The Last High Note, a star trek: discovery fanfic

The Last High Note

By Laura Schiller

Based on Star Trek: Discovery

Lieutenant Paul Stamets did not want to talk to anyone. He was not a sociable person at the best of times, but lately, the only voice he ever wanted to hear was Hugh's. If one more crewmember offered him sympathy or tried to distract him, even with science, he was going to lock himself in his quarters up until they reached Vulcan.

When the communications officer told him he had an incoming transmission, Paul nearly told the young man to shove it – until he heard where the transmission was coming from.

"Did you say Casseel?"

"Yes, sir,"said Bryce over the comm.

Home of Hugh's favourite – and Paul's least favourite – genre of music, the source of endless arguments and affectionate teasing. There were many other activities the two of them had enjoyed together (both in and out of the bedroom), but that one aria that had led Paul back to consciousness when he'd been trapped in the mycelial network between universes after Hugh's death continued to haunt him like nothing else.

"Put it through," Paul ordered, shuffling over to his desk and switching on the monitor.

The face that greeted him was familiar from the one time he had managed to sit through an entire recording of The Cursed Jewel, an opera about a necklace that drives three generations of an aristocratic family mad with a lust for power. The lead role was played by Xeluna, First Lady of the Casseelian Royal Opera Company – a title that carried a much greater, and darker, meaning than it did for human opera singers.

Hugh had been a fan of hers. More than a fan; a friend. He should have been the one to introduce her. He should be here right now, greeting her with that warm smile of his, whispering to Paul to be polite and not twitch at the sound of her voice. He should be here.

Xeluna looked older away from the cameras. Her lavender skin had a touch of gray in it, and the long, graceful antennae that allowed her species to perceive such complicated harmonies in music drooped a little on her head. But she was dressed as stylishly as ever, in a high-collared navy blue gown shot through with silver streaks, like a meteor shower across a night sky. She still held herself with elegance, sitting in an armchair as if it were a throne.

"Lieutenant Stamets, I presume?" Her hoarse voice was nothing like the piercing soprano that Hugh had admired so much, but her dignity could still have filled up an entire stage.

For the first time, he became conscious of his own appearance. He was a fastidious man and would never let himself get dirty or untidy, even at a time like this, but he knew his eyes were bloodshot and his uniform was too big on him. Those wide, black, pupil-less eyes of hers seemed to be taking everything in.

"That's me," said Paul. What's left of me, anyway.

The First Lady did not stop to introduce herself in return, having assumed – correctly, in this case – that he already knew who she was.

"I have been following the Federation News Service," she said. "When you and your shipmates received your medals, I could not help but notice that my young friend Dr. Culber was not among you, and the look on your face was enough to make me weep. Is it true that he is dead?"

Hearing those words was like a punch to the gut, but in a strange way, Paul appreciated her bluntness. It was a relief from the way most of his shipmates tiptoed around him. Still, the last thing he wanted right now was to expose his grief to a total stranger, even if she had been a friend of Hugh's, so he decided to do what he did best, apart from science: be obnoxious.

"That's right," he said. "My partner is dead. He was trying to help a patient, who turned out to be a violent madman and snapped his neck. Happens all the time in your operas, doesn't it? Well, if you're looking for drama, my lady, I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere."

He reached for the button that would cut off the comm line, but Xeluna's reaction was nothing like what he was expecting. Her skin turned a touch greyer and one of her be-ringed hands went up to her own throat. In a voice so thin and strained that it was clearly costing her some effort, but with neither anger nor pity, she asked: "Did he ever tell you how he and I first met?"

"He did, actually."

When the Discovery had made First Contact with Casseel, the planet's leaders had intended to honor their guests by inviting them to an exclusive premiere performance of The Cursed Jewel starring Xeluna. What the crew hadn't known at the time was that, for every generation of singers on Casseel, one of them is chosen to train their entire lifetime for a single performance and take their own life afterwards, a sacrifice to honor their sacred art. So when a very young Dr. Culber, fresh out of medical school, had jumped up onstage and run a dermal regenerator over the knife slash Xeluna had made across her own throat, he had set off a diplomatic crisis. Hugh still got embarrassed every time he told that story … had gotten embarrassed, Paul corrected himself bitterly. But the First Contact had been made anyway, an understanding had been reached, and the Casseelians had later become strong allies of the Federation in the Klingon War, a self-sacrificing mentality being very useful for soldiers.

Oh, damn, Paul realized. A knife across the throat …no wonder Xeluna's voice sounded so strange. And no wonder she had been disturbed at the mention of Hugh's neck being snapped.

