Chapter 7 - The Captain's Future
Q introduces himself and gives the Captain a glimpse into the future.
NOTE: This is the chapter that started it all! I admit though, I may have jumped the shark… This is also where my fanfic got its original name, Declaration, but I've since changed it to help it better stand out among the more smuttier Star Trek titles. ;)
UPDATE 1.3.18: I've added some changes to chapter 3 and 5. The plot remains the same, but I've added an injury and special ability to Kuade that will come up later. Look for "Update 1.3.18" towards the bottom of the pages.
TIME: The following happens during the episode Lethe.
Lorca reaches out behind his back for one of the various weapons displayed around his lab. His grasps a 22nd-century pistol rifle off a shelf and whips it around at this 'Q' person.
"Bring my crew back to normal and get the hell off my ship!" he barks through gritted teeth as the antique weapon sings in a high pitched squeal, charging its phaser.
"Oh, Captain!" the Q formerly known as Kuade plays coy, "You'd make a Tellarite blush with your stubbornness. I should have you know, that weapon will have no effect on me."
"We'll see about that," Lorca steps forward, but his foot slips through the floor and he falls out of the ship into the empty blackness of space. He drops his pistol and grabs for the ledge of the outer saucer of his ship. Impossibly, his feet not only dangle downwards in space, but they dangle in the wrong direction towards the top of the ship. Lorca takes a moment to calculate all of this and swings his leg over the ledge, rises to his feet and pants in the fresh air despite being in a vacuum.
"Catch your breath?" Q teases while standing on the inner saucer ring. His voice rings loud and clear despite standing several yards away. Lorca ignores him and ganders at the bluish star streaks above his head. Amazingly, the Discovery stands suspended in time during mid-warp. If he squints his eyes, the small green blemishes of Klingon Fighter vessels can be seen on the black sheet of space.
"I hate introductions," Q complains while the Captain marvels at the sights around him, "They always take so long... but," he wiggles his fingers, "It does give me a chance to stretch a bit," he snaps his fingers, dissolving Lorca into a beam of light and transporting him to the underbelly of the ship. Q snaps again and again and again causing the Captain to beam across to various spots around the hull of the ship like a broken Christmas light.
Eventually, he joins Q on the inner saucer ring, catching himself before he tumbles off the side, "H-how are you doing this? Do you have a mini spore-drive in your pocket?"
"Pfft! You need to broaden your horizons beyond the third-dimension if you have any hope of winning this war, Captain," the bizarre man replies with big scornful eyes.
"What are you?"
"A being beyond your nearsighted view of the world, and you sir? You're nothing more than my chess piece," a shiver runs down Lorca's back when he hears these words. Q raises his fingers, "Now. Pay attention," he snaps once more. The Discovery disappears beneath their feet and is replaced with the golden stained glass windows of an ornate, space monolith. The position of the stars denote the two men have traveled across two sectors into enemy territory, "Do you know what we stand upon?" Q asks gesturing to the ancient metal below.
Lorca looks around and makes note of metallic pods lining the outside of the enormous vessel, "It's the Sarcophagus. Klingon Ship of the Dead."
"Quite garish don't you think?" Q grimaces and traipses between the various nodules, "Someone has gone and decorated this nacelle with the caskets of fallen warriors."
"Yes," Lorca carefully follows his kidnapper, maintaining a good distance of separation, "I've been briefed on that matter."
"Technically, this was a Hur'q vessel, liberated off Qo'nos during the 14th century. Were you briefed on that?" Q mocks, "Thankfully, its former master found a way to turn this eyesore invisible. Quite the pair on that T'kuvma fellow. You'd have to have a lot of gall to call yourself a messiah, but he was formidable. His cloaking device bested even me during my days as a Marquida, and Captain," he stops and turns to Lorca, "The way you blew your gasket at my friend proves to me that you stand no chance of winning this war. In fact, I know you don't. I've seen it. You lose!"
"Oh, are you from the future?" Lorca remains unimpressed with Q's show.
