Remnants
CHAPTER ONE
The desert sun beat down intensely, so intensely the heat felt like a physical pressure. His sweat dripping down his face, Jean-Luc patiently brushed away layers of dirt from a small spot on the cavern entrance. Stopping from time to time to sip from his canteen, he slowly revealed a dull gray metal plate about the size of his hand. As the symbols engraved in it became clear he allowed himself a satisfied smile. He carefully, lovingly, cleaned the plate clear and then captured its features with a holorecorder. Gathering his tools and equipment, he triggered the com badge on his chest.
“Picard to Artemis,” he said, “One to beam up.”
The scintillation of the transporter was washed out by the desert glare.
Vash was waiting for him as he re-appeared aboard the small scout vessel. She stood with her arms crossed, fighting to suppress any hint of eagerness.
“Did you find it?” she demanded.
“I have the images right here,” Picard replied, holding up the holorecorder. “But first, I think a shower would be in order.”
Vash wrinkled her nose, causing the freckles there to stand out. “You’ve got that right,” she said, and then smiled. “Well, hurry up. I’m just dying to see what we’ve found.” Picard was grinning as he made his way to the sonic shower.
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Joe Smith walked through the ruins. Pieces of concrete impeded his way. “900 years,” he thought. “Is that all it took for all of this to go away? What of the dreams we had? Where is our Federation now?” In the distance, a trilling noise answered him, some bird that heard his anguish. San Francisco Bay lay beyond the hill he stood on, it’s blue waters so pristine they made the heart ache. Joe turned back towards the view inland and scanned the rubble that had once been Starfleet Headquarters. His tricorder gave him nothing he couldn’t see with his own eyes.
His voice broke the song of nature’s melody and the creatures near him grew silent.
“What happened? Where is everyone?” There was a pause, and then crickets chirped and squirrels argued once again. They had little experience with Humanity and decided that the Doctor, Mr. Joe Smith, was of little consequence. Joe thought the same thing.
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“Commander Riker, I know you think this is a ‘milk run’ better suited to a cargo vessel. However, with nearly a quarter of Enterprise’s crew on leave, including her captain, I’m not about to send her out to the edge of explored space or into the middle of a major crisis. Enterprise will proceed to Betazed with the relief supplies as ordered! Do we understand each other?” Admiral Nychayev scowled out at him from the communications station viewscreen. At least, Riker assumed it was a scowl. With the Admiral it was hard to tell, since her normal expressions could freeze water, but considering how much he had protested the Enterprise’s current assignment he had to believe it was an actual scowl.
“Yes, sir, Admiral!” he barked, resisting the urge to salute. She would probably flay him alive if he did. “Nychayev out,” she responded. The viewscreen showed the Starfleet logo as Riker turned away. “Mr. Tel, set course for Betazed, warp four. We’ve just joined the Intergalactic Red Cross,” he said through gritted teeth. The Andorian helmsman entered the commands into his console and the stars on the main viewscreen began to Doppler shift. Everyone on the bridge was careful to stay busy and look anywhere else but at Riker as he flopped himself into the Captain’s chair. Only Deanna risked his wrath with one of her gentle smiles. When he caught it out of the corner of his eye, Riker sighed , then began to grin himself.
“I know it’s important work, Deanna, but it still makes me feel like we are wasting our time and talents.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, at least you get to visit your mother, the famous Resistance leader!”
She smiled again at him but it was a smile that never reached her eyes. “I lost a lot of friends and family when the Dominion occupied Betazed.” she said softly, “It won’t be that much of a happy homecoming.”
Riker gave her a stricken look. “Deanna, I’m sorry...”
With a wistful expression she turned back to the viewscreen to watch the elongated stars. “At least we are going there to help.”
Riker nodded in agreement.
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The rubble was stupendous in its reach and breadth. The complex had obviously grown past the programmed memories he had from the 24th century. Joe walked through the ruins, sidestepping individual rocks and chunks of concrete. He paused when a piece of light-reflecting material caught his eye. Bending over, he pulled what looked like a tricorder from the mess at his feet. The controls took him a moment to work. Obviously, Federation technology had advanced beyond his database. He brushed the dust off of the padd and tapped the recall button. Power systems had also moved beyond his own era’s capability. The unit switched on. A voice began to speak.
“Mother, I wanted to let you know we still are holding out hope. There is a chance that the Enterprise can find the solution before it’s too-“static overtook the padd for a moment. “We are still holding out here and since you are on Betazed, I’m fairly certain you have nothing to worry about.” The padd freaked out in Joe’s hand and began emitting sparks. Joe dropped it instinctively, and wiped his hand on his pants. After a moment the arcing stopped and Joe picked the padd back up. It lay in his hand, dormant and dead, the power source burnt out. He flipped it aside and searched through the ruins some more. Lifting a chunk of concrete, he found another padd clenched tightly in a skeleton’s hand.
