Immortal
By: DragonLady
Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager belongs to Paramount.
However, this story belongs to me.
Archive: Not without author's permission
Immortal
Dear One, my precious child,
As I write to you, I am gazing out upon a sight so majestic, my heart can
barely contain its rhythm. A sky, set with glittering crystal, reflects in a
vast ocean; the depth of which cannot be seen, only felt. In the distance, I
can faintly hear the cadence of the night creatures as they sing in the
distance. Oh, how you would love this world! Yet, even surrounded by
this wondrous beauty, I can only think of you, my child, and the thought
that this mission keeps me away from you on the eve of your birthday.
I debated what I could send you as a gift. The worlds I have
visited contain endless assortments of treasures, any one of which would
no doubt bring you delight, for a short time. However, in the end, the thing
I realized I most wished to send, was myself. Of course, my duty as a
Starfleet Admiral binds me from physically appearing before you, but I believe
I have a solution. Contained within this letter, I have written myself down for
you to read. Now, this is not the medical statistics you no doubt are
imagining, nor is it a clumsy illustration done with this aged hand. Instead,
I present you with a portrait of memories. Some of these you will certainly
recall with a clarity surpassing my own. But there are others, older
memories, which I cherish, and now would have you cherish in turn.
When I was a child, and still immortal, I would spend my hours by
the river, watching its tumbling walk through the forest, and dreaming that
it could take me anywhere I wished to go. Sometimes, my father would take
me fishing on the river, allowing me to find my own rhythm with the water.
At other times, we would simply lie in the boat, watching the sun tinge the
waves a shade of rosy gold that defied description. Soft breezes would pluck
at our hair, and dragonflies would alight on the toes of our feet, before
lifting away again in a flash of metallic green. Those days were precious to me.
As a young man, I remember returning to that same river, years after
my parents had moved from the area. I walked down the same path, looked
upon the same rushing water, smelled the same warm pine in the air... but something
had changed. I suppose, in the passage of time, that the landscape
of the river could have altered somewhat. After all, it had been years since I
last stood on its banks. Seasonal shifts and indigenous animals no doubt
created new pathways for the flow of water, bending and shifting it to suit
their purpose. Yet even as I thought this, I knew it was false. The changes
were not in the river, but in me. I would never see it with the same eyes. Something
elemental had been taken away. It was almost as if, the river no longer knew me.
Now, mind you, I never wept physically over this loss, poignant though
it was. I would continue to visit the river whenever time allowed. This
is a part of growing up, I reasoned, in time, I would grow to feel the same
kinship as before.... but it was not to be.
And with that realization, I knew what it was to feel old.
In the continuing years, I would grow to feel the passage of time far
more acutely than I had as a child. My hair began to gray at the roots, the wrinkles
by my eyes no longer faded with my smile. I forgot about the
river. I entered Starfleet academy, and began to explore the stars. I
visited endless worlds, civilization after civilization. I was an adult, and
I performed the duties an adult was given to perform. The years passed, and I
was given greater and greater duties, responsibilities were placed on my shoulders,
personnel were placed in my care. I was made a Captain. With
this new title, I no longer had time for self-indulgence, the duty to ship and
crew was of greatest importance.
There came a day, on a mission to settle differences among two
hostile parties, that I came to realize just how demanding the role of
Captain could be. There was a young crewman, fresh from the academy.
His name was Bill McLaughlin, but everyone called him Bud. He was
an eager young fellow, brash and carefree. I remember how I reprimanded
him once for playing a prank on a fellow crewman; changed the settings
on the sonic shower as I recall... Oh, he was a wild one all right, but his integrity was clearly visible. Beneath his teasing, I sensed a truly remarkable spirit. I took him with
us on our next away mission to the planet's surface. We had been invited down by one of the warring factions in order to discuss a peace treaty. But peace was not to be. We had barely arrived when everything went to hell.
The opposing party was unwilling to negotiate, and had waited in
ambush for us to appear. Shots were fired, and I was in the midst of
contacting the ship for help, when I was suddenly thrown to the ground.
Before the transporter could pull us to safety, I looked up to see what had
felled me. It was Bud. He had suffered a blow to the temple and was unconscious.
I tried contacting the ship again, but without success. The battle raged around me, yet I
couldn't pull myself away from the boy at my feet. I held his head in my lap as the fighting continued to escalate. Finally, after what seemed a century, I felt the transporter lock on. Unfortunately, it was too late. Seconds before our rescue, Bud died in my arms. In that moment, a part of me died as well.