"I'm an omnipotent being outside the confines of the space-time continuum. I've seen every possible future this timeline has to offer and one ugly species keep rearing its boney, scaphocephalic head," dramatic pause, "KLINGONS!"
"I'm sorry?" the Captain grows irritated.
"Klingons, Captain!" another finger snap and the Sarcophagus slips away, landing the two on Andoria, then Romulan, Vulcan, and Earth. Each planet lays engulfed in flames and ruins, dwarfed by the looming death shadow of the Sarcophagus as it hovers in orbit annihilating the surface, "Klingons in every foreseeable future! In every corner of the galaxy! Entire cultures and planets completely obliterated and rebuilt under Khaless flag. I've never seen anything like it in all my millenias. One solitary race dominating every possible universal outcome. I have yet to find a single conclusion to this war in which they have not effectively infected and destroyed every inch of this galaxy. An anomaly of such rarity and such catastrophic consequence that I could not pass up the chance to correct it," Q returns Lorca back to the Discovery saucer, "That is why I need you, Captain. You play a pivotal role in my plan to right this error, but only if you keep your wits about you!"
Lorca folds his arm and looks at Q dully, "I need to get back to the bridge."
"Forget the bridge! Don't you understand what I'm telling you? You and your crew have no chance of surviving this war. Zero. Zilch. 'Just the facts, cap!' There's not a single possibility in this timeline in which you and your precious ship survive the next coming months. I am offering you your very life and the very future of your culture!"
"That's very generous of you... Q, but I don't have time for prophetic nonsense from a nefarious alien in cahoots with a possible Klingon spy."
"I am not a prophet," Q says offended, "I am a GOD!" he bellows his title and it echoes off the Discovery's shell, causing the metal to quake and groan in fear. Feeling his ship quiver against his heels reminds Lorca that he stands at the mercy of this mad creature.
"I get it," Q backs off, putting his hands up apologetically, "You have skin in the game. I don't. Why should I care about any of this?"
"Exactly," the Captain says breathlessly.
"Well, Captain. It's simple. I hate Klingons! Well... Maybe not as much as you, but I dislike them vehemently. I've never met a more dull and stalwart species in all my centuries. They're so one-dimensional. So predictable! Just 'honor honor honor' and 'kill kill kill!' I cannot imagine spending another billenium with only them to keep me company. I would rather burn your galaxy a thousand times over before I allow the Klingon Galactic Empire take over and force me to die of boredom."
"You're insane."
"See!" Q seems almost excited by the response, "Had you been a Klingon, you would have lobbed my head off just now. It wouldn't have worked, but that wouldn't stop a Klingon. But you, there's a hint of understanding in your eyes. I've only just recently become personally familiar with your species, but color me intrigued! You humans are just so damned irrational! So emotional! You do things that are so illogical like trash your home planet and then start a billion dollar industry profiting off the cleanup. It's hilarious and a far more entertaining way to end this universe!"
Lorca answers his cackling abductor with cold silence.
"Fine! You need better convincing. You want to be pulled at the heartstrings a bit, eh? You wanna see the real stakes, hm? Well, prepare yourself for spoilers!"
"Spoilers?"
A bright light washes over the Discovery and Lorca instinctively covers his eyes, but they do not burn. Once the spots in his vision clear, he finds himself standing in a pristine ready room inside a palace on Earth. A midday, gentle breeze flutters through the open windows, causing silk curtains to dance like like apparitions. The warm heat from the sun and the lush landscaping outside indicate that this palace stands erected at the Federation Capital in San Francisco. It's been years since Lorca visited this place and he must admit to himself, he has not stood in such a pleasant setting in years.
"Where are we?" he asks.
"Earth," Q answers with a gentle expression on his face, "The future. Your future. Or a possible future," he no longer wears his Lieutenant uniform, but instead, dawns a long maroon and black velvet robe.
"My future. Just more parlor tricks and illusions."
"Oh, don't insult me so, Admiral."
"Admiral!?" Lorca scoffs.
