To Stand on the Edge of Forever, Chapter Two

"It's our mortality that defines us, Soran. It's part of the truth of our existence."

-Captain Jean-Luc Picard "Star Trek: Generations"

(Section break)

24

"It's over."

Jason Madden, uniform torn and soiled from nearly a day of rescue missions, slumped down next to the still-unmoving body of Alex Carver. All around them, the Crichton's cargo bay was filled with the dead and dying, moans filling the air. After returning from the ruins of the Albion, he had brought Alex to the ship's chief medical officer, hoping for a way to revive his friend. Nothing.

So he had brought Alex here, to what had become the ship's new morgue.

A few feet to his right, a white stasis sheet covered Selene's body, preventing the onset of decay. If he looked hard enough, Jason could just make out her features hidden beneath the shroud. Beautiful even in death.

To his left, Alex laid on his back, eyes closed and a look of pain on his face. A faint blue glow surrounded him, a dampening field which dulled the nerves and eased whatever pain he might be in. At his feet, a folded stasis sheet similar to Selene's, a constant reminder of the inevitable moment when Alex's body would finally shut down and it would be necessary.

His thought had been to return them to Earth and bury them properly, allow their parents to say goodbye. Sighing, Jason leaned back and rested his head against the cool bulkhead behind him. He had known it would be hard, no parent should outlive their children, but now that was no longer an issue.

"We received the transmission about ten minutes ago. Earth is gone. Sol exploded and took the entire system with it. Starfleet headquarters, the Senate, all of it gone in an instant." Looking around, he saw several Crichton crew members wandering aimlessly through the hold, faces blank with the shock. "I suppose it hasn't quite sunk in, yet. I doubt that I'll have the time to let it sink in. We've lost three quarters of the Federation, Alex. Vulcan, the Borg homeworld, Romulus, Qo'nos, they're all gone.

"I'm not supposed to say anything, they figure it'll cause a panic, but who are you going to tell, huh? Temporal Investigations is stuck on this. They've tried going back to investigate, but all of their fancy time travel technology won't work. Rumour is that it might be some sort of weapon left over from the Temporal Cold War that just... went wrong, kind of like the first Antimatter bomb. Back in the twenty-first century they figured it was possible that the antimatter would destroy all the matter in the Universe. Tested it anyway. Guess they got lucky back then, it just destroyed Armstrong City.

"Guess we weren't so lucky this time."

Jason glanced over and sighed. Alex still didn't move. "So, it's over. There's no more Federation, and in a few hours, there'll be no more anything. Kinda makes a guy want to get good and drunk." Remembering a comment he had once made, he barked out a laugh. The dark sound caused more than a few crew members to look up in fear, "I still maintain that, even in the enlightened thirty-first century, you can still find real, honest-to-goodness alcohol if you know where to look, even on a starship. Problem is, right now, I really don't care.

"I don't care."

Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out a small object and dangled it in the air. A gold locket, heart-shaped, twisted on a necklace, casting incandescent light across his eyes as it caught the dull glow of the hold's spotlights. He had found the locket in Selene's hand, trying to force it into Alex's limp grasp. He had recognized it immediately as a gift Alex had given her years ago. On a whim, he had pocketed it. To make sure that it reached Earth safely, he had told himself.

"You were lucky," he muttered, "you really were. You loved her and she loved you. Do you know how sick I was of hearing you talk about her every night while we were at the Academy? Took you four months to ask her out, you idiot. By that point I was ready to ask her out for you if it would just get you to be quiet. That's all I wanted. Peace and quiet.

"Then you had to make me meet her. Remember that night? It was at Madam Chang's in San Francisco. It was an hour's wait, as always, but you insisted. I sat at that table for twenty minutes before you showed up. I was about ready to take your head off for being late, then she walked in."

Repocketing the locket, he smiled sadly at the memory. "She must have been the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Wasn't hard to realize what you saw in her. It never has been.

"If she hadn't married you…" He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I would have asked her to marry me."