“This might be important,” he said, and the birds and such stopped their noise for another moment after he spoke. Not even realizing he was holding a breath that, on one level, he never had, he pressed the playback button.
“The Iconians are unbelievable. The things they can do, *cough*, we’re hard pressed to give them any kind of a fight. *cough, hack*, they’ve torn us apart. We never knew they survived. Picard made a mess of things when he activated their Gate system. It woke them up. I think*cough* that they look on us as-*bzzzt* -my dear, if I can’t make it back, I hope you at least get word. The Demons of Air and Darkness-they didn’t call them that for nothing.” The padd’s power source failed sadly, and Joe set it down on a near-bye rock.
“Iconians? But they’re extinct. Had been, anyway. How did Picard wake them up?” Joe rubbed his forehead. “This doesn’t make sense. How could something Picard did in my time with Starfleet have wiped out the Federation years later. It’s pretty obvious that advances were made, growth and expansion.” He waved at the ruins angrily. “What did Picard do?”
Kicking at the rubble, he turned his face towards the ruins of the city. Off to the left, as he walked, hundreds of pigeons sat on the ruins of the Golden Gate Bridge. He could hear their unmusical cries echoing off of the shattered skyscrapers. The dissonance seemed to fit his mood. Passing Enrique’s coffee house, Joe paused for a moment to look at the collapsed building. He remembered young Ensign Kim talking about it with Mr. Paris sometimes in the lounge over drinks. Everyone aboard Voyager had experienced their times, those instances when their personal walls dropped and they reminisced about Earth. This pile of rubble had been important to Mr. Kim. Joe hoped he’d had the chance to return to it on some golden morning. Sighing, he moved on.
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CHAPTER TWO
Jean-Luc and Vash peered intently at the tabletop holo-display of the re-created image of the metal plaque. Referencing a padd in his left hand, Picard said, “Those are very similar to the symbols recorded by Spock nearly a century ago on that asteroid defense system. I should hazard a guess that they are very likely the same language.”
Vash rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Jean Luc, just admit it! We’ve just found a Preserver relic!”
Jean Luc turned to her calmly. “I would hate to jump to conclusions, Vash, however,” and here he permitted a small grin to creep in, “I think you are right. We will have to return to the surface and explore that cave more thoroughly after a good night’s sleep.”
Vash’s answering smile was full of anticipation. “Well, Jean-Luc, what do you say we eat something and get to bed. The sooner we rest, the sooner we can return to the planet.”
Picard nodded in agreement. “I will prepare dinner if you would like,” he said. “
Without a replicator we’re stuck eating standard rations, so what’s to prepare?” Vash replied.
“That is true, I suppose. I can, however, open the ration packs for you if you would like.”
The hint of amusement in Jean-Luc’s voice brought a broad smile to Vash’s face. “Always the gentleman, Jean-Luc. By all means, garcon, go right ahead!” They shared a brief chuckle together as the stars twinkled through the Artemis’s viewport.
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At first, he didn’t know what he was looking for-some bit of evidence that explained what had happened, perhaps a hint of Voyager’s fate, maybe a clue to his counterpart’s final resting place or disposition. He knew that if Voyager had made it back there had been a version of him that had survived (probably) and if that man had made it back he would have lived here in the heart of Starfleet-he knew this because it was the decision he would have made.
He eventually pushed his way through the rubble to find a house, nearly intact, with a fine brick wall around it and the overgrown remains of what, once, might have been a beautiful garden. It was the house he’d planned to acquire back when he’d been on Voyager, back when they’d still dreamed of a lost Earth. For him, hundreds of years had passed since those days, yet here sat the very same house, more or less. From the front entryway you could look up and see McKinley station in geosynchronous orbit-but now it failed to form a perfect tetrahedron. Instead, it looked like a natural, orbiting body, irregular and with a variable albedo.
Joe walked into the kitchen and wondered at the few remaining, rotting pictures he saw on the wall. A vision of Talaxia painted by a passionate hand, a view of the Alpha Quadrant from the outside looking in, a beautiful blonde woman laying nude across a divan. Joe inspected each carefully. He slowly, carefully, traced the strokes of the paintbrush, comparing them to the movements of his own hand. The sun passed easily from early to late afternoon. As it dipped beneath the horizon, he was finally satisfied. This was where his counterpart had lived. He was home.
