Star Trek: Fallen Heroes

Fallen Heroes - Book 2 of 2 - Chapter 11c (of 12)


USS Achilles, in orbit of Station A-12 – June 28, 2380 – Stardate 57491.8

Confined to a wheelchair for the time being, Commander Tony Q gazes through the windows of his guest quarters aboard the Achilles. Memories of this beautiful vessel in prime condition resurfaced as soon as he was released from sickbay, a fresh inpour of images and scents dating from his becoming first officer in an averted future. Although these quarters don’t hold a candle to the XO’s quarters in terms of size and luxury, the mere fact that the whole thing is intact is wondrous enough, topped solely by the astonishing vista of Station A-12 being guarded by ten battle-worn but steadfast Federation starships. Shuttles and work bees swarm the wrecks of the Kennedy and Wolf to continue an ongoing and fruitful search for survivors, dismantling entire segments if need be. It’s a far cry from the horror station the portal unveiled as he and Captain Rinckes fled this very same vessel’s destruction. With each cubic inch vaporized to keep her from falling into the brainwashed S’Prenn’s—

A chime at the door chases off his thoughts. “Enter,” he says, hoping it’s not a former shipmate. Reuniting with them would be marvelous, for sure, but… he has formed these strong bonds with them over the years, while they merely see him as a celebrity affiliated with the Q Continuum, and it’s… awkward.

The doors swish open for Captain Keith Harriman, who’s projecting a pleasant demeanor. Despite himself, Tony squares his shoulders, grateful the medical staff helped him put on a clean uniform and made him presentable.

Arms clasped behind his back, Harriman walks over to join the window-staring match. “Latest reports confirm there are zero Altonoids left on the station; they’re either in custody or killed in action.”

“We did it,” Tony says flatly, still unable to believe his eyes and ears.

“You’ll be pleased to hear Captain Duvivier is doing fine, although he’s rather cross with you for beaming him off his own ship and crashing it.” A subtle curling of Harriman’s lips betrays his mild amusement. “Van Aken seems less angry, claims the ends justify the means. Quite mellow for an admiral whose ship you’ve also totaled. You had your motives, I assume?”

“I did, sir.”

“I suspected as much. Your warning to Doctor Kingsley cemented our decision to spare no expense retaking Station A-12. We beamed over every combat-ready person and recaptured what is ours.”

Ahead, three shuttles use their tractor beams to separate a bulky section of hull plating from the Kennedy’s mutilated bow. Her stardrive section has been tractored back to the scene and parked next to the saucer for easier access. Having the wretched object immobile and no longer spinning allows it to further sink in the future has been saved.

“I guess the Continuum didn’t take kindly to your helping us,” Harriman says.

“Captain, I’m as human as you are.” But I’ve gotten used to it. “Injuries are part of the game. Please extend my regards to Kingsley. He did a fine job patching me up, says I’ll get to ‘swap this ride for crutches’ tomorrow.”

“Glad to hear it.”

A series of warp flashes distracts them, heralding the arrival of eight Starfleet vessels led by the USS Oregon, a formidable Galaxy-class starship.

“I’m also glad you’re on our side,” Harriman adds.

“So are the S’Prenn.”

The captain lifts an eyebrow, then resumes his friendly poker face. A lesser man would’ve skirted the confidential subject. Harriman is no lesser man. “What do you know?”

“Without that subspace well they created to destroy the seventy Altonoid warships attacking you, we wouldn’t be standing here; nothing would have remained of the backup fleet. They came to our rescue. If we retain a strong presence around Station A-12, they will continue to support us. I can personally vouch for that.”

“Are you sure you’re not still part Q, with the knowledge you have?”

“Seriously?” Tony chuckles. “The wheelchair isn’t enough evidence for you?”

The captain’s combadge chirps. “Jennings to Harriman.”

“Go ahead.”

“Reinforcements have arrived. Achilles, Tripoli, and Praxis are to return to Starbase 9 at our earliest convenience. Give the word and we’ll be prepped to depart in three minutes.”

“Commander, the word is given. Maximum warp.”

“Aye, sir. Jennings out.”

“Jennings?” Tony muses. A memory pops up of the esteemed officer he succeeded as first officer. “I hear he’s an excellent XO.”

Harriman smirks. “Ah, his reputation precedes him. I’ll be sure to tell him the famous Tony Q thinks highly of him.”

Together, they watch the fleet led by the Oregon disperse to assist those present and defend the area—a reassuring sight. Gone are the lonely days in enemy territory.

“I hope you don’t feel too guilty about her fate,” Harriman says.

Tony’s breath hitches. Is he talking about Emily?

Unaware of his conversation partner’s reaction, Harriman continues, “She was a fine ship. I’ve always admired the Sovereign class. Van Aken said she gave her all during this battle, called it miraculous she held out as long as she did.”

Eyelids hot with restrained tears, Tony glances at the split-apart wreck and agrees wholeheartedly.

“I received confirmation before I got here,” Harriman says. “Every member of the Kennedy’s senior staff has survived. I wanted you to know that.”

A huge sigh escapes Tony’s lungs. “A relief, sir.” He bites his lower lip to avoid making a scene in front of the captain, a vain effort to keep the emotions washing over him in check. “All of them?”

“Yes, including Lieutenant Malin. She’s recovering in the station’s medbay.”

Tony tries to say something meaningful, dignified even, but he’s having a hard time as it is blinking away tears. With countless worlds saved and a bleak future evaded, why should realizing his old friends from the Kennedy are safe affect him the most? Harriman studies the view in silent camaraderie to convey his sympathy and patience.

Breaking into a quiet sob, Tony thinks of Ensign Parkin, slumped over the tactical console, one of numerous deaths he could not prevent. So many lives ended prematurely today; who got to live or die relied solely on happenstance. It is, simply put, unfair. He clears his throat. “Ensign Emily C. Murphy. She was in my security squad. We got ambushed in a storage bay on deck 56. Do you know if she made it?” The probability of this is discouragingly low, yet how could he not ask? “Is there a way to find out?”

Harriman shoots him a side-glance. “It’ll be a day or two until we have a comprehensive roster of survivors.”

“Could I please be informed as soon as possible?”

Being the gentleman he is, Harriman refrains from prying. “I’ll see to it.”

A rising hum indicates the Achilles is powering up her warp engines, and she turns about, causing the station and its defenders to roll out of view. Tony strains to catch a final glimpse of this incredible reality he brough forth.

The captain smoothens his jacket and starts for the exit. “Next stop, Starbase 9.” Before walking through the doors, he halts to offer an amiable smile. “I have a feeling the admirals are itching to debrief us. Get some rest; you’ve earned it.”

The doors close behind the Achilles’ captain, a good man who perished when the Altonoids shot Earth Spacedock from the skies. For all the people Tony couldn’t save, Harriman is one of many who did make it, who will get to live their lives in full, who will get to continue being their awesome and wonderful selves. Tony inhales deeply, letting the pain in his torso remind him this is not a dream, and permits himself to be entranced by the multicolored stripes of stardust shooting by the windows as he is taken away from Station A-12.

Far away.

* * *

USS Achilles, en route to Starbase 9 – June 29, 2380 – Stardate 57492.2

“The time is 0645 hours,” the computer’s dulcet voice announces, rousing Commander Tony Q from his sleep. The ceiling’s drab colors prove he is aboard the Achilles, and for a moment, he mentally prepares himself for another lengthy shift as chief tactical officer, the umptieth day spent behind enemy lines with the Federation driven from their home planets.

But these aren’t his usual quarters, and his limbs and torso ache as if he’s been blindsided by a train and hastily reassembled. Ridiculous as it may seem, he is perfectly safe—for the first time in ages.

Though it requires half a minute in his suboptimal form, he manages to prop himself up on his elbows and against his pillow, relishing in his unblemished surroundings. Relieved his legs are more responsive to his commands than they were yesterday, he gets into his wheelchair and heads over to the bathroom to freshen up.

Under Kingsley’s care, he’s certain the doctor’s promises of recovery are warranted, and he’d be happy to bid this wheelchair goodbye. When Tony first visited this sickbay on the heels of the Station A-12 Debacle, Kingsley had hardly taken notice of him. This time, however, the doctor has made him a pet project. Apparently, his heroics in this timeline have made an impression.

While combing his hair, brushing his teeth, and shaving his youthful face, he devotes an inordinate amount of time studying the uniform he has wriggled his way into. Alternating between staring at his red sleeve cuffs and the three rank pips on his collar, he recalls dying in a storage bay aboard Station A-12 as victim and spectator before Q intervened and merged his memories and personalities.

A cold shudder travels through his spine. His corpse is still there, either found or close to being found by rescue teams. That’s going to raise some questions. Macabre as this whole situation is, he giggles to himself envisioning a possible worst-case scenario: Maybe they’d worry the real Tony is dead and he’s an alien impostor. Stranger things have happened in the history of Starfleet. To avoid confusion, he’d better mention the issue upon reporting to sickbay.

Squeaky clean and neatly groomed, he rolls toward the exit, thinking to himself he has also averted a future where he decided a stubbly circle beard is the look to go for.

Having barely made it ten meters into the pristine corridors, he hears a woman shouting, “Commander Tony Q! Wait up!”

