CHAPTER TWELVE
The chronometers built into the Enterprise's systems cycled from "night" to "morning." The ship's automatic on-board illumination system went from the dimness of the evening to the brightness of a new dawn. And all over the ship, personnel on active duty in the morning relieved those on the night shift.
One of those people ready for duty that "morning" was Captain Jack Bairnson. He entered the corridor on the level of the ship where his quarters resided, the door to his quarters sliding closed behind him. He strolled down the corridor toward the turbolift at its end, acknowledging one or two of his neighbors as he went.
Today should be fairly routine, he mused. Just await the return of the last of the medical teams from Dräkmar IV, and then it was off to Starbase 73 for some much-needed repairs. Hopefully, some R&R as well; the crew could certainly use it after the events of the past few days.
The turbolift doors parted, and inside the car—much to Bairnson's delight—stood Doctor James Alistair Crispin, the Enterprise's Chief Medical Officer. A handful of junior medical staff members—familiar strangers from sickbay to Bairnson—flanked his sides.
"Ah, top o' the mornin' to ya, Cap'n," greeted Crispin in his distinctive Irish lilt. Bairnson returned Crispin's greeting as he stepped onto the turbolift car, squeezing as best he could in between the larger man and his colleagues.
"Finally back from the surface, eh?" quipped Bairnson. Crispin shot him a look that screamed "What was your first clue?" The pair had developed a working relationship that included a constant, playful ribbing of each other. And Bairnson smiled good-naturedly at the Doctor's look.
"I was starting to think that maybe you liked down there," quipped Bairnson.
"Aw, hell naw," said Crispin. "Far too hot and steamy for my taste. Give me a cool Irish rain over that any day!"
Bairnson chuckled for a moment, then asked Crispin for his prognosis of the vaccine's effectiveness.
"Early indications all look good," he replied. "As long as the Dräkmarians follow our protocols to the letter, I'd say the plague should be well under control in about a month or so."
Bairnson nodded with satisfaction. The car came to a halt on a floor, and the door slid aside revealing another corridor. One of Crispin's staff exited the car, and Crispin wished him a happy rest period as the door slid closed. The car began its ascent once again, and Bairnson glanced about as the turbolift car's remaining occupants shuffled, readjusting their places.
That's when Bairnson finally noticed him.
A young human male, no more than 25 years old stood among them. Ordinarily, he might not have stood out from the thousands of other young officers like him on the ship. But the fact that his uniform bore the insignia of the Engineering Corps—instead of Starfleet Medical like Crispin's other companions—made him stand out like a sore thumb.
Also, there was something about his face that seemed oddly familiar to Bairnson. He turned to Crispin, cocking his head subtly in the young man's direction behind them. "You needed an engineer on your team?"
Crispin regarded the young man Bairnson had indicated. He explained that he was a bit short-handed the last couple of trips down to the surface—staff fatigue—so he asked the other department heads for volunteers. "And that young lad stepped up," he concluded.
The turbolift stopped again on another floor, and the young engineer moved toward the door to exit the car. As the door slid aside with its usual pneumatic hiss, Bairnson called to the young man as he stepped into the corridor. He then asked the young man's name.
"Vitro, sir," he said, somewhat astonished. "Junior Grade Lieutenant Joseph Vitro. We met briefly last year at Commander Johnson's Christmas party."
Bairnson smiled. Of course. That's why the young man had seemed so familiar to him both here and in the 24th century. Johnson had called him one of his rising stars. But to hear that he was willing to volunteer to help other departments as well spoke volumes about his character, the man that he was and the one that he became in the future. Or would become. Again, the temporal semantics made Bairnson shake his head.
"All you alright, sir?" asked Vitro upon seeing Bairnson's head shake.
"Fine," Bairnson replied. He beamed at the young man. "But I'd say a commendation is in order for you, Vitro."
Vitro lowered his eyes with chagrin. "It was nothing, really, sir."
"Don't sell yourself short, lad," Crispin interjected. He then turned to Bairnson, explaining that Vitro appeared to have a natural talent for medicine. "I barely had to explain anything to him at all."
Bairnson regarded Vitro with astonishment. "Is that so?"
"Well," Vitro stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. "The body is basically a machine, isn't it? Albeit an organic one and not a mechanical or digital one. But the basic principles are the same."
Bairnson nodded his comprehension. Vitro made a very convincing point for one so young. "Well, don't let us keep you from getting some rest, Lieutenant."
Vitro thanked Bairnson before turning on his heel to head toward his quarters. He stopped and turned back to the turbolift when Bairnson called his name again. "Maybe you should consider a career change," Bairnson said with a sideways glance to Crispin that said "Make that happen."
Vitro's proud smile was the last thing Bairnson saw as the turbolift door slid closed in front of him.