The eccentric alien motions to a full-length mirror in the corner. Lorca goes to it and catches his reflection. For a split second, he cannot recognize the face staring back at him. His once vibrant blue eyes now look a little duller and his crows feet look deeper. He wears a freshly pressed white admiral's ceremonial uniform and his graying bangs lay slick to the slide with gel. If he had to guess, based on how much his already old face has aged, he would place the current date at about ten years in the future.
Q's smug mug joins Lorca's in the mirror, "What do you think? Isn't this what you've always wanted?" he asks already knowing the answer.
"Like I said. Tricks. I'll never be an admiral. Not after the Buran."
"Oh, ye of so little faith. Your wife can pull a string or two."
"My wife?" Lorca goffs loudly.
"Gabe?" a feminine voice calls from the other room and the Captain's heart nearly leaps out his throat.
Q takes pleasure in his confusion, "You know. I've met a lot of Starfleet Captains in my time. They all have fascinating love lives. I've met hedonist Captains who would sleep with anything boarding on feminine. I've met poetic Captains that would rival that of Shakespeare, but I've never met such a stick in the mud romantic like you. I honestly don't know what she sees in you."
"Who?" Lorca asks in wonderment as he fixes his eye towards the other room. The silhouette of a woman dances against the opposing wall while she tussles with long locks of hair, "Kat?"
Q chuckles, "Oh no, no. Think... older."
Lorca grimaces, reminding myself that it's still just an illusion.
"Admiral Lorca?" comes a harsh sounding voice. The men turn towards the main door and meet the smiling face of an adolescent Klingon boy.
"Get down!" Lorca jumps into action and shoves Q out of the way while he looks for a phaser.
"Woah! Woah! Admiral!" the Klingon boy holds out his hand, pleading in perfect English. His submissive stance and a terrified face throw Lorca for a loop.
"Oh, shoot!" Q curses and walks up to the boy, "I can be such a Forgetful Franny!" he half laughs and then drops his expression to introduce, "Lorca. This is your son, Krell."
"WHAT?"
"Adopted, obviously."
"Why is he being this way? What's going on?" the Klingon boy complains.
"It's alright. Everything is fine. He's just got some pre-speech jitters, that's all," Q tries to console.
"Of all the days to be nervous!" Krell bounces on his heels in panic, "He's going to blow everything!" to Lorca's surprise, the boy speaks perfect English with hardly a hint of a Klingonese staccato.
"He's not going to blow anything! We have worked too hard for this," Q turns to Lorca, "You have your speech ready, yes?"
"Speech?"
"The hell is going on in here?" a cynical voice cuts through the commotion, and the three bickering men fall silent. A woman in an intricate floor length gown steps into the main room. She shines from hundreds of jewels, hand embroidered into the golden silk of her dress with a bodice mimicking the jagged scales of Klingon armor. The light of the midday sun catches the stones on her dress and a pit forms in Lorca's stomach.
"Bex?" he chokes in shock.
She fiddles with an earring and frowns at him when she hears her surname, "Lorca?" she replies playfully before confidently stepping up and planting a firm kiss on his lips. Second nature tells him to pull away, but the warmth of her mouth and the smell of her perfume render him momentarily stunned.
She's beautiful! This can't be the same dour-faced Bex back on my ship.
"Do you mind?" she turns to expose the full length of her bare back, causing the surly Captain to blush. She scoffs and rolls her eyes, "Kuade, do you mind?"
"Oh! Yes. Let me get that for you!" he amicably accepts the task of zipping up her top and gifts the Captain a devilish grin.
[You look beautiful!] The Klingon boy gushes in his native tongue.
What? I understood that! Lorca stammers back a little.
"Are we all ready? Good. We're already behind schedule!" Q beckons, "Come along, Admiral. We need you."
"W-wait! What's happening?"
"What's happening!?" Q huffs, "Ugh! It's Declaration day!"
The four quickly walk down an outdoor, covered corridor to the main colosseum reserved for interplanetary lectures. Lorca staggers several feet behind and drinks in his surroundings. White marble columns tower overhead with intricate carvings denoting the various cultures and races within the Federation of Planets. Lavish gardens with native and alien plant and insect life border the walkway. Starfleet Officers stand guard along the path to the main auditorium doors and salute as the procession passes. Not every guard wears Starfleet blue. Some carry loyalties to the Klingon Empire and wear coats of gold scales and bone spikes.