He coasts to a stop and swivels toward Lieutenant Commander Erin Crow marching up to him. The petite woman is sporting a delighted smile instead of a severe scowl. He has witnessed his share of craziness, from half-melted S’Prenn to planets on fire, but this incongruous picture makes him consider performing a J-turn and testing his wheelchair’s top speed.

“Commander,” she says, catching her breath. “I really wanted to say hi.”

Trying and failing to hide his befuddlement, he shakes her hand. “Um, hello.”

“I’m Erin Crow, the ship’s chief tactical officer. My husband, Arthur, is a bit of a fan. He regrets not being able to meet you in person. Conflicting duty shifts.” She sounds so kind, her body language is so open. Sure, rumor had it she was a nicer person before her husband went missing, but he didn’t expect this! “…always interested in stories about your confrontations with the Federation’s enemies. Altonoids, Borg—you fear no one. He’s sorry you were injured and wishes you a speedy recovery. So do I, of course.”

Yup, it’s still awkward, until he remembers she let her gentler nature shine through once in a blue moon, most notably when she embraced him during the S’Prenn’s invading the Achilles. He takes her hands like a religious figure pronouncing a benediction and trades his unease for the joy of seeing her alive and—of all things—happy. “I appreciate it, Erin. I really do.”

They gaze at each other for a good ten seconds, prompting Crow to tilt her head. “You know me, don’t you? How—?”

“I should get going. I have an appointment in sickbay.” He turns around but can’t bring himself to leave just yet. Although the new timeline is a significant improvement, of one amendment he cannot be sure, because this event happened shortly after the war began. He checks for eavesdroppers and motions her nearer. “Listen carefully. Don’t tell this to anyone but Arthur. This or next year, he will be asked to go to a training colony by shuttle. He will go missing, never to be found again.”

Crow gasps.

“When this request comes in, he should refuse, convince his fellow travelers—six of them—to stay put too, and thoroughly check the shuttle they were to use for malfunctions. Regardless of what they’ll find, they are not to go to that colony.”

Trembling ever so slightly, she nods.

“If he gets in trouble over this, refer those in charge to me and I’ll take care of it. Do you understand?”

Her light-brown eyes have gone moist, and she straightens up choppily. “I do.”

“Good luck, Erin. I wish you two the best.”

“Thank you, sir.”

With that infringement of temporal regulations out of the way, Tony hurries toward the nearest turbolift, leaving a grateful ex-colleague behind. Once he’s inside the turbolift, alone with his thoughts, a warmth he has rarely experienced rises in his chest, and he’s glad nobody’s around to see his lower lip wobbling up a storm. “Main sickbay. On the double.” As opposed to the clunky turbolift ride this vessel guaranteed in 2387, this ride is as smooth as can be.

Once the lift has stopped—a perturbing clunk notably absent—he recomposes himself and enters a set of corridors, where he focuses on how the light fixtures are properly installed instead of dangling from the ceiling. The bulkheads practically sparkle at him; every panel is in place, no exposed circuitry, no char stains. He is free to travel without having to circumvent barricaded sections. Crewmembers going about their business are unarmed and wear tidy uniforms. Most greet him—some in recognition, others out of politeness.

Navigating the corridors, he realizes the section he’s in was part of the expanded sickbay in the negated timeline. Rubber curtains bordered it, its floors were strewn with thick cables and medical equipment and lined with dead or twitching S’Prenn in transparent cages. The combination of traveling under cloak and S’Prenn skin photosensitivity necessitated an eerie darkness. Now, these hallways are well lit. In fact, the Achilles hasn’t been outfitted with a cloaking device yet and probably never will. He’s perfectly content with—

An Andorian science ensign walks past.

“Kels!” Tony exclaims, stopping on a dime.

“Sir?” Kels retreads her steps. When she spots his rank, the antennae protruding form her white hairdo perk up in nervousness. “Commander! What can do I for you, sir, um, Commander?”

She’s so young! Twenty-one years old, Tony calculates, fresh from the Academy. “Kels…” Her appearance dredges up the distressing memory of shooting her in the neck to prevent the S’Prenn controlling her from switching over to Rinckes. She died instantly. From one of his perspectives, this happened a mere three days ago. Now, she’s standing there, hugging herself in a telling gesture of insecurity and youth, oblivious to how Tony’s final stand aboard the Kennedy has set her on a path to a long and happy life.

“You are Commander Tony Q, right? I heard about you.”

“It’s great to see you,” he says in a shaky voice. “Let me look at you.”

“Um, sir?”

Maybe he’s treading a fine line between dealing with unexpected reunion after reunion and amassing a compendium of harassment complaints. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Oh, Kels. If only you knew.”

She gives him a shy little smile. “Knew what, sir?”

“I just…” He wants to be honest about their history as colleagues and its tragic conclusion, but he can’t go rolling around haphazardly breaching temporal regulations. Warning Crow was already over the line.

“Just what?”

He doesn’t want to lie to her either, make up some nonsense like knowing her by reputation as an up-and-coming science officer. Pretending this is simply a disastrous attempt at flirting wouldn’t work either; it’d be like betraying the Baxter he knew in 2387. “It’s nothing, Ensign. As you were.” I’m deeply sorry for shooting you. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Oh.” Her antennae droop slightly. “Well, I heard you saved us… again. I had no idea a Q could be injured. It must’ve been terrible out there.” She extends a blue-skinned hand. “Commander, it’s an honor meeting you. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

He accepts the handshake with both hands. “You’re quite welcome, Kels.” He can’t leave it at that. “At the risk of sounding like a sleazy fortune teller, I genuinely believe you have a bright future ahead of you.”

She laughs. “I’ll try to live up to those expectations.”

“You will. Trust me, you will. Take care, Ensign.”

Waving goodbye, she walks off.

A gentle glow on his face, Tony spurs his wheelchair onward. His upper body has never felt this lightweight before, as if the gravity deck plating is malfunctioning. With his quivering grin and tears welling up, he must be quite a sight speeding past his fellow officers. He couldn’t care less. Humming an uneven tune, he rolls through sickbay’s entrance, just as Doctor Chris Kingsley emerges from his office.

Mirroring Tony’s upbeat attitude, the doctor says, “Ah, if it isn’t Commander Cordiality. Let’s get you on your feet, shall we?”

 

Well, this certainly feels like we are leaning towards a feel-good ending to this emotionally exhaustive saga. Although, I've been fooled before so I'm bracing myself for another potential hard turn.

I wonder if Tony gets to be reunited with Rinckes at some point. That's going to be awkward. And then there is dad and of course the big question ... What about Emily? Still a number of questions to be answered here. Looking forward to it.

 

Fallen Heroes - Book 2 of 2 - Chapter 11d (of 12)

Starbase 9 – June 29, 2380 – Stardate 57493.7

Wielding a cane draws more attention from passersby than the hypermodern, superfast wheelchair Commander Tony Q had at his disposal. On the plus side, in contrast to the crutches he was initially promised, this fancy cane does lend him an air of authority, or a certain “look at me, I performed all sorts of heroic and dangerous acts for the greater good” vibe.

A Vulcan staff member escorts him through a complicated section of corridors aboard Starbase 9. Without the stern officer, he’d have found himself utterly lost within minutes in a complex this vast. Ultimately, his guide stops in front of two large doors at the end of a hallway and leaves.

Tony steps into the main conference room, capable of seating hundreds of attendants, though the ten people here have gathered around the imposing table at its center. As he nears them, he overhears their conversation, the chamber’s relative emptiness adding a twinge of reverb to every word spoken.

Six admirals are present, two of whom he recognizes as Fleet Admiral Owen Paris and Admiral Coen Van Aken. They are discussing serious matters with the captains directly involved in what has colloquially been dubbed the Station A-12 Conflict—a considerable upgrade from the Station A-12 Debacle. These captains are Stephan Rinckes, Mathieu Duvivier, Suzan Reynolds, and Keith Harriman.

Rinckes is answering the admirals’ questions. “Because my older self ordered me to procure a shuttle and take Commander Simons to Starbase 9.”

“You didn’t question this order?” Admiral Paris asks.

“I did, but he pulled rank on me by invoking seniority.”

This incites tense laughter from Reynolds and Harriman. Duvivier crosses his arms and shakes his head.

Van Aken asks, “Has this older version turned up yet? We definitely have a few questions for him.”

“Last I saw him, he was severely injured.”

Paris notices Tony is approaching. “We’ll get back to you, Captain. Commander, welcome. Please join us. We’re eager to talk with you.”

Those present greet him with smiles and nods, except Rinckes, who keeps his gaze fixed on the fleet admiral. Reynolds pulls up a chair next to her, an invitation Tony graciously accepts. As he sits down across the table from the other captains, he makes eye contact with Duvivier, whose anger over the hijacking of the Kennedy seems to have subsided; he and Harriman are competing at how much sympathy they can exude.

“Rinckes was telling us about his amazing experience running into his older self,” Paris says. “I have the feeling the tale you have in store for us will surpass even that.”

“I’ll do my best,” Tony says.

Paris adopts a solemn tone. “Commander, we’ve read your preliminary report, and Harriman has informed us of the S’Prenn’s unexpected assistance. Given how they saved eleven of our starships and destroyed seventy Altonoid warships with relative ease, we’d be fools to gloss over their potential as allies. You were adamant we maintain a presence on Station A-12 because the S’Prenn are growing a navigational portal near it. Please elaborate.”