As the turbolift began its ascent once again, Bairnson noticed Crispin glance at the level indicator panel beside the door. Only two floor lights displayed. "Well, guess our floor's next.
Bairnson nodded his comprehension. Then, he remembered that he wanted to ask the doctor, "You're coming to the gathering tonight? My quarters?"
Crispin nodded as the turbolift came to a halt and the door slid aside. "I'll be there with bells on, sir!" He stepped into the corridor, followed closely by his remaining two staffers. The door slid closed, and Bairnson rode the rest of the way to the bridge on his own.
That evening—ship time—as the Enterprise made its way to Starbase 73, Jack Bairnson stood alone in his quarters, going over the last-minute preparations for the gathering that would begin shortly. Now out of his duty uniform and dressed in some comfortable, yet appropriately styled party clothes, he placed the last bottle of alcohol on the table that he had set as both the bar and hors d'oeuvres service.
It was a prized bottle of champagne that his old commander Captain Hikaru Sulu had given him on the one-year anniversary of his promotion to the captaincy. Bairnson had been saving the bottle since then for a special occasion—as Sulu had suggested—and couldn't think of a more special time than now. He sighed as he silently wished he could share this moment with that other Enterprise crew – the ones from the 24th century.
And especially with Ro Laren.
It was the first time he had even thought of her since his return to his own time. It was difficult for him to believe that the woman he had shared a special bond with only a week ago did not even exist yet. He secretly hoped that he lived long enough to see a day when their paths might cross once again.
The door chime rang, pulling Bairnson out of his reverie. He called out for whoever had rung the chime to enter.
The door to his quarters slid aside, and into the room stepped Thuroq Mirgant. Bairnson smiled. She looked radiant in the same red dress that she had once worn when she and Bairnson shared an intimate conversation in the ship's rec room during their first mission.
As it had been back then, her long white hair cascaded down over her bare aqua shoulders. And the dress's plunging neckline instantly drew Bairnson's attention to her modest cleavage.
"Oh," said Mirgant, somewhat surprised. "First one here. Awkward."
"Actually, you're right on time," said Bairnson. "I wanted to see you before anyone else arrived."
Mirgant's eyebrows raised in slight astonishment. "Really?" she asked.
Bairnson nodded; then suggested that she pour herself a drink. Mirgant stepped up to the bar/table and picked up a bottle of neon greenish liquid. She poured a generous helping of the liquid into a nearby paper cup and took a quick swig.
"You all right?" queried Bairnson.
"Yes, sir," replied Mirgant stiffly. "Sorry, sir. Just a… bit nervous is all, I guess."
"We're off duty, Thuroq," chuckled Bairnson. "You don't have to call me 'sir.'"
"Oh gods…" gulped Mirgant, quickly taking another draw of her drink.
Bairnson noticed how odd his helmsman seemed to be acting and inquired what was the matter. Mirgant explained that, so far, their conversation was playing like a seduction scene from one of those trashy romance holonovels.
"You play those?" wondered Bairnson.
"No," she said defensively. Bairnson eyed her curiously until she confessed, "I may have… written one… or two…"
Bairnson chuckled again. "Seriously?"
Mirgant nodded nervously.
"Well, relax, Thuroq. I'm not trying to seduce you."
"Oh. No?" said Mirgant with a hint of disappointment. Quickly, though, she added, "I mean: Good! Because that would be… inappropriate. I mean, you are my superior officer and I'm…"
"Thuroq, have you been drinking?"
Mirgant shot him a quick look that said, "Well, DUH!" She then raised her nearly empty glass as evidence.
"I mean before you got here?" Bairnson added.
Mirgant's face fell and the antennae on her head drooped slightly. Her ruse had been discovered. "That obvious, huh?"
Bairnson wondered why, and Mirgant explained that tonight was the first time he had ever invited any of the bridge officers to his quarters for any reason. "Well, except for Sunset," she said, with an awkward snicker. "And we all know what you two get up to in here!"
"What?" said Bairnson, stunned.
"Oh!" Mirgant's left hand quickly covered her mouth. "Did I say that out loud? I'm sorry. That's really none of my business, is it?"
Bairnson encouraged her to get her story back on track. Mirgant said that when she received her invitation, she felt a toots… suits… tsunami of different emotions wash over her: Joy, pride… and, of course, fear.
She said she wanted to make a good impression but was afraid that she'd do something awkward to ruin the evening for everyone. So, she went to Doctor Crispin to see if he could prescribe something to calm her down. He told her that his supply of sedatives was low and that he needed to stock up when they reached Starbase 73.
"So instead," she continued rapidly. "He gave me a couple shots of something called 'Dewars.'"
"A couple?" queried a surprised Bairnson.
