Prologue

The black uniformed figures moved throughout the old facility hidden deep under the tons of rock, trees, and living things that the people who lived on this world continued to call "Cheyenne Mountain." The being of pure light moved among them, watching, observing every action, but taking care to not interfere with any of it.

Some days, non-interference was more challenging than others as the god-like being became increasingly disturbed by what he witnessed.

He was even more disturbed by what was within the minds of the black uniformed men, and their intentions in their use of the old United States Air Force base which he had, at one time over a century ago when he was still a mortal human being, thought of as his home.

But he could do nothing about it.

The Others would stop him if they knew he intervened in mortal affairs, and they almost always knew. It was their highest law, and one which he understood the reasons for: no ascended being will interfere with the free will and choices of those on the mortal plane of existence, regardless of the consequences of that non-interference. Regardless of their immense power, they were not gods, and neither were they going to play gods.

Most of the time, he had agreed with it and learned to live with it. In his mortal life he had seen the consequences of ascended beings like himself accepting or even encouraging worship as a deity, and it always became problematic at best for both the ascended and the mortals involved. At worst, it could have catastrophic consequences on the mortals in question.

He could, in theory, return to the mortal plane, but in so doing he would be signing his own death certificate. If he "descended", there was very little chance he would be able to return, and he would die as any other mortal. Furthermore, as a mortal he would be powerless to do anything about what these men were planning, and he would most likely not remember why he had descended in the first place unless he wanted to risk brain damage from trying to retain everything he now knew as an ascended being.

Thus, he could only observe the scene unfolding before him in silence.

The black uniformed men were a clandestine branch of the United Earth government's emerging military and exploration force commonly called "Starfleet". Much like the branch of the United States Air Force which, in his mortal life, had been his former employer, few in Starfleet even knew of their existence, and then they only referred to them by the clause in Starfleet's charter which supposedly justified their creation, "Section Thirty-One". They were considered a part of Starfleet's intelligence unit, though in reality they answered to practically no one.

But, unlike the friends and colleagues he had once worked with in this very place, these men, especially their commanding officer, felt "dark." That was the best way he could explain it to himself. And though he knew their thoughts and thus knew where the darkness was coming from, he still couldn't fully explain it.

Ancient documents and books which had formally been in the possession of the estate of a well known film maker from the ascended being's days as a mortal had come into the possession of Section thirty one's commanding officer. That, in and of itself, wasn't concerning. Section Thirty One collected and stored vast amounts of information to be used for their own purposes, ostensibly in the support and security of Starfleet and Earth's government. But what these men had been doing with those documents…

Like his own clandestine military organization a hundred and fifty years prior, they had been trying to study ascension, the process whereby a sentient, mortal being sheds his physical form and "ascends" to a higher plane of existence as a being of pure light and energy.

They had first learned about the reality of it upon their study of this facility's database when it was first discovered. If they had just stuck to what was in the database, everything would have been fine.

But then "the mission" happened. The one in which he himself had personally gotten caught up in, and thrown millions of years into the past and billions of light years to the other side of the universe along with the crew of Starfleet's flagship, the NX-01 "Enterprise", and what he had thought to be mere science fiction became a new reality for him to contend with.

That was when he, and then they, had learned that the "Star Wars" films were history and not fiction, the "Force" was real, and that somehow it was tied to the process of ascension. It was shortly after that when Section Thirty One discreetly raided the private estate archives of the family of George Lucas and searched far and wide for every book, every notebook, and every scrap of paper that had ever belonged to the man.

The ascended being stood in the room where those documents were now kept. It wouldn't take much. Just a single thought from him, and all of these documents would be destroyed. Just a flick of his will, and the original self-destruct charges could be set off, and everything in this underground bunker would be vaporized in a nuclear explosion. He could even contain the explosion so that it didn't reach where he didn't want it to go.

But then the Others would know. And for them, no good deed went unpunished. But what were the consequences for humanity, even for the rest of the galaxy if he didn't?

"A disturbance in the Force I sensed. Dark things there are here." An aged and gravelly voice spoke to him.

