Future's Past 21

The Tobin house in the Kansas City suburbs on Earth, November 26, 2008, 0230 hours

Most days, Gary Tobin was the laid-back bartender whose feathers rarely ruffled, even when drunk patrons launched themselves over the bar to attack him when he refused more booze. Before he was marooned 350 years in the past, Gary had a "whatever" attitude. Just deal with what's thrown at you, no need to take anything personally. That carried over nicely to his 21st century life, and he'd had no problem fitting in because of it.

But now, he was so furious that his face flushed red as he tried to explain to his wife, Kim, about a situation that had developed earlier that evening. He had worked through it without saying much, mostly because he had a 21st century audience. He'd stewed about it while he was finishing his shift, and by the time he arrived at their house he was genuinely angry, and that woke Kim up.

The three missing members of the USS Cheyenne finally were about to be rescued, returned to the century where they belonged . . . and one of them didn't want to go back.

Gary and Kim were two of three crewmembers from the Cheyenne who had fallen victim to a temporal displacement more than 10 years earlier. They had found themselves more than three centuries in the past, marooned in the middle of a marshy field in the North American Midwest. It had taken days to figure out where they were, several months to find their footing, one year to settle down to a new life. And now, after nine more years, they finally would get to go home thanks to two members of the USS Enterprise who had been stranded from the same anomaly.

Kim tried to listen attentively to an uncharacteristic venting session by her husband, all the while hoping that their two young daughters didn't hear any of it. They were supposed to be asleep. The last thing they needed at this point would be for their kids to blab to their teachers and friends, so Gary and Kim had agreed not to discuss their plans until they were ready to leave Earth.

Though she knew that Gary was a little leery of the psychology profession in general, Kim was secretly delighted that a counselor had beamed down as part of the rescue team. She was going to need help explaining this to the children. They had no clue where their parents were really from.

But for now, since the Enterprise's rescue team hadn't yet come to their home, Kim sat bleary-eyed and yawning in her kitchen at 0230 hours. She listened to her husband rant over Gavin Machias, who had decided to help repair the disabled shuttle so they could leave, but he didn't want to accompany them back to the 24th century.

"The girls might hear you," Kim said, keeping her voice low.

"—just a kid," Gary said, going on about Gavin. "He doesn't know what the hell he wants!"

"Gavin's not a kid anymore," Kim replied. "He's almost 30 years old, he's married, he's got two kids of his own."

"One kid, the other one's still on the way."

"Same difference." she replied, and her mouth fell open with realization. "Oh God, is that why he doesn't want to go? She can't beam up if she's pregnant. If that's it, can't we stay until she delivers?"

"No, I asked him about that," Gary continued. "He said he'd made his mind up when he got married that he'd never go back if he'd had the chance to. He said he'd rather stay here where he's happy, and that he didn't want to leave his wife or force her to leave her family to join him, or something like that."

"Does she know?"

"He said she knows. I don't know how much she knows," Gary said. "What the hell is so much worse in the 24th century? I don't get that. "

Will and Tasha's apartment, Kansas City, Missouri, November 26, 2008, 0300 hours

Kim Tobin, who was accustomed to more "normal" working hours, had been caught off-guard when her husband woke her in the middle of the night. But for Will Riker and Natasha Yar, who were accustomed to being awake until 0300 hours, their day was only winding down.

The guests in their apartment were three and a half centuries out of their own time, but their "day" was pushing 16 hours. The three crew members who were part of a rescue party from the USS Enterprise already had had an eventful visit, and their stay was just beginning.

What had begun as a three-day mission would now take weeks, thanks to a debris strike that had damaged the shuttle. The shuttle would need extensive repairs to its retro engines. The replicator had sustained critical damage also, rendering it unable to provide not only meals, but also equipment and disposal of waste.

Everyone was thankful that the transporter still was operating. They also knew that the third member of the USS Cheyenne's crew, Ensign Gavin Machias, had been a logistics technician. He also held multiple certificates in mechanics. According to a personnel entry by his commanding officer aboard the Cheyenne, Machias could fix "almost anything".

When Will Riker heard that from Gary, he knew he had the answer to the shuttle damage. Ten years might have passed, but an ability to fix "almost anything" wasn't likely to have been lost, especially since Machias' job in the 21st century was somewhat similar, tinkering with boat engines.

Then he heard from Gary that Gavin didn't want to return with the rest of the crews.

And then they had a two-fold problem. As soon as Tasha was able to leave work just after 0200 hours, they all returned en masse to the apartment, and spoke quietly about their situation.

