Chapter 4
You can be alright on the wrong side of the street
Aerosmith; Head First
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Tuesday (Dienstag), the 25th of July 1985 (der 25.7.1985)
Well, now I'm writing a journal. I never thought I'd ever do that, but the last few days a lot happened that I never thought would happen, and that's a bloody understatement. I'm stranded in this century and country, and there's no possibility to go back to where I belong. At least none I can see. I keep telling me what Commander...what Trip would tell me: You have to think of a happy end. Reminds me of that old American children story about this nanny...if you loose your happy thoughts you fall. Seems like I lost them.
I am Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, and until a week ago, I've been the Armoury Officer on board the starship Enterprise NX-01 of Starfleet. Right now I'm...well, I think you could say I'm unemployed. Since I landed here the strangest things happened, and the most important facts I want to write down quickly: I apparently arrived here in Germany on wednesday the 19th of July (that would be Mittwoch der 19.7.85 in German), although I can't remember anything of that day, neither what happened here in this century nor what happened in the 22nd century. The first thing I *do* remember is waking up in a room owned by a woman named Bianca. At that moment I couldn't remember anything, not even my name. I stayed there until the night of the 20th of July, when I managed to get back most of my memories - I had been catching glimpses before, but never been able to recall whole memories. Then I wandered through this city for most of the night, and the morning of the next day I met Petra Lauber. She works as a part-time employee in a Tourist Information Centre. When I arrived there I wasn't in the best of conditions, and she took care of me - was even so kind to offer me to stay at her place until I knew what I was going to do. I had told her that I couldn't remember anything of my past since I could hardly tell her that I came from the year 2151. Although right now I'm not sure if she really wouldn't have believed that. She is...it's hard for me to express my feelings concerning Petra. Of course I'm grateful - very grateful. She helped me and she gave me a place to live - *her* place. But I'm not sure if she did it out of pure charity. I think she did it because the thought of a mysterious stranger who has lost his memory fascinated her. She's...weird. She has problems with separating reality from imagination, and in this century, where your imagination is stimulated by so many things - TV, cinema, books, computer games, you name it - it's even harder for her. It's not that I'm offended that her interest in me mostly emerges from all the movies about mysterious strangers - hell, no, it's not like that. I'm just afraid that I'm using her, taking advantage of her...naivety. I don't want this to happen. But now thinking about it, that's just what I'm doing. Why else shouldn't I tell her that I can very well remember my past, where I came from and what I did there? She would believe it, I'm almost sure of that - it would take some explaining, but she would believe it. So why don't I just tell her? Because I'm afraid that maybe - just *maybe* - she wouldn't believe it. And what would she do then? Would she still let me live here? If she wouldn't, what would I do? I wouldn't know where to go. I still don't have any money, still don't know the language - although I have picked up some words: bitte, danke, and how to write a date. I can't risk that, so I won't tell her - but that's using her. I don't know what else to do, so I suppose I just have to leave it at that - and sooner or later she will find out anyway. She's not stupid, and I'm a bad actor, don't have enough imagination to be a good one. So it'll probably be rather sooner than later. Well, nothing possibly to be done about that. I just have to keep this journal out of her reach.
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-###-
"What's this?"
"That's what you ordered. Weißwürstel, they're called. That means 'white sausages'. And that's sweet mustard."
"*Sweet* mustard?"
"Sure. That's traditional for this area. It always goes with Weißwürstel. Here's your pretzel."
"Thanks."
"No, wait. You can't just eat it, you have to peel it."
"*Peel* it?"
"Yes. You slit it open with your fork and then you peel it. Like this, look."
"That's...disgusting."
"Yes, I know. Well, there's a reason why I *didn't* order Weißwürstel."