If he had still been mortal, Daniel would have spun around in total surprise. As it was, the image the being who had joined him projected was that of a very small green skinned creature with large, kind eyes and long elf like ears with a tiny wooden cane held in his three fingered right hand. The image of him wore a brown and tan habit much like that of a monk.

"Surprised to see me you are?" The diminutive ascended being chuckled.

"To say the least." Daniel responded. "The last time we met we were ninety billion light years across the universe, and millions of years ago. How did you…?"

"Travel through time? I did not." His companion responded amiably. "Except the way everyone must. Millions of years have I watched, and traveled with those who came after as they moved across the vastness of space and time. Gone is the civilization I knew, but the way of the Force change is. These people, this galaxy, the heirs of our legacy they are."

The simple, profound truth of his statement struck Daniel in a way he had never truly thought of.

The other being continued as his motioned in the direction of Section Thirty One's commanding officer who was several rooms away. "Dangerous is this man's research. Capable of causing the same wars, the same conflicts we fought to end is he. Destroy this young civilization he will." The small aged being continued.

"Yeah, that's my concern too." Daniel answered him, again contemplating the self-destruct charges.

"Don't." His companion said. "Know your mind I do. Sacrifice yourself, do not. Another way, there may be."

"I didn't know we could read each other's minds." Daniel said.

"Not hard it was to know your intent. Watch you in your mortal life I did. Know what kind of a person you are, I do. A waste it would be. Understand, the Others would not." The ancient master responded.

"But you do, don't you, Master Yoda?" He asked.

"Yes." Yoda replied. "And agree with you I do, Daniel Jackson."

"So... what's our alternative?" Daniel asked.

"Rising once more the Sith may be. To counter them, a Jedi is needed." He responded.

"Okay. But the Jedi order is long gone. There are no more Jedi, master Yoda." Daniel was trying to see where the ancient Jedi grandmaster was going with this, but it seemed like a dead end.

"Wrong you are, Daniel Jackson. One there remains. Forgotten he has, by your hand. Needed is he now. Remember he must, train he must." Yoda told him.

"One remains..." Daniel tried to understand. Then he realized whom the Jedi master was speaking of and began to shake his shimmering projected head. "That would forever alter the course of his life, not to mention the course of this galaxy's progress. He's already been struggling to cope."

"Know this I do. But a choice we have not. A Jedi we need. A Jedi he is." Yoda responded resolutely.

"The Others won't let you interfere any more than they will let me." Daniel pointed out.

"A good man, but young you are. So much you know Daniel Jackson, and yet so little as well." Yoda replied sagely. "My ally is the Force, Daniel Jackson. One with the Force have I been for millions of years. One with the Force will I remain, whether mortal, or immortal. My choice it is. Take this choice away from me, the Others will not. Immortal, interfere I cannot. Mortal… Say nothing they will."

"So, instead of me sacrificing myself, you make that sacrifice instead?" If he had still been mortal, a knot of guilt would have formed in Daniel's stomach.

"Logical it is." Yoda replied. "Powerless you would be. The Force you would not know, or be able to use. Jedi I was for nine hundred years. One with the Force I have been for millions. My strength, my power, all that I am resides in the Force. Abandon me, the Force will not."

"I wish I had your faith." Daniel remarked.

"Easy faith is, when one knows the object of one's faith so well. Faith a person might have in the air he breathes. See it he does not, yet trust it for his life he does. So it is with the Force." Yoda replied.

Daniel nodded in concession to the ancient master's wisdom. "I'll remain here and keep an eye on things. Maybe I can quietly stall their progress."

"Bring him I will, when the time is right." Yoda agreed.

Daniel almost felt silly at the impulse, but the words just seemed appropriate in parting, "May the Force be with you, Master Jedi."

"And also with you, Daniel Jackson." Yoda returned with a serious solemnity, and then he was gone.

Chapter 1

Captain's Log: June 19th, 2159

The Enterprise has been ordered by Starfleet to investigate a derelict ship discovered by a cargo hauler on the edge of Klingon claimed space. The only details they've given me are the coordinates, and that the ship's deep in an asteroid belt around a red giant. The admiral tells me that there shouldn't be any issues with Kronos because we'll still be outside of their recognized borders, and, without any class M planets in the system, there's nothing of real value there to interest them. Trouble is, I'm not sure the Klingons recognize the same borders we do, and, as we've found out on more than one occasion, they don't like trespassers. Hopefully, we'll be in and out before anyone notices.

