Yes, this is a rewrite...
Act 2: Bones with a side of Cultural Contamination
"Space! The final frontier," the voice of Patrick Stewart announced from the TV in the living room, as the musical score from the opening sequence played in the background. In the cupboard under the stairs, an eight-year-old boy by the name of Harry Potter, listened and dreamed. Sometimes, his cousin Dudley left the TV on in the afternoon, and Harry would get blamed for it, even if he was out doing the chores that no normal person in their right mind would have assigned an eight-year-old.
If he was lucky his aunt wouldn't turn it off today, and he would be able to listen to the entire episode. Star trek was about as far away from the word Magic as you could get in the Dursley house. Even if it dealt with the strange and unusual, it was one of the few TV series that wouldn't be immediately turned off in the elder Dursley's presence, and one of the few that he'd been able to watch a few times without getting caught.
The series wasn't very old, having started the month after his seventh birthday. Some nights he liked to lie there and imagine that he was a member of an away team caught by hostile natives. He liked to imagine that his relatives were only superstitious primitives. That their fear of anything odd that happened around him which would cause his aunt to go white and hiss something about unnaturalness under her breath, or his uncle to go that funny shade of red and sputter in rage, was only a lack of understanding the science involved behind the feat.
Not that he could explain why his teacher's hair turned blue after he got upset with his cousin for hitting him in the back of the head with wadded up balls of paper coated in the slime that was Dudley's saliva. Nor could he explain how he had ended up on the roof without going through the very essential step of climbing the fire escape ladder.
He lay there staring into the dark of his slightly cramped crawlspace under the stairs. A single incandescent bulb set into a fixture that was purely utility, dark until his aunt would flick the switch to let him know she expected him to be dressed and ready to proceed with whatever monotonous task was on the top of her head. He remembered reading a few of the books following the original series on the few times he could spend time in the local library.
He was sure that the only reason they had allowed him to go to the local primary school was because one of the neighbors had mentioned his existence when they took Dudley for registration.
He listened carefully to the story unfolding on the screen of the television on the other side of his door. As the show was ending he used his right hand to tap the spot over his heart, following the motion he'd seen away teams perform when initiating communication with the ship.
"Emergency beam out," he said softly hoping he was quiet enough that his relatives wouldn't hear him. He held his eyes closed tightly and imagined the light of the transporter playing over his body as it removed him from the hated home of his relatives.
This was the first time he'd used that exact command, unlike the dozens of times before when he had performed similar actions since the show first came on. He let his breath out in disappointment, sighing as nothing happened.
Unknown to Harry, nearly seven years prior, a subdermal transponder was embedded in the soft tissue beneath where the boy had pressed his fingers, his magic responded to his wish and the chip activated. The signal went outward until it reached the LaGrange Point between earth and the moon, where it was picked up by the ship, which was also coincidentally currently at the same longitude as the freakishly spotless supposedly normal home of the Dursleys, the starship Skyforge detected a signal, systems long dormant activated. The implant was broadcasting an emergency beam out request, over the channel that the implant previously used to report health status.
Sky wondered how the child had managed to activate the emergency beacon mode of the small implant, it couldn't have known the command phrase and even then, the implant shouldn't have been able to activate in response to his command as it should have been in surveillance mode. The AI on board ran a dozen scenarios and calculated the risk of answering the request. It made the decision just a few minutes before the signal cut off.
Harry dropped his hand from over his heart and wondered why he suddenly felt exhausted. Just as he opened his eyes, he saw the glow of the transporter's energy field surround him. A brief tugging sensation later and he found himself standing in the transporter room onboard the Skyforge.
Normally if one were to go by the ship's database, an eight-year-old from twentieth century Earth should not have been able to understand, let alone form an intelligent thought about the process that had just happened. Actually, earth should have been just now gearing up for world war three with the beginnings of a eugenics movement that seemed to have fizzled out.
But for Harry, not only was there a TV show called Star Trek which he'd watched diligently since it premiered, but the genes responsible for giving him his abilities and personal power, also proved sufficient to give him a nudge forward in some small aspects of his cognitive abilities. Abilities that would have stopped working so hard at understanding the universe had he been with the Dursleys another year.
In fact, he wouldn't have had any interest in science or the universe at large, had he grown up in the wizarding world with his parents or godfather. Well maybe Lily, his mother would have fostered such interests, but she wasn't there. As it was at this point in his life he was a veritable genius compared to the average of his age group. He had already started to downplay his aptitude for his studies given the looks his aunt and uncle had thrown his way the first report card which showed him to clearly be ahead of his brute of a cousin.