-###-
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Tuesday (Dienstag) the 1st of August 1985 (1.8.985)
I decided too keep this as a weekly journal since I probably wouldn't be able to get away from Petra long enough to make a dayly entry. First I thought I could do it while she's at work but last wednesday, she got me a job. I'm working in a warehouse where I have to carry boxes six hours a day - not really the most thrilling work, but it makes money and you don't have to speak German. Most workers there don't speak German, or just barely. Most of them are from the east - a lot of Turkish people, but also immigrants from Poland and Russia. Some of them even speak some words English, and one of the Polish people, Jurek, I can even talk to. He's the boss of the department I work in, so I don't have much to do wih him, but I think he's okay. Petra knows him - or better, she knows the girlfriend of one of his friends - and that's how she got that job. She didn't say so, but I suppose it's not exactly legal for me to work there. Oh, well, but I'm not getting much for it anyway - five euros an hour. I wouldn't know if that's good or not, but Petra told me the normal wage would be at least eight euros. Anyway I'm getting 150 euros a week, and that's enough for me. At least now I can pay Petra back what she's spending for my maintenance.
I don't think that anything else happened that whould be of interest - exept that it seems that this headache-problem won't solve itself. I had another attack on Saturday - not as bad as on the day I met Petra but bad enough. Petra says I should see a doctor and although I hate to say so, I think she's right. The only problem is that I'm not insured here in this time and I won't be able to pay a check-up with the money I make at the warehouse. Also I would have to give at least some kind of personal data which I just can't. So that'll have to wait.
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-###-
"Do you like it?"
"It's lovely."
"Yes, I always liked our cathedral. It's gothic. That's rare in this area. Most churches and cathedrals here are baroque. But that's nice, too. I love the angels and all the little detailed stucco-ornamets. And you?"
"I don't know. I never really thought about it."
"Oh? Maybe you don't have that where you come from. I wouldn't know, I've never been to England. Well, but you have London, that's very historical, too. When I was still in school I once had an exchange student living at my house, and she said that Germany has so many churches that everybody could have his own church if they wanted to."
"Really? Do you have more churches here in this part of the city?"
"Oh, sure, at least three, probably more. But not this big."
"I see. Do many people still attend services?"
"Oh, some. Not that many. Most people only go on christmas and easter. If they go."
"Do you?"
"Only like I said on christmas and easter. And that's just a habit, I think. I do believe in God, but not like the church does."
"How then?"
"Different. Do you believe in God?"
"No, not really."
"That's sad. I think everybody should believe in something."
"But has that to be God?"
"...No. But in what would you believe if not in a god of some sort?"
"You could believe in a concept. Logic, for example."
"How could you believe in logic?"
"Well, there are different ways to cope with the problems life confronts you with. You can try to solve them by following your emotions, but also by following some religious rules. Or you can use logic."
"You mean, analyzing every problem and then choosing the logical way to solve it?"
"Exactly."
"That would be horrible. It would kill the last little bit of humanity that's left in the people of this time. It would eliminate things like sympathy and charity."
"But it would also eliminate things like hate, greed, jealousy..."
"You would accept that price? You would accept it that you turn yourself into an unfeeling computer to get rid of the part of yourself that you're uncomfortable with?"
"You don't have to turn yourself into an unfeeling computer. It's not about getting rid of a part of you, it's about controlling that part."
"If you control any part of you, you lock it up. You lock it up in a cage, and how could you ever be happy like that?"
"It can protect you from a lot of pain that otherwise would make your life miserable."
"Life's never miserable if you take what you've got and make something with it."
"Do you really think so?"
-###-
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Dienstag der 8.8.1985
I wouldn't have thought it possible, but it seems I get used to life in the 20th century. After all, it's not too different to life in the 22nd century on earth - life in space is a completely different matter, of course. The great difference is that these people here don't know that there's life on other planets - most people still think humans are the only sentient species in space. There are countless movies about the subject, though, and Petra told me that there are many people who do believe in extraterrestrial life. To think that right now, the Vulcans are watching earth, waiting for Cochrane to develop warp technology, is scary. And it makes me realize how much I could change by my actions. I couldn't construct a warp engine, that's true, but I could easily show the people of this time how to construct particle weapons or even phase pistols. Not that I intend to do so, but if I would...it would destroy the balance of powers that's just establishing, and it would change everything concerning the Third World War. It would give Germany a great advantage which could - no, which would change the events of the Eugenian Wars. A whole world of what if's is laying open, and I'm afraid that even if I don't tell anyone about the weapons of the 22nd century - and I certainly do not intend to do that - I might change the future by any action or statement that doesn't seem risky at all. I could be the cause of an accident where somebody gets killed that was supposed to live, or I could say something that inspires someone to do something that shouldn't be done. I think I can understand now why Daniels was making such a fuss...