He walked beyond the front room into a hallway. The entranceways into most of the rooms were collapsed. One room allowed access. Joe stepped in hesitantly. There was a bed, protected by what remained of the ceiling. The rest of the room lay in ruins. On the bed, stretched out in a natural manner, lay the bones of a woman. Traces of blonde hair still remained on her skull. Her right arm lay, extended, across the other side of the bed, as though reaching for a lost lover. Beneath the bones of her arm lay a disk of metal with faint, barely glowing lights on it. Joe looked at the Independent Holographic Projector strapped to his arm, and then at the disk on the bed. The similarities were uncanny. He peered carefully at the disk. It had read-outs so very much like his own IHP. With a tentative finger he poked at what he thought was the activation switch.
“Please state the nature-oh, crap, you’d think that after two hundred and thirty-one years I could override that damned programming.” The figure in front of Joe was a familiar one, in fact identical to the one that he woke up to in the mirror every morning, so to speak. This hologram, however, flickered and faded, only to come back into solidity again.
He looked down at the bed. “What happened to my wife?” The anguish in his voice tore at Joe’s heart. Looking up at Joe’s face, he said, “Who the hell are you? Wha-“ the power flickered again and the hologram of Joe’s counterpart disappeared for a moment. Joe tapped the disk and the mirror image of himself re-appeared. “Please state-oh, crap!” Focusing on Joe he said, “Who are you? My Joy, what happened…” The hologram of Joe’s double disappeared again. Joe sighed and began to examine the unit. The night was dark, the dark of a wilderness. No artificial lighting helped him as he looked over the disk, not unless the glimmer of McKinley Station counted.
The dawn broke over the ruins of San Francisco. Joe Smith wandered out into the garden, still tinkering with the disk. Occasional sputters of light jumped out of it but Joe never got anything more than, “Please-“before his counterpart disappeared again. Disgusted, Joe put the disk into his sample pouch and looked at the plants he’d been stepping on in his distraction.
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“Damage report!” Riker barked, gripping the arms of the Captain’s chair to brace himself against the secondary explosions that continued to rock the Enterprise. Deanna Troi jumped up from where she had been attending to Tactical Officer Ganesh, injured in the first explosion, to take his station.
“Commander, we have a hull breach on Deck One, secondary explosions reported on decks 2-4, and an EPS conduit has ruptured just outside Engineering. The emergency force field is holding on Deck One, emergency crews are heading for the other affected decks and Geordi says he has the conduit shut down with minimal plasma leakage. Sick Bay is reporting 3 dead and 11 injured, mostly from detonations on Deck 3.”
Riker frowned as yet another explosion shook the ship. “What the hell is causing that? Did we hit something?”
Deanna worked the tactical board for a moment. “Sir, we seem to be under attack from an outside source.”
Riker looked momentarily stunned. “Under attack? We’re in the Betazed system!” Fire suppression crews began working on the various control board overloads around the smoke-filled bridge as he spoke. A medical team came off of the turbolift and knelt by Ensign Ganesh’s still form.
Deanna looked up from her board. “Will, we were hit with a photon torpedo that originated from somewhere on the third moon of Prius” Prius was the fifth planet out from Betazed’s sun, a gas giant much like Jupiter. “Analysis shows a Dominion signature to the weapon.”
“Activate shields,” he said, gazing out through the hull breach in the command deck at the moon in question. “Any ships detected?”
Deanna looked back at her board. “No ships, but a faint energy signature is coming from a cave on Breelon’s surface.”
“Breelon?” asked Riker.
“That’s the name of the moon,” Deanna replied. Nodding acknowledgement , he began to stroke his beard thoughtfully.“ Let’s get a team down there to find out what’s in that cave. Full security personnel with armor. And ask our passenger if she’d like to join them.” Deanna smiled back at Riker, knowing full well Seven of Nine would jump at the chance to solve the mystery. Emergency repair teams began to flood the bridge, joined by reliefs coming to take the place of injured crewmen. “Mr. Tel, bring us within transporter range of Breelon, please.” The Andorian twitched his antennae in affirmation and began inputting the course correction. A Bolian ensign relieved Deanna at Tactical and she resumed her usual place next to the Captain’s chair. Riker cleared his throat. “Ensign Singo, send a report of our current status to Starfleet Command Betazed and let them know we are investigating the cause of the attack. Warn them to re-route traffic at least 10,000 kilometers away from Prius and its satellites.”
The blue-faced ensign said, “Yes,sir,” and bent to the task.
“Deanna, do you sense any life forms coming from Breelon?”
