Come Hell or High Water
Prologue: If I Die Young
The wind blew through the graveyard sweetly, softly as it rustled the long hair of the women, blew through their black skirts with sympathetic caresses. The birds were chirping in their nests in the springtime air, curiously glancing at the gathering below their tree. It's branches hung low, sweeping along the ground in long tendrils as willow trees are wont to do. The sun was setting in the sky, as the day was late, and heralded the exit of many of the guests standing in the grass.
Most left a white rose on the ground, letting it rest at the base of the tombstone wedged into the soft dirt at the roots of the towering bark and leaves. A rather large pile had gathered by the time the guests had left, leaving a mother standing with her small son as they gazed at the writing engraved on the stone:
AMBER SINEAD YOUNG
November 10, 1993 - March 23, 2011
Aged 18 years
"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly."
The woman sobbed and her throat constricted as she raised a frail and aging hand to cover her face. The young boy tugged at her shirt, looking curiously up at her. His face was young and innocent; he could not be more than four or five years of age.
"When is Amber going to wake up?" he asked.
The woman choked on her tears as she fell to her knees. Sorrow seized her heart and she felt it stutter against her chest painfully. It seemed so unfair - her heart beat, thumped rhythmically each minute. Where was the steadiness of her daughter's?
"Momma, when is Amber going to wake up? She was going to take me to Disneyland tomorrow," he repeated.
The woman sighed and raised her hands to rest on her son's shoulders. She fixed him with a teary gaze that did not waver as she drank in the sight of her last living child. For the moment, she steeled herself to cover herself in a brave facade for her son, to not break down when he needed her the most. She stroked his face, pushed his hair back from his forehead and laid a kiss to his forehead. "Amber is going to sleep for a long time. When she wakes up, she'll be better."
He smiled. "Really?"
She nodded. "Really. When Amber wakes up," she glanced longingly at the grave. It was cruel to outlive her daughter, but she held onto a thread of hope that she had placed on the future, the bet she had made for daughter's life. "the doctors will be able to fix her. She'll be all better again."
"The cancer will be all gone?"
"The cancer will be all gone."
He smiled gloriously and laughed with the innocence and naivety that only he still knew of. "When? When, Momma?"
"I don't know. Many, many years, sweetie."
The bridge of the USS Enterprise was nearly silent but for the soft humming of the engine that was only audible to the Vulcan crewman sitting at his post. He surveyed the surrounding space through the open window of the bridge, free from engineering and navigational projections that often cluttered it through the day. The stars twinkled around them as they drifted through open space at normal speed, in no rush to reach their destination. Captain James T. Kirk had ruled that a nice cruise through the frontier was in order, since their well-deserved shore leave had been delayed by many weeks.
The helm was monitored by Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu who leisurely reclined with his PADD in his hands as he scrolled through the latest chapter of his book. The seat at his side, usually occupied by Ensign Chekov, was bare, the Ensign sleeping for the first time in forty-eight hours. His absence brought about a great silence over the bridge, as the constant adjustment of course he was in charge of caused a great deal of noise that went unnoticed until it was gone. It was far from missed.
The lights were dim and the dashboard clock read 0300 hours. Spock inhaled deeply, somewhat pleased to have a moment of quiet to break the ongoing activity he had grown accustomed to.
The turbolift doors opened with a sudden sound as Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy stepped onto the deck. He sighed and locked his sights on the helmsman.
"Sulu, how many times do I need to tell you to get some rest? I'm not your mother."
Sulu laughed and waved him off. "Shifts almost over."
McCony shook his head and turned to Spock. "You too, Spock. A few hours will do you some good. Riley can take over for that long."
"I am quite all right, Doctor. I received any necessary sleep earlier this evening," he replied, not taking his eyes from the window.
McCoy sighed in defeat. "You two are almost as bad as Chekov. Kid fell asleep at his post. Thank God we weren't next to anything - would've crashed us."
Sulu shut his PADD off and yawned as he stood. "How are things in the Medical Bay, Doctor?" he asked.
"Just peachy," he snapped. "Twelve Vulcans with severe lacerations in critical condition and nine more confined to their beds. Not to mention the orphans running around looking for family." He turned to Spock and said, "We need to get a list of all the survivors we managed to beam up. I'll be damned if I have to do it by myself."
Spock nodded. "Not to worry. Lieutenant Uhura has already collected the names of the children. She has reported that she will have a completed log within thirty-six hours."
McCoy nodded. "I'll need it when she's done. We need to get updated medical reports on all of them. If I have to deal with any more allergies," he muttered to last to himself, reminiscing about his captain's intolerance for many of the necessary vaccinations required aboard the Starship.
Sulu chuckled and moved to head to the lift before a silent red light caught his attention. He sat down in his chair again, reading the co-ordinates on the helm and transferring them to the screen.
"There's something up ahead," he said.
Spock stood and walked to stand behind him. "What is it, Mr. Sulu?"
"I'm not sure," he replied, zooming in on a small spot of space. "Whatever it is, it's small and moving slowly. Magnifying to fifteen."
Against the background of a distant nebula, a small pod was floating in the void of empty space, catching only small reflections of light from distant stars.
"It almost looks like," Sulu trailed off. "but it can't be."
"Looks like what, Lieutenant?" Spock questioned.
"Well, it reminds me of an old cryonics chamber."
McCoy raised an eyebrow. "Explain, please," Spock said.
"A few hundred years ago, people on the verge of death were given the option of freezing their bodies in liquid nitrogen for indefinite periods of time in the hope that when the technology was available to unfreeze them, medicine would be able to cure them of whatever they were sick with," Sulu replied.
"Such crude technology has long been abandoned," Spock said.
"Exactly. That's why it's strange. Should we beam it aboard, sir?" Sulu asked.
McCoy took a moment to think to himself before he said, "I think we should, Mr. Spock." The Vulcan turned to him. "If there's someone in there, we can't just abandon them."
Spock considered a moment before nodding. "Tell engineering that we're beaming aboard a piece of cargo. Wake the Captain."
Title Reference: "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry
