=/\= Part II =/\=
---------------------------------------------
USS Hyperion-C, En Route to System Vulcan
Deck 2, Observation Lounge
1100 Hours
"Yes?" Kieran asked distractedly as the bell chimed. "Who is it?"
"It's Caitlin," came a muffled voice from the other side of the wall. "I've got a message for you." Kieran began saying the Hail Mary.
Perhaps the CMO sensed his hesitation, for she moved rapidly to reassure him. "No, it's not a physical. I just have a message that I thought you might like to see."
The admiral sighed. "All right, come in." The doors slid open and Caitlin Denning strolled towards him, a data PADD in hand.
"Really witty," she said, trying to suppress a chuckle. "I got this from one of our orderlies today."
Kieran took the disk and started reading.
"A Starfleet engineer and doctor walked into a bar and started talking to each other. After getting completely drunk so that security clearances didn't really matter anymore, the conversation turned to a classified incident in which the Klingons attacked and almost destroyed a Federation cruiser. 'I was in the engine room when it got hit by sixteen consecutive disruptor blasts,' said the engineer proudly. 'It took quite a bit of medical knowledge on my part to fix up the ship and get us the hell out of there.'
'Well, I operate too,' sniffed the doctor.
'On what?' scoffed the engineer. 'Biological crap?'
'You've never seen the inside of a council member's body, have you?'
The engineer sheepishly admitted that he had never had that particular honor.
'Well, it's great. Just like a machine. They've got no heart, no brain, cold blood, they're full of hot air, and to top it all off, their heads and their asses are interchangeable.'
--Starfleet Datalinks: A Compendium of the Worst Jokes in History"
"Unfortunately that's all too true," Kieran managed after recovering (somewhat) from a fit of laughter. "I'm glad we don't have people like that in Starfleet."
"Oh yes we do," said Caitlin. "They're called 'brass.' "
"Hey!"
"Present company excepted, of course," she conceded graciously. "Anyways, I thought you'd like it. You look like you need a laugh. Could it be that Vulcan mind-meld?"
"Maybe. But you're sure as hell not going to study it."
She grinned and stood up. "Well, I'll get going now. Boris is scheduled for his monthly physical ten minutes from now, and if he doesn't show--" She made a fist and slammed it into her palm. "Have a nice day." The doors closed behind her, leaving Kieran alone with his thoughts.
The admiral looked at the stars in silent contemplation for a few more moments. Then he realized that he still had to fill out Sarevok's temporary transfer request to the Ffestinog. "Too bad," he said out loud. "I could get used to this."
Almost reluctantly, he turned away and went to finish his paperwork.
Bridge
1206 Hours
"New ship coming into sensor range," said the interim science officer, a promising young ensign promoted when Sarevok left to study his beloved Kabrigati. "Scans consistent with a Sovereign-X Federation cruiser, sir."
"Just on time. Hail them and ask them to form up on us."
"Aye-aye, sir." Sharia Izar transmitted the message and turned back to the admiral. "They're inputting the coordinates now, sir. And the captain wishes to know if you would be free for dinner tonight."
"Only if Caitlin cooks. I don't trust the young 'uns anymore." Kieran broke into a wide grin. "My treat this time. Tell him I'll meet him at 1800."
The admiral was looking forward to this. Hopefully Caitlin would have figured out a way to burn the place down again--the second time in a week, too. Then he thought of the inevitable physical and cringed involuntarily.
---------------------------------------------
USS Ffestinog, Holding Position Sector 109,164
Bridge
1200 Hours
Sarevok stood back and admired his work. In a few hours, he had managed to get the unbelievably primitive sensor net on board the Ffestinog to work and to work properly, which was probably one of the greatest achievements in scientific history. Whoever had designed the thing had obviously had no knowledge of science or anything to do with it. Sarevok was looking forward to getting a prize once he showed the modifications to SciFleet.
Captain Jason Beddoes, of course, was completely unimpressed. "So you cut a few yellow wires and stuck a blue wire where the yellow wires were? Oh, and--my god, you guys got to see this--can that really be a purple stick-thingy?"