"We don't want to alienate this officer," Will said, speaking of Machias to the Enterprise officers who had gathered in his apartment. "Realistically, he's our best chance to repair the ship. We don't have the tools, the workshop, the engine ratings...even O'Brien doesn't possess that."

"But we can't force him to go back against his will," Deanna said. "We need to balance—,"

"Uh, yes we can," Will said. "He's an enlisted officer. If he fails to report back, he'll be AWOL, whether it's now or 350 years from now."

"In exchange for his assistance, he should be allowed an honorable discharge," Tasha said, cutting to the chase, as usual.

"That's not our decision! That's Starfleet's call."

"Well, unfortunately, we don't have the option of placing a subspace request for that," Tasha replied. "You're the acting CO. It's your call."

"I'm aware of my responsibilities," he snapped, but he knew she was right. She's blunt but she's right, he thought. And I need to get a grip on who's in charge, here. He hoped that the tact she'd worked so hard to develop during the time they were here wouldn't be lost in the next few days.

Counselor Troi picked up on the frustration, too.

"Commander, it's late for all of us," Deanna replied. She had sensed the tension not only between Will Riker and Natasha Yar, but also from other members of the Earth-bound team. Everyone was exhausted. Even Louden Kendall, whose adrenalin rush at doing historical research in his ancestral home had left him positively giddy before beam-down, was about to fall asleep sitting in one of the kitchen chairs.

"Sir, my recommendation at this point would be sleep for everyone," she said, directing her comments to Will. "The three of us should beam up, and schedule the next communication at 0800 tomorrow. That's not much time to sleep, but it's better than not sleeping at all. We can't be expected to make rational decisions, otherwise."

Carrying a box of granola bars and a six-pack of bottled water that Will offered in the interim since the shuttle's food replicator was broken, Gary, Deanna and Bhat beamed up to the shuttle, leaving Will and Tasha in their apartment.

"You really piss me off, sometimes," Will spat at Tasha as the transport beam's hum ceased, signifying that the three members of the Away Team had departed the apartment.

"Those were legitimate statements," Tasha remarked.

"You don't need to prompt me on how to do my job!" Will said.

"That wasn't my intention—"

"It wasn't the intention," Will remarked, standing up. "It was the way it came across."

"Yes, sir," she replied, snapping back to military speech as if he'd flipped a switch. "I'm sorry."

"I'm going to bed," he said, trudging into the darkened bedroom, leaving her sitting on the couch. She stayed there for several minutes, watching as shadows from headlights passing on the street three stories below darted across the far wall. By the time she slipped into the bathroom to brush her teeth, Will was already sleeping hard on his bed across the room, still wearing all his clothes, as if he'd just sacked out the instant he walked back there.

Tasha knew that he'd wake up within a couple of hours with leg cramps because he'd fallen asleep with his shoes still on. She'd taken them off for him, before. She chose not to, this time. She figured that if he wanted to be in charge again, he needed to fend for himself.

She grabbed her pillow and a blanket off her bed, and retreated to the main room to sleep on the couch.

Will and Tasha's apartment, November 26, 2008, 0610 hours

Tight cramps in his lower legs woke Will from what would have been a sound sleep, had he taken his shoes off before collapsing into bed the night before. Jarred awake with pain, he forced his feet to flex to stave off a worse cramp.

Why are my shoes still on? Oh, yeah . . . he remembered. Long day, long night, bad news, ship orbiting above, snapping at Tasha who's probably still asleep—no, she's even not in her bed. He stood up and peered through the door, and saw her passed out on the couch, her eyes shut and strands of blonde hair trailing across her face as if she'd been tossing and turning before finally falling asleep curled up on her side with her knees drawn up.

As Will sat on the other end of the couch, she stirred, rolling over onto her back and sleepily brushing her hair out of her eyes. Her eyes darted to the clock: 0615. Had it only been three hours?

"Good morning, sir," she said, her voice bearing obvious fatigue.

KC, who had been asleep by her side, woke up stretching and yawning. He's going to be a huge cat, Will mused. Figures. He eats two cans of food every day, plus whatever scraps fall on the floor. The cat had it good when Will was cooking, often waiting at his feet while he chopped meat or cooked items at the stove.

KC always slept wherever Tasha was sleeping, even curling up in her empty bed when she was working late. This morning, he stretched while lying atop her chest, and Tasha didn't seem to mind that, at all.

