Lorelei

Jonathan Archer’s apartment didn’t quite overlook San Francisco Bay, but instead faced west overlooking the south end of Baker Beach. It was a 3 km jog to Starfleet each morning that he preferred to other transportation. He of course could stay at any place he liked almost the world over, indeed, even other planets. Most officers had accommodations at the old Presidio barracks which were restored and historical, but away from the sand. The modern skyscrapers, which stood sentinel at the mouth of the bay, had been built after the 2069 earthquake that split San Francisco from the mainland, which technically turned it into an island.

            No longer was any new building taller than 25 stories. Despite architectural advancements, geologists from the Army Corp of Engineers had finally convinced designers that, at least on the island, higher buildings were folly. Many buildings had been preserved and retrofitted, restored to their original look; many had not. Admiral Archer lived on the top floor of his 18 story building, designed to imitate Frank Lloyd Wright’s 20^th century style but with 2075 building standards.

            “Good morning, sir,” the doorman said as he opened the door for Admiral Archer. The Odyssey was one of the few buildings that still employed human beings to open the doors for the residents.

            “Good morning, Mr. Mitchell. Thanks. A little grey out today, isn’t it?”

            “Yes, but it will clear up, I’m sure. It always does eventually. Have a pleasant day, sir.”

            Archer touched the man’s shoulder and went inside. On the ground floor, a three story atrium welcomed residents and visitors. A southwest glass wall, 40 feet high, provided lighting for the trees and plants, grass, and a few wayward song birds that flew in but never flew out. His footsteps echoed in the empty space. At Starfleet he could watch the cadets and new officers, the off worlders and robots going about their daily business. At Starfleet he lived in the future. Archer glanced at a new bronze statue near the turbolifts. Each day for 3 months now, coming and going Jonathan saw the life size Porthos placed among the trees and smiled. At home, he was in the past.

            “Eighteen,” he told the computer. In 20 seconds he was home, only sharing the entire floor with one other resident. When he opened his door, however, he still expected his canine companion to greet him with a wagging tail and crisp bark. He had rarely been without his dog for 17 years. After 10 years on the Enterprise, Porthos had spent more time in space than any other dog in history. He poured himself a drink of Andorrian ale and sat down at his computer monitor.

            It wasn’t hard to pull up his star logs as far back as he wanted, even into his junior officer days. The pad, however, was portable. He tapped it to access the data. First he selected the year, then the ship, then the person, himself. He selected some search terms: Akal, Malurian, Toxin. The file was up in less than a second. First a picture of the planet, followed by some text, illustrations, a profile on the Malurian star system, and a medical file on the elixir Dr Phlox had synthesized for Archer to deliver to Riaan.

            He finished his drink quickly, setting the glass down hard. Of course, her photo in the database was 10 years old, as was the photo in his mind. Although as a child he’d had an eidetic memory, no longer was it as if things were visible and touchable. Archer’s memories were like everyone else’s in maturity. It was a little hazy, a little soft around the edges, and only in his mind’s eye. Before he had much time to start laying out his plans for the Akalli mission, his com station signaled. He flipped the toggle and Lorelei appeared as a hologram.

            “Gracie told me you were home,” she said. “Everything OK?”

            “Hi Lori, yes, hello, I’m fine. Fine. It just, uh, looks like I’ll be going on a mission soon.”

            “Then we should get together before you go, Jon. Come by tonight?”

            That was an offer he wasn’t going to refuse. In the back of his head, stored among the star charts and water polo scores was a vivid memory of her wet lips on his. A Pacific breeze ruffled a long strand of her hair; he still felt the touch of her warm hand on his bare shoulder when they spent the evening on Baker Beach. No moon shone in the dark sky, and despite the lights of San Francisco, Jonathan found a dozen stars the Enterprise had visited reflecting away the smallest ones.

            “When do you get off?”

            Archer stood outside of the 602 Club, waiting for Lorelei to finish her shift. The less the familiar patrons saw, the less they had to talk about. Anytime people consumed alcohol they unblocked their tongues and nothing was sacred. The Admiral was easily and often recognized everywhere in San Francisco, and always at Starfleet. Dressed in civilian clothes he was less obvious, but people still seemed to spot him from a kilometer away.