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Malcolm put down the pencil and looked up. He had been concentrating on his writing, and suddenly that name had popped up: Daniels. He could perfecly remember the occasion when they had met the strange time traveler from the future: a Suliban had been running rampant on Enterprise and Daniels had tried to reconfigurate the sensors to discover him. It had worked too, but as far as Malcolm could remember - and that he could very well, the mission had not been one of the highlights in his function as Armouy Officer on Enterprise - Daniels had been killed by the Suliban. So why was he thinking of the man now? That mission hadn't been about saving the time line, it had been about keeping Enterprise from getting blown to pieces.
'You're forgetting something, though,' he thought. 'Why would Daniels get himself killed only to save Enterprise? That's your job. Enterprise would only concern him if she's somehow involved in an altering of the time line. And didn't the Captain say something like that? That Enterprise wasn't supposed to be destroyed at that point of time, and that was why Daniels showed up? I think he did.'
So he *had* remembered Danield because of this mission...but somehow that didn't feel right. He had remembered something, but not that mission. During that mission, he hadn't known what was going on, he had only been following orders. Afterwards in the briefing, he had found out what had been happening. But then, Daniels had been dead already. So he couldn't remember Daniels because of this mission since he hadn't really seen him, least of all talked to him then. It was the memory of something else. Should Daniels be responsible for this mess?
'But that can't be. Daniel's dead.'
"Daniel's dead," he said out loud. "He died during that mission. So why do I have the feeling that I should have another memory of him?"
"Because," said a voice from behind him, "you've met me again after the Daniels of this time line died."
"Bloody hell!" Malcolm yelled and leapt from his chair. Behind him a man was standing, grinning. He wore the uniform of a crewman of the Enterpise, had brown hair and an unnerving smile. Daniels.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Malcolm asked wide-eyed.
"I" said Daniels, and his smile broadened, "am here to bring you back to your own time."
"What? You died! You were ripped apart by the phaser shot that Suliban fired at you! You...you can't be here!"
Daniels chuckled. "It seems to me I had this conversation before. Of course it must seem ... unusual to you that I died and am now talking to you, but you see, I'm not the Daniels that died, I'm from another time line, where I survived that mission. But..." he added, frowning, "...you should know that. You were on the bridge when I told the Captain that."
"When you told the Captain what?"
"Well, the reason why I'm here although I died."
"So..." Malcolm said slowly, "...so it *is* because of you that I'm stuck here? You visited Enterprise again?"
"Yes, I did, and I'm surprised that you don't remember that occasion. You went onto the Suliban ship with me, after all."
"I did *what*?"
"You don't remember that?"
"Remember what, for God's sake!"
"Our mission. And how you got here."
Malcolm looked at Daniels, frowning. "No, I *don't* remember how I got here. Did you...send me here somehow?"
"Well, that is surprising. Time travel normally doesn't affect the traveler's memory. Wouldn't come in very handy, would it." He giggled, but sobered up as Reed shot him a glare. "Ahem, yes. What *do* you remember? What's the last thing you can recall?"
Malcolm lifted one eyebrow and considered Daniel's question. The last thing he remembered... He closed his eyes.
"I was at my station on the bridge, working on the duty roster for next week, and the sensors picked something up..a ship of some sort...it was small, and T'Pol wasn't able to identify it...she said it looked like- " Suddenly a sharp jolt of pain cut through his head, and he gasped. Daniel's hand fell on his shoulder.
"Lieutenant? Are you all right?"
Massaging his temples, he waited for the pain to subside. Finally it reduced to a pounding in the back of his head.
"Yes, I'm fine." he answered, opening his eyes to look at the other man.
"What happened?" Daniels asked.
"Since I came here, I sometimes have these...headache attacks, I think you could call them. But it goes away. Nothing to worry about."
Daniels cocked his head. "Maybe you should let me be the judge of that. You didn't have any experience with time travel before you were sent here. Maybe you react in some special way to it."