Will glanced in her direction, then reached to gently embrace the tops of both her folded-up knees with his forearm, nudging her to rest her lower legs across his lap. He didn't say much, initially, and didn't need to. They both understood an apology when it was coming.

"What am I going to do without you to remind me to take off my boots before I collapse into bed after a bad day?"

"Leg cramps?"

"Oh, yeah," he replied. "I should have taken my shoes off."

"Sorry about last night," she said, simple and to-the-point

"Me, too," he replied, instantly, before he even really thought about his response. As a superior officer, he'd been within his bounds to call her on insubordination. But since they'd gone more than a year without following rank, he knew he could have been more tactful in re-initiating the chain of command system. And he didn't need to do that in front of three other people.

"I was out of line," she said, actually looking at him for the first time, even as she felt his forearms rest on her lower legs.

"So was I," he replied.

"Well, I was more out of line," she replied, always wanting to have the last word. It wouldn't be much longer before this type of interaction between them wouldn't be allowed, anymore.

Will smiled, then shook his head as he looked at her feet.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't understand how you can sleep every night with socks on your feet," he remarked.

"My feet would get cold," she replied.

"I remember when you didn't like wearing socks," he said.

"Oh, I've developed a fondness for socks, especially in the winter," she said. "And I think after last night, you beat me fair and square in the foot covering department."

"Unfortunately, I did," he remarked, sliding out from beneath her legs so he could stand up. "I haven't crashed like that in a long time. I'd be willing to get that everyone on the shuttle is dying for a shower and a cup of coffee."

"Probably so," she replied.

By 1100 hours, all five members of the Away Team had taken turns showering at the apartment, had acquired several days worth of clothing at the thrift store and had been able to grab something to eat at a sandwich shop that Will and Tasha were fond of, mostly because of its variety and cheap prices.

But the next order of business was to discuss their options with Gavin Machias, who lived in Canada. Due to terrorism-induced security concerns, it was difficult to travel between countries without authentic documents, so the Tobins had never visited Machias after he moved to New Brunswick several months after they all had been marooned in the 21st century.

Gary had already spoken with Gavin by phone again that morning. He was scheduled for an 8-hour shift as captain of a ferry that ran near his home, but would be back at his home by 1300 hours Kansas City time.

At a pre-determined time after Gavin's ferry shift, a total of four people beamed directly into Gavin's small house. Gary and Will went first, then Deanna and Miles O'Brien second while Barajas and Bhat remained on the shuttle.

But Kim Tobin, suddenly racked with nervousness over the whole situation, feigned illness at her workplace and went home. Her girls were either in school or preschool, so she had the house to herself. Alone in her uncharacteristically silent house, she sat on the couch and said a small prayer that the transporter beam wouldn't malfunction, that Gary would make it back, and that everything would be all right after that.

This must be what it's like for Starfleet spouses whose significant others leave on missions without their families. Kim wondered how spouses were able to deal with that stress for months, even years.

As a nurse aboard the Cheyenne, she had seen how that stress impacted those aboard starships. She remembered nodding empathetically, and repeating platitudes she'd heard others utter. It had been so easy to say when she didn't have a family and was the one journeying beyond the sun.

Now she truly understood how it felt to be the one left behind. She didn't like it, and resolved that if they were reassigned to a ship, she would lobby that they be assigned as a family for the sake of their children, who as yet had no concept of what they were going to face in the 24th century.

The Machias home, near Hopewell Cape, New Brunswick, Canada, November 26, 2008

"—can accelerate, but we've only got retros on impulse power," Miles O'Brien was explaining to Machias as they sat around a table set up in the spartan but warm kitchen of his house. "We can't slow down once we go to warp."

"But the retros are on the opposite side of the impact point," Gavin said.

"Yes, they are," Miles nodded. "Inertia should have absorbed that energy."

"Sounds like contrecoup damage, to me," Gavin said. He was 30 years old, and looked it. His face and arms reflected years of working on the water, where the reflection intensified the sun's rays. Will realized that Gavin had true "sailor's hands", strong and calloused by hard work.

"Contrecoup," Will's brow furrowed. "That's a new term."

"Actually, it's an old term, to us," Gavin explained. "But it's the only term I know to describe it. On the water, I see it a lot when inexperienced pilots tear their bottoms out trying to get their boats out of the shallows when the tide goes out. They gun their engine and hope the current will hasten their departure from the shallows. But then they slam into the rocks, and they stop suddenly. Everything that isn't tied down breaks loose. First it goes forward, and then it rebounds back. And the damage from that rebound can be as bad.

