The Misadventures of Megan Quincy IV: Tuatara for the People

"The truth is more important than the facts. " Frank Lloyd Wright (1868-1959)

Prologue: Yeah, I know some of you guys were disappointed with the series finale. Although it was a great episode, it's hard for something like that to be everything to everybody, especially us J/C fans. I'll agree that the whole Chakotay/Seven thing was the only way to tie up Seven's inner conflict, (wo)man vs. machine, given the rest of season seven. Yes, it could have done differently, and, in my opinion, better, if they had done the whole season differently for Seven. C/7 was kind of pulled out of a hat, and it really annoys J/C and D/7 fans.

So, while you're coming to terms with the fates of your favorite characters, I have two sources to offer you:

-http://www.treknews.com/deltablues/endgame2.html

everyone's favorite review boy, Jim @ Delta Blues, has an excellent analysis of the last episode at the bottom of this page. (Along with the review itself, of course.) it will make you see the episode in a different, and hopefully better, light

-http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic/index.fic?action=story-read&storyid=293212

this story by Mylinae is absolutely wonderful and seriously addicting. A post-Voyager story for everyone, telling us the story of Voyager post-Voyager, with plenty of JC, PT, and, yes, C7. I really suggest you read it, even if you completely despise the concept of C7.

Disclaimer: They own it. I don't. Instead of bothering me, go find some coffee shop with no "caution: this cup contains hot liquid" on their disposable cups to sue. In this day and age, no one will think less of you.

No tuataras were injured in the writing of this story.

Summary: Megan's "first day at school" turns out to be kind of okay... until she nearly blows up the ship, that is.

Timeframe: Technically an AU, canon w/ everything before Human Error. Although I've come to accept the C/7 relationship and all the ups and downs that it entails, that doesn't mean it has to pollute my story!

Rating: PG for minor language. J/C references.

The Misadventures of Megan Quincy
Chapter 4: Tuatara for the People

by galadriel

There is one good thing I can say about the 24th century, and it is this: the computers actually work properly. You ask them a question, they answer. The buttons are labeled and color-coded. There are no Errors, no "404: The Page Can Not Be Found", no "Please wait while Windows restarts". So when I entered the turbolift after breakfast and asked what deck Cargo Bay Two was on, the computer told me. And when I told it to go to that deck, it took me there. I was amazed, since this is against Murphy's Law of Selective Computer Functions (i.e., if you tell a computer to do something important, it will do the exact opposite or spontaneously crash.)

After a few more pointers from the computer, I found myself at Cargo Bay Two, tapping the funny little door chime and wondering what I'd be studying. With my luck, thermodynamics or something equally technobabbly.

"Enter," I heard Seven of Nine's voice say.

I walked into the expansive room. Of all of the rooms I'd seen, this was the grayest and most boring yet. The Borg alcoves, decked off with the cool green lightning-bolted circles (which, incidentally, you can find at any World of Science shop at your local mall), were the only color in the entire room. A great deal of the rest was filled with space-age canisters and boxes... and a few bottles of Antarian cider, I thought, trying not to giggle. If I was going to stay on the ship, I really was going to have to get over my J/C tendencies.

Seven was typing on the computer console near the alcoves. Naomi Wildman, the second most colorful thing in the room in her light orange jumper and blue leggings, was sitting Indian-style on the floor, playing with what looked like the 24th century equivalent of a Rubik's Cube. Icheb was standing nearby, reading a PADD.

"Hello," I said quietly. My voice seemed to echo throughout the room.

All three of them looked up. There was one of those awkward half-a-second pauses when you feel like you have a blue nose or a third eye or something.

"Good morning," Seven said finally. She turned to Naomi and Icheb. "Naomi, Icheb, this is your new classmate, Megan Quincy. Megan, this is Naomi Wildman and Icheb."

"Nice to meet you," I said, overly politely.

"Nice to meet you," Icheb replied, quietly and just as politely.