The Vulcan sighed in the quintessential Vulcan way--he didn't. "That instrument which you so disingenuously refer to as the 'purple stick-thingy' is the key to the entire operation. Doctor Kabrigati developed a prototype version years ago but it has never been truly built. Until now."
"That's what they all say."
"You can consult the Datalinks if you wish, but I am--"
The human sighed in the quintessential human way--he let flow a tremendous volley of expletives that would have shamed an Orion pimp. "Okay, you damned leprechaun," he finally said, after his entire vocabulary of curse words had been exhausted, "you win. You take your purple stick-thingy and you go measure that radiation wave."
"And you?"
"I--" Beddoes drew himself up to his full height. "I will go eat dinner." He exited the bridge majestically, shoulders thrown back and captain's pips gleaming, leaving Sarevok politely confused.
"Homo sapiens," said the Vulcan in barely-revealed exasperation and began to test his purple stick-thingy one more time.
Bridge
1336 Hours
"Approaching the object now," called the helm officer. "Bearing...one-six-four. And hot damn but that's a lot of radiation."
"Screens up," ordered Beddoes as the viewer was bombarded by trillions of atoms of potentially deadly radiation. "Let's stay as far away as possible."
"It is not dangerous." Sarevok stood up quickly. "And besides, our instruments will only work if we close to within twenty thousand kilometers."
"They're called klicks," the captain muttered under his breath. Aloud: "I'm the captain of this vessel and I have supreme command. As far as I'm concerned you're just another science officer hitching a free ride. So you get your ass back there in your seat and let me handle this." Beddoes couldn't see how Admiral Forester could stand spending almost a hundred years of his life with that overbearing Vulcan. No wonder they didn't have a very good reputation around the galaxy.
Reluctantly, Sarevok took his seat.
"Check your instruments." Beddoes' voice took on a softer tone. "And don't do that again."
The science officer complied. "Nothing," he said. "I am telling you, we must get closer before we--"
Suddenly, there was a thunderous jolt as the Ffestinog rocked upwards. The lights on the ship dimmed, only to reappear as secondary power kicked in.
"Not dangerous my ass," he mumbled as the deflector shields were activated. "What happened?"
"It appeared to be a sudden pulse of radiation," said Sarevok, studying his instruments. "That was recorded by Captain Kirk and his crew as well. It was...fortunate...that I had the foresight to begin the recording when we first arrived in the area."
"That sudden pulse of radiation almost blew up the ship!"
The Vulcan looked like he was talking to a small child. "Captain, must I quote regulations on you? Starfleet protocol clearly insists that when faced with a possible scientific breakthrough--"
"And those same regulations also state that the preservation of a ship is the most important thing! And that is what I mean to do--" The Ffestinog rocked again, much harder this time. Beddoes stopped talking. The phenomenon had did his work for him.
As the crew began to relax, however, it started once more. Each time harder and harder, faster and faster--the lights began to flicker with more intensity--collision alarms began to sound--
"Get us the hell out of here!" shouted Beddoes, turning to his helm officer. "Ms. Fields--Shit!" A momentary flash of red light showed the helm officer sprawled across the floor, unconscious. She had apparently not held onto the railing hard enough. The captain was striding across the deck to take her place when a particularly violent tremor hit his ship. Beddoes was flung across the bridge and crashed onto the tactical officer's console.
The Ffestinog shimmered and faded out of existence. She had cloaked.
At that moment the tremors stopped.
The bridge crew raised their heads in surprise.
The alarms stopped sounding.
The lights shut off.
And Captain Beddoes woke up to see something which only a few humans had seen before.
"What...the fuck...is that..." he said in awe.
The point from which the radiation was emanating rapidly became a large blur on the Ffestinog's viewer. Then a larger blur, shifting colors from red to purple to ultraviolet and beyond, stretching across the entire screen and beyond. Bolts of pure energy crackled around it, out of it--dangerously near the ship itself.
It was beautiful beyond all comprehension.
Captain Beddoes hesitantly hit the cloaking button again. The Ffestinog faded back into normal space. At the same time the energy ribbon faded into nothingness. "I hope you got a record of that," he asked Sarevok quietly. Still in shock.