"Well, technically, I asked him for the second one. But that's only because I didn't think the first one was working right because I'm still nervous and still doing awkward things like talking a lot. Am I talking a lot? Because the last thing I want is for you to think any less of me because I'm talking so much…"
Bairnson grasped her shoulders, effectively arresting any other words from spewing forth from her mouth. "Thuroq," he said soothingly. He looked into her hazel eyes, smiling gently. "I could never think of you as anything… other than a fine officer."
He could feel her trembling beneath his grasp. He paused momentarily before adding, "And a good friend."
Mirgant beamed widely and her drooping antennae perked back up to their more normal standing.
"You…" slurred Mirgant with some hesitation. "You really mean that?"
Bairnson nodded.
"You think of me as a… fine officer?"
Bairnson stifled a laugh, but a slight "snik" sound escaped through his nose anyway. It hadn't been quite the response he was expecting. But, then again, it also could have been that the Dewars was doing most of Mirgant's talking. Nevertheless, he shook his head with a kind smile. "Yes," he finally said. "And I'm sure you'll make an outstanding captain yourself someday."
Mirgant loudly scoffed at the notion. "Well," she drawled. "I really don't think a captaincy is in my future, but…" She playfully punched Bairnson in his left arm. "Thanks for the vote of confidence… Jack!"
"In fact," Bairnson continued, finally finding the opening to tell Mirgant what he'd wanted to tell her in the first place. "As your superior officer, if I could give you one piece of advice, it would be this: Never let your dedication to duty ever get in the way of your conscience."
Mirgant's eyes squinted and her brow furrowed with confusion. "Huh?" she gaped. "What does that even mean?"
Bairnson shook his head again. "With any luck, you won't ever have to know."
Mirgant staggered on her feet, and Bairnson grabbed her around the waist, saving her from falling to the floor in a heap. He pulled her body tight into his own, supporting her weight until she righted herself. To an outside observer, it appeared as if the two were momentarily locked in some sort of romantic clutch.
That's certainly how it appeared to Janet Sunset when she entered the room unbeknownst to both Bairnson and Mirgant.
An hour or so later, the gathering in Jack Bairnson's quarters was in full swing. Some of Bairnson's favorite 20th century rock music played in the background while his bridge officers—all dressed as casually as he was—conversed while enjoying the provided food and drinks.
As Bairnson stood chatting with Sunset, he glanced around the room. Every one of his bridge officers was there: Curtis Winston, Mirgant, and Saallak – along with Ryan Johnson and Doctor Crispin. However, one remained conspicuously absent. Bairnson was anxious to address his guests, but he couldn't until everyone was there, including…
The door chime rang. Finally! thought Bairnson. He called out for the person at the door to enter. The door slid aside and into the room stepped Y'Gar. Unlike everyone else, Y'Gar was dressed in his duty uniform, which appeared to be impeccably crisp. Had he just pressed it before his arrival?
"I apologize for my tardiness, sir. But I was…" Y'Gar said. He stopped speaking as he glanced around the room, noticing how everyone except him was dressed. "Oh," he said somewhat surprised. "I… did not realize that this was an… informal gathering."
Bairnson chuckled. "It's fine, Y'Gar. Come on in and grab yourself a drink."
Y'Gar strode to the makeshift table/bar where, curiously, Saallak held a drink at the ready for him. As if on cue, the background music changed over to one of Bairnson's favorite Alan Parsons Project songs: "Time". Bairnson let the song play through its first verse before he ordered the room's computerized Assistant to lower the music level. After it was done, Bairnson clanked the edge of his glass with a cutlery knife to call everyone's attention.
The room gradually grew quiet, and all eyes fixed on Bairnson.
"Thank you all for coming here tonight," he began to say. "When we first started working together—like all of you, I'm sure—I had my doubts about whether this thing was going to work. After all, we were all on the Enterprise, right? We had some pretty big shoes to fill. Especially after what happened during its maiden voyage…"
A light chuckle erupted from the others. Bairnson wasn't wrong. With a ship whose predecessor had gone down as one of the finest—if not the finest—ship in the annals of Starfleet history, there was a lot of pressure on the crew to live up to some extraordinarily high standards.
"But, when we got the call to bear the Federation's sigil to Dräkmar IV… I don't know about you, but I felt proud. Proud to think that we were finally living up to the legacy of the name Enterprise."
Bairnson could tell that his assembled guests shared in that pride. Their collective smiles was all the evidence he needed.
"Then, when the Romulans attacked… I'll be honest with you; I didn't think we were going to make it."
There were some nods and some head shakes. Bairnson presumed that the ones who silently disputed his assessment were undoubtedly thinking the same as he did at the time.
"But…" he began again, "if there's one thing I'm damned certain of, it's this… the legacy of the name Enterprise doesn't end with us. And no matter what happens in the days and years to come… we are part of that legacy. And we always will be."