In his cabin and sitting at his work desk, Captain Archer sighed as he ended his log entry, and rubbed his temples in frustration. He didn't like this. No, he really didn't like this. Classified orders for his eyes only, and even then only the barest description of what it was they were supposed to do. He might have even been breeching Starfleet security just entering the mission into the official record of the ship's logs.

At this point, he didn't care.

There were other ships, newer vessels even, that had been closer and could have checked out the space debris long before Enterprise could even reach that region of space. They had been in orbit around Andoria for several days on diplomatic duty, trying to further the unity of the coalition of planets he had helped to forge. But no, it had to be Enterprise and her crew. The admiral was very specific about that. He didn't want anyone else involved.

It was just a gut feeling, but it had the smell of Starfleet intelligence about it, and things usually went sideways for him and his crew whenever Starfleet intelligence became involved.

He tapped the button to call the bridge, "Archer to bridge."

"Bridge here, Captain." Came his weapons officer's response.

"Are all crew members returned from the planet?" He asked.

"Aye, sir. The last shuttle returned over an hour ago." Lieutenant Commander Reed responded.

Archer noted that, then asked, "Are any delegates left on board?"

"Hang on sir, let me check." Reed told him. A minute later he returned, "No, sir. We're clear of guests."

"Good." Archer responded. "Is Travis on duty yet?"

"Lieutenant Mayweather isn't due to report to the bridge for another two hours, sir; at oh-six-thirty." Reed responded.

"Fine. Have the helm set course for the coordinates I'm sending up to the bridge. Maximum warp." Archer said in a flat tone of voice.

"Aye, sir. New orders, sir?" Reed inquired.

Archer sighed again, "Yep." He responded. "Have yourself and the rest of the senior bridge crew assemble in the ready room in an hour for a mission briefing."

"Aye, sir." Came Reed's response. "And what about Lieutenant Mayweather?"

Travis is a lieutenant now, isn't he? It's been over a year. Why do I still think of him as an ensign? Archer asked himself.

"Just you, me, T'pol, and Tucker this time, Malcolm. Archer out." He closed the call.

He looked down at himself. He hadn't even changed out of the gray shorts and tee shirt he wore to bed the night before. His head was still fuzzy from sleep as well.

Why did they have to send these kinds of orders at this time of the morning?

He needed coffee, and a quick shower before the meeting.

Travis found himself deep underground, in a bunker like those he had read about in his history lessons from the Eugenics War a hundred years ago. There was a dark, cold feeling to the place. He could sense some malevolent force emanating from the dusty and abandoned rooms all around him, but he couldn't place it exactly.

In his hand was a cylindrical tube that he somehow knew was a weapon. It felt familiar, and trustworthy, though he couldn't remember ever using one like it before.

Instinctively, he reached out with his senses to take in his surroundings. His heart began to pound as he picked up on two men down the corridor to his right. As the panic began to rise within him, he called to mind the words of a meditation he had been taught… When? He couldn't remember who taught him or when he had heard it.

There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is…
A red light flashed off to his right and his ears picked up a familiar snap-hiss and hum of a very dangerous weapon. His mind and body were so attuned to the living energy around him that he reacted before it happened, and his own weapon was activated with the same snap-hiss as Travis somersaulted backwards and out of the reach of the red plasma blade.
"You'll need to do better than that to stop me, Jedi." Came a harsh, mocking voice.
"Jedi?" Travis asked in confusion.
Then his eyes flew open to the darkness of his his gray colored officer's quarters. He sat upright in his bunk, his blue undergarments that he had slept in were soaked with sweat.
"Man, what a dream." He said to himself as he rubbed his face in his dark skinned hands.
He looked at his chronometer. "Oh five hundred hours. Time to get up anyway." He said to himself.
It wasn't the first time he had that kind of dream. Sometimes he was in a temple being put through the most insane calisthenics course and doing things that just weren't humanly possible. Other times he was sneaking through the corridors of a huge alien ship, and then fighting some old guy with the same kind of red plasma sword he had just seen in this morning's dream. None of them really made any sense. They were like something out of some old science fiction movies he had seen a while back, though he couldn't really remember those either.
He moved to the lavatory unit of his quarters to quickly wash up before heading to the mess hall for a quick breakfast before his duty shift on the bridge.
Man, there sure are a lot of new faces, He thought to himself as he passed his blue uniformed crew mates through the corridors. He realized he didn't recognize more than half of those he saw, although all of them seemed to know who he was. Makes sense, I suppose, he considered, I am a bridge officer after all. Still, it felt weird to him to see so many strangers among what had been a pretty tight knit family of crew mates.
He had grown up running from planet to planet at warp two on his parents' cargo freighter, Horizon, where his dad had been the captain, his mother the chief engineer (as well as a dozen other positions on board), and everyone else as close as kin. Life these past eight years on board the Enterprise had become a lot like that. It had been a small town where everyone knew each other, and everyone had gone through hell and back with each other. It had forged bonds that almost went deeper than blood with his captain, and his fellow officers.
He passed a crew member he did know, Ensign Bradley from engineering, and gave a wide smile and "Hey!" to him as he hurried along.
Ensign Bradley smiled back and waved, "Hey, Lieutenant! Running late?"
"Nah, I've got twenty minutes. Plenty of time!" He returned as he continued down the corridor in a hurry.
Funny, Travis considered to himself as Bradley disappeared out of sight behind him, it's that same look again.
Travis had noticed "the look" almost a year ago. It was this look of respect, almost awe at times, that his crew mates gave him now. He usually saw it when he pulled off one of his nearly impossible piloting maneuvers. Sure, they tried to hide it, but he'd always catch it. He couldn't understand why or what the big deal was. After six years, they should have been used to his skills by now. "Most natural stick and rudder man I've ever known." That's what his dad had told Captain Archer to convince the captain to bring him on as Enterprise's helmsman.
The look began right after "the mission." The mission they had returned from, and he couldn't remember the details of to save his own life. The one mission he wished he did remember. There were so many feelings and emotions attached to it, but every time he tried to remember, he ran into a void in his mind as though it never happened.
But something had happened, he knew. It had to have. Because none of his crew mates, not even Commander Tucker, would discuss it with him, but somehow it clearly involved him in a big way. Every time he'd try to get close, they'd change the subject. Once, he even tried to ask the captain directly.
"I'm sorry, Travis. But Starfleet's ordered this so classified only the top brass are allowed access." He had told him.
"But I was there, sir!" Had been his response. "What can't I know about my own involvement?"
"Sorry, Travis. That's all I can tell you." Was the Captain's final word on it.
Travis hadn't tried again with Captain Archer after that.
Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Commander Reed weren't any more helpful.
"Travis, I've already said all I'm gonna say." Commander Tucker told him in his distinctive southern drawl, both empathetic and exasperated at the same time, when he approached him off duty privately in his quarters. "Starfleet intelligence would have all of our heads on a silver platter if any of us so much as breathed a word about the mission to anyone, even each other. Now, I'm sorry, but I've got my job to do and so do you."
"I'd keep clear of this, if I were you lieutenant." Reed had told him when Travis had cornered him as discreetly as he could. "When certain people from Starfleet intelligence get involved..." He had trailed off with a deep sigh. "Just stay clear of it, alright?"
As Travis had left that last conversation with Reed about it, he would have sworn he caught him saying the words under his breath in his crisp British accent, "...might need a Jedi if they learned we even mentioned it."
"Jedi." The word sounded so familiar, like it had been important to him at one time, though he couldn't remember where he had heard it, or even what it meant. After looking it up in the ship's database, he learned it had been a reference to an old science fiction series involving several movies, television episodes, books and other media from the late twentieth and early twenty first centuries collectively called Star Wars. What any of it could have to do with him, however, completely escaped him.
Travis looked up at the ship's clock as he pulled a muffin and coffee from the selections in the mess hall. Ten minutes left to the start of his shift. No time to sit and chat, he decided as he wolfed down his muffin and took his coffee with him back down the corridor towards the lift to the bridge.