He blushed, feeling ashamed of himself for the first time since Hugh's death, and not stopping to notice that caring about someone else's hurt feelings was actually a healthy step. All he knew was that he felt like a complete jerk.

"Hugh saved your life, didn't he?" Paul asked quietly. "He was always like that. Helping people was his first instinct, even when it got him in trouble."

Like trying to help a shipmate who suffered from PTSD after Klingon torture and finding out he was actually a deep-cover Klingon spy. Paul had been distantly relieved when Tyler/Voq had stayed behind on Q'ronos; he couldn't be in the same room as that man without feeling nauseated.

Xeluna's eyes softened, and her antennae lowered in what he supposed was sorrow or compassion.

"I must admit," she rasped, "There have been times I wish he had failed to bring me back. I had to stop singing, you see. Our vocal cords are extremely delicate, and even the best care could not fully repair them ... but without music, I did not know who I was. Music was the most precious part of my life. I do not need to explain to you, young man, what it feels like to lose that."

Paul's fists clenched on his desk and his eyes burned. No, she certainly did not need to explain that. Besides, losing your career was one thing; losing the man you loved was another. (Still, some annoying part of him whispered, aren't you about to lose both? You're throwing away your chance to make astromycological history for a routine teaching job on Vulcan. That inner voice reminded him of Ensign Tilly. He told it to shut up.)

"But allow me to tell you what Dr. Culber told me," she continued, drawing herself up tall in her chair so that the silver streaks in her dress glittered like raindrops. "Your life is not over. You have so much more to offer. Please don't let that high note be your last."

Paul's first instinct, like so often, was to argue. She didn't even know him. Who the hell did this diva think she was, quoting his own partner back at him, telling him how to run his life? But the way she said it sounded so much like Hugh – that way he'd had of showing compassion even for people who drove him crazy with their stubbornness – that it tugged at Paul's heart despite himself. There were so many times he should have listened to Hugh's advice and had ignored it instead. Could he really ignore it now?

Was his life over? It felt like it. The Paul Stamets who could get excited about talking to mushrooms seemed so far away, he might as well have died too. Would he ever set foot in his lab again without remembering the mind-twisting agony of that last spore drive jump? That space between universes he had once loved to travel in almost hadn't let him go. He would have been trapped there forever if it weren't for his memories of Hugh, and that annoying song calling him back …

Oh no. He remembered that song.

"Uh … my lady? Speaking of high notes," he said wryly. "That reminds me ... I ought to thank you. You may have indirectly saved my life."

"Really?" Her antennae and eyebrows arched in surprise. "How so?"

"I was injured during the war … " He paused to decide how much he should tell her; the details were far too classified to be any of her business. "And I fell into a coma, but one of your arias woke me up. One of Hugh's favorites."

"Oh … " Her antennae fluttered and her skin changed color again, this time to a darker shade of purple. Was she blushing? "Which one?"

"The one where she forgives her husband for cheating on her because he got killed in a fight over that evil magic necklace." He really had been listening to all of Hugh's recaps of those melodramatic plot lines, if only to make fun of them. He was sorry for that now.

"Ah yes, "Only come back to me". I remember." She smiled slightly. "That one was fiendishly difficult, even for me. It took me the better part of a decade to get it correct." She touched her throat again, not with fear this time, but with remembered pride. "I am honored to hear that my singing helped you."

"Oh, it was never about your singing as such, my lady. To me it sounds like a screeching cat. It was the way Hugh's face always lit up when he listened to you. And it's for his sake I'm going to follow your advice."

At first, Xeluna looked taken aback. Her antennae shot straight up and her eyebrows snapped together. She opened her mouth as if to say something, no doubt something angry … then leaned forward and burst out laughing, a dry, harsh sound that resembled a coughing fit.

"Your disrespect is so refreshing," she said, wiping her eyes. "I should spend more time with people like you. No wonder your husband always wrote to me about your brilliant mind and independent spirit. He was so proud of you, you know. He always said you would achieve greatness in the world of science."

"Please," said Paul. "I achieved greatness last year without half trying." Becoming the navigator of the spore drive had been as much to Burnham and Tilly's credit as his. "This year I'm aiming for glory."

Xeluna picked up a tiny glass of something purple and bubbly from a table somewhere offscreen, toasted him with it in a half-mocking, half-complimentary way, and tossed it down in one gulp.

"I have no doubt you will, Lieutenant. As we say in the music industry, break a leg."

"And as we say in Starfleet, live long and prosper. Stamets out."

He jumped up from his chair and headed out the door, feeling more energized by that conversation than he had in weeks. His demons were still there, but they were at bay for now. He'd been sleepwalking, but now he was awake.

He wanted – no, he needed – to get back to work.