THE LOST YEARS
by Soledad
EPISODE 02: THE CHILD
Disclaimer: The context and the characters of the Original Star Trek series belong to Gene Roddenberry and whoever keeps the rights right now. Battlestar Galactica belongs to Glen A. Larsen and Universal Studios, as do all the characters that appear in the show. None of these stories are wholly original, and I'm not making any money off of them.
Author's notes: This is the second part of my Lost Years series, describing the adventures of the second five-year-mission of Kirk's Enterprise. "The Child" has been inspired by an episode script by Jaron Sommers and Jon Povill for the never realized second series. The same script was later re-written for a similarly titled 2nd season TNG-episode. This is a very different story, though.
The ship classes described here are from the Star Fleet Technical Manual by Franz Joseph. The Astral Queen as well as the various characters is canon. Some of them belong to the Animated Series or to the novels, though.
CHAPTER 01: THE ENTERPRISE
The recreation deck, as the comfortable and well-equipped rejuvenation centre of the USS Enterprise was officially labelled (lovingly nicknamed "rec deck" by the crew) was situated on Deck 6, together with other establishments of convenience like the central food synthesizers and the ship's laundry It occupied most of the deck – much to the chagrin of incompetent desk jockeys who'd never been on a deep space mission and so couldn't understand why the crew of a starship would need such an extensive recreation centre. Those who'd spent at least six standard months in deep space, however, knew that this particular establishment was perhaps the most important one for the crew's mental health.
Cassiopeia, the hostess of the rec deck, enjoyed her work very much. Before the Cylons had destroyed Old Gemini, she'd been working as a socialator. This profession, related from afar to that of Japanese geisha on Earth, was highly respected in Gemonese society, and Cassiopeia had once been one of the best. She'd achieved the highest academic honours and had been entitled to wear the golden fringe on the hem and the collar of her mantle. She had also been hosen to take part in the training of young candidates. Socialator officers like herself had always been a rarity, and her high status had earned her the respect and devotion of Gemonese men.
The role of socialators reached back a thousand or more yahrens in Gemonese history. It was executed with the blessing of the elders and secured a high social status. As a result, achieving a licence was not easy. A candidate had to study the social structures and behaviour of all Twelve Worlds. She had to absolve endless courses in psychology, sociology, religious teachings and poetry. She had to go to regular meditation training and had to learn arcane healing techniques unknown to all other people. A good socialator, although not necessarily averse to becoming intimate with her client, was, in the first place, what the name of the profession indicated: a person best suited to tend and build out social contacts. That was what made them so influential in Gemonese society.
When the Cylons wiped out the Old Colonies, Cassiopeia found herself in a hostile environment where people considered her a common whore. Not only did men from other tribes (especially Capricans, despite all their Kobolian religious zeal) expected sexual favours from her, she had also very nearly got lynched, trapped on a ship full of starving people, many of whom belonged to the Otori-sect. That had frightened her badly. Never before had she been treated with such open hatred, and she realized that with Cain gone, she'd need a new protector, more than she'd ever needed before.
Starbuck had been the most obvious chance even though she'd never favoured exuberant young men. But Starbuck had rescued her from the Gemini freighter and helped her to find a safe place aboard the Galactica. Becoming a simple med tech had been a serious degradation for her, both socially and in the area of lifestyle, but at least it was related to her usual work, however faintly – and it kept her safe.
Seducing Starbuck and taking him away from the Commander's spoiled, naïve little girl had been so easy it wasn't even funny. She'd enjoyed trying her charms against other women, even against one of hopelessly inferior skills, because honestly, Athena didn't have a snowball's chance in Hades against a socialator. Not even against a simple one, and even less so against a highly trained socialator officer. She'd been a young girl back then, with the delusions of becoming a warrior like her brother.
Cassiopeia knew she wouldn't have such an easy victory against Athena now. Adama's daughter had grown up in the meantime, earning fame as a skilled and sometimes ruthless diplomat who had fought many battles against Federation representatives and won quite a few of them. Nor had she ever truly forgiven Cassiopeia for snatching Starbuck away from her, despite the unwavering politeness with which she'd endured her presence on family dinners for Apollo and Starbuck's sake. Like all Adamans, she was very good at keeping long grudges. To tell the truth, Cassiopeia was glad to be as far away from her as the era of Warp travel made it possible.