"Hi," Naomi chimed, getting up and pocketing the cube.

"Our first lesson will be in astronomy," said Seven. "We will go to astrometrics now."

Once we were walking down the corridor, Naomi started piling me with questions.

"Is it true that you're from the past?" she asked. "That's what Icheb said."

Icheb looked bashful. "I'm sorry if I was... gossiping. I was simply informing Naomi of what I had heard."

"That's okay," I said. "It's not as if the entire ship doesn't already know." I addressed Naomi again. "It's true. And I'm from an alternate universe," I added, hoping I wouldn't confuse her too much.

"But... how do you know?" she asked. "How do you know that we're not your future?"

"In my universe, Voyager is a television show."

Naomi thought about this for a while. " Tom and B'Elanna have a television. It's kind of like a computer screen, right?"

"Yeah, except you watch... programs on it."

"Like a holonovel?" Naomi asked.

"Sort of." Television is incredibly dull compared to a holonovel, but I couldn't think of a better comparison.

"Who sent you here?" asked Icheb.

"My government. I'm some kind of guinea pig to test out their technology on."

Icheb looked displeased. "I was under the impression that Earth's governments were relatively moral."

I shrugged. I had no real answers. "So was I."

Astronomy was not as difficult as I expected. I've always loved the subject, and knew enough about it so that I didn't get too confused. It was a lot better than school at home: instead of taking notes while a teacher rambled and drew abstractly on the chalkboard, we analyzed the composition of nebulae that Voyager had passed by and studied a holographic reproduction of a quasar. Unlike the textbooks and telescopes of the 21st century, space was finally tangible. Instead of peering at faraway stars, we were speeding past them. It was poetic and beautiful. When I told Icheb this, he gave me a strange look and informed me that there were more class three nebulae than inhabited planets.

Whatever.

After learning all of the major gases that make up a class three nebula, we trekked over to sickbay for biology. I took biology last year, and although science had made some major breakthroughs, the principles were the same. Until Naomi and Icheb got to genetics, I was on my own. While the Doctor lectured on the wonders of reptiles, I sat in the back of the room with a PADD of the new and improved table of elements, Zephranium and all. My enormous dislike of chemistry did not help me concentrate, and soon enough I began listening to Naomi and Icheb's bio lesson.

"Rhynchocephalia, the order to which the dinosaurs and related species belonged, was nearly destroyed with their extinction. Millions of years later, only one species survived. One single species," the Doctor repeated, hand gestures and all, "competing in a world of highly evolved creatures. Imagine the struggle, to survive in such-"

"Doctor," Naomi said in a small yet powerful voice, hinting for him to get on with it.

"Yes, of course. Well, this species was the tuatara, native of coastal islands off New Zealand. The tuatara reached a length of approximately two and a half feet, dark olive-green with small white or yellowish specks on the sides and yellow spines along the back, a smaller version of its Jurassic ancestors. Most interestingly, the tuatara had a vestigial third eye, which some biologists believed was once fully functional."

Just as Icheb raised an eyebrow and Naomi exclaimed, "Neat," I shouted from the back of the room, "What do you mean, it had a third eye? It's gone?"

The Doctor nodded. "Unfortunately, the tuatara's hardiness did not live up to human stresses. During World War Three, fighting significantly damaged the New Zealand ecosystem, and all but a few thousand tuataras were destroyed. These slowly dwindled, until the species went extinct. Now," he said, giving me a sharp but not unkind look, "I suggest that you study that chart, Miss Quincy, You're going to need to know the basic properties of each element before Seven can begin your instruction in physics."

I nodded and sat down, but before I went back to the chart, I muttered, "That sucks. That really, really sucks."