Now, given that I was Captain of my ship, I brushed the experience on
the planet's surface from my mind. At least, I tried to. I continued
negotiations, and eventually, the two sides came to an uneasy truce. I moved
on. At times, the memory of the young boy's face would return to me,
tormenting in its clarity. I fought the resurgence of pain by taking on
more assignments, pushing myself, pushing my crew... until the day I looked
in the mirror, and no longer knew who I was. At the urging of a fellow Captain,
I used some accumulated shore leave, and returned to Earth. At first, I intended
to spend my time catching up on neglected paperwork. Several duty
assignments needed looking at, and then there were the crew reports,
evaluations, promotions to be awarded.... but I soon tired of the
meaninglessness of it all. And quite unintentionally, I found myself, once
more, heading for the watery shores of my youth.
I was uncertain how I would feel, returning after all those years. Would
I still feel the loss, the absence of kinship, of.... symbiosis that I'd experienced
as a boy? I remember the sense of tension as I neared the chuckling edge,
and I almost turned back. But then, I was overcome with amazement.
Though my loss still remained, something else had been born in its place.
I realized it for the first time when I saw dragonfly wings, shimmering
with morning dew, reflected in the wide eyes of my little girl. She had
followed me from the cabin, stumbling after my longer steps through
the underbrush. I heard her giggle when the grass tickled her bare legs. She
was a tiny thing, and quite precocious for a two year old. At the first sight of
that vast expanse of water, she leaped in the air, landing smartly on her
diapered bottom. And I felt the years between us melt away. In that
single moment, she restored me. I became a child once more, and I was immortal. Thank you for that wondrous gift. I love you my precious child, my darling Kathryn. Wherever you travel, I will travel with you. Be well, my sweet one.
-Dad
Captain Kathryn Janeway allowed her fingers to trace across the surface of
her father's delicate, hand-written calligraphy. She had been a child when
she first read these words, barely a teenager. And they were the last words
he ever wrote to her. A single tear slid down her face, caressing her cheek. Slowly, she
folded the letter on well-worn creases. Then, holding it to her
breast, she closed her eyes in memory. "I love you Daddy."
-End
By: DragonLady
Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager belongs to Paramount.
However, this story belongs to me.
Archive: Not without author's permission
Immortal
Dear One, my precious child,
As I write to you, I am gazing out upon a sight so majestic, my heart can
barely contain its rhythm. A sky, set with glittering crystal, reflects in a
vast ocean; the depth of which cannot be seen, only felt. In the distance, I
can faintly hear the cadence of the night creatures as they sing in the
distance. Oh, how you would love this world! Yet, even surrounded by
this wondrous beauty, I can only think of you, my child, and the thought
that this mission keeps me away from you on the eve of your birthday.
I debated what I could send you as a gift. The worlds I have
visited contain endless assortments of treasures, any one of which would
no doubt bring you delight, for a short time. However, in the end, the thing
I realized I most wished to send, was myself. Of course, my duty as a
Starfleet Admiral binds me from physically appearing before you, but I believe
I have a solution. Contained within this letter, I have written myself down for
you to read. Now, this is not the medical statistics you no doubt are
imagining, nor is it a clumsy illustration done with this aged hand. Instead,
I present you with a portrait of memories. Some of these you will certainly
recall with a clarity surpassing my own. But there are others, older
memories, which I cherish, and now would have you cherish in turn.
When I was a child, and still immortal, I would spend my hours by
the river, watching its tumbling walk through the forest, and dreaming that
it could take me anywhere I wished to go. Sometimes, my father would take
me fishing on the river, allowing me to find my own rhythm with the water.
At other times, we would simply lie in the boat, watching the sun tinge the
waves a shade of rosy gold that defied description. Soft breezes would pluck
at our hair, and dragonflies would alight on the toes of our feet, before
lifting away again in a flash of metallic green. Those days were precious to me.
As a young man, I remember returning to that same river, years after
my parents had moved from the area. I walked down the same path, looked
upon the same rushing water, smelled the same warm pine in the air... but something
had changed. I suppose, in the passage of time, that the landscape
of the river could have altered somewhat. After all, it had been years since I
last stood on its banks. Seasonal shifts and indigenous animals no doubt
created new pathways for the flow of water, bending and shifting it to suit
their purpose. Yet even as I thought this, I knew it was false. The changes
were not in the river, but in me. I would never see it with the same eyes. Something
elemental had been taken away. It was almost as if, the river no longer knew me.