Travelling from world to world was something that she – the daughter of a freighter captain – had always enjoyed very much. When they had finally freed themselves from their Cylon pursuers – with the help of the Federation – she'd visited the main planets of that interplanetary bound and ended up on Seyalia, marked on official star charts as 114 Delta V. The Deltans, as one could have expected, had recognized the true nature of her profession quickly, and offered her the chance to learn, to hone her skills even more.
Cassiopeia had jumped at the chance, of course. To learn more about mental healing techniques was something she'd always wanted to do, and even though her empathic abilities were fairly weak, like by most humans, her Deltan teachers had been surprised by her receptive attitude towards methods other human beings usually considered with deep suspicion.
She had been offered Deltan citizenship, which was an extremely rare thing, as everyone kept assuring her. Yet although she'd come to love that beautiful planet as if it truly had been her home, she could not quite give up the chance to get back her high social status among her own people. Actually, with her newly achieved Deltan degree, she could have aspired for an even higher status in the hierarchy of the Labyrinth: that of the personal aide of the Hecate, one of the twin priestesses who held the true power in Gemini's female-dominated theocracy. That would have meant becoming the second most important person after the Hecate herself… the highest rank any socialator could even dream of.
However, as well as things were going on New Gemini, there were still no resources left to begin the training of a new socialator generation. For the time being, all available energy was used for the gargantuan work of rebuilding their colony. Even with the generous help of the Federation – namely that of Alpha III and 114 Delta V – this was a project that would have top priority for quite some yahrens to come.
Fortunately for her, the Quorum of Twelve was eager to build contacts to as many worlds of the Federation as possible. Since they could not afford a deep space exploration programme of their own – that would be the task of future generations – they've made a deal with Starfleet, getting the admirality's nod to delegate a small group of diplomatic observers to the USS Enterprise, the flagship of the Federation fleet. To the very ship that the Colonial refugees had met the first time after crossing the anomaly that had brought them into this galaxy.
Colonel Tigh, former executive officer of the Galactica and recently the councillor of New Libra, had been chosen as the leader of said delegation (mostly because his wife served aboard the Enterprise, and because he wasn't needed very much on New Libra, the planet still undergoing an extended terraforming process), and Cassiopeia had been asked to join the team as the Colonel's diplomatic attaché. She'd accepted, of course – considering whom the request (or should she say order?) had come from, she didn't really have the chance to refuse – but with mixed feelings. Despite his straightforward stubbornness, Tigh was not easily fooled, and while he'd always been friendly to Cassiopeia, she couldn't help but notice the slightly contemplative gleam in those dark eyes, whenever Tigh looked at her. As if the Colonel had some strange suspicion concerning her person; one that he couldn't quite name himself. Not yet anyway.
Also, after some proper schooling, Boomer and Rigel, too, had been reassigned to the Enterprise, to work as the pilot and the navigator of Beta shift, respectively. In theory, it would have been good to have at least some familiar face aboard, and Rigel was all right in that area. She and Cassiopeia had barely had any contact during the flight of the Colonial fleet; there was no need to pretend in her presence.
Boomer, on the other hand, could never be fooled by Cassiopeia's assumedly great love for Starbuck. Just like Apollo, Boomer was a close friend of Starbuck's, but – unlike Apollo – he wasn't a particularly romantic soul. And he didn't react well when his friends were hurt. After the encounter with the Pegasus, Cassiopeia knew that Boomer would never trust her again.
In hindsight, it had been eminently stupid from her to turn back to Cain like a well-trained little daggit. She should have known, after all those yahrens that they had known each other, that Cain would go his own way, regardless of the feelings of anyone else: Adama's, Cassiopeia's, even Sheba's. Though if he'd ever loved someone, he certainly loved his daughter. Otherwise Sheba wouldn't have been spoiled so rotten, always wanting what other people had, always getting what she wanted.
Well… almost. She'd certainly invested a great deal of effort into ensnaring Apollo – and might even have succeeded, if not for Count Iblis. But after the encounter with that strange, malevolent entity, Sheba and Apollo began to slowly drift apart, and no amount of trying from Sheba's side would knit again what had been broken between the two of them.
Just as the broken trust between Starbuck and Cassiopeia couldn't be knitted again. After Cain, Starbuck had been willing to take her back – he had been infatuated with her very much – but things weren't quite the same afterwards. And then came the termination of Lieutenant Ortega aboard the Rising Star, and Cassiopeia had truly believed Starbuck guilty…. And made the bad decision to tell him to confess.