***

Two more hours passed. Finally, we got a thirty-minute break. We trooped back to the cargo bay. Once we got there, Naomi began asking me more questions about the 21st century and home. She had been worshipping me ever since I had helped her with her algebra. (Yes, Naomi, miniature genius, takes Algebra. The 24th century teaching philosophy believes in grouping kids by skill.) Even Icheb put away his work and listened to me describe cafeteria food, Microsoft, MTV, blowing bubbles, soul music, and the plot of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, all in vivid detail.

After my Buffy spiel, we started talking about music again. Icheb talked enthusiastically about Mozart and a strange sort of 24th century punk-techno-jazz called sybe.

"I didn't bring my Discman," I griped, leaning my head against the cargo bay wall. It was oddly comfortable. "And my Automatic For The People CD was in it. I suppose I could find the same music on the computer, but... it's just not the same. Like the tuatara, I guess."

Icheb nodded. Somehow, he understood. Naomi did not. She looked at me, confused, knowing that something was wrong, but mystified as to what it was. "What's a Discman?" she asked.

"A machine that plays music, that you carry around. They come with earphones, tiny speakers that go on your ears, so only you can hear it."

"What's Automatic for the People?"

"A CD by REM, a band I like."

"CD?"

"A disc that you can store information on. Music or computer programs."

"Oh." Naomi nodded, as if all of her questions about the nature of the world had just been answered.

Icheb, who had been silent all this time, spoke. "I'm sorry, Megan." Not melodramatically, but honestly.

I gave him a surprised look. "What?"

"That you're homesick," he explained. A pause. "And about the tuatara."

I blushed at a reference to my previous animal-rights fit, but knew that he wasn't only talking about the tuatara, a bizarre but unimportant animal that deserved hardly five minutes in the Doctor's reptile monologue. "Thank you," I said quietly.

Again, Naomi looked extremely confused and changed the subject. "Do you both want to come over for dinner tomorrow night?" she asked with a smile on her face. "You can meet my mom, Megan, and tell us more stories."

"That would be really nice," I said. It would be. Dinner with Naomi and Samantha Wildman would be a little bit of much-needed normality.

Icheb, on the other hand, shook his head. "I'll be eating with Seven. We need to work on some adjustments for the deflector dish."

Seven, who until that point had been effectively invisible, quietly speed-reading PADDs in the back of the cargo bay, suddenly came back into existence. "I will not require your assistance tomorrow night," she said matter-of-factly to Icheb.

"But-"

"You have helped me a great deal in the past week. If you wish to take some time for recreation, you may."

Icheb pondered this for about a second. "Thank you. I will be happy to go, Naomi." I smiled a little to myself. Despite the wicked intentions of The Powers That Be, Icheb was *not* another Wesley Crusher. He knew how to have fun. This was a very good thing.

I glanced at my digital watch, which I had adjusted to Voyager time. "It's 11:18. We should probably get going to...." I checked my schedule. "History? Who teaches that?"

"Commander Tuvok reviews our work and gives us new assignments every week," Icheb explained. "We will be seeing him today. The rest of the time, we study on our own."

"This should be interesting," I speculated. "Star Trek history is completely weird. Dates shifting by whole centuries, a complete restructuring of Klingon facial features...."

Naomi, Icheb, and Seven all gave me concerned looks.

"Never mind," I said. "Let's go."

***

My stomach hurt. Not painfully, just a general sort of butterflies-in-the-stomach queasiness, the kind that makes your heart beat faster and your head tingle. The kind that you think you'll grow out of after being in so many elementary school plays, but you never do.

I looked down at my feet as I walked down the corridor. I was wearing bright blue sneakers that had seemed very cool back home. Now, they just stood out among hundreds of functional black Starfleet-issue boots. The laces were frayed; I'd been meaning to buy new ones the afternoon I left. I wished that I'd thought to change into my more practical white Reeboks.

As my shoe pondering came to an end, I found myself confronted with the turbolift door. I walked towards it. The doors opened. I entered the lift. "Bridge," I said. My voice was slightly shaky. The doors closed and a barely perceivable motion told me I was moving.