Bairnson raised his glass above his head. "So, here's to all of you. My compatriots. My friends. My family. May we be forever worthy to always be called… the crew of the Starship Enterprise!"
A boisterous "Here!" erupted from the crowd. Bairnson and his compatriots took a drink from their respective containers; and when they had finished, Ryan Johnson began a round of applause for the Captain's words. Bairnson's cheeks flushed momentarily before Johnson shouted the crowd down.
"All right. Everyone shut up a second," slurred Johnson. Bairnson rolled his eyes. Johnson had apparently overindulged a bit, as usual.
"I wanna make some toast, too…" Johnson continued, somewhat louder than necessary.
Sunset tried to gently deter him from speaking any further, but he could not be dissuaded as he refilled his cup. "I wanna make some toast…" he reiterated, raising his cup in salutation, "…to my friend, Cap'n Jack Bairnson. For the greatest execution of the Dolemite Maneuver since James Tiberius Kirk himself!"
The crowd responded with another "Here!" that was somewhat less enthusiastic than the one they'd given Bairnson. Nevertheless, it was more than enough to mollify Johnson and prevent him from further making an ass of himself.
Bairnson stood momentarily confused. Johnson had butchered the word so badly that he didn't understand what he meant at first. It wasn't until Sunset reminded Johnson of the word's actual pronunciation that it registered with Bairnson. "Oh, riiiiiiight…" Bairnson nodded. "Corbomite. Good stuff…"
He must have said it with less mirth than he'd intended because, even in his slightly inebriated state, Johnson noticed. "Well, come on, Jack," chuckled Johnson. "I mean, you've gotta admit that some of that stuff you said was preeeeeeeettty outrageous."
Bairnson turned to Johnson, suddenly deadly serious. "Like what, exactly?"
Johnson stood momentarily dumbfounded until Sunset came to his rescue. "Well, you know. All that stuff about the Dräkmarian genocide at the hands of the Romulans."
Bairnson stared stone-faced at her.
"I mean," she continued. "The Romulans would never do that."
"Wouldn't they?" he asked her pointedly.
Mirgant then chimed in. "Then, why did the Captain have the Romulan ship scan him?"
Bairnson shot Mirgant a smile. She seemed to have caught onto something that none of the others had at that moment. The other officers regarded Mirgant with an expression demanding her to explain.
"I mean…" stammered Mirgant. She looked to Bairnson. "I presume that's why you did it, right? To prove to that Centurion that you weren't… bluffing."
Sunset turned to Bairnson in complete astonishment. "Wait a minute. Are you telling us that what you said was true?"
Bairnson nodded. "Every word." He then sipped his drink.
Sunset was dumbstruck. "But… how is that even possible?"
"Precognition," said Saallak after a moment. Again, all eyes turned in her direction. Noticing her colleagues' expressions, she shrugged, simply stating, "It is the only logical explanation."
Y'Gar stepped in closer to Bairnson. "Sir. Are you telling us that you… you've seen the future?"
Again, Bairnson nodded. "Not only have I seen it, I've been to it!"
Sunset demanded to know how.
Bairnson drew in a deep breath before speaking. He had been hoping to keep this as his secret for a while; but after the accolades he had given them barely a few moments ago, his crew deserved to know the truth. "When that T'Lajia appeared…" he began.
"T'Lajia?" Winston interjected. "That's the word you said on the bridge."
Bairnson nodded. Before he could continue his story, though, Saallak interjected.
"Captain," she said. "That phrase is of Romulan origin. It literally translates to…"
Bairnson completed her thought. "'Corridor of Time.' I know. I looked it up. Can I go on now?"
Bairnson glanced about to make sure no further interruptions were coming. When he was satisfied, he told them how the systems on board the Hawking had literally frozen up after the Romulan disruptor blasts hit it just before the T'Lajia drew it in. He blacked out, and the next thing he remembered was waking up 80 years in the future – in the sickbay of the Enterprise.
The looks on the faces of his crewmates betrayed their astonishment and confusion. Bairnson smiled momentarily. He was hoping that would grab their attention. After letting them stew for a moment, he quickly clarified, "Oh. Not our Enterprise. The second one after us. The Enterprise-D."
Bairnson's smile widened as he remembered the people he had encountered on the future starship. "That's how I know our legacy will continue," he commented.
After taking another moment to process his extraordinary tale, Sunset finally spoke. "So… the crew of this… future Enterprise. What were they like?"
"Like us," said Bairnson simply. "With a few notable exceptions." Again, he noticed the looks on his guests faces. They wanted to know more. He had to be careful what he told them. Finally, Bairnson said that the ship had an android helmsman, something called a "ship's counsellor," and a Klingon security chief.
Winston nearly spat out his drink when he heard that last piece of information. "What?" he scoffed. "Klingons on Starfleet ships?"