Deanna looked thoughtful for a moment and then turned towards Riker. “I can’t detect anything living coming from the moon’s surface, Will.” Riker frowned, brooding in his seat.
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Although grown to a state of wilderness, Joe knew what he was walking through.
“I planted the roses!” he exclaimed. The rosebush had taken over the right side of the ruins of the house. “I always wanted roses!” As he stood there looking over what had once been a well-tended hedge he heard a sound. It had been many years, many centuries, since he had heard it so it took time to make the connection, time to recall the sound of a Federation transporter. He dashed around the side of the house to the front where the sound had come from.
Two Klingons dressed in skintight grey jumpsuits were standing next to a Vulcan in white ceremonial robes. The Klingons had weapons both bladed and energy-based on them while the Vulcan had only sandals to go with his robe. They had appeared in the street facing away from the house and were already walking in the general direction of Starfleet Headquarters. Joe almost called out to them but something in their demeanor stopped him. Instead, he adjusted his IHP so that he didn’t actually touch the ground as he moved, thereby avoiding any tell-tale sounds that might alert them to his presence. Carefully staying to the shadows, he followed the unusual party.
They walked the thoroughfare in a dignified manner, the Klingons keeping a cursory view of their surroundings while the Vulcan remained ensconced in his robe, his head bowed. Joe trailed along, trying to determine what they were doing. When they finally reached the ruins of Starfleet HQ the Vulcan pointed off to the left and began striding with more determination. The Klingons were pressed to keep up. Joe melted through the rubble, careful not to be seen. The three people pushed past some of the collapsed buildings into a more open area. Checking his programmed memories, Joe identified the path they took as one that had once meandered through the park that Starfleet Headquarters and the Starfleet Academy both shared. Now it bore a closer resemblance to a jungle. The plant life, some native to Earth and some from distant worlds, had thrived in Humanity’s absence and much that had been laid out with order now lacked it. The two Klingons took out their bat’leths and were enthusiastically cutting back the vegetation where it overhung or even invaded the old path. Several times, the little party had to wait in place as massive branches were chopped away. Joe kept his distance and observed.
The overgrowth delayed the progress into the former garden and it was nearly noon before the Klingons and Vulcan reached their destination. Upon breaking through a particularly dense bit of vegetation, the Klingons stopped their relentless advance and began clearing a circular path, one going left and the other going right. The Vulcan waited at the point of the circle until they were done. It took over an hour for the two behemoths to expose their goal and Joe began growing impatient with the various mosquitoes and flies that buzzed around his face. He finally dimmed his solidity to the point where the insects failed to recognize him as a legitimate target. When the Klingons finished a statue sat, exposed to the sunlight for the first time in what must have been centuries.
Joe watched as the Klingons stepped aside in a deferential manner and allowed the Vulcan to approach the statue. He couldn’t see the figure portrayed through the foliage. The Vulcan walked up to the image and bowed deeply. From somewhere in his robes he drew a pendant, a statuette encased in a block of Lucite or transparent aluminum. Setting it at the feet of the figure the Klingons had cleared, he said,
“That which was yours is yours again. We ask you to restore it to its full glory. In the name of the Federation, I request this favor!” Birds flew out of nearby trees at the volume of his voice. Joe peered through leaves, straining to make out the image in the little block. Even with his variable vision settings he could not make out what it was the Vulcan had set down. The Klingons kneeled on either side of the Vulcan, their heads bowed in supplication. The little group held this pose for at least an hour. Joe shifted from one foot to the other, eager to move closer yet afraid he would be detected if he did. Finally, the Vulcan gestured at the Klingons and said,
“This time is not ours.” Carefully collecting the pendant, he reached once again into his robe. “Three to beam up.” They disappeared into collimating beams of light.
Joe shook his head, confused by what he had seen. After waiting a few minutes to make sure the unusual party didn’t return he walked up the cleared path towards the statue. It was a heroic figure, casting one hand to the stars and holding the other to his feet, as though combining the earth and the heavens above. Joe had dabbled in art at times in his long existence, sometimes creating minor noteworthy pieces. He knew that the sculptor of this work had found a way to make a statue seem to breathe. The little curl
in his hairline looked like it had just slipped over his forehead.
Joe looked at the plaque embedded in the pedestal below the statue and read the faded words written upon it.
“ALL I ASK FOR IS A TALL SHIP AND A STAR TO SAIL HER BY”
in memorium
James Tiberius Kirk
“Kirk? What in God’s name were they doing? It looked almost like a religious ceremony.” Joe shook his head, more puzzled now than before. He continued on towards the Academy, occasionally changing his solidity to the edge of immaterial to avoid the heavier sections of overgrowth.