After a second of staring mindlessly into space, I forced myself into introspection. Why was I so nervous? It was just Captain Janeway; I'd spoken with her yesterday. And yet-she was Captain Janeway, a sort of unreal, god-like Athena/Queen Elizabeth/Joan of Arc figure. Yesterday, I had been too much in a state of shock to realize I was talking to a living legend who I had always sort of considered a hero in spite of:

(a) my aversion to the her slightly obsessive, slightly misanthropic, often going-down-with-the-ship tendencies (sure, The Powers That Be always saved her, but *she* didn't know that), and

(b) my role as priestess of the Sacred Temple of Unresolved Relationships, which made me a big fan of anything Buffy-and-Angel-ish, Dawson-and-Joey-ish, Janeway-and-Chakotay-ish. Although I could understand why the latter had never happened, and even almost admired Janeway's sense of duty and commitment to her mission, I was still a sucker for UST (unresolved sexual tension). I often found myself mentally screaming at the television (or, in the case of Resolutions, Shattered, and Scorpion, quite literally screaming), wondering what the hell they were waiting for.

But, as I said, even though Janeway had her annoying moments and depressing seasons (think the entirety of Season 5), she was pretty darn cool. With her leadership, she had gotten about 150 people decades closer to home. So yes, I was nervous. I didn't particularly want to make a fool of myself. I wanted her respect and approval. That made sense.

As I was thinking of this and fiddling with my gold cross necklace, the doors slid open.

Wasn't there a scene in Next Generation when Wesley first goes on the bridge and there's this perfect moment, as Wesley looks around in awe, with close-ups on each officer, and all the Trekkies watching at home are thinking, "I know exactly how he feels?"

It wasn't quite like that for me, mostly because I was sort of dizzy and kept thinking, "I am on the bridge, wow," and couldn't particularly concentrate. This lasted for a few split seconds before I got a grip and stepped out of the turbolift, quietly taking in the viewscreen and the officers and the bright displays and the Captain's Chair.

Chakotay was in the Chair. He and his tattoo were looking distinctively wilderness today. Harry was standing at Ops and a Nameless Ensign was at the helm. Other unknowns were pressing buttons at the stations in back. One of them was Gerron. He saw me and smiled at me. I smiled back. I wanted to faint.

I started walking to the ready room door and proceeded to have a sudden burst of clumsiness by tripping over the stairs and stumbling-but not falling-all the way to the captain's ready room. Finally, I got my balance and pressed the door chime.

"Enter," I heard her say.

Well, here it goes.

I walked forwards, and the door slid open. There was the Captain, sitting at her desk, drinking, of course, coffee.

"Hello, Megan," she greeted me as I walked inside. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it for breakfast. We had a minor problem down in engineering. Would you like something to drink?"

"Green tea?" I asked. Drink... that most likely indicated that this would be a long conversation.

She stood up and walked to the replicator. "Green tea," she ordered in a commanding voice. The tea shimmered into being, a miracle of technology that made me blink. I had managed to spend a whole day on Voyager without seeing a single replicator in use. She then handed the tea to me, in its functional, shiny silver mug. We sat down on opposite sides of her desk. My curiosity got the best of me, and I began to examine the objects on top of the desk. A 24th century laptop, with a picture of the senior crew at one of the Hawaiian bashes on the holodeck. A stack of PADDs. A coffee thermos. A tall metallic vase, containing three deep pink tulips. On the counter behind her, I saw more miscellaneous items:

an old-fashioned microscope

a few artifact-y things, including the bronze head of an important-looking ancient guy

a couple of books, including a gigantic hardcover version of Moby Dick

a tea cup, (which was lucky, if I remembered correctly from Year of Hell), with coordinating teapot

a picture of the senior crew in the mess hall

an old, framed photograph of what looked like Shannon O'Donnell & Family (from 11:59)

a tennis ball

a picture of her dog... ooh, i liked that, ditch the Mark pictures but keep the dog

a small, unidentifiable plant with white flowers

The last item that I spotted made me smile. A gold pocket watch. So he had given it to her in spite of the Year of Hell never happening. This discovery triggered a surge of J/C-happy joy. Yeah, I know, I'm a sap.