Nothing would be the same between them after that. Had Starbuck not gotten lost shortly thereafter, they would have broken up, just like Apollo and Sheba had. Apollo and his friends, together since the Caprican Flight Academy, had very strong ideas about faithfulness and truth… and they could be surprisingly inflexible when it came to this particular topic.
One should never fall in love with a warrior, she thought bitterly, not even if said love is just a convenience. They are a species unto itself; no one has the chance to get between them.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Aside from the presence of witnesses of her greatest defeat, this new assignment wasn't all that bad, tough. As Admiral Nogura had explained to her, the presence of a civilian hostess on the recreation deck of a starship was still an experimental position, but one that Starfleet intended to establish on other ships as well. After all, the Fleet served research purposes as much as the defence of the Federation, and people ought to lead semi-normal lives during long missions. Besides, the Old Man (as everyone in Starfleet below the rank of an admiral called him) added, such hostesses – or hosts – would get the same payment as a quartermaster of the rank of a Chief Petty Officer.
Beyond the handsome payment, this was the first time for yahrens that she could do something similar to his actual work, and Cassiopeia welcomed each new day. She collected the admiring looks as she walked across the rec deck in her long, shoulder-free, cinnamon-coloured dress, from the representatives of several different humanoid races as the due tribute to her beauty and training. She had already been accepted by most, admired by many, and she was certain that she'd conquest the rest, too, and soon.
The advantage of working on a Starfleet ship – as opposed to working as a socialator in any colonial facility – was that Starfleet had strict regulations concerning sexual harassment. Many of those had been added in the recent years as a result of a lot of filed complaints, mostly against human captains. Whether justified or not, Starfleet's Legal Division had decided to take pre-emptive measures, which made service aboard a starship smoother and more efficient.
Cassiopeia checked the rec deck's news board. According to the board computer, it was 18:00 hours, Earth standard time, and they had still four days' worth of travel before them. This time their destination was a far-away one indeed. Time for the next troll across her small realm, she decided. She liked to keep her eye on everything.
She left her small office, entering the central room of the rec deck – a spacious room, flanked by gyms on one side and by gaming chambers on the other one. The comfortable, airy central room served as mess hall and officer's club… or a somewhat unusual mix of the two. People could eat here (unless they preferred to do so in their quarters), could talk, organize small concerts (a surprising number of them could play one or more instruments) or play board games, both electronic ones or the more traditional kind. There was also the possibility to watch holovids or to do some personal studying in one of the private reading rooms.
In a small niche on the gallery, there was an old-fashioned 3D chess set. No one but Captain Kirk seemed to touch it, ever, and should a newbie as much as approach it, some old crewmember always appeared and gently but firmly advised them not to do so. At first, Cassiopeia had been surprised about that, but Commander Uhura later explained her that the captain and Mr. Spock had exclusively used this particular set, and the crew respected Kirk's nostalgic feelings. After all, with Mr. Spock back on Vulcan, he didn't have much else left from his best friend.
The mess hall was practically empty on this afternoon. Mr Kyle, the lanky, bristle-haired transporter chief was brooding over a particularly complicated game of Questor at one of the tables – alone. Cassiopeia didn't want to disturb him – Questor demanded nearly the same level of concentration from a player than three-dimensional chess – so she only nodded a brief greeting and continued her round.
A little further away, in one of the reading rooms, she discovered T'Pel, the Vulcan sociologist. Being a civilian, T'Pel was wearing a short, wide-cut tunic and long, skin-tight trousers as it had been considered fashionable on Vulcan for the last two or three decades. Vulcans didn't tend to abrupt fashion changes. Her jet-black hair was tightly braided and twisted into a coronet on the top of her head, bringing her long, graceful neck to full effect. Only a single lock fell over each elegantly pointed ear freely down to her bosom. High cheekbones, almond-shaped, dark eyes and arched eyebrows emphasized the exotic flair of her dark, nut-brown face. Very few Vulcan clans had dark skin among their specific treats, and despite all her Vulcan coldness, T'Pel was a very attractive woman, dreamed of by the one or other inexperienced young crewman. Unfortunately for them, she had also been bound since the age of seven, so all the mooning and dreaming was done in vain.
Cassiopeia considered Lieutenant Xon, who was sitting with T'Pel in companionable silence over a cup of hot seja, Vulcan herbal tea, another interesting subject for her behavioural observations. The young Vulcan male was new in the close-knit command staff of the Enterprise, and as such, his fellow officers kept comparing him with the steadily growing legend known as Mr. Spock. The fact that he'd been assigned as the new leader of the science section, where he had to control and direct the work of people twice his age and ten times his experience, would have been burden enough, even without the ghost of Mr. Spock lingering in every corner. Competing with a living legend must have been sheer unbearable.