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CHAPTER ONE
The desert sun beat down intensely, so intensely the heat felt like a physical pressure. His sweat dripping down his face, Jean-Luc patiently brushed away layers of dirt from a small spot on the cavern entrance. Stopping from time to time to sip from his canteen, he slowly revealed a dull gray metal plate about the size of his hand. As the symbols engraved in it became clear he allowed himself a satisfied smile. He carefully, lovingly, cleaned the plate clear and then captured its features with a holorecorder. Gathering his tools and equipment, he triggered the com badge on his chest.
“Picard to Artemis,” he said, “One to beam up.”
The scintillation of the transporter was washed out by the desert glare.
Vash was waiting for him as he re-appeared aboard the small scout vessel. She stood with her arms crossed, fighting to suppress any hint of eagerness.
“Did you find it?” she demanded.
“I have the images right here,” Picard replied, holding up the holorecorder. “But first, I think a shower would be in order.”
Vash wrinkled her nose, causing the freckles there to stand out. “You’ve got that right,” she said, and then smiled. “Well, hurry up. I’m just dying to see what we’ve found.” Picard was grinning as he made his way to the sonic shower.
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Joe Smith walked through the ruins. Pieces of concrete impeded his way. “900 years,” he thought. “Is that all it took for all of this to go away? What of the dreams we had? Where is our Federation now?” In the distance, a trilling noise answered him, some bird that heard his anguish. San Francisco Bay lay beyond the hill he stood on, it’s blue waters so pristine they made the heart ache. Joe turned back towards the view inland and scanned the rubble that had once been Starfleet Headquarters. His tricorder gave him nothing he couldn’t see with his own eyes.
His voice broke the song of nature’s melody and the creatures near him grew silent.
“What happened? Where is everyone?” There was a pause, and then crickets chirped and squirrels argued once again. They had little experience with Humanity and decided that the Doctor, Mr. Joe Smith, was of little consequence. Joe thought the same thing.
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“Commander Riker, I know you think this is a ‘milk run’ better suited to a cargo vessel. However, with nearly a quarter of Enterprise’s crew on leave, including her captain, I’m not about to send her out to the edge of explored space or into the middle of a major crisis. Enterprise will proceed to Betazed with the relief supplies as ordered! Do we understand each other?” Admiral Nychayev scowled out at him from the communications station viewscreen. At least, Riker assumed it was a scowl. With the Admiral it was hard to tell, since her normal expressions could freeze water, but considering how much he had protested the Enterprise’s current assignment he had to believe it was an actual scowl.
“Yes, sir, Admiral!” he barked, resisting the urge to salute. She would probably flay him alive if he did. “Nychayev out,” she responded. The viewscreen showed the Starfleet logo as Riker turned away. “Mr. Tel, set course for Betazed, warp four. We’ve just joined the Intergalactic Red Cross,” he said through gritted teeth. The Andorian helmsman entered the commands into his console and the stars on the main viewscreen began to Doppler shift. Everyone on the bridge was careful to stay busy and look anywhere else but at Riker as he flopped himself into the Captain’s chair. Only Deanna risked his wrath with one of her gentle smiles. When he caught it out of the corner of his eye, Riker sighed , then began to grin himself.
“I know it’s important work, Deanna, but it still makes me feel like we are wasting our time and talents.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, at least you get to visit your mother, the famous Resistance leader!”
She smiled again at him but it was a smile that never reached her eyes. “I lost a lot of friends and family when the Dominion occupied Betazed.” she said softly, “It won’t be that much of a happy homecoming.”
Riker gave her a stricken look. “Deanna, I’m sorry...”
With a wistful expression she turned back to the viewscreen to watch the elongated stars. “At least we are going there to help.”
Riker nodded in agreement.
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The rubble was stupendous in its reach and breadth. The complex had obviously grown past the programmed memories he had from the 24th century. Joe walked through the ruins, sidestepping individual rocks and chunks of concrete. He paused when a piece of light-reflecting material caught his eye. Bending over, he pulled what looked like a tricorder from the mess at his feet. The controls took him a moment to work. Obviously, Federation technology had advanced beyond his database. He brushed the dust off of the padd and tapped the recall button. Power systems had also moved beyond his own era’s capability. The unit switched on. A voice began to speak.
“Mother, I wanted to let you know we still are holding out hope. There is a chance that the Enterprise can find the solution before it’s too-“static overtook the padd for a moment. “We are still holding out here and since you are on Betazed, I’m fairly certain you have nothing to worry about.” The padd freaked out in Joe’s hand and began emitting sparks. Joe dropped it instinctively, and wiped his hand on his pants. After a moment the arcing stopped and Joe picked the padd back up. It lay in his hand, dormant and dead, the power source burnt out. He flipped it aside and searched through the ruins some more. Lifting a chunk of concrete, he found another padd clenched tightly in a skeleton’s hand.