The Vulcan simply nodded.
"Okay," Beddoes said, taking a deep breath. "We've seen it. Sarevok's got a tape of it. Now it's time to send it back to Starfleet Command and see what the hell that thing is."
"Unsafe." Sarevok's entire demeanor was changed. In place of Vulcan iciness there was now genuine excitement. Even the captain knew that this was the discovery of the century. "I do not wish this falling into the wrong hands. Can the Ffestinog return to base herself?"
"Our tour's almost over--"
"Good. Helmsman!" ordered the Vulcan. She had been revived by a few hypos from the CMO and was seated at her place, looking none the worse for wear. "Set course to the nearest SciFleet station."
"Course laid in, sir. Warp speed on your command."
"Engage!"
This time, Captain Beddoes didn't dare contradict him.
---------------------------------------------
USS Hyperion-C, En Route to System Vulcan
Officer's Mess
1920 Hours
Kieran hadn't been this nostalgic in years.
It's the damned alcohol, he thought to himself in rage. Piece of shit! The bottle soared out of his hand and crashed against the walls of the room, the glass tinkling merrily as it cascaded towards the ground.
"What is it, Admiral!" S'Taelh leapt up from his seat and ran towards him. "Are you all right?"
"I'm--I'm--" He laughed hollowly. "I'm fine. Fine. Just the wine."
"If I may say so myself, Admiral, the amount of drinks you consumed in the previous hour and the reaction you attribute to it are entirely inconsistent with studies on the subject."
"Studies?" Kieran raised his eyes to meet the Vulcan's. "By all means, continue. Absolutely fascinating subject, that, what happens when a person gets himself drunk." He made a noise of disgust in his throat and looked for another bottle to throw.
Fortunately, S'Taelh had quite prudently placed them out of reach.
"Yes, studies. If I recall correctly, it was Professor Mickiewicz at Osborne University who studied the chemical composition of off-world reds and discovered--am I boring you, Admiral?"
"No, it's just--" The admiral began to laugh again. "My God, you sound just like your father. Christ, if anybody commits an obscure civilian study about 'the chemical composition of off-world reds' it would either be him or you. But--"
His laughter stopped suddenly.
"But my father is dead," prompted the son.
"Yes. Yes. Your father is...dead. But he's still alive." He tapped his head knowingly, as if revealing a dreadful secret. "In here."
S'Taelh looked as shocked as a Vulcan could possibly have looked. "Time travel," he breathed. "You violated one of the basic tenets of Starfleet protocol in order to save my father's katra and--what?"
Everything was flooding back--the helplessness as the Peacekeeper's every weld seemed to tremble milliseconds before the explosion, the fury as an empty coffin was shot into the depths of space in memory of a fallen officer, the genuine sorrow of losing a true friend (even though he would never have admitted it in public). "A decent burial," he finally said, almost too softly to hear.
"That's all."
The admiral nodded.
"A burial."
"Come," said Kieran as he shuffled to his feet. "Come on. Let me show you something."
The Vulcan followed him curiously.
Deck 2, Observation Lounge
1931 Hours
Kieran walked over to the deck and ran his hands on the weathered steering wheel, used by sailors long past. The tarred brown wood was covered by pockmarks from centuries of wear. It was a venerable monument to the age of sail, standing guard over centuries of history.
"It's remarkable, isn't it?" he said to S'Taelh. "Do you think any one of those sailors would ever have imagined that I would be touching my wheel--their wheel--a few trillion light-years away from the Pacific Ocean?"
"Indeed. It is amazing that this object, which I believe is dated 1765 if my knowledge of military history is worth anything, survived the ravages of three world wars, one of which was a nuclear one. The craftsmanship of the ancient mariners must have been stunning. It is remarkably well-preserved."
"You're missing the point, my good Vulcan," said Kieran. "As your father would have as well. From the looks of it, it's no more than a wheel to turn around a ship. But for me, it's more than that. Can't you close your eyes for a moment--just a moment, S'Taelh--and imagine that you're at the helm of one of those ancient galleons? Feeling the wind and salt spray crashing over you as the ship dips and dives in the waves. Can't you see that in your mind?"