Despite the imposing collection of rank insignia around him, Tony permits himself to gather his thoughts before replying. “To say the following information has been hard-won would be an understatement. In the future I lived through, the Altonoids had taken over the station and exploited the portal’s biological properties to concoct a mind-altering chemical compound. This essentially allowed them to enslave the S’Prenn and use their intellectual and technological superiority against us. The results were devastating. Earth fell on April 16, 2382.”

Concerned looks and expressions surround him. Apart from his grim warnings, the main conference room has gone quiet.

“Other Federation home planets fell soon after. The death count… was extravagant. Our citizens became refugees, forced to seek asylum in Klingon space.” He furrows his brow. “We must defend this portal. If the Altonoids hadn’t been there when it formed, they never would’ve had plenty of opportunity to scrutinize it and connect the dots between its biochemical properties and their earlier bioweapon experimentations.”

“We should contact the S’Prenn at the earliest opportunity,” Van Aken says.

“Two months from now, they’ll come to our aid during the Battle of Sector 453. We should try hailing them then, although I suspect proper communication and diplomatic ties cannot be established before the portal has finished developing. This will take less than one year, during which we will have to rely on our own strength. I should also point out that Starbase 9 was the first Federation structure to fall after Station A-12’s loss. Of course, my interfering has reshaped future events, but I’d advise keeping this starbase on alert until further notice.”

Paris leans back in his chair and stares at something unseen as he absorbs this outpouring of crucial information.

Tony continues, “I cannot stress enough that while guarding the portal will protect the Federation and spare billions of lives, we owe it to the S’Prenn to do so. Their magnanimous gesture of good faith should not result in their collective enslavement by brutes.” When Paris fails to respond right away, Tony addresses him directly. “Admiral, I need your personal guarantee that Starfleet will do everything in its power to secure our and the S’Prenn’s future.”

Paris locks eyes with him.

“I apologize if my impertinence offends you,” Tony says, “but I stand firmly by my request. The stakes are too high to settle for anything less.” He catches a glimpse of Harriman squelching a smirk.

Paris mulls it over, then concedes, “Commander, you have my word. Defending Station A-12 and the portal will be given maximum priority. Ladies, gentlemen, I need not remind you the portal’s origins and importance are to be considered strictly classified.”

Tiredness envelops Tony, albeit a different sensation than usual. It’s the kind of fatigue one gets after accomplishing an important goal or a grueling task.

The fleet admiral isn’t quite done with him, though. “Commander, your bravery and commitment are beyond reproof, but we cannot ignore your many transgressions.” He picks up a PADD from the table. “Violating the Temporal Prime Directive by traveling back in time to change history; firing faulty aft torpedo launchers despite your chief engineer’s recommendations, resulting in almost crippling your ship in mid-combat; willful destruction of Federation property by opening fire at Station A-12’s conference room, endangering four officers within; disobeying your captain by beaming him off his own bridge against his wishes along with the rest of his crew, at which you assumed wrongful command of a Starfleet vessel and used it to collide with the admiral’s flagship, wrecking both vessels and causing injury and death in the process.”

“Sir, if may,” Duvivier interjects. “While his disobedience and this list of offenses trouble me a great deal, even I, as a personally affected party, cannot ignore the extenuating circumstances.”

“Agreed,” Van Aken says. “His actions may have scrapped two starships, including mine, and put my life in danger during his insane—yet successful—rescue attempt, but… as I understand it, these starships and many of our lives were doomed from the start. If it weren’t for him, Duvivier, Reynolds, and I wouldn’t be sitting at this table. Yes, we have to take his word for it. You’d be hard-pressed to find a single individual on this starbase who doubts his honesty in this matter, given his track record and extraordinary sacrifices.

“A further note of interest: My helmsman attested the commander chose the optimum trajectory when ramming the Wolf to minimize loss of life. He also calculated that, had the Wolf been allowed to smash into the station, our casualties would’ve been close to a hundred percent. Plus, how many would’ve died aboard the station in such a collision?”

Reynolds deigns Tony a brief glance. “I’d like to emphasize that we should not confuse desperation and determination for casually flaunting regulations. With billions of lives of stake, shouldn’t the net result outweigh the letter of the law?”

“Noted,” Paris says, bearing a neutral expression. “Commander, we hereby ask you to supplement your report with a full account of the seven years you spent in the alternate timeline. You may omit details as you see fit if they are in breach of the Temporal Prime Directive, but we require a comprehensive story to ensure a fair assessment of your conduct.”

“That would be reasonable, sir,” Tony says. “I assume full responsibility for my actions, good or bad, and I promise full disclosure. I’ll submit to the ruling of the admiralty, or if so decided, a court martial.”

Paris nods his approval.

“You’ll find I’ve always done my utmost to uphold Starfleet values. However, I’m only human—by choice, in my unique case—and I admit my behavior hasn’t always been… exemplary.” Thinking of the misstep that got him demoted to lieutenant, he looks at Rinckes, who stares at the table, his usually straight posture now bent. Intrigued, Tony keeps looking at him. Little by little, everyone’s attention is drawn to the aloof captain.

At last, Rinckes returns his gaze, and Tony sees right through him. The barely restrained sorrow in the captain’s eyes betray the mutual bond of respect and regret they’ve built over the years. This Rinckes knows more than he lets on.

“Captain?” is all Tony can say.

To retain a smidgeon of dignity, Rinckes raises his head, puffs out his chest, and says to the attendees, “I have plenty to add to that report as well.”

Paris scowls. “Please explain!”

“I was there, the whole seven years, five of which Tony and I served on the Achilles. The Temporal Integrity Commission, a future Federation agency, reintegrated me with my period-correct self. It explains why my fifty-three-year-old version was never located.” His fellow captains look on in shock, the admirals in anger. Rinckes shows no reaction to their display of emotions. “I was hardly myself. As soon as we jumped back to this year and had to fight through Station A-12’s corridors… I lost it. I couldn’t take it. Too many bad memories. Tony, he kept his wits about him. We’re here because of him.”

“We’re here because of each other, Captain,” Tony says, shelving his bewilderment to stay coherent and speak the truth. “You faltered in the end, but only in the end.”

Rinckes chuckles sadly. “Still the idealist, aren’t you? Well, you made it, Tony. You accomplished what you always wanted—no thanks to me. Admirals, I apologize for pretending to be someone I’m not and withholding vital information. I also promise full disclosure about what happened.” He dips his chin. “All of it, for better or worse.”

Baffled silence permeates the giant room as Tony struggles to scrounge together a reply. “Look at me, Captain.”

Rinckes does so reluctantly.

“We fulfilled our mission. Don’t ask me how or at what cost. What was asked of us, it was brutal. But we made it, Captain. We made it. Can you believe that? You kept us safe for five impossible years in enemy territory. Not many could have done the same. I can’t imagine the toll this burden took on you.” Though it demands every iota of his inner strength, he maintains a level voice while asking, “Tell me, did you save Melanie? Did you get to see her live? Did you get to hold her once more?”

A trembling smile offsets Rinckes’ contrite features. “She lives. She’ll never forgive me, but she lives.” A brief pause. “Emily?”

“Uncertain. They haven’t found her yet. The odds are… astronomical. Q made me choose between her and the Federation.”

Another round of shocked gasps. Reynolds places a hand on Tony’s shoulder and squeezes hard to offer her support.

“I’m so sorry, Tony,” Rinckes says.

“I know you are.”

“I… I can’t… If you’ll excuse me.” Rinckes stands up and starts walking away, his face buried in his hands.

Paris slams the tabletop with his fist. “Unbelievable… What do I say to this? Men, I’ve had it with these surprises. I’m hereby sending you both on extended leave pending further investigation. Take whatever time you need to recover. I do expect full reports by the end of next week. I have to know everything I need to know! Understood?”

Rinckes walks on, so Tony answers for them both. “Crystal clear, Admiral.”

“Dismissed!”

 

All things considered, the Admiralty is taking these news rather well. Most elucidating is the relationship between Tony and Rinckles. I fully expected that his former captain would be able to look Tony in the eye after what he's done but it appears Tony is in a forgiving mood.

A couple of questions still remain and I'm looking forward to finding out the answers.

 

With chapter 11 complete and uploaded for your enjoyment and the Fallen Heroes saga nearly coming to an end, work on the story's conclusion is well underway.

As you may have noticed from the title above each chapter segment, this book/part is supposed to be twelve chapters long. And originally, I intended to end the story with one huge chapter as a sort of last big hurray; however, this would also mean there'd be a 4 month hiatus between chapter uploads. So instead, I've decided to split the grand conclusion up into two smaller chapters. This means you can expect the second-to-last chapter to be released 5 to 6 weeks from now, in mid-March.

I will report back once I can set the release date in stone. Take care and talk to you soon!

 

I have good news for you all: Fallen Heroes' penultimate chapter will be released next Friday!

So that's on March 12th. See you then!

 

Good day, everyone! As promised, here is the penultimate chapter of Fallen Heroes. This and the upcoming final chapter are slightly shorter than usual to reduce the wait between chapters. As has become tradition, it will be uploaded in four segments. So step right up and get your slice of Fallen Heroes each Friday for the rest of this month and a bit of April. Enjoy!

I’ll skip the spoiler-filled recap this time around, because the chapter picks up right where we left off and is written in such a way that its narrative quickly brings the loyal reader up to speed, or so I hope.

