Starfleet Academy
San Francisco, CA
2251.230

She was early for the opening assembly, but nerves had propelled her out of her new dorm room—and wasn't it lucky that they'd accepted her request to be roomed with Lindy?—and to the assembly hall on campus. The new uniform she wore was stiff and hot and utterly ridiculous for August. She hadn't liked the skirt, so short that it was nearly arse-baring even with "tights", so she wore the rusty, red-brown slacks she'd chosen.

It certainly made her less self-conscious to perch on the seat she'd chosen, off to the side of the room, a few rows from the top. It was an unassuming location, giving her a view of the whole room without being at the front like an overachiever or in the back like a perceived slacker. With her school assigned PADD in the bag tucked away by her feet, she took her hat off and used it as a platform for her personal device. Lindy was running late, but Anthea didn't think it'd be hard to save her a seat. She'd sat with one between herself and the end of the row, reasoning no one would take it and it would keep Lindy from flirting with whomever sat on her other side.

Until someone in grey and white sat down beside her.

She immediately stiffened, recognising the uniform of an admiral out of the corner of her eye. Looking up from her PADD, she found herself meeting the twinkling blue eyes of a very elderly man, with skin like crumpled paper and wispy white hair. He had a cane in his gnarled hands.

It was impossible not to recognise him

"Sir," she said, a little awed. "Uh…"

He waved a hand at her. "Please. I'm retired. No need for that."

Anthea arched a brow. "With all due respect, sir, I'm afraid that I find it quite impossible to casually address a former president of the Federation."

Jonathan Archer, who had just recently turned 139 years old, smiled. "You know," he said, in his age-worn voice, "you sound just like your great-grandfather when you say that."

Anthea blinked. "Sir?"

"You're Cadet Anthea Mackintosh," he murmured. "Your great grandfather was my tactical officer on Enterprise. Malcolm Reed."

"Yes, sir, he was."

"Did you know him?"

She shook her head. "No, sir, I'm afraid I was only three when he died. I only know him through images and his personal logs. He's why I'm here, though." Personal logs she'd only skimmed, admittedly, because they tended to be dry as dust.

"Yes." Archer's smile widened. "Forgive me, I was alerted that you'd been accepted and were here. I've been meaning to come meet you, and when I recognised you from your file, I had to now."

"Well, I'm… honoured." She was frankly at a loss for words, sitting here beside one of the founders of the Federation, the man responsible for so much of Starfleet.

"Tell me, what made you join now? You have an MSc in psychology, but you left your doctorate studies at Cambridge to come to Starfleet."

Anthea thought about it, wondered how honest she should be, and settled for, "I was pursuing a research doctorate, and… my advisor and I had some conflicts. I decided that I didn't want to continue with my studies under him-" Literally. "-and I was walking back to my flat in Cambridge, and I passed a Starfleet recruitment office. And… it was as if a hand took mine and pulled me in. So here I am."

"And here you are. Are you planning to continue that PhD here?"

She shrugged. "Haven't decided yet. Maybe. It'd be easy. Vice Admiral Brody is the one I spoke to in Cambridge, and she brought up some possibilities I might pursue."

Admiral Archer made a noise in the back of his throat she couldn't interpret. "Well, I'm sure you'll find where you're supposed to be. Starfleet is better for having you in its ranks, though. Say, if you have time, after you get settled in, maybe you'd like to have lunch with an old man, and I can tell you about Malcolm. He was a very good friend of mine."

There was a wealth of meaning in that invitation, in the old man's hopeful expression. She smiled. "I'd like that, sir. Thank you."

He struggled to his feet, Anthea springing up to help him. "Thank you," he murmured. "I'm not as young as I used to be."

"I hope, sir, that I'm as spry as you are when I'm your age!"

A young man in a brown staff uniform came to help the admiral. Archer paused and turned back. "I'll call you in a few days."

"Yes, sir."

She watched him slowly descend to the main floor, where he took a seat. He was, after all, giving a speech to the students. Thoughtfully, she sat back down, oblivious to the other cadets now arriving.

Lindy came charging down the steps and threw herself into the empty seat Archer had vacated. "Sorry I'm late. Got caught up in things."

"'Things' being that cute boy across the hall?" Anthea asked impishly.

Lindy didn't even blush. "He's got great hands."

"I don't need to know."

Her best friend gestured to Archer. "Did I see you talking to him as I came in?"

"Yeah. Admiral Archer. Can you believe it? He served with my great granddad, wants to meet sometime to talk about him. I mean, I'd love stories. But I also think… he doesn't have anybody to talk to about them. Ambassador T'Pol aside, everybody else from his crew is probably dead."

"Depressing."

It really was. She brushed aside thoughts of what it would be like to be that old and alone, and focused on the assembly.

Anthea never got to have lunch with Admiral Archer. He passed away in his sleep a week later. But he left her a framed photograph, of himself and her great-grandfather, on the bridge of the NX-01.

With it was a hand-written note.

Anthea-

Forgive the familiarity. Malcolm was a stickler for protocol but I think he'd forgive me for this, because he was like a brother to me after so many years. I can't tell you everything, because some of it is classified, but I can say he'd be proud you've joined us. I'm looking forward to telling you about him.

You're gonna do great things.

Jon