The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "I do not have the same powers of visualization that you do, Admiral, to put it bluntly. I am glad that you do not engage in these hallucinations while you are commanding, otherwise Starfleet would lose a great officer."
Kieran laughed so hard that S'Taelh tried to perform a Heimlich maneuver on him.
"You're all the same," he said, gasping for breath. "Just like your father, although I imagine he'd try to lecture me even more." Finally, the admiral sobered. "But I don't want you to analyze the damned thing. I want you to look at it. Appreciate it."
S'Taelh stared at the steering wheel like it would leap on him and start assaulting him at any opportunity. "I am already 'looking' at it, Admiral. What more do you want me to do with it? Perhaps if I made it into a hologram and displayed it a museum I would appreciate it more." Kieran didn't laugh. "That was Vulcan joke, Admiral."
"I know. It wasn't funny."
The Vulcan tried to figure out something to say to that.
"Go on," said Kieran impatiently. "Touch it. Do something with it. Don't stand there like a vegetable."
Hesitantly, S'Taelh reached out and put his finger--one finger--on the wood.
"That's it," Kieran said approvingly. "Now watch. Computer! Lights off. Open viewscreen."
The room lights gradually dimmed and shut down, and, right in front of S'Taelh's uninterested gaze, two doors began to open.
There it was. The fabric of space. Stars. Countless stars. Millions upon millions upon millions of stars. S'Taelh's jaw dropped.
"Never seen it like that, hmm?" Kieran couldn't help but feel a bit self-satisfied. "And believe it or not, those stars are the very same stars that the sailors using this wheel you're holding saw almost seven hundred years ago."
S'Taelh nodded slowly. "I am beginning to see where you're going with this, Admiral. A truly exquisite analogy. Surak would have been proud."
"You see, S'Taelh," said Kieran as he took his place next to the Vulcan, "Humans are dreamers.
"We started dreaming in the days of our ancestors' ancestors, when first our eyes looked heavenwards at the cold light of the stars, a thousand flashing suns set against the darkness that was night. We dreamed of reaching them. Of seeing what they were made up of. Of touching them, maybe, or bringing a few down to the earth.
"When stone by stone the pyramids rose in the sands of the deserts even the humblest worker must have spared a glance at them, shining serenely down at them, silent witnesses to his labors and his toils. The messenger who ran the very first marathon to Athens would have spent many a night gazing at them, guardians of a mysterious past and an misty future older than Time himself. A soldier of Caesar's army, worn after a long day of battle, could have sat by a crackling fire with his fellow legionaries and stared at them, their tiniest outshining the largest blaze any had it in their power to start.
"As the sun slowly retreated below the trenches they were there, bright and terrible, heralds of welcoming darkness bringing hope of a dawn free from the terrible attrition on the front. Men had long since stopped relying on them to guide their way across troubled waters but now the brave airmen shot down knew them to be beacons showing the road from occupied territory to liberty.
"They're the same stars, S'Taelh, that the first humans watched with wide-eyed fascination . Years--ages--eons--we have dreamed of them. They are the only things that can withstand the ravages of Time, the only constants in that ever-flowing ever-changing continuum that is the universe.
"And now we've reached them. We've done the impossible. And you're telling me that I can't dream? Of giving my friend the last honor which must be accorded to him?"
S'Taelh opened his mouth and then closed it again. "You have shown a remarkable ability for memorization," he finally said. "If I recall correctly part of your previous soliloquy was taken from Zefram Cochrane's speech at the opening of the Warp Five Complex--"
"Wasn't he human too?"
"A very good point."
"So you see, Starfleet regulations or no Starfleet regulations, it was the least I could do. For myself. And for your father."
The admiral's eyes blurred. Two realities appeared in front of him, and suddenly he saw a much younger himself having this very same talk with S'Tasik on a different bridge. About the human concept of friendship, something which he really couldn't grasp. Hopefully, things would be different this time around.
He smiled wistfully and turned away from the viewscreen. "Computer, lights on full." The vision ended.
Kieran hadn't been this nostalgic in years.