Janeway sipped down some coffee (she actually does sip, there are none of those disgusting, un-captainly gulping noises associated with the process) and then took something out of her desk drawer-a commbadge. With a smile, she handed it to me and motioned to pin it on. I did, poking my finger with it a half-dozen times in the process.

"I suppose that you know how to use it," she began, folding her hands on the table in a way that reconfirmed my suspicions that this was going to be a long meeting, "but I'm giving you the lecture anyway, for protocol's sake. This commbadge will allow you to communicate with anyone else wearing one. To contact them, say "Quincy, or Megan, if you prefer, to whoever it is you wish to speak with. Other than that, I can only suggest that you not contact anyone past midnight unless it's an emergency or they're on the nightshift." She made a face, as if recalling unpleasant memories. "Commbadges are useful tools, but they're annoying as hell when you're trying to sleep."

I nodded. Having been woken up my share by younger siblings, I could appreciate this. "Thank you, Captain."

"You're welcome. Oh, and there's this." She handed me a PADD from the stack on her table. I glanced at it and saw that it was the Starfleet manual. "As you'll most likely be staying with us for quite some time, I suggest that you acquaint yourself with this manual thoroughly. It contains all of Starfleet's protocol and guidelines, all of which are strictly followed on this ship. If you have any questions, I'm here, as is Seven, Tuvok, and Commander Chakotay. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Good." A thoughtful look suddenly crossed her face. She stared at the stack of PADDs on her desk for a long time. Finally, she looked up and spoke. "I'll tell you what," she said in a bright but tired voice. "If I don't get away from these reports, I'm liable to go crazy. I was originally going to have Commander Tuvok take you on a tour of the ship, so you can become more familiar with it, but I think that I'll go with you instead."

"That would be great!" I exclaimed. Only afterwards did I realize this was unusual Janeway behavior. Though Janeway wasn't always the complete workaholic that fanfic made her out to be, she did tend to work long hours. But hey, who was I to argue with generosity? Besides, Janeway deserved a break.

***

"Welcome to Engineering," B'Elanna Torres said cheerfully. I blinked. Cheerful and half-Klingon were two words that I had never thought to associate with one another. I then noticed her softly rounding belly, and wondered if her pregnancy had actually improved her demeanor.

As I had walked in, I realized one thing: engineering was big. Two floors, the first containing the warp core and a million little important stations around it, the second built around the warp core, with a balcony low enough so that evil Seska-conspirators could be thrown over it during fist fights. The warp core looked like something from Disney World, full of churning blue stuff that was obviously... actually, I didn't know what the blue stuff was. Dilithium? The matter-antimatter reaction? When it comes to the more technical parts of technobabble, I kind of suck.

"I was wondering if you could show Miss Quincy around, if you're not too busy," Janeway said diplomatically.

"I think I could spare a few minutes," Torres answered, placing down a complicated little silver device with a relieved look on her face. "I was just about to inspect the plasma manifolds, but they can definitely wait. What would you like to see first?"

I shrugged. "I'm pretty much illiterate when it comes to 24th century technology."

"Why don't we take a look at those shield improvements you've been working on?" the Captain suggested. "I'd love to see how you're doing."

B'Elanna made a face, clearly in an awkward position. "I'm only in the beginning stages, Captain. I've gotten the basic structure down, but I'm actually not sure how to proceed from there."

Janeway smiled at her knowingly. "I understand. Still, I'm sure Megan would like to see your new designs. They're quite innovative."