"People can get hurt badly by either type of impact," Gavin continued. "If they're riding in the open, they'll fly right off the front end of the boat. But if they're inside the cabin, they'll ricochet around. The first impact throws them off balance, they move their hands forward to protect themselves, and then the rebound snaps them back so fast they don't have time to move their hands back for protection. Sounds like that's what happened to those engines. The parts on an orbital-only engine are too delicate to take impact like that. Even inertia couldn't protect it."

"Can you repair it?" Gary asked.

"I don't know," Gavin replied. "With this equipment...if it's only mechanical in nature, I probably can. But if it's digital, I can't help that. What we need to do is set down someplace where we can have access to some degree of gravity."

"The moon, maybe," Miles said.

"Ensign O'Brien is fully rated on the digital and energy emissions," Riker said. "We can set down in an inconspicuous area of the moon, perhaps in a valley where our presence wouldn't be as notable. We have three vacuum suits."

"I'll need to evaluate what you've got that works, and then I'll see if I can find some things that'll work to replace what doesn't," Gavin replied. "I've got my own boathouse, so I'll have someplace to work on it. The problem we'll run into will be getting parts, and that's harder in Canada than it is in the United States. We tend to clean up our junkyards up here. In the US, it sits and rusts."

"There are tons of junk yards around Kansas City," Gary began. "Someone's bound to have something we can use."

"I'll need adhesive that's tolerant of high heat. Welds won't hold, and most steel would melt under the temperatures that those retros are exposed to. Tool-grade steel probably would work, but it might be too heavy. Mostly, I've got to see what's going on with it—," he turned at the sound of the side door opening. "Oh, hi, sweetie!"

Celice was Gavin's age, brunette, very pregnant, carrying two cloth bags of groceries in one hand and balancing her two-year-old son against her opposite hip with the other arm. A no-nonsense realist, she nodded nonchalantly to the strangers in her kitchen and said, "You must be from the spaceship. Glad I got extra scallops."

"I listened to all those people who told me I should enlist because I could fix anything, that I'd be a great asset," Gavin was explaining as he sat on one of the porch chairs with 2-year-old Evan in his lap, overlooking the Bay of Fundy. Everyone else had joined him on the huge porch that Gavin had built off the side of his house.

The tide was coming in, and with it came a gentle breeze. They had all just finished off a meal of boiled scallops that were dripping in butter and onions, and as delicious as they were, Deanna inwardly wondered whether she would fit into her clothes the next day.

"My pop was adamant," Gavin continued. "He didn't want me wasting away here. So I enlisted, but I was never happy. The instant I left Earth, I knew I'd made a huge mistake leaving."

"If you hadn't left, you couldn't have come back," Deanna remarked.

"Strange logic, but correct," he said. "I stayed in Kansas City for a few months, and then once we figured out we were there to stay, I knew there was just one place where I wanted to be. So I came home. And guess what...I'm a captain! I command a boat full of cargo and people, in an environment where there's nine meters of difference between high tide and low tide, where conditions change in a heartbeat. You ever seen the tides on the Bay of Fundy?"

"I've heard of them," Miles O'Brien remarked. "Never seen them."

"We're coming on high tide, now," Gavin remarked, nodding to the bay. "It'll start rushing out within an hour. And when the tide's coming in when there's a storm approaching, it's something else. But, anyway, I love this. I shouldn't have left."

"You'd be given credit for years served when you were in this timeline," Will said. "You'd be out in less than a decade."

"I know it makes no sense, especially with a war coming up, with the Xindi, with all these things that we both know are going to happen. But I belong here."

"Your family is bound to be devastated."

"My family's here," Gavin remarked, smiling as Celice sat beside him. "Celice knows, but we don't dwell on it. Her family's been great. Her parents, all her brothers and sisters, she's related to half the town. And after we met, they just took me in like a member of their own family."

"Do they know, also?" Deanna asked.

Celice shook her head. "I haven't told them, and they haven't asked," she replied. "They only know that he doesn't have any family here. He's just become part of our family, and those questions aren't important to us. Gavin has told me some things, enough that we have food, water and other supplies stockpiled and we have a place we can go if there is radiation. But I haven't told anyone, no. My family has lived in this area for 200 years. We couldn't imagine leaving."

Deanna nodded, sensing the outright honesty in Celice.