While Cassiopeia had met Mr. Spock two years earlier and didn't question the older Vulcan's brilliance, she found it a bit unjust that the senior officers would dislike Xon, just because he'd filled Spock's empty place – or, at least, he was trying his best to do so. Xon, for his part, seemed to accept this blatantly illogical behaviour – so typical for humans – with the customary Vulcan indifference. Cassiopeia had noticed, however, that he usually avoided his older colleagues off-duty and only socialized with the other Vulcans on board.
Commander Uhura was the only exception – but again, one couldn't throw Commander Uhura onto the same pile with the others anyway. Cassiopeia had admired the warmth and open-mindedness of the other woman since their first encounter, and hadn't been the least surprised to see Colonel Tigh fall for her so hard and so fast. They said that Libran males rarely bound their lives to foreign women, and Tigh, too, had lived alone after the Lady Lilith's death during the long yahrens of their flight. But Uhura's dignity, intelligence and warm-heartedness easily met the Libran standard.
Besides, thought Cassiopeia for the umpteenth time, one would have to look very hard, even on Old Libra, to find such a stunning beauty, and men are men, everywhere.
The sudden quickening of her own heartbeat interrupted her thoughts. She could feel the blood rushing into her face irresistibly. Fortunately, the years spent on Seyalia had made her capable of recognizing the effect of Deltan pheromones. She turned around to greet the slender, exotically beautiful Jedda Adzhin-Dall, who was wearing the customary white leggings and tunic of Deltan males, with sweeping sleeves and a broad, standing collar. The virginal white of the clothes and the fine-boned, naked skull gave the young scientist's appearance a strange, heart-wrenching purity. That was not a mere appearance: according to Deltan terms, Jedda was indeed spotlessly honourable. Cassiopeia often thought that certain members of the Quorum of Twelve could learn a great deal about honour and morale from the oh-so-promiscuous Deltans. Including the ones she had to work with.
Smiling, they exchanged the delightful mental echoes of certain friendly emotions – Deltan telepathy worked differently than, say, that of Vulcans – by which Jedda fleetingly reminded the blonde socialator that he was still interested. Lieutenant Ilia, the ship's lead navigator and one of Jedda's partners, knew about it, of course, and didn't find anything wrong with it. Cassiopeia was still indecisive, though. Even a fleeting affair with a Deltan would have put serious emotional strain on a mere human. Besides, she was more interested in long-term relationships, preferably with older men – and she didn't like to share. Therefore she evaded any binding answer with practiced ease and continued to stroll through her personal realm.
In an isolated corner she finally discovered the first true customer of the day: the first person who might really need her. She did not know the slender, dark-skinned, broad-shouldered Hindu male, nor could she remember having seen him before, but his coverall with the large pockets, from which the handles of various small, hand-held instruments were peeking out, revealed that he belonged to Engineering. Cassiopeia approached his table with light, steps, and as he didn't seem to acknowledge her presence, she simply took a seat without invitation.
"Can I bring you a drink?" she asked.
The man glanced up at her. His long, dark eyes were dull and exhausted. "I didn't know there was table service in the mess hall," he said.
"There isn't," Cassiopeia replied. "Not usually, that is. But sometimes I make an exception, especially for first-time customers."
"That is very generous of you, Memsahib," the man inclined his sleek, dark head in an almost ceremonial manner. "But the truth is that I don't drink."
"Not even tea?" Cassiopeia asked, and as the man didn't answer, she kept pushing. "What is your preferred blend?"
"Darjeeling," the Hindu replied automatically; then, with a crooked little smile, he added. "Hot and no sugar, if possible."
"Coming up right away," Cassiopeia rose with the grace of a cobra and glided to the food synthesizer. Fortunately, these new Nutritech units came programmed with a very wide variety of food and beverages. "Tee, Darjeeling, hot," she ordered. "One plain, one with a pinch of cinnamon and nutmeg."
Two tall glasses materialized in the slot. Cassiopeia carefully removed them, sniffed on them to check which one belonged to whom, and placed one of them before the man on the round, marble-looking table. Then she sat down again.
"My name is Cassiopeia," she introduced herself. "I run this establishment here. And you're from Engineering, aren't you?"