"Well, on that one, anyway," replied Bairnson. "To be honest, though, he was really the only one I saw…"
"Nevertheless, it seems logical," commented Saallak. "Perhaps the Khitomer Conference bears fruit after all."
"And so… what?" said Y'Gar. "They worked out how to get you back home?"
"No," said Bairnson. "That I owe to, of all people, a Romulan commander."
Again, Sunset's eyebrows raised in surprise. "So… we make peace with the Romulans, too?"
Bairnson hesitated before saying, "Not… as such…"
Mirgant interjected. "But… this Romulan commander sent you back?"
Bairnson nodded, saying that she sent him back through the T'Lajia on an infiltrator pod. He transported onto the Enterprise from it.
"And here we thought you just managed to get the emergency transporter on the Hawking working," slurred Johnson.
Mirgant shook her head in wonder. "Must have been one very progressive Romulan." She then sipped her own drink.
Bairnson shook his head saying, "Not really. She just had her own reasons."
Sunset turned to Bairnson with a quizzical eye. "She?"
Bairnson didn't catch the hint of jealousy in her expression.
"Captain," said Saallak following a moment of silent reflection. "While I do not doubt the veracity of your story—our predecessor ship was documented to have time-traveled on more than one occasion—I must point out that they traveled to the past, not the future."
"Right," Bairnson nodded. "Soooooo… what's your point?"
"My point, sir," said Saallak with her usual serenity. "Is that time is fluid and nebulous. And while the past has remained virtually unchanged…"
"For all you know…" Johnson facetiously interjected.
Saallak cocked her head in acknowledgment. "Point taken, Commander." She then informed Bairnson that it would be more accurate to say that what he visited was not the future, but a future. One of an infinite number of possible outcomes.
"And by returning to this point in time – here and now," she concluded. "You have undoubtedly altered the trajectory of that timeline. Perhaps even to the point that the future you visited no longer exists."
Bairnson and his crewmates stared at Saallak in silent, stunned amazement. Did she study this stuff in her downtime? Nevertheless, she was right. Bairnson had said nothing to his crew concerning the fate of the Enterprise at Dräkmar IV in the future he visited. About how Starfleet had wiped all records of the incident. And how they had apparently conspired with Romulus to place the blame squarely on his shoulders, thus making him a wanted Romulan fugitive.
But he had returned. And he had changed things, just as he told Sela he would if he were given the chance. But, in doing so, had he created a temporal tsunami that had completely erased the future timeline he had visited? Would there now even be an Enterprise-D and its crew?
And what about Ro? If he met her in the future, would she even recognize him—that is, if she even existed? Bairnson realized that he might never know the answers. Not for at least another 80 years, anyway. Or if he discovered another way to travel forward in time, which he really did not want to do.
"You really know how to bring a party down," jeered Johnson. "Don't you, Saallak?"
An hour or so later, Jack Bairnson cleared the soiled utensils, crumb-filled plates, and half-empty drink containers strewn about his quarters. The party did indeed start breaking down following Professor Saallak's dissertation on time travel, but it really didn't matter. Everyone had to be on duty on the bridge in the morning anyway, and Bairnson was grateful to have plenty of time to pick up after his guests before turning in for the night himself.
His only remaining "guest" was Janet Sunset. She was giving him an extra hand in placing the leftover food into containers to be stored in his chiller unit. She had always been good at organizing, which is one of the myriad of reasons why he had chosen her to serve as COS.
However, she had been strangely quiet since the others had departed. She often did that when she had something on her mind but was either too polite or too afraid to talk about it. It was one of the things that drove Bairnson crazy in their relationship.
After taking a load of paper plates and cups to the kitchen incinerator, Bairnson tried to make small talk with Sunset in an effort to get her to open up. "Have fun tonight?" he asked.
"Yup," she replied simply, betraying no hint of emotion whatsoever. Bairnson shook his head. Saallak must have been giving her tips on how to be more stoic. Sunset continued placing the leftovers into their plastic containers.
"Looks like we'll have enough food to give the replicators a break for a couple days."
"Uh-huh," she replied non-committedly.
Bairnson had had enough. He stepped closer to her. "Have I done something wrong?"
Sunset ceased shoveling food and placed her utensil down into a container. She looked him dead in the eyes. "You tell me," she said insistently.
Bairnson's expression conveyed his confusion.
"What the hell was that between you and Mirgant tonight?" demanded Sunset.
"I'm… not sure what you…"
"Oh, come off it, Jack! When I came in here tonight you were all over her."
Bairnson's eyes widened in astonishment. "What?" Then he remembered what had transpired between them earlier. "Oh! No, no, no. I was just helping her stay on her feet."
"What – after you'd already swept her off of them?"