"Another allergy," Malcolm murmured wryly.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing of importance. What interests me more right now is *why* you sent me back in time."
"Well, actually it wasn't me who sent you back in time, but anyway, if you had stayed in your own time you would have been killed in the explosion of the Suliban ship."
Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Okay, Mr Daniels. Could you please answer my questions in this order: What kind of mission was that where we went onto a Suliban ship, what exactly did we do there, why did the ship explode, and why would anybody send me here, of all times and places?"
"I would love to tell you all that", Daniels said while smiling that unnerving smile, "but it's already three pm, and as far as I know, your host will be returning in about five minutes, and that's just not enough time. You'll have to trust me without explanation. Let's go, we don't have much time." He tried to turn but Malcolm stopped him.
"No, I'm not just leaving. First of all, I have no idea where you want to take me and what you're planning and second of all, I owe Petra a lot. I can't just disappear without a word." He crossed his arms over his chest and added, "I have to tell her what I am. I kept it from her way too long anyway."
Daniels eyes widenend and the grin disappeared.
"Are you crazy? Do you know what you could set off by telling people who you are? You didn't tell anyone while you were here, did you?"
Taken aback by Daniels outburst, Reed shook his head. "No, I didn't. But what difference would it make? People wouldn't believe me anyway."
"You can't be sure of that. People believe the craziest stuff. Believe me, I know. The first thing you learn during the training for time traveling is: never tell anyone about your real identity."
"But then, why did you tell us - the Enterprise crew - the truth? I mean, we are people from the past for you."
"That was something different. You aren't as primitive as this 20th century culture; and I kept the knowledge to as few people as possible. But now," he added, glancing at the door, "we really have to go."
"I told you, I'm not just leaving like that. And if you don't tell me what you're planning to do, I'm not coming anyway."
"Lieutenant! We really have to leave!"
"No, I'm not just sneaking out of here."
Suddenly there was a rattling at the door. Keys being turned in the lock. Daniels let out an exasperated sigh and looked at Reed who still had his arms crossed over his chest.
"Okay Lieutenant, say good-bye and whatever you have to say. But please keep it short and the minute you're done, come to me. I'll be waiting outside." With that he disappeared. Surprised Reed stared at the space Daniels had occupied just seconds ago. Then he heard Petra calling him:
"Malcolm! Malcolm, I'm home!"
Biting his lip, he grabbed his journal from the table and turned, wondering what he should tell her. He went into the kitchen where she was already fussing around, putting away the groceries she had bought.
"Hi, how was your day? I can tell you, Malcolm, I had the worst day since God sent the Flood! First, Sonja didn't show up for work, then the stupid computer broke down, and you know I can't make that thing do what I want at the best of times..."
"Petra..."
"...and then I had to call Jonas, of all people, to tell me how to get it running again - by the way, why didn't you answer the phone, I tried to call you!"
"I was at work. But Petra..."
"Oh yes sure you were working, how stupid of me...were you saying something?"
"Yes." He sighed. He really didn't like what he was about to do. "Petra, I have to tell you something."
"Oh?" She turned, looking at him.
"Yes. Petra...I have to go."
"What? Where do you want to go?"
"I have to leave. I can't tell you where I'm going, but it is pretty sure that you'll never see me again."
'Oh my God, you sound like one of these characters from these books with titles like 'Emily's Love',' he thought. 'But that's what you're aiming at, isn't it?'
"But...you're leaving?" She stared at him wide-eyed.
"Yes, and I wanted to thank you for everything. Without you I...I don't know what I would have done, and I owe you everything." He turned and hoped it would be over, but then he felt Petra's arms around him, holding him in a desperate hug.
"Don't leave me, please! I...I never told you, but I think I'm in love with you."
He sighed inwardly and wriggled from her embrace, grabbing her wrists and looking her into the eyes.
"Petra, I *have* to go. I can't tell you where I'm going and why, but I'm sure we'll never see us again. So please...don't make this harder than it already is."
She looked at him, and tears quelled into her eyes.
"Please," she whispered, "don't leave me."
"I have to," he repeated. "Thank you so much for everything. Good-bye."
Letting go of her, he turned and fled from the apartment.
