Miles To Go Before I Sleep
A Voyager/Crusade crossover by Taya 17 Janeway.
I know I'm getting worse. I can't help it.
Chapter Two: Becoming Stranger
"I don't think I've seen anything like it before," Janeway told Chakotay frankly as they headed for the turbolifts. "He has absolutely no memory of who he was before the accident. The only clue he has to his identity is the band he wears around his wrist- and he doesn't know what it's for either. Two days, and we've gone nowhere." She sighed as they entered the turbolift, and paused to rub her temple absently. "We should have kept the clothes he was originally wearing. The doctor thinks they were some kind of uniform- at least they might have given us some clue as to who he was serving with."
"Have you hazarded any guesses, though?" asked Chakotay.
Janeway put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows briefly. "That's the most frustrating part. DNA scans have shown him to be a hundred percent human." She gestured with one hand. "So, if he's human, and not from Starfleet, who could he be? And what the hell is he doing in the Delta Quadrant?"
"He's from Earth?"
Janeway raised her both her hands to express her complete cluelessness. "He's mentioned Earth one or two times, but he was very vague about it. When we when pressed for details, he simply couldn't remember anything more about Earth than the rest of his history."
The turbolift deposited them on the bridge. "Captain," reported Kim crisply, "We are ready to go to warp at any moment."
Janeway nodded. "Do it."
"A human, stranded in the Delta Quadrant, with no memory of who or what he is?" mused Chakotay quietly, as they headed to the center seat. "It's a little suspicious, don't you think?"
Janeway cast him an iron glance. "What do you mean, Commander?"
"I'm just saying that it's implausible that-"
She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "If you have a possible theory I want to hear it," she told him.
"If you're looking for conspiracy theories, I have none; all I'm saying is that he might not be who he seems to be." Chakotay sat down in his chair.
Janeway ruminated on his words for a moment, then drummed her fingers slightly on her chair. "This is the last thing I need on my hands right now," she said. "Harry, what's our status on the Cepylaspoa?"
"We have not detected any signs of their ships since the attack," reported Kim crisply from the conn.
She frowned.
"Something's bothering you," noted Chakotay.
Janeway shook her head head slightly. "They just attack us, then leave abruptly when on the brink of victory, and never reappear? It doesn't make sense."
"No, it doesn't," said Chakotay softly. "Unless…" his words trailed off as he paused, considering.
"Unless?" prompted Janeway, wondering what he was thinking of.
"Unless they were looking for something, and didn't find it," he said.
Janeway cast a piercing glance at Chakotay. "You think it's our guest."
"He turned up only shortly after they left. There could be a connection," Chakotay said.
Janeway nodded slowly. "If he comes from around the same sector of space as they do, it might help him remember something." She placed on hand on his on the armrest. "I'll talk to him later."
There was a mirror in the quarters they had provided for him.
The room wasn't large by most standards; a double bed against the right wall from the door, a small kitchenette area tucked into the corner directly beside the door, the washroom in between the two. A workstation to the left, wardrobe and cabinets against the leftmost wall, with glowstrips alongside; the wall directly opposite the entrance had its top half replaced by a curving view panel showing the stars passing. A green leather couch spanned the space below the window.
And there was a mirror set into the space beside the wardrobe.
It was the first thing he'd noticed when Lt. Torres had escorted him to his room; it was the last thing he had dared to look at. He'd approached the mirror cautiously, not sure of what to expect.
He'd found himself staring at the image of a stranger.
A man in his mid-thirties, tall and lean, with a narrow, sharp-jawed face. Prominent cheekbones, deep, close-set, hooded eyes; slightly wavy brown hair, swept back; thin lips which puckered slightly as he studied his expression.
I don't know who I am.
"Who are you?" he asked his reflection softly. There was, of course, no reply; his reflection merely repeated the question maddeningly to him.
The door chimed softly. "Come," he said, one phrase he'd learnt from the crew so far.
It was Janeway, carrying a middle-sized black parcel. She surveyed his room briefly. "Am I interrupting something?" She asked, gesturing with a hand.
"No." He shook his head, turning away from the mirror.
She came in and stood in the middle of the room, giving him a somewhat bemused glance. "You are settling down well in your quarters, I assume?"
He nodded. "Yes." He gave the door a quick glance, and added, "You didn't really need to come just to ask me about-"
"No, no that's not the only reason." She quickly crossed the space of the room and settled down on the bed, then looked back up at him. "Have you remembered anything else?"
He glanced back at the mirror, wondering at the man whose face he had seen in it. "No."
Her eyebrows did a quick lift and she nodded, as she acknowledged his inability to remember. "Do the Cepylaspoa mean anything to you?"
"The… Cepylaspoa? No." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then sat beside her on the bed. "Who are they?"
Janeway sighed. "Unfortunately, we have no answer to that either. We came across a fleet of their ships in the sector of space we just left, a few days before we found you." She placed on hand gently on the bed, her voice low. "They attacked us without provocation, and were on the brink of destroying us when they abruptly turned and left."
He studied her hand, fascinated, then gently placed his hand over hers. He was still wearing the sleek silver band around his wrist, and his hand looked so large around hers. "Why would they do that?"
She shrugged slightly. "I wish we knew." She extracted her hand from under his as she turned to take the parcel, which she had placed on the bed. She handed it to him.
He held the parcel- it was more of a box, actually- and hefted it. Despite its large size, it was fairly light. There was a small catch in the front of the box; he opened it. Inside were glass bottles filed with paint, brushes, sticks of charcoal, and paper. "It's a box of art supplies," she explained patiently, as if speaking to a small child.
"I know that," he told her. "What's it for?"
"It's for you." She clasped her hands on her crossed legs. "Using art to express what you think, what you feel- it might help you remember."
He scanned the contents of the box again, then looked up at Janeway, at a loss of words to say. He didn't quite know why these people were being so cordial to a complete stranger. "Thank you," he said.
She reached over and placed her hand on his arm. "You're welcome…" she paused.
"Stranger." He finished.
"Stranger?" She tilted her head slightly, frowning slightly. "Is that your name?"
"No, that's what you called me the first time in Sickbay," he reminded her.
A corner of her mouth quirked up. "It's a rather odd name."
"It's a rather odd situation," he countered.
Her smile grew. "That's true," she conceded. She stood up. "The senior officers are having dinner in the Mess Hall later at 17 00 hours. Would you like to come?"
He closed the box of art supplies and stood. "Yes, I would."
She patted him on the elbow. "I'll see you later, then… Stranger."
Interlude: The Hunt Continues
The Cepylaspoa fleet hovered in the dark void of space, seeking. Nine dark, sleek vessels, leviathan in design, with a smattering of shifting spots of light that made them appear to be just another tableaux in space, indistinguishable from the vacuum around them.
It was close. It was nearly here.
They continued searching.