“This might be important,” he said, and the birds and such stopped their noise for another moment after he spoke. Not even realizing he was holding a breath that, on one level, he never had, he pressed the playback button.
“The Iconians are unbelievable. The things they can do, *cough*, we’re hard pressed to give them any kind of a fight. *cough, hack*, they’ve torn us apart. We never knew they survived. Picard made a mess of things when he activated their Gate system. It woke them up. I think*cough* that they look on us as-*bzzzt* -my dear, if I can’t make it back, I hope you at least get word. The Demons of Air and Darkness-they didn’t call them that for nothing.” The padd’s power source failed sadly, and Joe set it down on a near-bye rock.
“Iconians? But they’re extinct. Had been, anyway. How did Picard wake them up?” Joe rubbed his forehead. “This doesn’t make sense. How could something Picard did in my time with Starfleet have wiped out the Federation years later. It’s pretty obvious that advances were made, growth and expansion.” He waved at the ruins angrily. “What did Picard do?”
Kicking at the rubble, he turned his face towards the ruins of the city. Off to the left, as he walked, hundreds of pigeons sat on the ruins of the Golden Gate Bridge. He could hear their unmusical cries echoing off of the shattered skyscrapers. The dissonance seemed to fit his mood. Passing Enrique’s coffee house, Joe paused for a moment to look at the collapsed building. He remembered young Ensign Kim talking about it with Mr. Paris sometimes in the lounge over drinks. Everyone aboard Voyager had experienced their times, those instances when their personal walls dropped and they reminisced about Earth. This pile of rubble had been important to Mr. Kim. Joe hoped he’d had the chance to return to it on some golden morning. Sighing, he moved on.
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CHAPTER TWO
Jean-Luc and Vash peered intently at the tabletop holo-display of the re-created image of the metal plaque. Referencing a padd in his left hand, Picard said, “Those are very similar to the symbols recorded by Spock nearly a century ago on that asteroid defense system. I should hazard a guess that they are very likely the same language.”
Vash rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Jean Luc, just admit it! We’ve just found a Preserver relic!”
Jean Luc turned to her calmly. “I would hate to jump to conclusions, Vash, however,” and here he permitted a small grin to creep in, “I think you are right. We will have to return to the surface and explore that cave more thoroughly after a good night’s sleep.”
Vash’s answering smile was full of anticipation. “Well, Jean-Luc, what do you say we eat something and get to bed. The sooner we rest, the sooner we can return to the planet.”
Picard nodded in agreement. “I will prepare dinner if you would like,” he said. “
Without a replicator we’re stuck eating standard rations, so what’s to prepare?” Vash replied.
“That is true, I suppose. I can, however, open the ration packs for you if you would like.”
The hint of amusement in Jean-Luc’s voice brought a broad smile to Vash’s face. “Always the gentleman, Jean-Luc. By all means, garcon, go right ahead!” They shared a brief chuckle together as the stars twinkled through the Artemis’s viewport.
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At first, he didn’t know what he was looking for-some bit of evidence that explained what had happened, perhaps a hint of Voyager’s fate, maybe a clue to his counterpart’s final resting place or disposition. He knew that if Voyager had made it back there had been a version of him that had survived (probably) and if that man had made it back he would have lived here in the heart of Starfleet-he knew this because it was the decision he would have made.
He eventually pushed his way through the rubble to find a house, nearly intact, with a fine brick wall around it and the overgrown remains of what, once, might have been a beautiful garden. It was the house he’d planned to acquire back when he’d been on Voyager, back when they’d still dreamed of a lost Earth. For him, hundreds of years had passed since those days, yet here sat the very same house, more or less. From the front entryway you could look up and see McKinley station in geosynchronous orbit-but now it failed to form a perfect tetrahedron. Instead, it looked like a natural, orbiting body, irregular and with a variable albedo.
Joe walked into the kitchen and wondered at the few remaining, rotting pictures he saw on the wall. A vision of Talaxia painted by a passionate hand, a view of the Alpha Quadrant from the outside looking in, a beautiful blonde woman laying nude across a divan. Joe inspected each carefully. He slowly, carefully, traced the strokes of the paintbrush, comparing them to the movements of his own hand. The sun passed easily from early to late afternoon. As it dipped beneath the horizon, he was finally satisfied. This was where his counterpart had lived. He was home.