"What is that Klingon soldier doing in the capital?" he mutters, "What the hell is going on? Are we under siege? Have the Klingons taken over?"
Bex exhales loudly and stiffens her shoulders. She pulls Locra to the side and takes his hands into hers, "You're making me nervous," she whispers in a voice so quiet he can barely hear, "Whatever has got into your head... whatever set you off, you need to push through it," she encourages.
Lorca's chest tightens, This can't just be an illusion. It's too vivid, too real, he determines as the sweet smell of her breath mixes with the fragrance of her perfume and the scent of pollinating Vulcan palm trees. The heat of the California sun warms that back of his neck and sweat forms on his brow, No hologram technology is this advanced.
Bex detects his hesitation and squeezes his hand, "I need you right now," and displays a rare glimpse of vulnerability in her eyes. How out of character for the cocksure cadet.
The way she cups his hands to her breasts reveals an intimate relationship he knows nothing about. He feels obligated, however, to at least reassure her, "I-it's okay," he smiles weakly, gently caressing the side of her fingers with his thumb, "I'm here," the words slip out so easily despite his guarded feelings about this situation, but she seems happy with the response. The cortege recommences when Bex wraps her arm around his elbow and weaves her fingers with his. He goes along with the charade, worried what he will find at the end of the hall, but takes comfort in knowing he will at least die with a beautiful woman on his arm.
When they approach the main entrance to the colosseum, Lorca not only hears but feels a loud thunder on the other side of a pair of massive wooden doors. The bellowing of music and chanting cause the dense marble to vibrate with vigor and puts the veteran soldier on edge. With warm smiles, Q and the Klingon boy approach the doors and open them, unleashing the raw power of a half million member chorus. Lorca squeezes his fingers tightly around Bex's hand as they step into the packed colosseum. He feels the weight of the audience; their energy and voices. He spots hundreds of races, many unknown to him, all shouting his name and praise for some accomplishment he has yet to achieve.
He steadily steps forward onto the main stage and the crowd goes hush as Q gives the introduction, "Thank you! Thank you all! I address not only the humans in the audience, nor just the Klingons or the Vulcans or the Romulans or the Andorians. I address the future of our world," Q clears his throat and provides his own translation, [Ladies and gentlemen and every facet in between!]
Lorca's jaw drops, He's speaking Klingon!
[To every Klingon Warrior and Federation Soldier and to every hero left undiscovered. This is the day that we are no longer enemies, no longer warrior against soldier; Human against Klingon. We are united!]
He's speaking Klingonese and I can understand every word! Lorca's knees grow weak and he leans on Bex for support.
[I introduce to you, the illustrious spearheads of this revolutionary and world changing treaty... Ambassador and Admiral Lorca!]
The crowd erupts into a roaring applause causing Lorca's ears to go numb in reflex. Bex turns and offers the most loving and encouraging smile a woman has ever given him. She motions for him to step up to the podium, unweaving her fingers from his cold, clammy hand.
"Go!" she says more irritated when he lingers. The newly ordained Admiral cautiously steps up to the front of the stage to address the crowd.
"Your speech, Admiral," Q requests with a satisfied grin.
No words come to Lorca's mind. The only thing that leaves his body is the cold drops of sweat while his stomach turns with stage fright. The 500,000 some odd faces spin around his head, but he can make out members of the Discovery crew as they stand alongside Vulcan ambassadors and Klingon generals. Blood pounds in his ears, drowning out the loud concerned murmuring of the crowd. The petrified human looks back at Bex and Krell who both take notice of his fallen composure.
"It's all on your shoulders," despite his loss of hearing, Q's voice rings loudly in his ears, "Now you see what is truly at stake with this war. This is your future, the only future in which you have a future," Lorca looks up at Q who snarls, "So don't blow it!" and snaps his fingers, returning Lorca back to the cold, silent laboratory of the Discovery.