---------------------------------------------
USS Hyperion-C, En Route to System Vulcan
Deck 2, Observation Lounge
1100 Hours
"Yes?" Kieran asked distractedly as the bell chimed. "Who is it?"
"It's Caitlin," came a muffled voice from the other side of the wall. "I've got a message for you." Kieran began saying the Hail Mary.
Perhaps the CMO sensed his hesitation, for she moved rapidly to reassure him. "No, it's not a physical. I just have a message that I thought you might like to see."
The admiral sighed. "All right, come in." The doors slid open and Caitlin Denning strolled towards him, a data PADD in hand.
"Really witty," she said, trying to suppress a chuckle. "I got this from one of our orderlies today."
Kieran took the disk and started reading.
"A Starfleet engineer and doctor walked into a bar and started talking to each other. After getting completely drunk so that security clearances didn't really matter anymore, the conversation turned to a classified incident in which the Klingons attacked and almost destroyed a Federation cruiser. 'I was in the engine room when it got hit by sixteen consecutive disruptor blasts,' said the engineer proudly. 'It took quite a bit of medical knowledge on my part to fix up the ship and get us the hell out of there.'
'Well, I operate too,' sniffed the doctor.
'On what?' scoffed the engineer. 'Biological crap?'
'You've never seen the inside of a council member's body, have you?'
The engineer sheepishly admitted that he had never had that particular honor.
'Well, it's great. Just like a machine. They've got no heart, no brain, cold blood, they're full of hot air, and to top it all off, their heads and their asses are interchangeable.'
--Starfleet Datalinks: A Compendium of the Worst Jokes in History"
"Unfortunately that's all too true," Kieran managed after recovering (somewhat) from a fit of laughter. "I'm glad we don't have people like that in Starfleet."
"Oh yes we do," said Caitlin. "They're called 'brass.' "
"Hey!"
"Present company excepted, of course," she conceded graciously. "Anyways, I thought you'd like it. You look like you need a laugh. Could it be that Vulcan mind-meld?"
"Maybe. But you're sure as hell not going to study it."
She grinned and stood up. "Well, I'll get going now. Boris is scheduled for his monthly physical ten minutes from now, and if he doesn't show--" She made a fist and slammed it into her palm. "Have a nice day." The doors closed behind her, leaving Kieran alone with his thoughts.
The admiral looked at the stars in silent contemplation for a few more moments. Then he realized that he still had to fill out Sarevok's temporary transfer request to the Ffestinog. "Too bad," he said out loud. "I could get used to this."
Almost reluctantly, he turned away and went to finish his paperwork.
Bridge
1206 Hours
"New ship coming into sensor range," said the interim science officer, a promising young ensign promoted when Sarevok left to study his beloved Kabrigati. "Scans consistent with a Sovereign-X Federation cruiser, sir."
"Just on time. Hail them and ask them to form up on us."
"Aye-aye, sir." Sharia Izar transmitted the message and turned back to the admiral. "They're inputting the coordinates now, sir. And the captain wishes to know if you would be free for dinner tonight."
"Only if Caitlin cooks. I don't trust the young 'uns anymore." Kieran broke into a wide grin. "My treat this time. Tell him I'll meet him at 1800."
The admiral was looking forward to this. Hopefully Caitlin would have figured out a way to burn the place down again--the second time in a week, too. Then he thought of the inevitable physical and cringed involuntarily.
---------------------------------------------
USS Ffestinog, Holding Position Sector 109,164
Bridge
1200 Hours
Sarevok stood back and admired his work. In a few hours, he had managed to get the unbelievably primitive sensor net on board the Ffestinog to work and to work properly, which was probably one of the greatest achievements in scientific history. Whoever had designed the thing had obviously had no knowledge of science or anything to do with it. Sarevok was looking forward to getting a prize once he showed the modifications to SciFleet.
Captain Jason Beddoes, of course, was completely unimpressed. "So you cut a few yellow wires and stuck a blue wire where the yellow wires were? Oh, and--my god, you guys got to see this--can that really be a purple stick-thingy?"