He walked beyond the front room into a hallway. The entranceways into most of the rooms were collapsed. One room allowed access. Joe stepped in hesitantly. There was a bed, protected by what remained of the ceiling. The rest of the room lay in ruins. On the bed, stretched out in a natural manner, lay the bones of a woman. Traces of blonde hair still remained on her skull. Her right arm lay, extended, across the other side of the bed, as though reaching for a lost lover. Beneath the bones of her arm lay a disk of metal with faint, barely glowing lights on it. Joe looked at the Independent Holographic Projector strapped to his arm, and then at the disk on the bed. The similarities were uncanny. He peered carefully at the disk. It had read-outs so very much like his own IHP. With a tentative finger he poked at what he thought was the activation switch.
“Please state the nature-oh, crap, you’d think that after two hundred and thirty-one years I could override that damned programming.” The figure in front of Joe was a familiar one, in fact identical to the one that he woke up to in the mirror every morning, so to speak. This hologram, however, flickered and faded, only to come back into solidity again.
He looked down at the bed. “What happened to my wife?” The anguish in his voice tore at Joe’s heart. Looking up at Joe’s face, he said, “Who the hell are you? Wha-“ the power flickered again and the hologram of Joe’s counterpart disappeared for a moment. Joe tapped the disk and the mirror image of himself re-appeared. “Please state-oh, crap!” Focusing on Joe he said, “Who are you? My Joy, what happened…” The hologram of Joe’s double disappeared again. Joe sighed and began to examine the unit. The night was dark, the dark of a wilderness. No artificial lighting helped him as he looked over the disk, not unless the glimmer of McKinley Station counted.
The dawn broke over the ruins of San Francisco. Joe Smith wandered out into the garden, still tinkering with the disk. Occasional sputters of light jumped out of it but Joe never got anything more than, “Please-“before his counterpart disappeared again. Disgusted, Joe put the disk into his sample pouch and looked at the plants he’d been stepping on in his distraction.
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“Damage report!” Riker barked, gripping the arms of the Captain’s chair to brace himself against the secondary explosions that continued to rock the Enterprise. Deanna Troi jumped up from where she had been attending to Tactical Officer Ganesh, injured in the first explosion, to take his station.
“Commander, we have a hull breach on Deck One, secondary explosions reported on decks 2-4, and an EPS conduit has ruptured just outside Engineering. The emergency force field is holding on Deck One, emergency crews are heading for the other affected decks and Geordi says he has the conduit shut down with minimal plasma leakage. Sick Bay is reporting 3 dead and 11 injured, mostly from detonations on Deck 3.”
Riker frowned as yet another explosion shook the ship. “What the hell is causing that? Did we hit something?”
Deanna worked the tactical board for a moment. “Sir, we seem to be under attack from an outside source.”
Riker looked momentarily stunned. “Under attack? We’re in the Betazed system!” Fire suppression crews began working on the various control board overloads around the smoke-filled bridge as he spoke. A medical team came off of the turbolift and knelt by Ensign Ganesh’s still form.
Deanna looked up from her board. “Will, we were hit with a photon torpedo that originated from somewhere on the third moon of Prius” Prius was the fifth planet out from Betazed’s sun, a gas giant much like Jupiter. “Analysis shows a Dominion signature to the weapon.”
“Activate shields,” he said, gazing out through the hull breach in the command deck at the moon in question. “Any ships detected?”
Deanna looked back at her board. “No ships, but a faint energy signature is coming from a cave on Breelon’s surface.”
“Breelon?” asked Riker.
“That’s the name of the moon,” Deanna replied. Nodding acknowledgement , he began to stroke his beard thoughtfully.“ Let’s get a team down there to find out what’s in that cave. Full security personnel with armor. And ask our passenger if she’d like to join them.” Deanna smiled back at Riker, knowing full well Seven of Nine would jump at the chance to solve the mystery. Emergency repair teams began to flood the bridge, joined by reliefs coming to take the place of injured crewmen. “Mr. Tel, bring us within transporter range of Breelon, please.” The Andorian twitched his antennae in affirmation and began inputting the course correction. A Bolian ensign relieved Deanna at Tactical and she resumed her usual place next to the Captain’s chair. Riker cleared his throat. “Ensign Singo, send a report of our current status to Starfleet Command Betazed and let them know we are investigating the cause of the attack. Warn them to re-route traffic at least 10,000 kilometers away from Prius and its satellites.”
The blue-faced ensign said, “Yes,sir,” and bent to the task.
“Deanna, do you sense any life forms coming from Breelon?”