"My own pop would be more devastated if I went back and then left Starfleet," Gavin replied. "We never had the best relationship, and he was more proud of what I did in Starfleet than he is of who I actually am. And right now, in this place, I love what I do, I love where I am, and there is no other place or time where I belong. I don't want to go back, and I don't think I'd be any good to Starfleet if I did. I'd wind up as disgruntled as you think I'd be."

"And I believe you would be," Deanna replied. "I can sense in Celice a genuine fear of leaving, but a greater fear that you will be forced to go back. I can tell you that we are not going to force you to do anything against your wishes."

Gavin walked with Gary and O'Brien to his nearby boat dock. He carried Evan, a spirited but inquisitive little boy with eyes that seemed older than his two years. Celice was glad for the break, and lay down for a nap while Gavin headed across the road and downhill to give his guests the nickel tour of the boathouse.

"When is she due?" Gary asked.

"January," Gavin replied.

"Know what you're having?"

"Nah, we decided we didn't want to find out, this time," Gavin replied. "We found out with Evan, but we decided the surprise would be better, so we'll find out in January."

"We did that with Piper," Gary replied, "We were surprised with the first one, and after that we figured we'd had enough surprises, by then. We hadn't planned on having kids right away."

"Chaney was a surprise?"

"Chaney was a surprise," Gary confirmed.

"It happens," Gavin remarked. "Number Two is our surprise."

Will and Deanna lagged behind the group, and he inhaled the ocean air and couldn't help but smile. "Ahh. . ." he said. "Smells like home. Different side of the continent, smaller cliffs, but a lot of it's the same. And it's the same in the 24th century, too."

"Commander," Deanna said. "I can sense how unhappy you are that Gavin doesn't want to return with us, but put yourself in his position. Imagine that you're unhappy with where you are. You're given a chance to live where you wanted to live, doing something you'd always wanted to do."

He shook his head. "I still don't understand it."

"If your father hadn't pushed you away from Alaska, would you have left?"

He stopped walking and looked at her.

"Low blow," he muttered.

Deanna shook her head. "Context, sir," she insisted. "Put yourself in his place. Would you have left your home if you hadn't been driven away?"

"That was the path not taken."

"Gavin Machias has taken both paths, so he's making an experienced decision," Deanna replied. "I sense that he is very happy here. He feels challenged by what he is doing. He feels he is contributing to his society. He feels connected. And if he can help us, I would think he more than fulfills any obligation."

He let out a deep breath he had been holding so she could finish, but a response he'd planned didn't make sense, anymore.

"Will," she said, chancing the use of his first name, and sensing his relief when she said it. "Starfleet regulations often fail to address circumstances like this, and in those cases, it's left to those dealing with that situation to decide the course of action. He wants to help us."

As a ferry captain for boats further inland up the Bay, Machias also maintained his own shop for his small watercraft, tied up to a floating dock that was constructed to handle the twice-daily, tidal swells. As the tide rose and fell, the boat, dock and gangway linking it to the land moved with it.

They all crossed the gangplank. It didn't escape Gavin's attention that Miles O'Brien seemed more comfortable than the rest of the visitors at crossing a moving walkway.

"You've done this, before," Gavin remarked. "Where are you from, again?"

"Ireland, near Belfast," Miles replied.

"Well, there we go," Gavin said, a smile breaking through his tanned face. "The North Atlantic is in your blood!"

"—don't have any adhesive that would work," Gary explained, standing inside his shop. The shop was geared toward marine repairs, not aeronautical or space repairs. But it would do. It had a chain-link hoist for heavy lifting, literally dozens of tools and plenty of counter space. "The shuttle's replicator should contain that compound. If it can be synthesized, it can be used."

"There's the other problem," Will replied. "Our replicator is out, too."

"The damage must have gotten your port side."

Will smiled. "You do know shuttle schematics!"

"All shuttles put their synth units on the port side, and transporters on the starboard side," Machias replied. "Probably a good thing it hit your port side."

"A very good thing," Miles said. "We'd have no way to get down here or back."

"So I should pack a lunch, is what you're saying," Gavin said.

Will nodded.

"So you'll help us?" Will asked.

"Yeah, I'll help," Gavin smiled. "Been awhile since I've bounced around on the Moon, but I think we can set up a repair station. We'll need to sterilize everything that goes outside. If we leave any cooties up there and mess things up for future expeditions, I don't want to be the party that left 'em behind."

"Gavin," Will said, choosing to use his first name as opposed to his last name and rank. "We're here because we need your help. We're not about to do anything against your wishes. As much as I hope that you and your immediate family will return with us, I will, as the ranking officer here, honor your wishes to stay."