The Vulcan sighed in the quintessential Vulcan way--he didn't. "That instrument which you so disingenuously refer to as the 'purple stick-thingy' is the key to the entire operation. Doctor Kabrigati developed a prototype version years ago but it has never been truly built. Until now."
"That's what they all say."
"You can consult the Datalinks if you wish, but I am--"
The human sighed in the quintessential human way--he let flow a tremendous volley of expletives that would have shamed an Orion pimp. "Okay, you damned leprechaun," he finally said, after his entire vocabulary of curse words had been exhausted, "you win. You take your purple stick-thingy and you go measure that radiation wave."
"And you?"
"I--" Beddoes drew himself up to his full height. "I will go eat dinner." He exited the bridge majestically, shoulders thrown back and captain's pips gleaming, leaving Sarevok politely confused.
"Homo sapiens," said the Vulcan in barely-revealed exasperation and began to test his purple stick-thingy one more time.
Bridge
1336 Hours
"Approaching the object now," called the helm officer. "Bearing...one-six-four. And hot damn but that's a lot of radiation."
"Screens up," ordered Beddoes as the viewer was bombarded by trillions of atoms of potentially deadly radiation. "Let's stay as far away as possible."
"It is not dangerous." Sarevok stood up quickly. "And besides, our instruments will only work if we close to within twenty thousand kilometers."
"They're called klicks," the captain muttered under his breath. Aloud: "I'm the captain of this vessel and I have supreme command. As far as I'm concerned you're just another science officer hitching a free ride. So you get your ass back there in your seat and let me handle this." Beddoes couldn't see how Admiral Forester could stand spending almost a hundred years of his life with that overbearing Vulcan. No wonder they didn't have a very good reputation around the galaxy.
Reluctantly, Sarevok took his seat.
"Check your instruments." Beddoes' voice took on a softer tone. "And don't do that again."
The science officer complied. "Nothing," he said. "I am telling you, we must get closer before we--"
Suddenly, there was a thunderous jolt as the Ffestinog rocked upwards. The lights on the ship dimmed, only to reappear as secondary power kicked in.
"Not dangerous my ass," he mumbled as the deflector shields were activated. "What happened?"
"It appeared to be a sudden pulse of radiation," said Sarevok, studying his instruments. "That was recorded by Captain Kirk and his crew as well. It was...fortunate...that I had the foresight to begin the recording when we first arrived in the area."
"That sudden pulse of radiation almost blew up the ship!"
The Vulcan looked like he was talking to a small child. "Captain, must I quote regulations on you? Starfleet protocol clearly insists that when faced with a possible scientific breakthrough--"
"And those same regulations also state that the preservation of a ship is the most important thing! And that is what I mean to do--" The Ffestinog rocked again, much harder this time. Beddoes stopped talking. The phenomenon had did his work for him.
As the crew began to relax, however, it started once more. Each time harder and harder, faster and faster--the lights began to flicker with more intensity--collision alarms began to sound--
"Get us the hell out of here!" shouted Beddoes, turning to his helm officer. "Ms. Fields--Shit!" A momentary flash of red light showed the helm officer sprawled across the floor, unconscious. She had apparently not held onto the railing hard enough. The captain was striding across the deck to take her place when a particularly violent tremor hit his ship. Beddoes was flung across the bridge and crashed onto the tactical officer's console.
The Ffestinog shimmered and faded out of existence. She had cloaked.
At that moment the tremors stopped.
The bridge crew raised their heads in surprise.
The alarms stopped sounding.
The lights shut off.
And Captain Beddoes woke up to see something which only a few humans had seen before.
"What...the fuck...is that..." he said in awe.
The point from which the radiation was emanating rapidly became a large blur on the Ffestinog's viewer. Then a larger blur, shifting colors from red to purple to ultraviolet and beyond, stretching across the entire screen and beyond. Bolts of pure energy crackled around it, out of it--dangerously near the ship itself.
It was beautiful beyond all comprehension.
Captain Beddoes hesitantly hit the cloaking button again. The Ffestinog faded back into normal space. At the same time the energy ribbon faded into nothingness. "I hope you got a record of that," he asked Sarevok quietly. Still in shock.
