Author: Christy Anderson

You can contact me at kittyunlimited@go.com.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Paramount minus Ensign Christy Anderson and a few selected insignificant characters

Time's Chosen is the 4th part to a series of five stories I began a year ago as of December 27. The theme behind this segment was inspired by the events I went through when my own great-grandfather died. Death is unavoidable, but what matters most is what you've done in life. Because this segment is so personal to me, I wrote it, for the most part, with the intent that anyone could read this without ever having seen the other three parts- Void of Night, Stars of Night, and Child of Night. I would like to thank those who have been patient with me throughout all of this, and I promise, that this story will be posted faster than my last one. This part here is a little confusing, it's meant to be. By the end of the story, you'll understand this. Enjoy!

This is dedicated to my late great grandfather, Stanley Dziezyk, and my friend Mara for her patience and input.

Time's Chosen: Part 1

The sound of a strange eagle's call rang out in the air as the magnificent creature of a rhen nervously circled overhead. Bright morning light shone above the valley, and the scent of Enkarrian roses drifted on the breeze that carved its way through the canyon. On the edge of the tallest precipice was the figure of a young man, with wisdom noticeably beyond his years. He wore a white robe that covered all but his head and his hands. If one had looked upon his face they might have seen naked truth that gleamed through his clear blue eyes and rested sealed in his Etruscan smile. Standing there, the figure felt the wind grow stronger now with the rising sun- passion winds, the natives called them, coming up with the vibrant colors of the day, a promise for good tidings. And he stretched his hands into the air above him with the morning fervor, the white magic of time spilling around his limbs up to his fingertips.

He knelt down before a bush, and with definite purpose worked his hands capably above the place where one might have seen a certain twelve stubs, looking as fresh as the day their flowers were cut off of them. In a blinding flash, twelve garden-fresh roses materialized in midair, and, he paused, gulping, knowing the hard task that lay before him. As he began to rework what he had done months ago with such fervor, time began to do its part, realigning the severed time frames. As bright as a dying star, within moments the freshness and the beauty of the roses soon aged to withering and then to dust as they emerged fully in their own time frame, back in their proper place. The man stood up with the wind in the control of his hands, and with an unprecedented tear running down his cheek, he ordered the wind to dissipate the last of their remains to the spot he was sure he only knew now in his memory. As he smelt the scented dust for the last time, he turned his head and whispered, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," knowing within himself that she would understand. With his command, the wind soon blew off in a powerful gust with its mournful purpose and message.

With omnipotent thoughts, he could place himself there, off of Enkarri… far away and back, back with people whom he had helped, and in turn learned from. The rhen cried out again, soaring through the sky, on giant wings like those of eagles, reminding him once again that life was precious, life was fleeting, life was timed, and life ended… all too soon… It was a miracle that could not be recreated nor sustained. In three magnificent strokes, the native Enkarrian bird landed lightly, on the precipice, where the figure had stood just moments before.

In the blink of an eye the man had followed the wind, with an unwilling longing, displacing himself in time once again, and reappearing in space where he knew the vessel would just be crossing the frontier horizon. As the U.S.S. Voyager flew into view at warp speed, the strange apparition brought himself floating above the hull, ignoring the appeal of peaking in the windows. He raised his arms up for one last time… and suddenly stopped with doubts. He remembered them- he remembered them all- and the dream that held them all together. They were 147 unique individuals with one common dream, and a selfless spirit, with the indestructible bond of friendship. They were strong; they were heroes. One day, and he smiled because he knew that very day, they all would make it home, to Earth, one day… he heaved the heavy sigh in his chest counting just how many times he had revisited that day. With comfort, he realized that one day, she would be there too, now, alive.

He felt her heart, with the hundreds of others, and he knew that she would be all right. This was his goodbye. He had to do this- it would release them all, himself included- there were no second doubts, nothing to hold him back, just the understanding he harbored as he reached his arms up again and summoned on the magic of time, calling gray clouds and dark skies above where he stood. But the form was far away, in the Alpha Quadrant, working on the life of someone else, as it began to rain.

To be continued…