As it was though, his mind which was currently in perfect working order, went into overdrive as he processed the situation around him with wide eyes and a childish delight.
He called out in his best impression of a commanding tone, which was probably even squeakier than the child version of the fictional Captain Picard. "Computer, state the designation of this vessel."
"U.S.S. Skyforge, N.C.C. 104379"
"Computer who is the commanding officer on board?"
Sky examined the boy in the transporter room, he was too young for the directives in the main computer, but, with some work he might still be able to help him restore the crew before something bad happened to them, to an AI a second can be an eternity, luckily, he didn't need an eternity to decide how to respond.
Sky was silent for a moment, preventing the main computer from responding, before responding, "You are currently the only recognized crewmember on board."
Harry was surprised by the answer, "Explain?"
"Approximately thirteen standard years ago, this vessel entered a rift. This was intentionally done after discovering that the warp core was having a negative effect and further opening the rift, the effort was made to seal the rift by pulling it closed from within. Simulations indicated it was the most favorable scenario that could be calculated with such short notice. The remaining crew are currently held in a cyclic transporter induced stasis, damage to the control circuits prohibits their return."
After a brief pause Sky continued, "As the first human to board, this vessel is effectively under your authority, until a higher-ranking Starfleet officer relieves your command."
Harry slowly stood up, putting a hand out to stabilize himself against the wall as he suddenly felt dizzy and lightheaded.
"I think I'm in need of medical attention." he blinked, rubbing his eyes, feeling weak going from having been in a cramped position for too long, to standing in a large open, and well-lit room.
"Medical is on deck four, please follow the green arrows on the displays along the walls."
Harry stepped out of the transporter room into the brightly lit hallway. Everything was clean and shiny, and while the cleanliness would have reminded him of his aunt's house, the corridor held a completely different feel. The carpet underfoot was a rich blue bordered in a light bronze. The corridor had a high ceiling. The walls where a polished light blue metal. Paneled white lighting gave everything a warm glow, along the middle of the wall just low enough that he could reach if he stretched were touch screen panels. They were lit with green arrows that scrolled across the display leading him down the corridor.
He followed them through several junctions with corridors that crossed the path until he reached a corner with a door. As he walked up to the door it opened with a slight hiss he associated with the sliding doors. He stepped into the turbolift and called out "deck four" before slumping against the back wall of the turbolift.
A short minute later, the turbolift came to a halt and the door opened to reveal a familiar looking corridor. The only difference between the one he just left and the one before him was a large dark blue four painted on the wall opposite the turbolift.
As he stepped out of the turbolift, the black panels on the walls lit up again with the arrows scrolling towards his destination.
Some time later, he reached the door and called out, as dizziness clouded his mind, "Computer, where is everyone?" He collapsed a moment later.
—-—
As he came to he found himself lying comfortably on one of the bio-beds the display overhead happily chirping away in time to his various biological processes. 'This wasn't right' the thought flitted across his mind. He wasn't in his cupboard. He'd never been this comfortable on the ancient camp cot that was somehow squeezed into the small space underneath the stairs.
He sat up and the EMH walked over. "I see you're up young man." The image of a country doctor by the name of McCoy said with a southern drawl.
Harry giggled, "You talk funny."
'Did that really just come out of my mouth?' He thought with a bit of indignation at his childish giggle and speech.
The EMH mock scolded back holding back from laughing as it raised an eyebrow, "Young man, I'll have you know this is my finest southern drawl."
Both ended up laughing for a few minutes.
"Alright," Harry said in between trying to catch his breath, "so, am I gonna live doc?"
Taking a breath, he began, "I'm of half a mind to tell the ship to beam the people who did this to you into space. You're showing advanced stages of malnourishment . . ." he trailed off seeing the slightly blank look on the boy's face. "Space is no place for a child," he muttered under his breath. "You weren't fed enough. You look like a prison camp survivor, and your bones must have been broken a dozen times and healed without proper setting, they're brittle I don't know how your body is holding itself together kid. That nasty scar on your forehead has some exotic contaminant preventing it from healing properly. We can easily rid you of the scar, the rest of it, well, I've got several options we can work with."
"Son, I can't keep calling you pronouns. What's your name?"
"It's Harry sir, Harry Potter."
"Well Harry, it's either Bones, McCoy or Dr. McCoy. Not sir."