The Vulcan simply nodded.
"Okay," Beddoes said, taking a deep breath. "We've seen it. Sarevok's got a tape of it. Now it's time to send it back to Starfleet Command and see what the hell that thing is."
"Unsafe." Sarevok's entire demeanor was changed. In place of Vulcan iciness there was now genuine excitement. Even the captain knew that this was the discovery of the century. "I do not wish this falling into the wrong hands. Can the Ffestinog return to base herself?"
"Our tour's almost over--"
"Good. Helmsman!" ordered the Vulcan. She had been revived by a few hypos from the CMO and was seated at her place, looking none the worse for wear. "Set course to the nearest SciFleet station."
"Course laid in, sir. Warp speed on your command."
"Engage!"
This time, Captain Beddoes didn't dare contradict him.
---------------------------------------------
USS Hyperion-C, En Route to System Vulcan
Officer's Mess
1920 Hours
Kieran hadn't been this nostalgic in years.
It's the damned alcohol, he thought to himself in rage. Piece of shit! The bottle soared out of his hand and crashed against the walls of the room, the glass tinkling merrily as it cascaded towards the ground.
"What is it, Admiral!" S'Taelh leapt up from his seat and ran towards him. "Are you all right?"
"I'm--I'm--" He laughed hollowly. "I'm fine. Fine. Just the wine."
"If I may say so myself, Admiral, the amount of drinks you consumed in the previous hour and the reaction you attribute to it are entirely inconsistent with studies on the subject."
"Studies?" Kieran raised his eyes to meet the Vulcan's. "By all means, continue. Absolutely fascinating subject, that, what happens when a person gets himself drunk." He made a noise of disgust in his throat and looked for another bottle to throw.
Fortunately, S'Taelh had quite prudently placed them out of reach.
"Yes, studies. If I recall correctly, it was Professor Mickiewicz at Osborne University who studied the chemical composition of off-world reds and discovered--am I boring you, Admiral?"
"No, it's just--" The admiral began to laugh again. "My God, you sound just like your father. Christ, if anybody commits an obscure civilian study about 'the chemical composition of off-world reds' it would either be him or you. But--"
His laughter stopped suddenly.
"But my father is dead," prompted the son.
"Yes. Yes. Your father is...dead. But he's still alive." He tapped his head knowingly, as if revealing a dreadful secret. "In here."
S'Taelh looked as shocked as a Vulcan could possibly have looked. "Time travel," he breathed. "You violated one of the basic tenets of Starfleet protocol in order to save my father's katra and--what?"
Everything was flooding back--the helplessness as the Peacekeeper's every weld seemed to tremble milliseconds before the explosion, the fury as an empty coffin was shot into the depths of space in memory of a fallen officer, the genuine sorrow of losing a true friend (even though he would never have admitted it in public). "A decent burial," he finally said, almost too softly to hear.
"That's all."
The admiral nodded.
"A burial."
"Come," said Kieran as he shuffled to his feet. "Come on. Let me show you something."
The Vulcan followed him curiously.
Deck 2, Observation Lounge
1931 Hours
Kieran walked over to the deck and ran his hands on the weathered steering wheel, used by sailors long past. The tarred brown wood was covered by pockmarks from centuries of wear. It was a venerable monument to the age of sail, standing guard over centuries of history.
"It's remarkable, isn't it?" he said to S'Taelh. "Do you think any one of those sailors would ever have imagined that I would be touching my wheel--their wheel--a few trillion light-years away from the Pacific Ocean?"
"Indeed. It is amazing that this object, which I believe is dated 1765 if my knowledge of military history is worth anything, survived the ravages of three world wars, one of which was a nuclear one. The craftsmanship of the ancient mariners must have been stunning. It is remarkably well-preserved."
"You're missing the point, my good Vulcan," said Kieran. "As your father would have as well. From the looks of it, it's no more than a wheel to turn around a ship. But for me, it's more than that. Can't you close your eyes for a moment--just a moment, S'Taelh--and imagine that you're at the helm of one of those ancient galleons? Feeling the wind and salt spray crashing over you as the ship dips and dives in the waves. Can't you see that in your mind?"