You can be alright on the wrong side of the street
Aerosmith; Head First
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Tuesday (Dienstag), the 25th of July 1985 (der 25.7.1985)
Well, now I'm writing a journal. I never thought I'd ever do that, but the last few days a lot happened that I never thought would happen, and that's a bloody understatement. I'm stranded in this century and country, and there's no possibility to go back to where I belong. At least none I can see. I keep telling me what Commander...what Trip would tell me: You have to think of a happy end. Reminds me of that old American children story about this nanny...if you loose your happy thoughts you fall. Seems like I lost them.
I am Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, and until a week ago, I've been the Armoury Officer on board the starship Enterprise NX-01 of Starfleet. Right now I'm...well, I think you could say I'm unemployed. Since I landed here the strangest things happened, and the most important facts I want to write down quickly: I apparently arrived here in Germany on wednesday the 19th of July (that would be Mittwoch der 19.7.85 in German), although I can't remember anything of that day, neither what happened here in this century nor what happened in the 22nd century. The first thing I *do* remember is waking up in a room owned by a woman named Bianca. At that moment I couldn't remember anything, not even my name. I stayed there until the night of the 20th of July, when I managed to get back most of my memories - I had been catching glimpses before, but never been able to recall whole memories. Then I wandered through this city for most of the night, and the morning of the next day I met Petra Lauber. She works as a part-time employee in a Tourist Information Centre. When I arrived there I wasn't in the best of conditions, and she took care of me - was even so kind to offer me to stay at her place until I knew what I was going to do. I had told her that I couldn't remember anything of my past since I could hardly tell her that I came from the year 2151. Although right now I'm not sure if she really wouldn't have believed that. She is...it's hard for me to express my feelings concerning Petra. Of course I'm grateful - very grateful. She helped me and she gave me a place to live - *her* place. But I'm not sure if she did it out of pure charity. I think she did it because the thought of a mysterious stranger who has lost his memory fascinated her. She's...weird. She has problems with separating reality from imagination, and in this century, where your imagination is stimulated by so many things - TV, cinema, books, computer games, you name it - it's even harder for her. It's not that I'm offended that her interest in me mostly emerges from all the movies about mysterious strangers - hell, no, it's not like that. I'm just afraid that I'm using her, taking advantage of her...naivety. I don't want this to happen. But now thinking about it, that's just what I'm doing. Why else shouldn't I tell her that I can very well remember my past, where I came from and what I did there? She would believe it, I'm almost sure of that - it would take some explaining, but she would believe it. So why don't I just tell her? Because I'm afraid that maybe - just *maybe* - she wouldn't believe it. And what would she do then? Would she still let me live here? If she wouldn't, what would I do? I wouldn't know where to go. I still don't have any money, still don't know the language - although I have picked up some words: bitte, danke, and how to write a date. I can't risk that, so I won't tell her - but that's using her. I don't know what else to do, so I suppose I just have to leave it at that - and sooner or later she will find out anyway. She's not stupid, and I'm a bad actor, don't have enough imagination to be a good one. So it'll probably be rather sooner than later. Well, nothing possibly to be done about that. I just have to keep this journal out of her reach.
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"What's this?"
"That's what you ordered. Weißwürstel, they're called. That means 'white sausages'. And that's sweet mustard."
"*Sweet* mustard?"
"Sure. That's traditional for this area. It always goes with Weißwürstel. Here's your pretzel."
"Thanks."
"No, wait. You can't just eat it, you have to peel it."
"*Peel* it?"
"Yes. You slit it open with your fork and then you peel it. Like this, look."
"That's...disgusting."
"Yes, I know. Well, there's a reason why I *didn't* order Weißwürstel."