Torres sighed, clearly realizing there was no way out now. "Sure, why not. It's over here." She led us to one of the workstations and turned it on. "See, here's our shields now," she explained to me, pointing to blue lines around a display of Voyager. I had the idea that if I reversed half of the charges on the particles-"

"It would act like a zipper," I interrupted, "and stop nearly anything from penetrating the shields."

Torres looked at me, mouth half-opened in surprise, half-smiling. "And you're technology illiterate?" she asked, amused.

I shrugged, feeling my cheeks turn slightly red. "We studied shields today in physics. I guess it was fresh in my mind."

She shook her head. "Captain, I think you've got another Icheb here. You may be from the twenty-first century, but you're quicker than a lot of my engineers. No offense, Redding," she told an ensign working at a nearby station.

Redding, a petite Asian woman, chuckled. "Hey, I know you value our services, Lieutenant. We're a team, right? All those hours spent scrubbing manifolds together...."

"Watch it, Ensign," B'Elanna threw back good-naturedly, "Or you'll go back to scrubbing manifolds."

As I stared at the shield schematics, another idea came into my mind. "Lieutenant Torres, I just had an idea. If you use a... a tachyon pulse, I think you could reverse these charges. It's kind of hard to explain."

Torres motioned to the display. "Why don't you try it out on here while I take a look at the manifolds. Everything's backed up, so you do whatever you want. If you want to revert to this schematic, just press the blue button in the left-hand corner. All right?"

"Sure," I said, already pressing buttons. I'd learned some basics today from Seven, and knew what most of the controls meant. "Thank you."

"No problem. Oh, and Captain," she added as she picked up the silver thingy, "if you see Tom, can you tell him to meet me at the mess hall after his shift in sickbay ends? I don't want to interrupt him right now."

"Of course, B'Elanna. Thank you for your time."

Just as B'Elanna was about to leave, the computer's voice came on line. "Warp core ejection in progress. One minute until ejection."

"What the hell!" I heard B'Elanna scream, rushing back to the warp core. I looked down and saw the message blinking on my screen, and it suddenly occurred to me what had happened: I'd pressed a wrong button.

The Captain ran over to help B'Elanna, leaving me to deal with my complete failure as a human being on my own. "Is it going to be okay?" I asked meekly.

Silence, except for Janeway and Torres discussing what to do and the computer's frequent messages. "Fifteen seconds left!"

Just as the lights on the core were dimming, Torres yelled, "Got it!" The lights returned to normal. The messages stopped. Torres looked worried, breathing deeply, her hand unconsciously resting against her abdomen. Janeway looked a bit angry, hands on hips, eyes a violent shade of blue. Both looked extremely annoyed. Whether their annoyance was directed at me, I couldn't tell.

"What happened?" Janeway asked, giving me a mild Look.

"It wasn't her fault," Torres jumped in. "I had that workstation hooked up to the warp core this morning. I guess I overrode one too many safeties. I'm sorry, Captain."

"It's my fault too," I said softly. Both looked at me in surprise. "I shouldn't have been using that workstation," I explained. "I don't have a good handle on the controls. I could have blown up the ship."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Torres said with a smile. "Everything's all right now, and that's what counts, more or less."

Meanwhile, Janeway was staring at me with this very concentrated, very thoughtful look. What did she think? That I had pressed the button on purpose? That I was some alien spy? She had every right to suspect me. My being here was pretty suspicious. Was that why she'd gone with me? To make sure with her own eyes that I wasn't lying?

Finally, her look softened: going from steel to, say, hardwood. "Well," she said in a tone that I could only describe as nostalgic, "congratulations. You've just made a mistake in front of your captain. It's part of living on board a Starfleet ship. You'll get used to it." She turned to Torres. "I think we've had enough of Engineering for today. Thank you again."

"Anytime. Nice to meet you, Megan, even if you did nearly shut down the warp core."

"You too." My voice came out unusually flat, as if I'd just been at a funeral or something. God, I'd really messed up this time. I took one last glance at the horrible station that had gotten me into this mess, and then followed the Captain to the corridor, towards Airponics.