Here we go!

Fallen Heroes - Book 2 of 2 - Chapter 12a (of 13)

Starbase 9 – June 30, 2380 – Stardate 57495.1

Everything is grand about this starbase, including this particular waiting area offering a brilliant view of the humongous interior docking bay. Seated in a quiet section, Commander Tony Q observes the docked starships, among them the USS Achilles, which remains a beauty, and the USS Bellerophon, the Intrepid-class vessel that will transport him and hundreds of others to Earth at maximum warp to deal with the impending crisis and share his valuable intel on the future. They might even overtake the Hawkeye, the passenger transport he took in the original timeline.

Healing wounds tug at his skin a little. Courtesy of the starbase’s exemplary facilities and skilled personnel, he has undergone another round of excellent medical care. Soon, he’ll be back to what should pass for normal.

Despite his pleasant surroundings—contemporary, multileveled architecture embellished with countless plants and trees—nothing beats ogling at intact Federation starships. How he has missed that!

A group of officers pass by, shooting him furtive glances and whispering among themselves. “Move along. Nothing to see,” Tony mumbles. Even in a society renowned for valuing contribution above the brevity of fame, anonymity is hard to come by once your name gets out there. And sure, a solid reputation has its perks, but at times like these, sitting here waiting like any regular adult, he wishes he were invisible. Without thinking, he plucks two rank pips from his collar and folds his hand around them. An eighteen-year-old ensign will draw a lot less attention than an eighteen-year-old commander, Emily had said. Smart woman.

He reverts to staring at the Achilles. Although he was never safe and her entire crew suffered so many tragedies, an undeniable sense of nostalgia is tied to that magnificent vessel. It’s hard to ignore the fuzzy feeling inside when reminiscing about living with Emily.

An officer walks past, gawking at the commander. Then his gaze lowers to Tony’s rank insignia. He blinks several times in confusion, raises an eyebrow, and continues on his way. A bittersweet smile forms on Tony’s lips, and he resumes studying the Achilles’ sleek design and the abundant memories contained within her sparkling-white hull.

Lost in thought, he is late to notice a man in his mid-twenties standing a few meters away, a puzzled expression on his sharp but friendly features. “Commander Tony…? Uh, Ensign?”

Tony meets the befuddled lieutenant’s gaze and instantly recognizes him. “Ernest!”

It is indeed Lieutenant Junior Grade Ernest Baxter, appearing younger than ever. “Are you Commander…?”

To prevent the poor guy from losing his sanity, Tony opens his palm and shows the two rank pips. “Keeps unwanted attention at bay.”

“Ah, okay. Um, sir, I was asked to—”

“Hold on a sec.” Tony pockets the insignia, grabs the cane leaning against his chair, and rises to greet his old buddy. “Ernest Baxter, chief helmsman of the Achilles. What can I do for you?” Though this version of Baxter has never met him before, Tony knows this fellow through and through, the memory of helplessly watching the pilot S’Prenned and killed the most vivid. It requires heaps of self-control to refrain from tackling the lieutenant to the floor in an overjoyed bear hug.

“Captain Harriman asked me to relay important information to you. I’m not sure I understand it completely.”

“Let’s hear it, Baxxie.”

Caught off guard by the commander’s informal attitude, Baxter raises the upside-down PADD he’s carrying and tries reading it.

Tony reaches out, turns the PADD around, and sticks up his thumb.

“You requested to be notified of Ensign Emily Murphy’s status. I believe she was in your security squad?”

Tony’s joviality dissipates. “She was.”

“I regret to inform you her body has been found in the storage bay you mentioned, the one on deck 56, where…”

Baxter’s talking fades into the background as this confirmation of the inevitable stabs Tony squarely in the heart. There wasn’t a chance in hell; Q emphasized this outcome of the grueling dilemma Tony had to solve. Now that he knows, grief may run its course. What more could he say or think? He made a choice, and he’ll have to live with it.

If only he knew how.

“Commander? Are you all right?”

“No. No, I’m not.” Biting his bottom lip, he looks into the eyes of a dear friend he rescued from certain death and uses that notion to recompose himself. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course, sir. My condolences.”

Realizing this Baxter will never get to be colleagues with her, will never discover what a great person she was, threatens to puncture his fragile composure.

“I’ve more for you, sir.” Baxter grimaces. “This is unsettling. We found your body as well, in the same storage bay. Kingsley told me you warned us of this possibility. Something involving time travel?”

“I’d better not answer your question. Admirals are on my case as it is about the Temporal Prime Directive.”

“Oh, I didn’t to mean to snoop, sir. I, uh, we’d like to know how you prefer we dispose of the… your… the body.”

Tony ponders this bizarre question. “Repatriated to Earth. I’ll handle the funeral arrangements from there.”

“As you wish.” Once Baxter has finished typing notes, he shivers. “I can’t wait to return to the Achilles. The general mood on this starbase is so claustrophobic and somber.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Tony says, a tad disappointed in himself for how self-absorbed he must’ve been these past couple of days.

“Seriously? People are sad and scared. I don’t blame them; in fact, I’m joining in! This Altonoid attack is a blatant act of hostility, this week’s battles the kickoff for a war Starfleet cannot afford. We’re still reeling from the most violent decade in recent history, what with the Dominion War and Borg encounters, and now the Altonoids have upped their game and proven they’re a force to be reckoned with. Granted, we won’t give up without a fight, but—”

“Ah, there’s the crux,” Tony says. “We won’t give up.” To Baxter’s surprise, he sits back down and taps his fingers on the seat next to him. “The Bellerophon hasn’t begun boarding yet. Why don’t you have a seat and let me tell you what the Altonoids don’t have?”

Hesitantly, Baxter complies.

“For starters, they don’t have you or that mighty starship you get to fly. That superb heavy cruiser over there”—he points at the Achilles—“trapped alone behind enemy lines for five stressful years, staffed with dedicated personnel like me, you, and Emily, was enough to learn the Altonoids’ secrets and change the course of history.”

“Didn’t you say you weren’t permitted to… Uh, the Temporal Prime Directive?”

“I’m speaking purely hypothetically, of course, of a timeline you’ll never experience. So I won’t tell you about the friendship we forged serving together. I won’t tell you how your piloting skills saved our hides over and over, and how your loyalty and camaraderie inspired me and your coworkers to persevere. I certainly won’t tell you how grateful I am to have gotten to know you and how thrilled I am to see you again, confident that the horrors you think await us have been averted by our combined efforts.”

Baxter’s mouth falls open.

“So I wouldn’t be afraid of the future. The coming year’s going to be tough on us all, but it will work out in the end. And even if by some oversight we haven’t outwitted the Altonoids through sheer commitment and a pinch of time travel, I’ll happily brave whatever’s in store for us, because Starfleet is brimming with people like you and me who are incapable of giving up.” He shakes Baxter’s hand. “Thank you, Ernest, for being who you are.”

Face as red as a port navigation light, Baxter stammers, “I don’t know what to say.”

Tony smiles at the lieutenant and leans back in his chair. “We’ve said and done plenty. Now we get to relax and enjoy the view.”

 

I suppose a happy ending for Tony and Emily was too much to ask for. Fair game. This is still a pretty uplifting epilogue to one of the darkest Trek stories I've read in a long time.

 

Fallen Heroes - Book 2 of 2 - Chapter 12b (of 13)

Earth, San Francisco – July 1, 2380 – Stardate 57498.5

“What’s the delay?” Wearing civilian clothes, Commander Tony Q pushes against the shuttle’s aft door locking mechanism and throws impatient glances at his fellow travelers and especially the shuttle pilot.

The pilot sighs, announces they’ve touched down on Glen Park’s landing pad, and presses a combination of buttons, to which the aft door hisses open, revealing a clear blue sky presiding over the stunning view of a thriving San Francisco. Awestruck by the modern buildings, multispecies inhabitants bustling about, and bright green fields and parks, Tony lingers in the doorway, passengers brushing by him as they disappear into the wonderful scenery.

As if he’s a cane-wielding interstellar explorer discovering an alien planet, he steps out of the shuttle, walks its ramp, and plants a foot on solid ground. Viewing Earth in her peaceful splendor from orbit was breathtaking. Now, he’s standing here wrapped in a warm breeze, the inspiring vista doing its very best to erase horrific imagery of toppled skyscrapers, skeletal husks of buildings clawing at green thunderclouds. He buries those memories in a past that will never happen to these citizens, who are blissfully unaware of the catastrophe they have been spared.

“Are you going or what?” the pilot grumbles.

“You bet I am!” Tony zeroes in on the nearest patch of grass, kicks off his shoes, and starts hopping around barefooted, leaning on his cane, cackling like a happy maniac. Nobody minds—it’s San Francisco, after all. After conducting three twirls in a row with the finesse of an overexcited kitten, he stumbles and grabs on to an elm tree to keep from rolling down the slope. Running his hands across the elm’s rough bark, he chuckles at its typical unpleasant smell welcoming him back to Earth. Behind him, the shuttle flares its thrusters and takes off to join the throngs of airborne craft up above, and he catches a glimpse of its irritable pilot. Tony waves at him, sits down in the elm’s shade, fingers splayed in the grass, and wonders at the undamaged infrastructure stretching out in every direction until he has officially lost track of the minutes creeping by.