"No!" Bairnson explained how she had gone to Crispin for sedatives to calm her nerves before the party, and how Crispin had given her the Irish whiskey instead.
"Oh? And is that why she rushed to your defense about that whole scanning thing?" Sunset pouted.
Bairnson's brow furrowed in confusion. Sunset laid into him even harder.
"Come on, Jack!" she spat. "Are you really that dense? She's in love with you! Has been ever since the moment she stepped aboard this ship!"
"Oh please," scoffed Bairnson. "I must twice her age!"
"No. She's twice your age! Don't let that baby face of hers fool you."
Bairnson's expression seemed to ask, "How could you possibly know that?"
"Remember, I have access to the crew's personnel files."
Bairnson had had enough. "Janet. What's really bothering you?"
Sunset sighed. She seemed to have vented all the venom she had stored up over the course of the evening and was now ready to calmly speak her peace. "It's just…" she began slowly. "A few days ago, during the battle, there was a moment where I thought I'd genuinely lost you. For good. I've never felt so helpless—so alone—in my entire life. It scared the hell out of me, Jack. And I'm still scared. Scared that it might happen again."
Bairnson nodded his understanding. He reached out and embraced her warmly. "I'm sorry you had to go through all of that. But… you know that, as Starfleet officers, it's always a possibility. We just have to accept that."
"Or…" said Sunset hopefully. "We don't."
Bairnson looked down at her, his brow once again furrowed in confusion.
Sunset looked up into his eyes. "Remember Tommy Heathcote?"
"The kid from our cadet squadron?" Bairnson asked.
Janet nodded. "Right!"
"I remember he had really bad acne…" commented Bairnson.
"Well, he finally saw a dermatologist and got it cleared up. And… he's now one of the top flight instructors at Starfleet Academy."
"Good for him," hmphed Bairnson. "But what does that have to do with…?"
"He contacted me the other day. Said that two of the old associate instructors were finally retiring. And he thinks that you and I would be perfect replacements!"
Bairnson released Sunset from his arms. He turned away from her with an exasperated sigh. Sunset stepped closer to him.
"I know it's not as exciting as being a starship captain, but it's an amazing opportunity. And it's… safe."
There it was! The truth was finally out in the open. Bairnson turned to face Sunset.
"And…" she continued, placing her hands on Bairnson's shoulders. "We could… finally start that family we've always talked about."
"In San Francisco," deadpanned Bairnson.
Sunset nodded excitedly. "There's the bay! Lots of fishing…"
Bairnson broke away from her. "No offense, Janet. But once you've seen the Crab Nebula up close, San Francisco Bay is a bit of a letdown."
"But…" Sunset protested. "We could have a family there!"
"We could have a family here!" countered Bairnson. "Out here. Among the stars."
Sunset folded her arms. "And where did you get that idea from? Your 'future'?"
"Maybe…" admitted Bairnson sheepishly. "But what if we're the one of the ones who help to make that happen? Wouldn't that be incredible?"
"Yeah. Until one of us—or gods forbid both of us—go out on a mission and never come back. You really want to orphan your son or daughter?"
Bairnson was uncertain of what he could say, except, "Janet. I may have been to the future, but I can't control it."
Sunset nodded sadly. "And why that doesn't scare the hell out of you, I'll never know."
Sunset sighed as she stepped back over to the kitchen counter. She grabbed a container of leftover food that she had prepared for herself. With the container in hand, she strode toward the door to Bairnson's quarters. Bairnson watched in silence as the door slid aside, revealing the corridor beyond.
Sunset stopped just inside the door frame and turned back to Bairnson. "Just… promise me you'll think about it. All right?"
Bairnson nodded.
Sunset returned the gesture, saying, "Good night, Jack."
The door slid closed, leaving Bairnson alone in the dimly lit room.
EPILOGUE
At first considered a monumental failure, the Excelsior class starship design had risen like the phoenix from its own ashes and gone on to become Starfleet's workhorse design. Long after its namesake vessel and its sister ship the Enterprise-B, Excelsior class starships continued to be built and remained in service for decades – even into the 24th century.
The U.S.S. Monitor was of the old guard Excelsior class ships in the fleet. It had been commissioned around the same time as the Enterprise-C and—even after a few upgrades to some of its onboard systems—it remained in service, showing absolutely no sign that it was ever being considered for the scrap heap.
The Enterprise-D had pulled up behind the Monitor less than an hour before. It had been called upon to deliver some much-needed supplies to the ship for its next important mission. The last of the Enterprise's shuttlecraft was making its way back to the hangar deck. And Commander William T. Riker could not have been more pleased to hear it.
Although he realized that it was the Federation flagship's occasional duty to perform mundane supply runs to its sister ships in the fleet—because it had one of the fleet's greatest cargo capacities—Riker was eager to get back to the mission he had signed up for: The exploration of deep space.