The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "I do not have the same powers of visualization that you do, Admiral, to put it bluntly. I am glad that you do not engage in these hallucinations while you are commanding, otherwise Starfleet would lose a great officer."
Kieran laughed so hard that S'Taelh tried to perform a Heimlich maneuver on him.
"You're all the same," he said, gasping for breath. "Just like your father, although I imagine he'd try to lecture me even more." Finally, the admiral sobered. "But I don't want you to analyze the damned thing. I want you to look at it. Appreciate it."
S'Taelh stared at the steering wheel like it would leap on him and start assaulting him at any opportunity. "I am already 'looking' at it, Admiral. What more do you want me to do with it? Perhaps if I made it into a hologram and displayed it a museum I would appreciate it more." Kieran didn't laugh. "That was Vulcan joke, Admiral."
"I know. It wasn't funny."
The Vulcan tried to figure out something to say to that.
"Go on," said Kieran impatiently. "Touch it. Do something with it. Don't stand there like a vegetable."
Hesitantly, S'Taelh reached out and put his finger--one finger--on the wood.
"That's it," Kieran said approvingly. "Now watch. Computer! Lights off. Open viewscreen."
The room lights gradually dimmed and shut down, and, right in front of S'Taelh's uninterested gaze, two doors began to open.
There it was. The fabric of space. Stars. Countless stars. Millions upon millions upon millions of stars. S'Taelh's jaw dropped.
"Never seen it like that, hmm?" Kieran couldn't help but feel a bit self-satisfied. "And believe it or not, those stars are the very same stars that the sailors using this wheel you're holding saw almost seven hundred years ago."
S'Taelh nodded slowly. "I am beginning to see where you're going with this, Admiral. A truly exquisite analogy. Surak would have been proud."
"You see, S'Taelh," said Kieran as he took his place next to the Vulcan, "Humans are dreamers.
"We started dreaming in the days of our ancestors' ancestors, when first our eyes looked heavenwards at the cold light of the stars, a thousand flashing suns set against the darkness that was night. We dreamed of reaching them. Of seeing what they were made up of. Of touching them, maybe, or bringing a few down to the earth.
"When stone by stone the pyramids rose in the sands of the deserts even the humblest worker must have spared a glance at them, shining serenely down at them, silent witnesses to his labors and his toils. The messenger who ran the very first marathon to Athens would have spent many a night gazing at them, guardians of a mysterious past and an misty future older than Time himself. A soldier of Caesar's army, worn after a long day of battle, could have sat by a crackling fire with his fellow legionaries and stared at them, their tiniest outshining the largest blaze any had it in their power to start.
"As the sun slowly retreated below the trenches they were there, bright and terrible, heralds of welcoming darkness bringing hope of a dawn free from the terrible attrition on the front. Men had long since stopped relying on them to guide their way across troubled waters but now the brave airmen shot down knew them to be beacons showing the road from occupied territory to liberty.
"They're the same stars, S'Taelh, that the first humans watched with wide-eyed fascination . Years--ages--eons--we have dreamed of them. They are the only things that can withstand the ravages of Time, the only constants in that ever-flowing ever-changing continuum that is the universe.
"And now we've reached them. We've done the impossible. And you're telling me that I can't dream? Of giving my friend the last honor which must be accorded to him?"
S'Taelh opened his mouth and then closed it again. "You have shown a remarkable ability for memorization," he finally said. "If I recall correctly part of your previous soliloquy was taken from Zefram Cochrane's speech at the opening of the Warp Five Complex--"
"Wasn't he human too?"
"A very good point."
"So you see, Starfleet regulations or no Starfleet regulations, it was the least I could do. For myself. And for your father."
The admiral's eyes blurred. Two realities appeared in front of him, and suddenly he saw a much younger himself having this very same talk with S'Tasik on a different bridge. About the human concept of friendship, something which he really couldn't grasp. Hopefully, things would be different this time around.
He smiled wistfully and turned away from the viewscreen. "Computer, lights on full." The vision ended.
Kieran hadn't been this nostalgic in years.