Deanna looked thoughtful for a moment and then turned towards Riker. “I can’t detect anything living coming from the moon’s surface, Will.” Riker frowned, brooding in his seat.
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Although grown to a state of wilderness, Joe knew what he was walking through.
“I planted the roses!” he exclaimed. The rosebush had taken over the right side of the ruins of the house. “I always wanted roses!” As he stood there looking over what had once been a well-tended hedge he heard a sound. It had been many years, many centuries, since he had heard it so it took time to make the connection, time to recall the sound of a Federation transporter. He dashed around the side of the house to the front where the sound had come from.
Two Klingons dressed in skintight grey jumpsuits were standing next to a Vulcan in white ceremonial robes. The Klingons had weapons both bladed and energy-based on them while the Vulcan had only sandals to go with his robe. They had appeared in the street facing away from the house and were already walking in the general direction of Starfleet Headquarters. Joe almost called out to them but something in their demeanor stopped him. Instead, he adjusted his IHP so that he didn’t actually touch the ground as he moved, thereby avoiding any tell-tale sounds that might alert them to his presence. Carefully staying to the shadows, he followed the unusual party.
They walked the thoroughfare in a dignified manner, the Klingons keeping a cursory view of their surroundings while the Vulcan remained ensconced in his robe, his head bowed. Joe trailed along, trying to determine what they were doing. When they finally reached the ruins of Starfleet HQ the Vulcan pointed off to the left and began striding with more determination. The Klingons were pressed to keep up. Joe melted through the rubble, careful not to be seen. The three people pushed past some of the collapsed buildings into a more open area. Checking his programmed memories, Joe identified the path they took as one that had once meandered through the park that Starfleet Headquarters and the Starfleet Academy both shared. Now it bore a closer resemblance to a jungle. The plant life, some native to Earth and some from distant worlds, had thrived in Humanity’s absence and much that had been laid out with order now lacked it. The two Klingons took out their bat’leths and were enthusiastically cutting back the vegetation where it overhung or even invaded the old path. Several times, the little party had to wait in place as massive branches were chopped away. Joe kept his distance and observed.
The overgrowth delayed the progress into the former garden and it was nearly noon before the Klingons and Vulcan reached their destination. Upon breaking through a particularly dense bit of vegetation, the Klingons stopped their relentless advance and began clearing a circular path, one going left and the other going right. The Vulcan waited at the point of the circle until they were done. It took over an hour for the two behemoths to expose their goal and Joe began growing impatient with the various mosquitoes and flies that buzzed around his face. He finally dimmed his solidity to the point where the insects failed to recognize him as a legitimate target. When the Klingons finished a statue sat, exposed to the sunlight for the first time in what must have been centuries.
Joe watched as the Klingons stepped aside in a deferential manner and allowed the Vulcan to approach the statue. He couldn’t see the figure portrayed through the foliage. The Vulcan walked up to the image and bowed deeply. From somewhere in his robes he drew a pendant, a statuette encased in a block of Lucite or transparent aluminum. Setting it at the feet of the figure the Klingons had cleared, he said,
“That which was yours is yours again. We ask you to restore it to its full glory. In the name of the Federation, I request this favor!” Birds flew out of nearby trees at the volume of his voice. Joe peered through leaves, straining to make out the image in the little block. Even with his variable vision settings he could not make out what it was the Vulcan had set down. The Klingons kneeled on either side of the Vulcan, their heads bowed in supplication. The little group held this pose for at least an hour. Joe shifted from one foot to the other, eager to move closer yet afraid he would be detected if he did. Finally, the Vulcan gestured at the Klingons and said,
“This time is not ours.” Carefully collecting the pendant, he reached once again into his robe. “Three to beam up.” They disappeared into collimating beams of light.
Joe shook his head, confused by what he had seen. After waiting a few minutes to make sure the unusual party didn’t return he walked up the cleared path towards the statue. It was a heroic figure, casting one hand to the stars and holding the other to his feet, as though combining the earth and the heavens above. Joe had dabbled in art at times in his long existence, sometimes creating minor noteworthy pieces. He knew that the sculptor of this work had found a way to make a statue seem to breathe. The little curl
in his hairline looked like it had just slipped over his forehead.
Joe looked at the plaque embedded in the pedestal below the statue and read the faded words written upon it.
“ALL I ASK FOR IS A TALL SHIP AND A STAR TO SAIL HER BY”
in memorium
James Tiberius Kirk
“Kirk? What in God’s name were they doing? It looked almost like a religious ceremony.” Joe shook his head, more puzzled now than before. He continued on towards the Academy, occasionally changing his solidity to the edge of immaterial to avoid the heavier sections of overgrowth.
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