Riker sat in the captain's chair on the bridge, tapping a report into the PADD he held in his left hand. He had been expecting this delivery run to be no different than any of the other couple hundred or so had done since becoming the Enterprise's XO. But if he had learned anything from his time aboard the ship, it was to always expect the unexpected to crop up.
He heard the chime emanate from the security console above and behind him even before Lieutenant Worf called his attention. "Sir," said Worf in his usual guttural tone. "The captain of the Monitor is asking to speak to you."
Riker rose to his feet and placed the PADD down on the captain's chair. Straightening his red tunic, he then asked Worf to put the message through. When the image on the main viewer didn't immediately switch from one of the Monitor's aft section floating in space ahead of the Enterprise, Riker turned to Worf – his expression alone demanding an explanation.
"Privately," was Worf's simple response.
Riker's eyebrows rose in surprise. Still nonplussed, he informed Worf that he would take the call in the captain's office. Worf acknowledged Riker's pronouncement as Riker briskly strode from the captain's chair to the office, which was just off the bridge on the left side.
The door slid aside as Riker approached it, allowing him to enter the office unimpeded. He quickly sat in the chair behind the captain's desk and reached out to activate the terminal atop it. Within seconds, the smiling aquamarine face of the Monitor's captain flashed onto the screen, looking back at him.
"Captain Mirgant," said Riker with his usual genial smile. "I trust everything is satisfactory?"
"Oh yes, Commander," replied Thuroq Mirgant. "The Enterprise delivered its usual top-notch service with a smile."
Although Riker knew that Mirgant was at least four decades his senior, he still found the Andorian woman absolutely mesmerizing. Because Andorians aged more slowly than humans, the crow's feet she had around her eyes and light creases in her forehead gave her the appearance of a human woman half her age. Adding to her attraction was the fact that Riker knew her to be—like the ship she commanded—one of the "old guard" of Starfleet officers. And her distinguished career was still talked about to this day.
"I apologize that Captain Picard isn't here to speak to you personally," said Riker. "But he's taking some well-deserved R&R."
"On Risa again?" asked Mirgant with a coy smile.
"You've heard about that?"
"I think half the Alpha Quadrant has."
The pair shared a momentary chuckle before Mirgant got down to business.
"Actually," Mirgant began again. "I'm kind of glad to be talking to you instead of Jean-Luc. I think I can trust your discretion a little more than his." Mirgant then explained that she had a VIP aboard the Monitor who was eager to visit the Enterprise.
"As a matter of fact," she continued. "The second he heard we were meeting up with you, he caught the first transport he could find to get to us."
"We'd be happy to give him the grand tour," said Riker.
"That's the thing," said Mirgant cautiously. "He wants to keep his visit on the QT until he takes care of some… what did he call it? 'Unfinished personal business.'"
Riker's eyebrows raised once again. "And… you're OK with that?"
Mirgant smiled with a nod. "I know it goes completely against Starfleet protocol, but… let's just say I owe him one. Or twenty."
Riker nodded with understanding and returned her smile. He imagined how he might do the same thing for his own commander someday. "Very well, Captain. I'll advise the transporter operator to exercise discretion."
Mirgant thanked Riker for his understanding.
"May I at least ask who this VIP is?" ventured Riker.
Again, Mirgant smiled coyly. "Oh, I think you know exactly who he is, Commander. He certainly remembers you. He told me to tell you that he hopes your combo has been practicing a song called… 'Great Balls of Fire.'"
The transporter beam faded away, revealing the interior of the Enterprise's transporter room. The young human female in the yellow and black tunic stared ahead in complete awe, making the object of her gawking somewhat self-conscious.
It seemed to last only a moment as the raven-haired woman quickly straightened herself up, and—in true Starfleet fashion—congenially said, "Welcome aboard the Enterprise, Admiral."
The Admiral glanced down at his own red and black tunic. He silently chastised himself. In his haste to make it over to the Enterprise, he had neglected to change into some less-ostentatious clothing.
Still, it was too late to turn back now. The best thing he could do was roll with it, just like he always had. He briefly glanced around the room, in search of something that he was expecting to find but wasn't. The young woman must have noticed.
"Is something wrong, Admiral?" she asked.
The Admiral looked directly at the young Ensign. "No," he said reassuringly. "Everything's fine. I came through in one piece, same as usual. It's just…"
He gazed at her face. She had the most mesmerizing green eyes, and her high cheekbones only made her beauty more appealing. The Admiral shook the lewd thoughts from his aged mind. Better to focus on why he was here.
"While I'm certainly pleased to make your acquaintance, young lady," he said, sounding much older than he had hoped. "I was hoping to see Miles."
The Ensign's green eyes narrowed inquisitively as she repeated the name. Then, realization dawned on her face. "Oh! You mean Chief O'Brien!"