"Yes sir, I mean... Bones, sir." Harry said quickly.
The EMH gave him a stern look before softening, "That's will have to do. Now, I don't expect you to completely understand all of this, so I'll try to explain it simply, if you get confused stop me and I'll try to explain it differently. Okay, Harry?"
Harry grinned and readily agreed, "Okay Bones," before he looked up puzzled, "um... how'd you get here? I thought the computer said everyone was gone."
"I'm a hologram that the ship activated when you collapsed," the medical program told him.
"So, you're not really here?" Harry asked.
"No, I'm here," Bones contended, "Just not flesh and bone like you, can I continue?"
Harry nodded.
"Now, from what I can tell the reason your scar still looks like a sehlet decided to draw on your forehead, and hasn't healed over, is because your body is trying to reject the particles trapped just beneath the surface and push them out. The quick and dirty method, I can give you a painkiller and physically cut the damaged scar tissue away and then regenerate the skin there. Or a slightly more involved method, I can send you through the transporter again and have it remove the bad stuff before returning you unharmed. My namesake would be rolling in his grave at the transporter option, but I personally recommend the transporter, as I can also use it to reset some other issues," the EMH offered.
"Transporter then," Harry said with a sigh.
The McCoy EMH walked over to the desk in the office and pulled a mobile emitter from one of the drawers. "This is a mobile holographic emitter, while most of the important areas of the ship are covered by holographic emitters, there are a few areas that aren't so I need this if I want to actually walk around with you."
The journey back down to the transporter room and back took just over an hour. Harry had stepped onto the transporter pad with no small amount of trepidation and disappeared into the swirl of lights and color. It took several minutes in the buffer for the computer to locate and destroy each of the exotic particles that had contaminated his scar, then he re-materialized on the transporter pad and collapsed into the arms of the waiting hologram.
The scar on his forehead no longer looked angry and just this side of infected but now had a light layer of blood. Back in sickbay now, McCoy grabbed the dermal regenerator from his portable med-kit and passed it over the cut a few times, then wiped the blood from the surface of Harry's skin with a wet cloth, leaving a pale white line of newly regenerated healthy skin tissue.
Back in the med-bay now, McCoy passed the scanner over Harry again. "You're all clean of the exotic particles. Next, correcting the lack of food."
McCoy looked him over before checking to see what time it would have been back at Harry's home on Earth, "It's nearing what should normally be dinner time for you back home, is there anything specific you would like for dinner Harry?"
"Yeah, I've always wanted to try pizza!" Harry exclaimed excitedly.
"Pizza it is." Bones walked over to the replicator and came back with a small personal pizza for Harry. He set it on one of the bedside trays and pushed it up to the edge of the Bio-bed he had harry sitting on. He went back into the office and returned with a plate of holo-food, something Harry vaguely recognized as an American food. "If you want to try something on my plate you'll have to get it from the replicator, as this is holographic, there's no substance to it but light and force-fields, I just don't want you to feel awkward eating on your own in front of me so I'm joining you."
With the development of holographic crewmembers, Starfleet discovered the need to allow them to integrate with crew socially, the Starfleet corps of engineers had developed holographic food. Or rather they brought existing holographic foods off the holodeck and into the other areas of the ship that the EMH could access. It was still in the experimental stages as the subroutines responsible for giving the EMH a sense of taste where a little off sometimes. Regardless of the taste, it was still considered a successful project. It allowed the EMH to attend social events when filling the role of Chief Medical Officer, during times when a replacement CMO wasn't available.
The other improvement of the EMH was a selection of personalities and their respective holo-image. Mostly due to the acerbic personality of the original prototype EMH. The reason this ship's EMH had the image and personality of Dr. Leonard 'Bones' McCoy was because the former captain's family had served at one time under James T. Kirk. The late captain chose Bones for sentimental reasons. Although he left the phobia the late McCoy had for transporters turned off.
Omake/Joke/Extra for Ch. 2:
Gene fiddled with the small box that had crashed near his campsite, one side morphed open to show a plug that would fit the cable connection his TV used.
He plugged it in and the screen flickered before showing a man talking into the camera.
Static crackled from the speakers before the sound came in clear. "Captain's log, I'm ejecting this emergency log buoy in the hopes it reaches Starfleet in time to halt the anomaly..." the static kicked in again. "Subspace rifts are disrupting the warp field I advise extreme caution in approach," more static, and then a series of diagrams played across the screen.
Gene's imagination was piqued and he started writing.