The bridge crew looked tense as they drew nearer the coordinates of the derelict ship they had been ordered to investigate. Each of them were distinctly aware of the closeness of the borders of Klingon space; borders the Empire itself barely recognized.
"Any other ships in the vicinity on sensors yet?" Archer asked out loud as they dropped out of warp to impulse speed.
"No, sir. Although I'm reading what looks like a massive debris field ahead." The ship's tactical officer replied. "I recommend we polarize the hull. That should be enough to protect us from minor collisions."
"Do it." Archer responded flatly as he kept his eyes on the viewscreen. He took turns standing, pacing the bridge, and sitting in his captain's chair as they progressed towards their goal. To be honest, he'd rather be anywhere else in the galaxy at this point, and not within spitting distance of an alien race that was known for it's "shoot first and forget the questions" policy on trespassing.
Why did it have to be us? We were perfectly happy hosting the Andorians. He thought to himself.
The debris field grew in the view screen as they moved forward. On the screen, chunks of metal, plastic, and other man made debris of various sizes and shapes passed by them, though the debris was getting larger and more defined the further into the field they came. Soon, shapes of smaller fighter craft as well as sections of larger craft came into view.
"Looks like our Klingon friends forgot to clean up their mess when they were done. Commander Tucker said from his engineering station on the bridge.
Archer was about to agree until T'Pol moved over to Reed's console and conferred with him quietly. He noticed the look of surprise on Reed's face when she pointed something out to him, and he looked over the results again, apparently not able to challenge her argument.
Finally T'Pol spoke up, "None of this debris belongs to any known class of vessel operated by the Empire." She pronounced. She then added, "Scans also indicate that none of it could have originated with any known Klingon manufacturing process." She then turned back to her screen.
On a gut feeling, Archer asked the two of them, "Any idea how old this junkyard is?" On the view screen, he could now see the husks of small ships that looked strangely and disturbingly familiar.
"'Graveyard' would be a more accurate term, sir." Reed responded. "I'm reading biological remains, lots of biological remains, all around and inside the ship debris."
"How old, Malcolm?" Archer repeated his question, growing increasingly uncomfortable at the now very recognizable images of dead ships he was seeing. Ship designs similar to those he had only last encountered a year ago on a mission now so classified he wasn't even certain that the United Earth president knew anything about it.
"Preliminary scans of the debris field indicate an approximate age of three point six million Earth years, Captain." T'Pol responded.
As Archer gazed at the view screen, a sinking feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, the image of a single, massive, triangular shaped vessel grew in the view screen directly ahead of them.
Damn. Archer thought to himself as he looked around at those crewmen still on the bridge. "Trip, Malcolm, Travis, Hoshi, and T'Pol stay put. Everyone else, clear the bridge. Now." He ordered. As the other three or four crewmen immediately left the bridge, he worried they had already seen too much for their own good, but there was nothing he could do about it except hope they weren't fans of classical science fiction cinema.
Damn. He thought to himself. They could have warned me what we were sent to find before we got here. I could have kept those crewmen off the bridge. Then he thought about all those other crewmen just staring out their view ports and realized there's no way he could keep any of them from seeing what he was seeing accidentally. So much for top secret need-to-know clearance, he thought to himself.
When the lift doors had shut, all eyes were on the triangle ghost ship in front of them, dead in space for a very, very long time. It had taken a severe amount of damage in the battle which had left the debris field, but the "T" shaped bridge which rose towards the base of the triangle was just as distinctive as ever, as were the massive, ship swallowing engine exhaust ports along the base.
"I guess we know now why Starfleet intelligence wanted us specifically to investigate it." Reed finally said, breaking the silence.
Archer had already come to the same conclusion from the wreckage of the sleek long nosed, one man fighters and their distinctive crossed "X-wing" attack configuration they had been flying through. He briefly glanced at Travis, wondering if he should have had him leave too, since he couldn't remember any of it. But then his gut told him to keep Travis right where he was.
The last time they had encountered this class of ship, they had needed the special skills his helmsman had been trained in during that mission. Archer's gut told him they would again as he stared at the carcass of what looked to him like an Imperial Star Destroyer from millions of years ago, and a galaxy on the other side of the universe.