A lightweight object bumps into his knee and lands in his lap. Startled, Tony picks up the remote-controlled starship model, a detailed replica of the original USS Enterprise.

“Sorry, Mister!” A kid runs up to him, eager to reclaim his first and somewhat unsuccessful command. Tony can’t help but stare at the young boy. Having had part of him spend five years on the Achilles with no children in sight, he is yet to grow accustomed to dealing with them. Easily enough, this kid simply wants his toy back and snatches it from him.

Full of enthusiasm, the boy skips over to his father. “Daddy! I crashed the Enterprise!” His father grins and lifts him onto his neck. The boy relaunches the starship model with an energetic throw, and they follow it down the hill.

For reasons Tony can’t quite grasp, he has been putting off reuniting with his own father. Having witnessed this simple family interaction reignites the flutter in his belly. As real as the sun above him, the grass beneath him, the people around him, his father is alive! He gets up using his cane and begins searching for his shoes. Although it’s an hour-and-a-half hike to Dad’s cottage and the weather’s boiling hot, the prospect of ambling through the city instead of relying on a cab or public transporter is too enticing to pass up on.

Having recovered his shoes, Tony heads south. For the first leg of the journey, he soaks up the environment and greets strangers with a smile. Upbeat as he may seem, he cannot escape the soul-crushing fact that the first time he walked to the cottage on this very same day, he had Emily by his side. He’d discussed his worries of his sudden return being met with skepticism from his dad, who hasn’t seen him in a year at this point. She’d listened and eased his mind, and they’d been together since.

He adopts a brisker stride, rapidly losing interest in the parks, buildings, and passersby. Hopefully, his father will understand his complicated grief over a woman who meant the world to him but was lost to time. Knowing Dad, at least he’ll try.

An hour in, he permits himself to stop by a drinking fountain—a necessity in this heat—then continues hurrying toward the house that provided refuge and a home to him and Emily. Unlike before, he’s certain his father won’t hold his year-long absence against him. But how is he going to explain he saw him die? How he attempted to pull him from the rubble of a collapsed apartment complex as Altonoid fighters screeched overhead? How he tried and couldn’t hold his dad’s hand once more? How keenly he has missed him? Dad’s not even aware his son has forfeited his Q powers yet!

These ruminations slacken his pace, cause him to falter until he acknowledges the truth behind it all: None of it matters. These worries are valid but belong to the past. Sadness and fear have no place in these familiar streets bristling with life.

Thousands of arduous footsteps and a lift from a gracious bicyclist later, Tony arrives at the base of the hill where two hundred yards in the distance lies the cottage harboring seven months’ worth of fond memories. Cane stabbing at loose soil, he follows the trail, chest heaving in and out as he vigorously inhales and expels fresh air, which could rival the finest shipboard climate control any day of the week.

Having reached the cherry blossom tree at the edge of the garden, he lets its green, post-bloom petals hypnotize him into a wistful trance before thoughts of his destination urge him to press on. As he crests the hill, the white-stone cottage with its lush garden bordered by neatly trimmed hedges comes into full view, resembling a photorealistic painting of days gone by. At the garden’s center, Ralph Blue is whistling to himself, shaping one of his prized box trees into a perfect globe. There labors a content man, not a care in the world, relishing the sunrays.

Enthralled by the sight, Tony halts his march and allows this rewon moment to pass in slow motion. When Ralph died underneath a torrent of rubble, Tony’s heart had disintegrated on the spot. With their reunion as of yet unspoken, being in his reassuring presence may yet mend this old wound in a reversal of grief as powerful as its instigation.

He takes a step forward, prompting his father to turn his head and squint into the sun.

Tony wants to say something, like he did the first time, but he is stumped for words.

Ralph drops his gardening tools, rises to his feet, and staggers closer. “Tony?” His face lights up and he breaks into a run, crosses the distance between them, and hugs his son so thoroughly he lifts him off the ground.

Tony’s cane lands in a flowerbed and his injuries make him wince in pain. When his father tries to let go in response, Tony holds on tighter, finding comfort in the embrace he has missed so dearly.

“You’re not a Q anymore, are you?”

“No,” Tony replies, his speech muffled by his dad’s collar.

“I must say I didn’t expect this sudden visit. But you know you’re always welcome here.”

“I–I know I am.”

The affectionate warmth in his father’s voice evaporates the years spent without him. “Stay here as long as you like, or as long as Starfleet will let you stay.” Gradually, Dad breaks off the hug. He wipes away the tears rolling down Tony’s cheeks and smiles broadly—laugh lines around his eyes and all. “I figured you’d be back one day.”

 

That's a well-deserved reunion for a man who has been through hell over the last few years. Not everything is right with the world, but everyone deserves at least some of it to be okay. Good for Tony.

 

Couldn't agree more!

Despite how cruel I often treat my characters, I enjoy writing happy scenes for them too, I swear.

 

Fallen Heroes - Book 2 of 2 - Chapter 12c (of 13)

Earth, Scotland – April 27, 2386 – Stardate 64318.8

“What a gorgeous location for a memorial,” Commander Ralph Blue says to his son while traversing a gravel path leading to a rocky headland. Surrounded by steep cliffs dropping to the North Sea, the headland delivers a flawless transition between land and water, and its imposing monument dedicated to commemorating the Station A-12 Conflict and the Battle of Nedron enhances the already spectacular view. “You okay? Quite the incline ahead.”

“Yeah, don’t worry.” Commander Tony Blue favors his right leg slightly while keeping up with Ralph. Though the limp has remained a factor in his daily life, he was able to dispense with his cane soon after settling in on Earth.

Tony and his dad climb the path and arrive at a promontory three hundred meters long and a hundred meters wide, lined with benches and information displays. Dozens of people, mostly Starfleet officers, have gathered around its centerpiece: the part-physical, part-holographic monument. Towering layers of floating sculptures rotating in opposite directions shelter a slowly revolving column displaying the names of the fallen. These sculptures represent the forty-six Federation starships involved in the two costly battles and orbit an impressionistic rendition of Station A-12.

“Beautiful tribute,” Ralph says.

Tony agrees in silence, too in awe to formulate a proper reply.

“Shame we missed the unveiling.”

“Dad…”

“By half an hour.”

“We’re here now.”

“Still.”

He pats Ralph on the back and says half-jokingly, “We’re men of importance, Commander. Our schedules wait for no one.”

“There’s always so much to do, so much happening at once. We’re living in crazy times.”

“Not as crazy as they could have been.”

“True. The war went on longer for you than it did for us.”

“You could say that.” The Federation-Altonoid War of 2380 and 2381 ended rather decisively when the S’Prenn began sending emissaries and ultimately fleets of reinforcements through the Station A-12 portal. “We owe a lot to the S’Prenn.”

“And to you. With what you did and sacrificed… This monument is for you as far as I’m concerned.”

Tony giggles at the remark. “You can’t help being a proud parent, can you? I’ll concede I played an important role, but I consider this a remembrance to those who died. I mean, 970 lives lost in the fight for the station, and 10,607 in the Altonoids’ ambushing the backup fleet. This monument is for them.” He points at the nearest park bench. “Maybe that one’s dedicated to me.”

Ralph sighs. “God, I raised a saint…”

Glistening in the spring evening’s setting sun, the memorial rotates in solemn dignity. In contrast to the occasion’s significance, the atmosphere is lighthearted, most likely a product of relief over a war that could’ve upended the quadrants but petered out five years ago. The updated Starfleet uniforms with blue, red, or gold department colors claiming most of the shoulder area also lend the scene an optimistic aspect. Updating the uniform design had zero priority in the protracted war Tony experienced, so having his fellow officers dressed in these brighter outfits is oddly reassuring.

Off to the left, a reporter has finished taking holophotos of a group of people special to Tony: his friends from the Kennedy. Elated, he rushes over to them, dragging his dad along with him.

Captain Mathieu Duvivier is busy talking with Commander Grad Jansen and Lieutenant Commander Sivar when he notices the new arrival. “Tony Blue, as I live and breathe!” He gives the commander and his father a manly hug. “Great to see you two again. How have you been? We haven’t spoken in… Gosh, I don’t know.”

“I’m still working at Starfleet HQ as tactical consultant, and my dad… Well, tell him yourself.”

“I received a promotion.”

“So modest. Mathieu, you’re looking at the deputy director of Astrophysics in San Francisco. So I’d say we’re doing terrific. How is the Kennedy? Every bit as extraordinary as her predecessor?”

“Definitely,” the captain says. “And not just because the powers that be were kind enough to rechristen a factory-fresh Sovereign-class vessel for us; it’s because we managed to keep our senior staff together throughout the years.” He gestures at his men and women. “Best in the galaxy.”

Sivar arches an eyebrow. “Though your hyperbole is doubtless intended to flatter, it is a matter of opinion and perhaps one clouded by familiarity whether we are in fact the ‘best in the galaxy.’”

Jansen snickers. “As you can tell, we’ve done our utmost to keep Sivar honest.”

At this point, Lieutenant Commanders Sven Muntenaar and André Soeteman have sneaked up on Tony and Ralph to dish out firm handshakes.

“We’re in it for the long haul,” Muntenaar says. “Wouldn’t want to serve on any other vessel.”

“Watch out for this guy,” Soeteman warns Muntenaar in a teasing tone while shaking Tony’s hand. “He’ll beam you off your own bridge if you let him anywhere near the transporter controls.”