            It was just a few moments before Lorelei came out of the club. From behind the open door Jonathan caught her arm and pulled her close to him.

            “Hey!”

            “Oh, Jon!” She laughed and put her arms around his neck. He pushed her black hair, thick and grown to her shoulders, away so he could kiss her ear without a lot of attention that a more public display of affection might draw.

            Her home wasn’t far from the 602, and together they walked there in the twilight without serious conversation. At Lorelei’s small apartment they uncorked the Chablis, turned on some kind of modern jazz, and settled down on the sofa.

            “You haven’t said anything about your mission yet.”  Jonathan looked up at Lorelei, her dark eyes searching his. She always wore more exotic make up when she was behind the bar, which didn’t come off without some effort. Then her natural beauty took its place. Her skin was ivory, her eyes a golden brown, her hair smooth and straight.

            “I’m going to be gone a while. They need me to go back to a planet I visited when we first went out to deep space. Something’s gone wrong.” He took a sip of the dry white wine and set the glass on the table.

            “How long is a while?” She took a drink from her glass.

            Jonathan looked at her soft face, looking behind the purple eye shadow and golden glitter on her cheeks. She looked childlike at that moment. He frowned slightly.

            “Probably 3-6 months. It’s 80 light years out and back, plus time to deal with the crisis.”

            “Can’t someone else go? Just because you were the last one doesn’t mean you have to be the one now, does it?”

            Jonathan looked away from her for a moment. He considered himself a man of truth and the truth was he didn’t have to be the one to go back. Starfleet didn’t have to go back at all. Yet at this point, it was probably time to make a proper First Contact. He could send a bio-transformation crew, doctors, specialists, and nuclear physicists, all in disguise. The Discovery didn’t have to swing by earth to collect him.

            “I feel like I left these people vulnerable after the Malurians left. The Vulcans were supposed to go by every few years to make sure their civilization was maturing at an appropriate rate. The damn war changed all that. They’re people, and if not the Malurians, some other species has given them technology they shouldn’t have.”

            “Shouldn’t the Vulcans take care of it since they were the ones that dropped the ball?”

            Jon picked up his glass again and had a little more of the tart wine. Some of her hair had fallen in her eyes; he reached over to brush it to the side.

            “I’m the First Contact man, ever since I’ve been back. The situation has changed there. Instead of making First Contact 300 years from now, it has to be now before another species does something harmful. I can’t leave them out there after what happened before.”

            Lorelei got up, and returned from the kitchen with some sort of yellow cheese on a teak board. With a small sharp knife she sliced a few small cubes off the block.

            “I haven’t known you a long time, Jonathan, but one thing is clear to me, besides your love of cheddar, that is,” she paused, raising a small piece to his lips, “is your soft, soft heart. It’s a courageous heart, but not made of platinum. Made from soft, 24 karat gold.”

            “The cheddar was for Porthos,” he said with a grin, taking the cheese in his hand.

            Jon leaned over to kiss her gently on the same wet lips he remembered from a few weeks before. He kissed her again, harder, and suddenly he wanted to devour her in one bite. Lorelei quickly set the cheese tray down as he leaned forward, pushing her back on the sofa, and she joined him in a long, deep kiss. And as suddenly as he’d wanted her, his body pressed against her, a willing captive literally in his arms, he stopped, pulled back, and took a deep breath.

            “I’m…sorry. That was a little impulsive.” Jonathan leaned back in the sofa, untangling himself and looking around for the piece of cheese he’d dropped. Lorelei took his hand, but didn’t get up. “I really didn’t mean for that to happen.”

            “I didn’t mind,” she said softly, pulling him back to her. He leaned over her, holding himself above with locked elbows and wrists. He stared at her face, the unusual face of purple and gold. Her eyes changed each second with long flecks of yellow dancing in the warm milk chocolate. He saw playfulness, affection, even sincerity. He felt the heat from her body almost against his. Her graceful fingers slowly slipped each button of his shirt; she pulled the tails from his trousers and reached up to place her palm over his heart. Drawing her fingers to the center of his chest she traced an imaginary line down the center of his body -- he bent down to kiss her and didn’t stop again.