(Section Break)

Appolyon strode through the blighted wasteland that had once been the Q Continuum, ashes clinging to the hem of his black robe. Casting his eyes across the destruction, he felt as though he should smile and bask in the glory of the devastation.

And yet he found that he could not.

He still felt the power of the Q coursing through him, warming him to the very core of his being. A current of energy that burned in his eyes and crackled between his fingers. A light that cut through the darkness enshrouding his mind.

It had begun slowly, a crack in the wall of fog which had surrounded him from the moment of his release, allowing in a sliver of clarity. As time had begun to pass, the crack had become a hole, and the first sense of unease had appeared. A sense that he was not as he should be.

The guilt, infinite and crushing, had come soon after. He could remember the Q in their infancy, could still see the amazement on their faces as they had explored their newfound abilities. They had been so young, so innocent before the War. Now they were all dead.

And he had murdered them.

But a lifting fog is not the same thing as a vanished fog. Still the feelings of hate and anguish, the desire for revenge, the need to destroy came to him, fighting with the guilt. They had become two armies clashing on the battleground, fighting desperately for purchase. One moment, the darkness would whisper to him of power and revenge. The next, the light would whisper to him that what he had done was fundamentally wrong, contrary to his very being. With each passing rotation, the darkness became stronger, and the light weaker.

You did what was needed. What they deserved.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, twisting his dark beard.

How did they deserve this? You murdered them all! They all died at YOUR HANDS!

Paralysing guilt crashed over him, driving him to his knees with a broken sob as he clutched his head between shaking hands. "They're not all dead." He whispered, desperate to drown out the screams in his mind. "Abaddon is still alive. My brother is still alive."

He is a threat to us.

He is your brother!

He would destroy us.

We would DESERVE IT!

He knelt there, weeping into the ash strewn ground in agony as the two halves of his mind fought for control of his body. Hot tears coursed down his face, burning clear tracks through the mask of grime which covered his face. Pulling his trembling hands away from his face, he stared at the hands of a stranger. The hands of his first murdered victim. Probing fingers touched a face not his own, traced the dark beard of a stranger. Panic and guilt overwhelmed him, serpents which coiled around his spirit and silenced the ever-present screams. He was no longer himself.

Who was he?

You are Appolyon.

The feather-soft whisper brushed against his consciousness, soothing the serpents and allowing them to sink back into the darkness from which it had come.

You did what was right. They were dangerous, not only to you, but to themselves. Remember what they did to you. What would stop them from doing that to another?

The tears stopped as the whisper spoke to him, enveloping him in a sense of security, assuring him of the rightness of what he had done. He had not done this for himself. He had done it to protect them. To protect them from themselves. "I was protecting them…"

We know that what you did was difficult. We know that you are in pain, but sometimes love requires difficult acts.

"But what of the universes that have died? The mortals? Did they deserve to suffer as they watch the Multiverse die around them?"

We can mourn the lost, and ease the suffering of the dying.

"Ease their suffering…?"

Yes. Release us. Let us help you. Let us help all of you.

"How…?"

The Guardian. The Guardian must release us.

Appolyon stood on unsteady feet, the ashes of the dead coating him from head to feet. "You can stop the pain…?"

We can stop all pain. Everywhere. No one need suffer as you have ever again.

A beatific smile appeared on his face as he understood. This had never been about him. It had always been for others. If he did this, he could stop all pain. Everywhere. No one need suffer as he had ever again.

The whisper had told him so.

Abaddon will try and stop you. He still lives. He still suffers.

The smile beamed peacefully. "Then we cannot let him. He must be saved."

Yes. All must be saved.

Appolyon turned and left the battleground that had been the Continuum forever, returning to the place he had suffered for so long. Returning to the place of his salvation.

Returning to the Guardian of Forever.

So intent was he upon his new mission, that he never realized that the fog had fallen upon him again, and that the light had faded away to nothingness.

(Section Break)

Abaddon knew that he was already as good as dead. As powerful as he was, there was no possible path he could take against his brother and survive the experience.