“I’m never going to live it down, am I?” Tony says with a wry grin.

“Not a chance.”

Before Tony can mount a defense against this playful banter, he receives a surprise hug from Lieutenant Malin. “We’ve missed you.”

“Aw, thank you. So have I.” He ignores the face Dad is making at him for being embraced by the attractive pilot.

“Our visit to Earth will be brief,” Duvivier tells them. “Tomorrow starts our next mission—a humanitarian one. Possibly quite risky, because we’ll be heading for the Altonoid home world. They’re in dire need of food and medical supplies. We’re hoping this will sway the different governments rising from their empire’s ruins toward pursuing diplomatic relations with us.”

“Timing couldn’t be better,” Tony says. “At Starfleet HQ, we’re picking up increasing rumors of a new line of thinking among the Altonoids now their xenophobic leaders have been deposed. Our sincere help is bound to affect even the remaining hardliners.”

Regardless of his political ramblings, the final three applicants for hugs and handshakes present themselves: Doctor Rose Van Oers, Lieutenant Steven Appels, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Marc Lucas, the three other surviving members of Tony’s security squad dispatched to Station A-12.

Van Oers is currently sporting azure-colored hair and a winning smile. Her embrace brings with it a waft of sweet perfume. “You look well, Tony. I trust you are adhering to a schedule of regular medical checkups?”

“I wouldn’t dare otherwise.”

Appels’ handshake threatens to crush Tony’s digits. “Our squad did a fine job despite the losses, wouldn’t you say, Commander?”

“We fought to the last man and refused to give up, an effort befitting the Kennedy and her remarkable crew.”

This earns him an appreciative grunt from the muscular security chief and the chance to talk with Lucas, who’s hardly the novice ensign he was during the Station A-12 Conflict. In his late twenties, the tall and handsome Latino exudes confidence and skill. “Lieutenant Marc Lucas, sir. Tactical officer, USS Kennedy.”

“No need to brag,” Appels mutters.

“Not bragging, sir, simply stating facts. Commander, I heard you’re the reason we’re alive today.”

“One of many reasons,” Tony says.

“The primary reason, then,” Van Oers says, pretending to be annoyed at his reflexive attempt to deflect praise. “I admit it was a close shave for all of us. And to imagine we almost forgot to yank this poor guy out of the Jefferies tube we hid him in.”

“I haven’t forgiven you lot for that,” Lucas says, tongue in cheek.

Appels punches him in the upper arm. “You just can’t get over the fact we saved your a—”

“My dear crew,” Duvivier says, raising his voice to draw the group’s attention. “If I had a synthehol beverage, I’d propose a toast, but I’m afraid my good intentions will have to suffice. It’s a privilege to be standing here, alive and well, joined by what I’ve come to dub the Kennedy family. And yes, I’m willing to extend that moniker to Ralph and Tony Blue. Together, we have faced terrible losses, of which this memorial is a stunning reminder. It means the world to me to serve Starfleet with you by my side, and I’m proud to have you call me your captain.”

“So are we, Captain,” Jansen says, speaking for the rest, who support his words with smirks and nods. “So are we.”

Swept up in the moment, Tony speaks up too. “My friends, it’s fantastic to see you in good health and even better spirits. With all my heart, I wish you the best of the best, and may you forever cherish your journeys aboard the Kennedy as I have and always will. You’re the real deal, guys, and I love you to bits.”

“It’s much appreciated,” Duvivier says. “It’s safe to say we are somewhat fond of you as well.” He winks and addresses his crew. “Now then, I read of an actual bridge on this site, running along these cliffs for a spectacular view. I haven’t found it yet, so I declare this our current assignment before we head to the skies. First to find me that bloody bridge receives a promotion! Maybe.” As his senior staff laughs and disperses, Duvivier offers Tony a warm smile. “Take care, Tony.”

“You too, Mathieu.”

The captain hurries to catch up to Jansen. “Found it yet?”

As Tony watches these men and women he reclaimed from a cruel fate, his eyes fill with an inner glow.

His dad softly nudges him in the ribs. “You okay?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“Let’s have a closer look at the monument, shall we?”

 

Okay, feels like we're in the home stretch. Knowing your tendency of lulling us into a false sense of security, I won't quite relax yet, but dear Lord, the guy really deserves a break. And this might finally be it.

 

Fallen Heroes - Book 2 of 2 - Chapter 12d (of 13)

Tony and Ralph Blue saunter over to the memorial, allowing them to savor breathing in the brackish air, enjoy the clement weather, listen to the crashing waves, and observe the seagulls perching on the abundant rock formations. The nearer they get, the more this monument impresses them. Its sculptures of the station and each participating starship have been molded into abstract yet recognizable silver shapes and hover in silence over the rotating column bearing names of the perished.

“I think I spotted the Kennedy,” Ralph says. “She was the only Sovereign-class vessel involved, right?”

Tony notices a blonde woman in her mid-thirties looking up at the holographic interpretation of the Sundance. “Just a minute, Dad.” He walks over to her. “Commander Melanie Simons?”

“Yes?” She brushes away a few tears and meets his gaze. “Ah, you must be Tony Blue. We’ve met before.”

“Yeah, before…—“he motions at the monument—“all this. I, uh…”

“Stephan told me the whole story of how you two lived through seven years of alternate history. He told me your ideals and opinions clashed more than once, but I got the sense he respected you nonetheless.”

“The feeling’s mutual. How is he these days?”

“We’ve hardly spoken since he resigned his commission. So much guilt on his part, and he saw his actions had scared me. I reach out to him every so often; he keeps politely declining.” She glances at the abstract sculpture of the Sundance guarding over the fallen. “We lost so much that day. I know they didn’t die in vain, and I’ll never forget the reports on how Commander Levine took charge and granted our crew a heroic end… but it’s so weird being the sole representative of a lost starship. Don’t get me wrong, this work of art is a touching homage to my colleagues’ ultimate sacrifice.”

“It is.”

“If Stephan hadn’t done what he did…” Her brow wrinkles into a frown. “Fighting you to the death when you were trying to save the Federation? The thought of reassuming command of the Sundance not even crossing his mind? Abandoning his subordinates? Over me?”

“This is not your fault.”

“I shouldn’t be alive, but I made peace with my… lucky break. I love my current posting as XO of the Hendrikse, and the friendships I’ve gained there have accelerated the healing process for sure.”

“Your being here is strong evidence of that.”

“I suppose so. I figured, if my life had been won at such a cost, I’d owe it to these people to make it one worth living.”

“You’re so right, Melanie. To be honest, I haven’t had a proper talk with Rinckes in years either. Not since the court martial.”

“How I wish I could tell him what I’m telling you. I’ll admit I’ve been pulling some strings to keep tabs on him, and he’s doing as well as can be expected. It’s obvious, however, he isn’t ready to reconnect with me yet.” She takes in a deep breath. “After everything is said and done, I am alive—we both are, Tony. Let’s make the most of each day we have.”

“Consider it done,” Tony says with a sprinkle of humor, and he gives her a clumsy hug. “All the best, Melanie.”

“Tony!” he hears Ralph shout. “I found her!”

“If you’ll excuse me.” He trots over to his father, who is standing by the base of the monument, which consists of gently spinning rows of names stacked on top of each other to form a two-meters-high column the width of an ancient tree trunk.

“Ensign Emily C. Murphy,” Dad reads aloud. This causes the name tag to stop moving and fold out into a holographic rendition of her personnel file, including a three-dimensional profile picture showing off her brown hair, kind eyes, and dazzling smile. “From what you’ve told me, she was something else, wasn’t she?”

“Dad, I’ve no idea what she saw in me, or what I did to deserve being married to a woman like her.”

“I would’ve loved to have known her. She seems like top-tier daughter-in-law material.”

“She was. I’m a better man for having been part of her life, no question about it. In all my travels across space and time, I never met anyone else who combined strength of character and compassion with such elegance—and I never will again.”

His father places a hand on his shoulder.

“There’s comfort in knowing,” Tony continues, his voice going hoarse, “she’ll always be here, in this beautiful location, smiling her wonderful smile for everyone fortunate enough to select her name.”

A flock of seagulls take off from a nearby rock and fly out to sea underneath the clear sky, drawing attention to two individuals standing forlorn together a dozen meters away. It’s Admiral Coen Van Aken and Captain Suzan Reynolds, who were looking at sculptures of the Satellite and Wolf. They nod a synchronized greeting at Tony and Ralph before coming over.

With a tender gesture, Tony closes Emily’s profile as the two approach.

“That’s been a while,” Reynolds says, exchanging handshakes. “I was just telling the admiral about my new chief medical officer, Commander Voss. I believe you met him on the Kennedy?”

“How could I forget?” Tony says. “The guy saved Malin’s life, for starters. Glad to hear he’s landed on his feet.”

Ralph’s enthusiastic handshake almost rips Van Aken’s wrist off. “Admiral, I cannot thank you enough for your testimony during my son’s court martial. If it weren’t for you vouching for him personally, I’m convinced the subsequent disciplinary action would’ve extended far beyond the official reprimand entered into his record.”

“I second that,” Tony says. “Because of you, I’ve been able to keep serving the Federation to the best of my abilities.”

“Which is the optimal way of repaying us,” Van Aken says, “though I still have recurrent nightmares of being beamed into open space for a Sovereign-class vessel to hunt me down with you at the helm.”