There are some times when you wish you could fall off the face of the Earth. Right now, all I wished was the opposite, that I could fall back to Earth. Fall back asleep and wake up and find this all a dream, although a dream more real than reality itself.

***

I used to think that I was the sort of person who didn't mope. But then again, I used to think a lot of things that turned out not to be true. Like alternate universes didn't exist, and the government wasn't completely evil, and the world more-or-less made sense. I had never been more wrong.

Dinner was spent verbally slapping myself upside the head for nearly ejecting the core. Harry and Wendy Jenkins tried to cheer me up and convince me that a few wrong buttons didn't mean the end of the world as we know it. I thanked them profusely for the encouragement, but nothing could change the fact that I had screwed up big time.

I stumbled into my quarters around 7:30-excuse me, 19:30-but I was both mentally and physically exhausted. I wanted to collapse on my bed and curl up in a ball and fall asleep. At home.

I missed my family. This was the first time all day I'd had a chance to really think about it. Okay, so we were always squabbling about toothpaste or allowance or whatever. But we were a good family. We weren't Martha Stewart spawn, nor did we have a million unresolved issues either. We even (gasp!) loved each other. I missed them. A lot. I missed my mom's smile, and the dinner routine of, "What did you do at school today?" I missed my dad humming the Beatles while he made stir-fry and his ugly ties. I missed the sounds of Anna and Tony, my little sister and brother, arguing over nothing. I missed Anna stealing my hair stuff and makeup. Hell, I even missed Alaric, our stupid, boring box turtle.

I wondered what they were doing right now, although "right now" means nothing when talking about time travel.

Eating dinner, I thought. And Mom asks, "What did you do in school today?" Except they'll be worried to death about me and think I'm dead or I ran away. And it's all damn Roschland's fault. Or maybe my fault. Whose idea was this, anyway?

It was a moment of perfect despair, me standing in the middle of my ugly quarters, staring out at the universe. We could fly to the edge of the universe, and I will still not get home. Why are you doing this to me, God?

At this point, my rational side piped in, reminding me that the government that had sent me here wasn't God's idea at all. It was really everyone's fault. All because we had to have a damn fruit, really. Because we wanted to be miniature gods. Well, we got our wish, and look how crappy everything had turned out.

I sat down on my bed, a more comfortable position to continue my moping: and sat on something. I got up, and saw a well-camouflaged gray package sitting on the bed. It was small, flat, and more or less rectangular.

I carefully opened it, only to find a gray box, this time with a small piece of white paper attached.

In messy print it read, "I thought you might like this. Welcome to our collective. From Icheb"

I smiled. Perhaps the first real smile all day. I placed the note on the nightstand and opened the box. Inside was a....

Discman?

Yes, a Discman. I shiny silver Discman circa 2001, with headphones and batteries and lots of buttons. I have never seen such a beautiful machine in all my life. I took it out of the box. Underneath was an REM CD. My REM CD, for all intents and purposes. A perfect replica, with the fragile plastic casing and gray "AUTOMATIC FOR THE PEOPLE" cover.

I sort of felt like crying, but chose not to. Instead I opened the Discman, put the CD in, turned it on, put on the headphones, and went back to my bed. I went to track four. The music was brilliant. The message was clear.

"...If you feel like you're alone, no, no, no, you are not alone
If you're on your own in this life, the days and nights are long,
when you think you've had too much of this life to hang on.
Well, everybody hurts sometimes,
everybody cries. And everybody hurts sometimes.
And everybody hurts sometimes. So, hold on, hold on..."

It was a funny kind of bliss as I lay there, sprawled out on my bed, singing REM lyrics quietly to myself somewhat off-tune. As I sang, I watched the stars go by, realizing that, somehow, that we were going to make it. Voyager was going to get home... and so was I.

like it? hate it? tell me: review! (but constructive criticism only, please. no one wants to hear that their story sucked and not know why!)