-###-
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Tuesday (Dienstag) the 1st of August 1985 (1.8.985)
I decided too keep this as a weekly journal since I probably wouldn't be able to get away from Petra long enough to make a dayly entry. First I thought I could do it while she's at work but last wednesday, she got me a job. I'm working in a warehouse where I have to carry boxes six hours a day - not really the most thrilling work, but it makes money and you don't have to speak German. Most workers there don't speak German, or just barely. Most of them are from the east - a lot of Turkish people, but also immigrants from Poland and Russia. Some of them even speak some words English, and one of the Polish people, Jurek, I can even talk to. He's the boss of the department I work in, so I don't have much to do wih him, but I think he's okay. Petra knows him - or better, she knows the girlfriend of one of his friends - and that's how she got that job. She didn't say so, but I suppose it's not exactly legal for me to work there. Oh, well, but I'm not getting much for it anyway - five euros an hour. I wouldn't know if that's good or not, but Petra told me the normal wage would be at least eight euros. Anyway I'm getting 150 euros a week, and that's enough for me. At least now I can pay Petra back what she's spending for my maintenance.
I don't think that anything else happened that whould be of interest - exept that it seems that this headache-problem won't solve itself. I had another attack on Saturday - not as bad as on the day I met Petra but bad enough. Petra says I should see a doctor and although I hate to say so, I think she's right. The only problem is that I'm not insured here in this time and I won't be able to pay a check-up with the money I make at the warehouse. Also I would have to give at least some kind of personal data which I just can't. So that'll have to wait.
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-###-
"Do you like it?"
"It's lovely."
"Yes, I always liked our cathedral. It's gothic. That's rare in this area. Most churches and cathedrals here are baroque. But that's nice, too. I love the angels and all the little detailed stucco-ornamets. And you?"
"I don't know. I never really thought about it."
"Oh? Maybe you don't have that where you come from. I wouldn't know, I've never been to England. Well, but you have London, that's very historical, too. When I was still in school I once had an exchange student living at my house, and she said that Germany has so many churches that everybody could have his own church if they wanted to."
"Really? Do you have more churches here in this part of the city?"
"Oh, sure, at least three, probably more. But not this big."
"I see. Do many people still attend services?"
"Oh, some. Not that many. Most people only go on christmas and easter. If they go."
"Do you?"
"Only like I said on christmas and easter. And that's just a habit, I think. I do believe in God, but not like the church does."
"How then?"
"Different. Do you believe in God?"
"No, not really."
"That's sad. I think everybody should believe in something."
"But has that to be God?"
"...No. But in what would you believe if not in a god of some sort?"
"You could believe in a concept. Logic, for example."
"How could you believe in logic?"
"Well, there are different ways to cope with the problems life confronts you with. You can try to solve them by following your emotions, but also by following some religious rules. Or you can use logic."
"You mean, analyzing every problem and then choosing the logical way to solve it?"
"Exactly."
"That would be horrible. It would kill the last little bit of humanity that's left in the people of this time. It would eliminate things like sympathy and charity."
"But it would also eliminate things like hate, greed, jealousy..."
"You would accept that price? You would accept it that you turn yourself into an unfeeling computer to get rid of the part of yourself that you're uncomfortable with?"
"You don't have to turn yourself into an unfeeling computer. It's not about getting rid of a part of you, it's about controlling that part."
"If you control any part of you, you lock it up. You lock it up in a cage, and how could you ever be happy like that?"
"It can protect you from a lot of pain that otherwise would make your life miserable."
"Life's never miserable if you take what you've got and make something with it."
"Do you really think so?"
-###-
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Dienstag der 8.8.1985
I wouldn't have thought it possible, but it seems I get used to life in the 20th century. After all, it's not too different to life in the 22nd century on earth - life in space is a completely different matter, of course. The great difference is that these people here don't know that there's life on other planets - most people still think humans are the only sentient species in space. There are countless movies about the subject, though, and Petra told me that there are many people who do believe in extraterrestrial life. To think that right now, the Vulcans are watching earth, waiting for Cochrane to develop warp technology, is scary. And it makes me realize how much I could change by my actions. I couldn't construct a warp engine, that's true, but I could easily show the people of this time how to construct particle weapons or even phase pistols. Not that I intend to do so, but if I would...it would destroy the balance of powers that's just establishing, and it would change everything concerning the Third World War. It would give Germany a great advantage which could - no, which would change the events of the Eugenian Wars. A whole world of what if's is laying open, and I'm afraid that even if I don't tell anyone about the weapons of the 22nd century - and I certainly do not intend to do that - I might change the future by any action or statement that doesn't seem risky at all. I could be the cause of an accident where somebody gets killed that was supposed to live, or I could say something that inspires someone to do something that shouldn't be done. I think I can understand now why Daniels was making such a fuss...