“Oh gosh, I hope you’re kidding.”

The admiral bursts out laughing at his reaction. “Had you going there.”

Cheeks flushing, Tony runs a hand through his hair and changes the subject. “I thought the Achilles’ crew would be here too, given their role in liberating the station.”

“They’re out on a mission and slated to return in a month. They’ll want to see this recognition of their efforts in person.” Van Aken glimpses at the rotating holograms above them. “Did you know that viewing a sunset or sunrise through the memorial has it mimic the colorful aspect of the Garcon Nebula? It’s quite a sight, let me assure you.”

“I’ll go check it out. You coming, Dad?”

Dad has charged up his charming personality and struck up an engaging conversation with Reynolds. “So, Suzan, your current command is an Achilles-class vessel? There aren’t that many yet in Starfleet. How did—”

Tony shares a brief chuckle with Van Aken over this, then assumes an exaggerated salute and says, “Permission to leave, Admiral.”

“Commander, knock yourself out.”

* * *

The admiral was speaking the truth. On the east side of the memorial headland, opposite the setting sun, rolling tide behind him, Commander Tony Blue stands alone, enraptured by the blue-and-lilac halo enveloping the floating starship sculptures. It’s as if these vessels hovering over the names of the fallen are hiding within the Garcon Nebula, their shadows and outlines still visible as if displayed behind stained glass, appearing empowered and protected at once.

Beneath this impeccable blend of nature and technology, the attendees walk about, interacting with each other, marveling at their surroundings, and above all, being free, healthy, and very much alive. At the foot of the monument, his father is having an animated chat with Reynolds and Van Aken.

Had Tony retained the ability to freeze time, he would, right now, and spend a personal slice of eternity here.

A nearby white flash distracts him. “Ooh, fancy new garb,” Q says, admiring the captain’s uniform he has chosen for his physical avatar. He pinches at Tony’s upper arm. “You pull off red so much better than gold. Yes, the memorial is nice too, but these fashion updates your time traveling mishaps sparked make your suffering truly worth it.”

So much for the perfect moment he was experiencing. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Which renders my visit long overdue. I learned you dropped the ‘Q’ from your name in this timeline as well. I am deeply offended.”

“You want an apology?”

“I’m way past any desire for vindication and consider this final slap in my alluring visage a sign you’ve made peace with your regained humanity.”

“I have.”

A pause. “Good.” Q takes another gander at the monument. “It’s a bit tacky, isn’t it? If they were going for tacky, they might as well have added a twenty-foot bust of you. You sacrifice the Continuum’s greatest gifts of omnipotence and immortality and all you get is a casual mention on an info display. I would’ve at least asked for a merchandise stand off by the side. You could peddle T-shirts with your pouting mug on it, self-improvement books on how to grapple with being a starship collision magnet, whiny action figures with limps. I’d be happy to run by some marketing and product suggestions with you.”

“It’s fine. If there’s one thing you’ve taught me, it’s that human gratitude has its limits.”

Q scoffs. “So you did listen to my ravings once in a while?”

“Couldn’t help myself.”

“Seems to me you’ve got the brief future awaiting you sorted out. Perhaps, if I lowered my standards to yours, I could imagine the appeal of the life you have carved out for yourself… but man, did you sell yourself short.”

“No argument there.” A tacit hesitation builds between them. “Is this goodbye, Q?”

“No, I fully intend on popping by when you’re an old geezer and laugh at how wrinkly you’ve become.”

“Deal.”

“Until then, I decided a little parting gift would be in order, to ease your days as a decrepit mortal.”

“You getting sentimental on me?”

“Oh, shut up.” Q summons a PADD from thin air. “Here, a piece of intel that might interest you.”

Tony accepts the gift. Apart from the neat ribbon tied around it, it looks like an ordinary PADD. “Thanks, I guess?”

Q crosses his arms and taps his foot.

“I mean, thank you. Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it.”

Employing a wagonload of sarcasm, Q says, “I’ll just go before your infinite gratefulness overwhelms me.” He lifts his hand, ready to snap his fingers. “See you in a few decades, if you manage to live that long.” In a flash of bright light, he disappears.

Despite their mentor-protégé relationship having been strained ever since Tony chose to march to the beat of his own drum, he is forced to conclude he will actually miss the guy. To distract himself from such a conclusion and out of curiosity, he unties the ribbon, switches on the PADD, and begins reading.

Three paragraphs in, he gasps. Five paragraphs in, his knees start trembling. Seven paragraphs in, the rest of his body starts trembling along. He presses the PADD against his chest and dashes off toward the monument as fast as his limp allows, which is, at the moment, surprisingly fast.

Though still fifty meters away, Reynolds notices Tony’s hasty return and alerts her conversation partners.

“Dad! Dad!” Tony shouts, running in the direction of the three puzzled officers. Upon arriving, he is utterly out of breath.

“What’s the matter?” Ralph asks out of instinctual, fatherly concern.

Tony lifts an index finger while leaning on his knees and calming his breathing. He then straightens up, turns to Van Aken, and says, “Admiral, I’m going to need a starship.”

 

Okay, looks like we may be in for one last twist here in the end. Nice. Eager to find out what Q's parting gift may be.

His appearance also reminded me that we know almost nothing about Tony's history with the Continuum. That would be a really interesting story to explore. Could a Fallen Heroes prequel be in the works?

 

Before Fallen Heroes, I'd written a good number of unpublished short stories featuring Tony's character, from his being separated from his father in the Borg attack that occurred when he was 13 up to the start of Fallen Heroes. These stories were very comical and light in nature, and horribly written for the most part, especially the early ones. I was just getting to grips with learning English (It's not my native language), and character development or narrative structures were terms I could barely even spell at that point.

The characters from the Kennedy played a large role in those later stories as well, which is why I gave them a proper send-off in this chapter despite them being relatively minor characters in the Fallen Heroes saga.

It's a very special feeling indeed to wrap up these storylines for all these characters that have been with me for 20 years now!

I expect to finish the final chapter's first draft later this week. Don't know how I'll feel about penning the final sentence. I've spent the past 3 1/2 years writing 8 hours a week on this project, and many more hours in the years before that.

Let's just say I'm very grateful to anyone who has been willing to take this journey with me and follow the adventures of Tony, Rinckes, and the crews of the Achilles and Kennedy. I'll make sure the final chapter will be a damn good one!

 

What more can I add after that brief statement of intent regarding an exciting last chapter?

Well, how about narrowing down to a release date?

By now, I've become adept at guessing how much time it takes to go through each writing and revision phase for each 10,000ish word Fallen Heroes chapter. From the looks of it, I have exactly one month of work ahead of me before I can present to you a properly polished piece of prose. This means the release date for the final chapter will either be the 11th or the 18th of June. I'll report back in with the precise date as soon as I'm confident I can stick to my promises.

Until then, take care and talk to you all soon!

 

With the final chapter almost ready, I have an official publication date for you all:

Friday, June 18th.

Save the date. I can't wait to share Fallen Heroes' exciting final chapter with you. See you then!

 

Can you guys and gals believe it? The Fallen Heroes saga is coming to an end, and I have the exciting final chapter for you all right here!

I’ve been uploading a steady trickle of new work here over the past three years now, and I’m thrilled to share the story’s conclusion with you.

Sticking to tradition, I’ll upload it in four parts over the following weeks, with a new chapter segment each Friday. Today we kick off with the first segment. Enjoy!


=======
WARNING!
Spoiler-filled recap:
With most of his trials behind him, Tony Blue has carved out a life for himself on Earth and recently visited the Station A-12 Conflict and Battle of Nedron memorial, where he spoke with Commander Melanie Simons. She mentioned Stephan Rinckes has closed himself off entirely after the history-altering events at Station A-12, despite her wish to reconnect.

As Tony wondered at the beautiful monument, Q paid him a last visit and gave him a mysterious PADD containing information that made Tony scramble for the nearest admiral and ask for a starship.
=======

Fallen Heroes - Book 2 of 2 - Chapter 13a (final chapter)

Earth, State of Washington – June 2, 2386 – Stardate 63416.4

Dappling sunlight bounces off the waters of Lake Crescent and onto the silver hull of Stephan Rinckes’ motorboat, its cylindrical power pack gurgling at the waterline to offset the current. He has packed up his fishing gear, stored his captured trout in a portable cooling unit, and installed himself on the aft bench seat to gaze at the verdant mountain range and the occasional fellow pleasure craft.

This, or rather the nearby lake house he acquired upon resigning his commission, is home. For six years in a row, the lake’s tranquility has been attempting to erase a life among the stars. His primary motivation for staying on Earth, he suspects, is witnessing firsthand that the loss of the Federation home world will never happen, that his harrowing mission aboard the Achilles was a success. The town’s inhabitants leave him alone for the most part, unaware of his questionable role in the conception of this vastly improved timeline.

Whenever the weather permits, he goes out boating to catch himself a meal or simply enjoy the soft babble of water replacing the omnipresent hum of starship systems, yet his mind often wanders to the events leading up to this solitary life. These mental sojourns into the past have remained a daily occurrence and perhaps they always will. So be it. Speaking with counselors mitigated his intense mixture of conflicting emotions to an extent, divided complexity into governable segments. The biggest takeaway from these sessions was realizing that the circumstances under which he had to command a Starfleet vessel were extreme. Guilt and grief are formidable enough on their own; no need to amplify them with shame over experiencing feelings anyone in his position would’ve had to face.

