window of their quarters. It was done.

The door chime rang at twenty-two hundred hours. Archer knew who it was without even thinking about it. "Come," he called from his position on the bed, propped up against the pillows, pinned by the dead weight of his sleeping eight-year-old son. His fingers unconsciously played with the silver ring and the teardrop pendant, dragging them both back and forth along the chain he still wore around his neck.

T'Pol entered, carrying a covered plate and a small item. "I assume you have not eaten since this morning, Captain. I have brought you some fruit and bread."

Archer smiled slightly. Was there anybody in the galaxy now who knew him better than this woman? "Thanks. Come in and have a seat. I would get up, but. . ." He gestured with his chin at his son, who was sprawled across his father's chest. "He's had a rough night. I think it's finally hit him that she's gone." In reality, Jon-Henry had broken down just after Esilia's burn up, and had proved that, although he had inherited an Ikaaran personality, he had also inherited the human ability to cry.

In the dim light, T'Pol could see the tracks of dried salt lining Archer's cheek from eye to jaw. Jon-Henry wasn't the only one who'd had a difficult evening. Perching on the desk chair, she told him, "Lily is with Lorian. He promised he would 'keep an eye' on her."

Archer nodded. "He's the best thing for her right now." He let his eyes drift to the window as he mused, "He'll be captain of this ship someday."

T'Pol wasn't in a frame of mind to think about the distant future, so she remained silent. After a moment, Archer said softly, "I miss her already."

"Yes," T'Pol replied, and it wasn't clear if she was acknowledging his loss or remembering her own.

"I don't suppose it's any easier, even if you're Vulcan," he observed. She just looked at him, and he had his answer. "Still, I . . . I had fifteen years of deep companionship – I never expected that. And I've got two beautiful kids; I never thought I'd have any." He tilted his head a little. "You were right, all those years ago."

"About a great many things, it seems," she replied and anyone who didn't know her well wouldn't be able to tell she was teasing. He chuckled and shifted Jon-Henry to a more comfortable position on his shoulder.

T'Pol reached for the small square object lying on top of the plate. "Some time ago, you gave me something to help . . . soothe me after a distressing incident." She held up a music disc. "I have found it to be very helpful over the years, especially in more recent months." She gestured to the audio system. "May I?"

Curious and touched, Archer nodded. A few moments later, the sound of strings, percussion, and falling rain filled the room. He had forgotten this symphony. That T'Pol had treasured it all these years brought tears to his eyes.

The two old friends, widow and widower, sat in the dim room, contemplating the rhythm of falling rain and minor chords. Wasn't it strange, Archer thought, that of all the beings on board, T'Pol was the one with whom he shared the most in common. Both had loved off-worlders (he had no doubt of her feelings for Trip, although she might be hard-pressed to admit it) and had lost them much too soon. Both had sacrificed everything for the ship and its impossible undertaking. And now they were both fixed on the long-term goal, a mother and father striving to leave a legacy for Enterprise's children: knowledge and faith enough to complete its once and future mission, to save humanity. They could not fail. Whatever it took, they could not fail.

x x x

It felt strange, almost surreal, ambling down the corridor of this hundred and twenty year old Enterprise. Captain Jonathan Archer watched the Denobulan boy and the human girl race down the corridor and out of sight, and he turned to his great-granddaughter, Karyn. Her delicate nose ridge was nothing he'd ever seen before, but her almond eyes and dark hair reminded him of Hoshi, her sure-footed stride was all Travis, and she smiled his own smile back at him. What combination of events could possibly have resulted in this exquisite creature? His curiosity got the better of him as he gazed at this future piece of his history, and observed gently, "You're not entirely human yourself."

"My great-grandmother was Ikaaran," Karyn answered, smiling sweetly.

"Was that . . ." He hesitated, dying to know but completely paralyzed to ask.

"Your wife," she finished for him, kindly. "Her name was Esilia. You rescued her ship from an anomaly field."

He couldn't go there. He just couldn't. To know that some version of him had a wife, a family – he wasn't ready to deal with that, not after the choices he'd made, the things that he'd done. So he stepped back to safe ground, as they resumed their tour of the ship. "You know, finding your ship explains a few things. . ." Karyn didn't press. She simply accepted the change of topic with grace.

As Karyn led him down a particularly familiar corridor, he thought about the alternate Jonathan Archer, the husband, the father, the one who had wandered the Expanse like the Ancient Mariner. Did you find contentment, completion, he wanted to know. Did you have a good life? Did you discover what you were looking for? I hope you did - I hope you were truly happy - because then maybe there is a chance for me, someday.

The End