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Malcolm put down the pencil and looked up. He had been concentrating on his writing, and suddenly that name had popped up: Daniels. He could perfecly remember the occasion when they had met the strange time traveler from the future: a Suliban had been running rampant on Enterprise and Daniels had tried to reconfigurate the sensors to discover him. It had worked too, but as far as Malcolm could remember - and that he could very well, the mission had not been one of the highlights in his function as Armouy Officer on Enterprise - Daniels had been killed by the Suliban. So why was he thinking of the man now? That mission hadn't been about saving the time line, it had been about keeping Enterprise from getting blown to pieces.
'You're forgetting something, though,' he thought. 'Why would Daniels get himself killed only to save Enterprise? That's your job. Enterprise would only concern him if she's somehow involved in an altering of the time line. And didn't the Captain say something like that? That Enterprise wasn't supposed to be destroyed at that point of time, and that was why Daniels showed up? I think he did.'
So he *had* remembered Danield because of this mission...but somehow that didn't feel right. He had remembered something, but not that mission. During that mission, he hadn't known what was going on, he had only been following orders. Afterwards in the briefing, he had found out what had been happening. But then, Daniels had been dead already. So he couldn't remember Daniels because of this mission since he hadn't really seen him, least of all talked to him then. It was the memory of something else. Should Daniels be responsible for this mess?
'But that can't be. Daniel's dead.'
"Daniel's dead," he said out loud. "He died during that mission. So why do I have the feeling that I should have another memory of him?"
"Because," said a voice from behind him, "you've met me again after the Daniels of this time line died."
"Bloody hell!" Malcolm yelled and leapt from his chair. Behind him a man was standing, grinning. He wore the uniform of a crewman of the Enterpise, had brown hair and an unnerving smile. Daniels.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Malcolm asked wide-eyed.
"I" said Daniels, and his smile broadened, "am here to bring you back to your own time."
"What? You died! You were ripped apart by the phaser shot that Suliban fired at you! You...you can't be here!"
Daniels chuckled. "It seems to me I had this conversation before. Of course it must seem ... unusual to you that I died and am now talking to you, but you see, I'm not the Daniels that died, I'm from another time line, where I survived that mission. But..." he added, frowning, "...you should know that. You were on the bridge when I told the Captain that."
"When you told the Captain what?"
"Well, the reason why I'm here although I died."
"So..." Malcolm said slowly, "...so it *is* because of you that I'm stuck here? You visited Enterprise again?"
"Yes, I did, and I'm surprised that you don't remember that occasion. You went onto the Suliban ship with me, after all."
"I did *what*?"
"You don't remember that?"
"Remember what, for God's sake!"
"Our mission. And how you got here."
Malcolm looked at Daniels, frowning. "No, I *don't* remember how I got here. Did you...send me here somehow?"
"Well, that is surprising. Time travel normally doesn't affect the traveler's memory. Wouldn't come in very handy, would it." He giggled, but sobered up as Reed shot him a glare. "Ahem, yes. What *do* you remember? What's the last thing you can recall?"
Malcolm lifted one eyebrow and considered Daniel's question. The last thing he remembered... He closed his eyes.
"I was at my station on the bridge, working on the duty roster for next week, and the sensors picked something up..a ship of some sort...it was small, and T'Pol wasn't able to identify it...she said it looked like- " Suddenly a sharp jolt of pain cut through his head, and he gasped. Daniel's hand fell on his shoulder.
"Lieutenant? Are you all right?"
Massaging his temples, he waited for the pain to subside. Finally it reduced to a pounding in the back of his head.
"Yes, I'm fine." he answered, opening his eyes to look at the other man.
"What happened?" Daniels asked.
"Since I came here, I sometimes have these...headache attacks, I think you could call them. But it goes away. Nothing to worry about."
Daniels cocked his head. "Maybe you should let me be the judge of that. You didn't have any experience with time travel before you were sent here. Maybe you react in some special way to it."