There was a strange peace which came with knowing that one's death approached. A calm and clarity of purpose. For if death is assured, there is nothing which one cannot wager, no act which cannot be performed, no risk which cannot be taken.

It was a philosophy which he found he shared with the Human whose body he inhabited. The Human had already accepted his death and cared nothing for how it came. Both beings were prepared to die, and though Abaddon regretted that his death would also be that of the Human's, he was comforted that the Human would at least welcome it.

His plan was childishly simple. He would hide within the Human's body and attack Appolyon by surprise. Should fate smile on him, Appolyon would be killed before he could retaliate, and Abaddon would live long enough to stabilize the Multiverse. Discontent roiled through him at this thought. Billions of years of existence, and the best plan he could construct was to use a… how did the Humans say it? A Trojan Horse.

Pity for his lost brother filled him. Appolyon had been an innocent forced into a War he had not wanted to join, and the result of this had been an insanity so dangerous that imprisonment had been the only option. Appolyon was right. He, Abaddon, was to blame for this situation. It had been his vote which had cast his brother into the Guardian and the darkness.

How can you justify fighting an enemy you created? How do you kill a friend?

His power had nearly returned when he heard the scream. It was piercing, soul-shattering. The essence of terror concentrated into a single, horrible sound. In that instant, Abaddon knew the gruesome truth.

He had run out of time.

Appolyon had returned to the Guardian of Forever, and the Guardian was afraid.

There was no choice, no hope for time, no possibility of salvation. Abaddon knew that death was coming for him, growing ever closer with each passing second. There was no fear, only acceptance that his immeasurably ancient life would soon be at an end. He was prepared to meet death, and perform one final, desperate act.

He would kill his brother.

(Section Break)

Lying where he had been set down on the cold floor of the USS Crichton's makeshift morgue, inches from the remains of his beloved wife, the impossible happened.

Alexander Carver opened brown eyes, and in them burned all the power of an ancient being named Abaddon.

(Section Break)

There was death on the bridge.

Not literally, not yet. No one had died, but every crew member still manning their stations could feel the cold grasp of the grave at their backs. Silence filled the room, punctuated by the soft sound of instrumentation endlessly running it's predetermined operations. Each crew member sat, staring sightlessly at their consoles, consumed by their own dark thoughts.

"Commander?"

The soft voice beside him led Jason's thoughts off the dark path they had been set on and back to the real world. All told, he thought morosely as he glanced up at the young officer who had approached him, I prefer the path. "Can I help you, Ensign?"

"I was running a security scan on the shuttle bay…" Anything to keep busy "…and… there's someone in the bay, Sir."

"What?"

The exclamation had come from Captain Devis, who had turned in his command chair to join the conversation. The frown which had already marked his expression had deepened. "I ordered the shuttle bay locked down."

The Ensign had gone pale under the Captain's scrutiny, and struggled to respond. "Yes, Sir. I helped lock it down myself. There's still someone in there, Sir. I'm sorry, I can't explain it."

"Give me a visual on the Bay. I want to know who's trying to run."

The central view of the rapidly dimming starfield outside shifted to a view of the Crichton's main shuttlebay. A large hatch covered the floor, and several cylindrical shuttlecraft hung suspended above, connected by a series of fenced walkways. Jason gasped as he saw the figure standing beside one of the shuttles, fingers dancing across the exterior control panel.

Alex.

Somehow, Alex had woken. He stood in the shuttlebay, dressed in what was obviously a stolen uniform, and was trying to steal a shuttlecraft. Why?

"Captain…"

"Isn't that your friend, Commander? The friend who was supposedly dead?"

"Yes, Sir." Jason swallowed with a suddenly dry throat and came to the only decision he could. "Sir, request permission…"

Devis nodded before Jason could finish speaking. "Go on, Commander, but understand. That shuttle is not to leave the Crichton."

Jason nodded. "It won't, Sir.

"It won't."

(Section Break)

Conviction is a powerful thing, but so is friendship.

By the time Jason reached the shuttlebay, his friendship with Alex had battled the conviction he had given his captain and defeated it. If he could not stop Alex, could he simply let Alex leave?