He dips his fingertips into the clear water—cold to the touch but comforting in its motion—and glances at his wooden house and the sand, grass, and boulders forming a multitiered entrance to its porch.

Something is off.

He jumps to his feet and peers into the distance. Despite his self-chosen quiet life and the irrefutable fact he is perfectly safe, he is yet to shake the nagging fear of everything falling apart without warning, the skies blackening with enemy fighters, warships eclipsing the sun, his house collapsing, the lake evaporating, of being dragged kicking and screaming into the literal and figurative nightmares he escaped.

Though hard to distinguish from afar, Rinckes spots an outdated hover car parked beside his residence, its cockpit dome betraying its age. “I’ll be damned.” He hops into the helm chair and spurs his boat to action. In a swift maneuver, he points the bow at his house, spraying a wave of mist in the opposite direction. At full throttle, it doesn’t take long before Rinckes discerns a Starfleet officer sitting in his yard. Could it be? He makes out a command division red shoulder area, brown hair, a somewhat impatient bearing. The man has noticed Rinckes’ approach and rises from his chair, revealing himself to be of average height at best.

“Tony…” Rinckes mumbles, considering to reverse course, as if fleeing would deter the young man from this unscheduled reunion. He’d probably jump into his hover car and give chase. No turning back now. The guy is actually waving at him, prompting Rinckes to reduce throttle, avoid eye contact, and vow to moor his boat as slowly as humanly possible.

Once he has done so and exhausted every other stalling tactic, Rinckes fixes his look on his sandals and strolls the pier to the yard.

Standing at attention, Tony has been waiting for him at the end of the pier. It’s remarkable how the commander has matured into the man who was his XO on the Achilles. “Good to see you, Captain,” he says as soon as Rinckes steps into the sand.

“Just Stephan these days.” Compared to the uniformed officer, Rinckes feels underdressed in his boardshorts and button-up shirt. “Do I have to say ‘at ease’?”

“How have you been, sir?”

Rinckes brushes past him. “No sir, no captain, no nothing. It’s Stephan.” He opens an outdoor mini fridge, grabs two beer bottles, uncaps them, sets one on the nearby wooden table, and flops into a garden chair.

“I won’t drink on the job.”

“It’s synthehol. Have at it.”

Tony picks up his beverage and settles himself in a chair across the table. “Lovely place you have, Captain. I mean, Stephan.”

Rinckes downs a swig of chilled beer and stares off at the forested mountains. “It’s been ages since anyone’s addressed me by my old rank.”

“You’d better get used to it, because your being my captain is ingrained into my memory.”

Rinckes glares at his former XO. “Are you here to judge me? I recall you being quite proficient at it.”

“I’m here to admire your home and drink your beer.” He takes a sip and smirks. “Judging you is a bonus.”

“I won’t chase you off my premises, but I prefer my own company.”

“Melanie told me as much.”

Rinckes’ chest tightens.

“Hence my surprise visit. If you’re not ready to reconnect with her, I’m pretty sure I’m not high on your guestlist either.”

“You got that right! What is it with you and your blatant disregard for personal boundaries? You think because you’re this fallen Q, this ‘hero of the people,’ you can say whatever you damn please?”

Tony remains silent for ten seconds, then breaks into a smile. “I missed this.” He dares to chuckle. “Honest to God, I missed this. I never thought I would. Fighting side by side in pursuit of a common goal just encouraged us to be at each other’s throats from every other conceivable angle.”

Rinckes has no idea how to respond besides taking a passive-aggressive gulp of beer.

Tony’s not done yet. “I bet if we were to go on a fishing trip on that flashy boat of yours, we’d end up arguing over the moral implications of fishing, manage to sink our boat and three others, and somehow alter the timeline before dusk.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Rinckes grumbles.

“If we’d told ourselves at the onset of the Achilles’ mission that our conflicts and tragedies would amount to us sitting here bickering like an elderly couple, re-enacting On bloody Golden Pond on a liberated Earth surrounded by the billions we saved, we’d be elated.” He raises his bottle to the sky. “So I’m drinking to the glorious fools we are. You’re free to join in, Captain.”

“I’m not your captain, Tony. I believe I relinquished that title when I shot you.”

“Twice! You made sure!”

“I did, blinded by obsession.”

“If you hadn’t, I would’ve blown up the station to secure all this”—he nods at the lake and the people on it—“causing more deaths than ultimately proved necessary. Talk about obsession, single-mindedness.”

“I appreciate your attempt to diffuse blame and share credit, but let’s not pretend you didn’t pay a higher price. I got to see Melanie live, and although my life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows in the proverbial sense, I’ve found peace knowing she’s out there being her wonderful self.” He sags his shoulders. “You lost Emily twice: first through my command decision and then through a horrible choice forced on you. And before you ascribe more undeserved heroism to me, not only did I lose the Achilles, I abandoned the Sundance’s crew. And they’re not coming back, Tony. I blew my one chance.” He slips off his sandals and rests his feet in the sand. “Sad thing is, if I’d wanted to remain captain, I could’ve made it happen.”

“Really?”

“I’ve always had a knack for wriggling myself out of trouble. It became pathological, a reflex. Technically, by attacking you on the station, I was protecting Federation assets. As your superior…” He notices Tony’s countenance darkening, so he stresses, “I’m not justifying anything; I’m merely recounting how some higher-ups opted to view my actions.”

“Go on.”

“As your superior, it was within my purview to refuse destroying the station. At face value, I did nothing wrong. In addition, psych evaluations after the fact established I had been pushed well beyond my limits for years with little recourse except plowing on.”

“No argument there.”

“Multiple admirals confirmed their intentions to reinstate me once I’d been given ample recovery time. What do you think of that?”

Tony runs a finger along the table’s edge. “I would’ve abided by such an outcome.”

“As would everyone, apparently.”

“Everyone but you.”

“Handed in my resignation first chance I got. I was done fooling myself.” Abruptly, he gets up and paces toward the shoreline. “At least out here, I can’t harm a soul. No more sending good people to their graves, no more letting down those who entrusted me with their lives. The world is better off without my interference.”

Tony gets up too. “Take it from me—and I’m the undisputed expert on this—you’re being too hard on yourself.” He halts next to him, sand clinging to his polished shoes. “You talk as if you’re valueless, doing the universe a great service by closing yourself off to others. That’s harsh. Whose deaths are truly on your conscience? Think about it.”

“Here we go. I’d rather not.”

“You speak of the Sundance, and yes, you weren’t there for them the first time around. But were you in any position to help them when we boarded Station A-12 the second time?”

Unwilling to answer, Rinckes snatches up a pebble and skips it across the water.

“And I don’t mean physically, but mentally. Were you of sound mind when we were in the shield generator room, readjusting our desperate plan on the fly?”

“Shouldn’t you be leaving, Tony?”

“No, hear me out. How did the psych evaluation describe your state of mind from that point on until your reintegration by the Temporal Integrity Commission?”

“They said I’d exhibited multiple signs of a psychotic episode.”

“Losing your crew is an absolute tragedy, and it makes perfect sense for you to feel dismal about the whole ordeal. It’s not all on you, however, not within this context. It just can’t be. So this brings us to the Achilles. You lost the vessel, but her entire crew except for Emily—which was my decision, my fault—is currently alive and breathing thanks to our traveling back in time.”

“No!” Rinckes wags a finger at Tony. “Emily’s death is on me. I always chose Melanie over everything else, dooming whoever stood between me and her. You understood the concept of sacrifice. You chose the many over the one. Hell, we both know, had Melanie been trapped in the crashed Altonoid vessel, I would’ve stayed and fought no matter the consequences. Instead, I bereaved you of your loving wife.”

Tony’s expression has become unreadable.

“Emily was a fine officer. As her captain, I bear total responsibility for her ultimate fate. You can talk all you want about ifs and should haves when it comes to the blood on my conscience, but it falls apart once you speak of the woman who should be with you. Emily is definite proof of my hypocrisy, of the danger I pose, and the necessity of my self-imposed exile.”

“I’ve been preparing for a mission,” Tony says, completely out of left field. “It took over a month to plan and—”

“What? Have you even been listening?”

“I’ve persuaded Admiral Van Aken to spare the Achilles for my mission, and I want you there with me.”

“Why would you want that?”

“In the shield generator room, you mentioned you saw Emily die.”

Rinckes heaves a remorseful sigh. “I shouldn’t have used it against you.”

“You said the Altonoids who killed her sent us a video of her final moments. You knew each detail.”

“I still do. She was braver than both of us combined.”

A determined spark ignites in Tony’s eyes. “In the original timeline, she died two weeks from now. We may have found a way to save her. It’s a gamble, and I need your help.”

“I haven’t set foot on a starship in years. I don’t belong up there anymore.” He looks at the sky, an azure shroud veiling an infinity of stars. “But if my old XO asks me to rescue the Achilles’ last crewmember, who am I to refuse?” He meets Tony’s hopeful smile with an intent scowl. “Tell me what I can do.”

 

Redemption for Rinckes? I wasn't sure it was possible. But I'm even more excited about the prospect that Emily can be saved from her cruel fate. Didn't see that twist coming.

Looking forward to the end stretch of this epic tale.