"Another allergy," Malcolm murmured wryly.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing of importance. What interests me more right now is *why* you sent me back in time."
"Well, actually it wasn't me who sent you back in time, but anyway, if you had stayed in your own time you would have been killed in the explosion of the Suliban ship."
Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Okay, Mr Daniels. Could you please answer my questions in this order: What kind of mission was that where we went onto a Suliban ship, what exactly did we do there, why did the ship explode, and why would anybody send me here, of all times and places?"
"I would love to tell you all that", Daniels said while smiling that unnerving smile, "but it's already three pm, and as far as I know, your host will be returning in about five minutes, and that's just not enough time. You'll have to trust me without explanation. Let's go, we don't have much time." He tried to turn but Malcolm stopped him.
"No, I'm not just leaving. First of all, I have no idea where you want to take me and what you're planning and second of all, I owe Petra a lot. I can't just disappear without a word." He crossed his arms over his chest and added, "I have to tell her what I am. I kept it from her way too long anyway."
Daniels eyes widenend and the grin disappeared.
"Are you crazy? Do you know what you could set off by telling people who you are? You didn't tell anyone while you were here, did you?"
Taken aback by Daniels outburst, Reed shook his head. "No, I didn't. But what difference would it make? People wouldn't believe me anyway."
"You can't be sure of that. People believe the craziest stuff. Believe me, I know. The first thing you learn during the training for time traveling is: never tell anyone about your real identity."
"But then, why did you tell us - the Enterprise crew - the truth? I mean, we are people from the past for you."
"That was something different. You aren't as primitive as this 20th century culture; and I kept the knowledge to as few people as possible. But now," he added, glancing at the door, "we really have to go."
"I told you, I'm not just leaving like that. And if you don't tell me what you're planning to do, I'm not coming anyway."
"Lieutenant! We really have to leave!"
"No, I'm not just sneaking out of here."
Suddenly there was a rattling at the door. Keys being turned in the lock. Daniels let out an exasperated sigh and looked at Reed who still had his arms crossed over his chest.
"Okay Lieutenant, say good-bye and whatever you have to say. But please keep it short and the minute you're done, come to me. I'll be waiting outside." With that he disappeared. Surprised Reed stared at the space Daniels had occupied just seconds ago. Then he heard Petra calling him:
"Malcolm! Malcolm, I'm home!"
Biting his lip, he grabbed his journal from the table and turned, wondering what he should tell her. He went into the kitchen where she was already fussing around, putting away the groceries she had bought.
"Hi, how was your day? I can tell you, Malcolm, I had the worst day since God sent the Flood! First, Sonja didn't show up for work, then the stupid computer broke down, and you know I can't make that thing do what I want at the best of times..."
"Petra..."
"...and then I had to call Jonas, of all people, to tell me how to get it running again - by the way, why didn't you answer the phone, I tried to call you!"
"I was at work. But Petra..."
"Oh yes sure you were working, how stupid of me...were you saying something?"
"Yes." He sighed. He really didn't like what he was about to do. "Petra, I have to tell you something."
"Oh?" She turned, looking at him.
"Yes. Petra...I have to go."
"What? Where do you want to go?"
"I have to leave. I can't tell you where I'm going, but it is pretty sure that you'll never see me again."
'Oh my God, you sound like one of these characters from these books with titles like 'Emily's Love',' he thought. 'But that's what you're aiming at, isn't it?'
"But...you're leaving?" She stared at him wide-eyed.
"Yes, and I wanted to thank you for everything. Without you I...I don't know what I would have done, and I owe you everything." He turned and hoped it would be over, but then he felt Petra's arms around him, holding him in a desperate hug.
"Don't leave me, please! I...I never told you, but I think I'm in love with you."
He sighed inwardly and wriggled from her embrace, grabbing her wrists and looking her into the eyes.
"Petra, I *have* to go. I can't tell you where I'm going and why, but I'm sure we'll never see us again. So please...don't make this harder than it already is."
She looked at him, and tears quelled into her eyes.
"Please," she whispered, "don't leave me."
"I have to," he repeated. "Thank you so much for everything. Good-bye."
Letting go of her, he turned and fled from the apartment.