"Assistant engineer Nahar Sing," the man inclined his head again. "I work with Mr. Scott."
"You're not in Starfleet?" Cassiopeia asked, looking for rank insignia on his coverall and finding none. "That is… unusual."
"I'm a civilian employee of Starfleet," the man explained. "My religion prohibits the use of weapons."
"Why have you joined Starfleet in the first place then?" Cassiopeia asked in surprise. "There's always the chance that violence would be used as a last resort."
Sing looked out of the window. Now that they weren't in Warp transfer, the stars looked like scattered diamonds upon dark velvet; it was a pretty sight.
"I always wanted to go to the stars," he said after a lengthy pause. "My family could never understand. Granted, we used to live in Calcutta… well, near Calcutta anyway, but in an ashram, following traditions as they had been kept for a thousand years or more."
"Really?" Cassiopeia was truly curious now. "In what way?"
"My father was a Brahmin," Singh answered, "and an incredibly conservative one at that. We used to live in a cottage with no electricity and no running water… they called it holy poverty. My parents married me off when I was barely twelve. My 'wife' was about four."
"I didn't know that child marriage was still practiced anywhere aside from Vulcan," Cassiopeia said with a frown.
Certainly, on Old Virgon it had been a time-honoured practice to marry off young girls to established families, where they had been raised with their future spouses, until they reached legal maturity, but that was a very different thing, and besides, it had been almost completely abandoned after the destruction of the Old Colonies. She didn't know that such things were still allowed on Earth.
"It is not," Singh said. "Save from a few small sects, like the True Believers – the one my parents belonged to."
"How did you become an engineer in the first place?" Cassiopeia asked. "It seems to me that your family didn't hold technology in high esteem."
Singh shrugged. "They still had to obey the law and send me to school. There, my eyes were opened to all that the world could offer. I ran away at the age of sixteen and applied for a place at the University of Aberdeen. I never went home again."
"And your… wife?" Cassiopeia asked carefully.
"She never understood me, poor thing," Singh sighed. "I wanted to take her to me when I could finally afford it, but she didn't dare to follow me. The others looked after her; our sect doesn't accept divorce. She must have been a very lonely and unhappy woman, I fear."
"In past tense?" Cassiopeia already guessed what must have happened, but the man needed to talk about it.
"She died two years ago," Singh stared into his cooling tea darkly, "but I only learned about her passing right before the launching of our mission. I'm free now. I've always wanted that. But I never wanted her death."
"Did you have any feelings for her at all?" Cassiopeia asked quietly.
"Pity," Singh answered in a flat voice. "I felt pity for her… nothing else. As long as she was alive, I was faithful to her, as our laws demand… but in truth, she was never really my wife."
The socialator nodded in understanding. It was a feeling she knew all too well from personal experience.
"Look," she said, "you are not responsible for her fate. You were both victims of a tradition that had long outgrown its justification. I've had the chance to study Hinduism a little, and what I can understand of it tells me that such extremes are not generally required. Your parents – and hers – simply lived in the past. It's not your fault."
"I still feel guilty, though," Singh said.
"That's understandable," Cassiopeia replied. "You have a lot of grieving to do before you can be truly free again. Grieving, not just over the fate of your wife but also over your own life… a lot has been taken from you, too. Have you thought of asking for professional help?"
"I'm not going to therapists!" Singh protested.
"Strange," Cassiopeia said. "Members of Starfleet seem to have a definitely paranoid view on psychologists. Is it true what Dr. Boyce, formerly the chief medical officer of the Enterprise is reported to have said, that people prefer to talk about their problems to their barkeeper, rather than to their doctor?"
"I wouldn't know; as I said, I don't drink… aside from tea," Singh said with a forced smile.
Cassiopeia gave him a searching look. During her former career as a socialator, she often met people ravaged by bitterness and self-accusations. This here seemed to be a similar case.
"Well, in that case I might be the right person for you," she said calmly. "If you can make yourself trust me, that is."
"Perhaps," Singh replied after a lengthy silence. "You are the first person who's managed to make me talk about the whole thing as it is."
"That seems a good beginning to me," Cassiopeia rose, as further customers entered the rec deck, demanding her attention. "I go off-duty here at 21:00. Come to my office after that – it's right behind the bar – and we can discuss a counselling schedule."
She nodded to the engineer and left him alone, wishing that her own problems could be solved just that easily, with a little counselling. Unfortunately, things were never quite that easy.
~TBC~