Now, mind you, I never wept physically over this loss, poignant though
it was. I would continue to visit the river whenever time allowed. This
is a part of growing up, I reasoned, in time, I would grow to feel the same
kinship as before.... but it was not to be.
And with that realization, I knew what it was to feel old.
In the continuing years, I would grow to feel the passage of time far
more acutely than I had as a child. My hair began to gray at the roots, the wrinkles
by my eyes no longer faded with my smile. I forgot about the
river. I entered Starfleet academy, and began to explore the stars. I
visited endless worlds, civilization after civilization. I was an adult, and
I performed the duties an adult was given to perform. The years passed, and I
was given greater and greater duties, responsibilities were placed on my shoulders,
personnel were placed in my care. I was made a Captain. With
this new title, I no longer had time for self-indulgence, the duty to ship and
crew was of greatest importance.
There came a day, on a mission to settle differences among two
hostile parties, that I came to realize just how demanding the role of
Captain could be. There was a young crewman, fresh from the academy.
His name was Bill McLaughlin, but everyone called him Bud. He was
an eager young fellow, brash and carefree. I remember how I reprimanded
him once for playing a prank on a fellow crewman; changed the settings
on the sonic shower as I recall... Oh, he was a wild one all right, but his integrity was clearly visible. Beneath his teasing, I sensed a truly remarkable spirit. I took him with
us on our next away mission to the planet's surface. We had been invited down by one of the warring factions in order to discuss a peace treaty. But peace was not to be. We had barely arrived when everything went to hell.
The opposing party was unwilling to negotiate, and had waited in
ambush for us to appear. Shots were fired, and I was in the midst of
contacting the ship for help, when I was suddenly thrown to the ground.
Before the transporter could pull us to safety, I looked up to see what had
felled me. It was Bud. He had suffered a blow to the temple and was unconscious.
I tried contacting the ship again, but without success. The battle raged around me, yet I
couldn't pull myself away from the boy at my feet. I held his head in my lap as the fighting continued to escalate. Finally, after what seemed a century, I felt the transporter lock on. Unfortunately, it was too late. Seconds before our rescue, Bud died in my arms. In that moment, a part of me died as well.
Now, given that I was Captain of my ship, I brushed the experience on
the planet's surface from my mind. At least, I tried to. I continued
negotiations, and eventually, the two sides came to an uneasy truce. I moved
on. At times, the memory of the young boy's face would return to me,
tormenting in its clarity. I fought the resurgence of pain by taking on
more assignments, pushing myself, pushing my crew... until the day I looked
in the mirror, and no longer knew who I was. At the urging of a fellow Captain,
I used some accumulated shore leave, and returned to Earth. At first, I intended
to spend my time catching up on neglected paperwork. Several duty
assignments needed looking at, and then there were the crew reports,
evaluations, promotions to be awarded.... but I soon tired of the
meaninglessness of it all. And quite unintentionally, I found myself, once
more, heading for the watery shores of my youth.
I was uncertain how I would feel, returning after all those years. Would
I still feel the loss, the absence of kinship, of.... symbiosis that I'd experienced
as a boy? I remember the sense of tension as I neared the chuckling edge,
and I almost turned back. But then, I was overcome with amazement.
Though my loss still remained, something else had been born in its place.
I realized it for the first time when I saw dragonfly wings, shimmering
with morning dew, reflected in the wide eyes of my little girl. She had
followed me from the cabin, stumbling after my longer steps through
the underbrush. I heard her giggle when the grass tickled her bare legs. She
was a tiny thing, and quite precocious for a two year old. At the first sight of
that vast expanse of water, she leaped in the air, landing smartly on her
diapered bottom. And I felt the years between us melt away. In that
single moment, she restored me. I became a child once more, and I was immortal. Thank you for that wondrous gift. I love you my precious child, my darling Kathryn. Wherever you travel, I will travel with you. Be well, my sweet one.
-Dad
Captain Kathryn Janeway allowed her fingers to trace across the surface of
her father's delicate, hand-written calligraphy. She had been a child when
she first read these words, barely a teenager. And they were the last words
he ever wrote to her. A single tear slid down her face, caressing her cheek. Slowly, she
folded the letter on well-worn creases. Then, holding it to her
breast, she closed her eyes in memory. "I love you Daddy."
-End