The Admiral nodded. "That's right. Where is he? Off-duty in Ten Forward?"
"Actually," the young woman said, almost afraid to tell him. "He was transferred to Deep Space Nine five months ago."
"Is that a fact?" said the Admiral as he stepped down off the transporter pad and made his way toward the exit. The door slide aside, revealing the corridor beyond. "I'll have to make it a point to stop by there…"
The door slid closed behind the Admiral, preventing the young Ensign from hearing another word he said.
The doors to Ten Forward parted, revealing a room full of off-duty personnel enjoying some free time away from their daily duties aboard the ship. As the Admiral entered the room, he noticed that none of them seemed to have taken any notice of his presence – unlike the ones he'd encountered in the corridors and turbolift on his way here.
Good, he thought. Last thing I want to do is spoil the surprise.
He glanced about the room, searching for his quarry. But with the sheer amount of people in the room, he had to admit that he was having great difficulty.
"Welcome back, Admiral," a feminine voice pierced the drone of voices to grab his attention. He turned around to see the mocha-skinned proprietor of Ten Forward… what was her name? Guinan. That was it! She was, of course, exactly the same as the last time he had seen her, dressed in violet robes with an oversized head covering that concealed whatever hair she may—or may not—have.
Curiously, Guinan held a glass in each of her hands, both containing reddish liquid. One glass was taller, and the liquid inside bubbled from the bottom of the glass to the top, where they coalesced into a healthy head of foam. The other glass was shorter and stouter with little to no hint of effervescence whatsoever. Guinan handed both concoctions to the Admiral, and while he was a bit dumbstruck, he accepted them nonetheless.
"What's this?" he asked, indicating the glasses.
"Your usual. For you… and the lady," purred Guinan with a nod. She then pointed to a small table at the far end of the room, near the expansive observation windows. Another dark-haired woman in a red and black duty uniform sat alone at the table, her back to the rest of the room.
"How did you…?" stammered the Admiral.
"Please," said Guinan dismissively. "I knew you'd be back. After all – it was only a matter of time."
Guinan smiled widely at the Admiral before playfully shoving him in the direction of the table.
The Admiral smiled to himself as he slowly stepped toward the table. Based on what he'd seen so far, the Enterprise-D seemed to be almost exactly the way he'd remembered it. And Guinan's words only confirmed his hope that his past actions had only modest effects on the future.
It had become Ensign Ro Laren's custom to come to Ten Forward following one of her work shifts. She would sit at a table—alone—and stare out at the stars through the deck's oversized observation windows. Guinan would always offer her a beverage on the house, but Ro always refused her. Every time.
Still, Guinan had insisted to her that she would continue to make the gesture because she knew that, someday, she would accept. Ro also rebuffed any attempts others made to get a drink for her. Even the people she had grown somewhat fond of on board.
She always was a solitary person. But lately, she seemed to have withdrawn even further into herself. Troi had noticed; as had Guinan. And although they tried their best to help her deal with her feelings, it seemed that their efforts were fruitless.
Tonight, she just wanted to gaze out at the stars and wonder for a little while before returning to her quarters to sleep. And tonight, as it seemed to be happening more and more often, she sensed that someone was standing behind her – no doubt regarding her with feelings of pity that she did not desire.
Without turning around, Ro said as calmly as she could, "If that's a Bajoran Tingler you're bringing me that some do-gooder crew member bought me, please take it away."
A red-sleeved hand placed a small, stout glass of clear reddish liquid on the table. Ro's face contorted in consternation. "I don't know if you've noticed," she continued through slightly gritted teeth. "But I'm really not in the mood for company."
A taller glass of effervescent red liquid with a healthy foam head was placed right beside its smaller relative. Ro could now make out the abdomen of her server. It too sported a red and black tunic. But in the dim light of Ten Forward, it was difficult to discern any other details.
"You just don't give up. Do you?" said Ro sardonically.
"Nope," said a hauntingly familiar voice. "Never have. Never will."
Ro finally glanced up to the see the face that accompanied the voice. Her eyes widened as she took in his features, and her breath momentarily caught in her throat. His hair had grown a ghostly white at the temples; but on top, it had the same reddish tint she remembered. Perhaps it had dulled a bit from the fiery red to more of cool ember. But nevertheless, it had yet to surrender its fire to the snow on his temples.
The beard he had once sported was now gone, and his face was weathered with more creases, crags, and dimples. But his brown eyes still held the same spark she had remembered. And—dare she say it?—even… loved. Yes, he was considerably older in his Starfleet Admiral's uniform. But he was still the most gorgeous man she had ever beheld.
"Hello, Laren," beamed Admiral Jack Bairnson.
Ro's pearly white smile added just the smallest hint of light to the otherwise dim room.