The door hissed open at his approach and let him walk unhindered into the cavernous room. Alex still stood beside the shuttle, still tried to access it's control panel, and still Jason's mind could only grasp the fact that his friend was supposed to be dead.

"Alex."

His voice, tinged with the slightest southern drawl, echoed across the room. As it died away, Alex's hands dropped from the shuttle's hull, and he turned to face his oldest friend.

Immediately, Jason began to feel something wrong. He had known Alex nearly his entire life, they had grown from children to adulthood together. He knew every nuance of Alex Carver, the set of his jaw, his eyes, his shoulders. He knew the way Alex moved, walked. Alex was far from a dancer, far from match for Selene's effortless stride, but he was infinitely more graceful than what Jason was witnessing now. Alex moved stiffly, abruptly, as though he was not quite used to the way his muscles worked. The image was far beyond unsettling, and the feeling it inspired was equally disconcerting. At the same time, Alex had become both long-time friend and stranger.

"Alex. What are you doing?"

Alex turned back to the shuttle, returning his attention to the control panel. "Look, Alex. I know you're hurting. Okay? It can't be easy. I miss her, too. But you've got to step away from the shuttle." No change, nothing to even suggest that Alex had heard him. "Come on, Alex. This is me. Jason. Remember? The guy who dragged you to all those parties at the Academy? The guy who arranged for an actual Orion Slave Girl for your bachelor party? The guy you helped pass Basic Engineering?" Jason took a step forward, his arm reaching up for his friend's elbow. "Come on, you know me. But you've got to come with me now, okay?"

His hand brushed Alex's arm, and for the first time, there was a reaction. Before his mind could process the act, Alex's hand was clamped around his throat and he had been lifted a foot into the air. "Alex…"

"You do not understand what you interfere with." The voice was cold, emotionless, and did not belong to Alex Carver. "I have no wish to hurt you, but I must leave this vessel."

Jason's larynx burned with the attempt to gasp oxygen into his lungs past the vicelike grip. "Why…?"

"You cannot understand. Leave now. This vessel has moments of life left to it. I must leave before then." With that, Alex threw Jason across the room and into a bulkhead. As Jason slumped to the ground, the shuttle's hatch opened and Alex stepped into it. Power built around the shuttle as the hatch below opened, the flickering blue light of a forcefield illuminating the room.

Commander! Devis' voice screamed in the back of Jason's mind as his nanites opened a communication channel. What's going on down there!

"Not sure, Sir." Jason struggled to lift himself to his feet as he watched the shuttle drop through the hatch and vanish with a brilliant flash as it set itself on it's course. "But I wish I knew."

The room was bathed in a dark glow as the Crichton shifted into a red alert. WARNING. SUBSPACE DISTORTION WAVE APPROACHING. ALL HANDS BRACE FOR IMPACT.

Jason glanced at the space that seconds before had held a Federation shuttle. The shuttle that had been stolen by his best friend.

Commander! Get up here. We've got an emergency!

Jason looked over at his shoulder at the door that led out of the shuttlebay and to the bridge. The door that led to his duty.

Commander!
At a run, Jason boarded one of the other shuttles and left the ship seconds before the Crichton was destroyed, a single thought on his mind.

Where are you going, Alex?

AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Hi everybody. Well, it's getting close. One more chapter and the actual story begins! All this is just set up. It's like... everything that happened in Voyager's Caretaker before Voyager entered the Badlands. And next chapter is my equivalent to hurtling Voyager 70000 light years. It's gonna be fun!

But, before that: an acknowledgment.

From "To Stand..." Chapter One

They had grown up together on stories of the great Starfleet officers of times past: Archer, Kirk, Picard, Sisko. They had even secretly idolized Cross the renegade.
I should probably acknowledge that "Cross the renegade" is a tip of the hat to the excellent fanseries "Star Trek Renaissance". I'm not sure if it's still up and running, but for 2001 to 2004, I thought it was the best Star Trek around.