STARDATE 48316.8: The Day of Voyager's Arrival in the Delta Quadrant
Philip Keegan smeared gel from his eyes and opened them. Bright white attacked him. He winced, rolled onto his side and shoved himself onto one elbow. He lay naked on a metal floor in a large room with white walls. Behind him stood a glass cylinder, open and dripping the gel. Other cylinders lined the walls sized from one small enough for a cat to one that held a humped back whale. All the cylinders were occupied with the preserved remains of various species. Except the whale, he recognized none of them.
Phil pushed himself to his knees and staggered down again. The dizziness passed, and his strength began to return. He stood and fell. He stood again and fell against the wall. When the nausea stopped, he pushed himself off the wall and stood and waited and breathed until standing did not bother him. He walked along the wall until he reached a door. He found it locked. And the next. And along the long wall, door after door, until the third from the last opened. He found a shower that didn't use water in the room beyond, which he used, and a robe, which he put on. He saw a door on the other side of the room and walked to it. When he reached it, a man's voice spoke to him.
"I'm sorry," the voice said. "I didn't want to hurt them. I'm glad I could let you live."
The door opened to a curved corridor. Windows, widely set along one wall, showed him black space and stars and nothing else. He touched a window as if trying to touch the clean darkness of space itself. He turned down the corridor. After some minutes of walking, he saw a flash through the windows. He looked out and saw a vessel, grey and battered and shaped like an airplane. It flew past, followed by a much larger vessel. If the windows were any clue, the second vessel was the size of a battleship, and it moved with the speed and maneuverability of the best fighters he'd seen. In those windows, he thought he saw humans. The writing on the side of the ship read "U.S.S. Voyager". It had a long nose section and was shaped like an inverted spoon attached to a distorted cylinder. Two box shaped things hung off the cylinder on pylons. Philip Keegan thought it was the ugliest design for whatever it was he could imagine. A yellow-orange particle beam fired from Voyager's nose and struck the smaller craft. A force field around the smaller craft blocked the beam, and it flew out of sight. Voyager followed.
Phil started to run along the corridor, stopped himself when more nausea hit, then walked at a fast pace until he reached a new door. The door opened to a room with more doors. The doors opened to rooms or corridors with more doors and rooms and so on until he heard voices. He opened that door and found many beings, mostly human, in a large room. All wore long white robes.
"Did you find anything?" someone called out to him.
"No," Phil said.
Something else, masculine but not human, asked him a question. "Did you think that was going to get you anywhere?" it said angrily.
"No," Phil replied. "But it gave me something to do."
"I'll never understand humans," it said.
The one who called out to him, a man who sounded familiar with command, spoke again. "What you understand doesn't matter." He turned to Phil. "You're sure you didn't find anything useful? A comm, a transporter, some equipment we could use? Do you know where we are?"
"A space station. I found a corridor with windows." Phil considered for a moment. "I saw Voyager fly past."
"That's something, at least."
"I'm not going back with the Federation," the non-human said.
"Fine. Stay here," the man said. "The rest of us want to go home."
They started moving. Phil's story seemed to inspire them to action. He stayed in the back, listening to them, watching them. He could understand the non-humans, though he could tell they weren't speaking any language he knew. They were two factions, both of mixed species, one called Federation, one called Maquis, and they hated each other. Each group believed he was part of the other side, but they were too busy and resentful to compare notes. He could guess he had been in suspended animation. Centuries may have passed. He looked close at the humans, but they did not show any eugenic traits. Most displayed some physical training, but none of them could move the way he did. After an hour of wandering, a group of men and women in yellow and black uniforms found them. They carried rifles.
One of the women in uniform tapped a badge on her chest. "Voyager, Munro here," she said. "We've found another group."
"We have you," the badge said back. "Ready to beam you out."
The people around Phil began to separate themselves into groups of six. They stood in circles an arm's length from the next in the group. Some of the Maquis faction protested, but their leaders shouted them to silence. Phil stepped into a random group, filling up a sixth spot. He watched as blue light and electricity swallowed one group, consuming them completely and fading to nothing. Then another group. Then two at a time. Then Phil felt static along his skin, heard a high pitched humming and smelled ozone. The world around him disappeared into liquid electricity. When it faded, he stood on a raised platform in a much darker room. The group he had traveled with rushed off the platform and he followed. More people in uniform guided him to a large room. It looked like storage and was set up like an Evac unit. A man aimed a calculator at him, tapped it a couple of times, then tapped a panel above a small recess in the wall. Blue light filled the recess and became clothing. The man handed him the clothing and led him to a curtain to change. Phil put on a gold jumpsuit, a black shirt and black boots. They all fit perfectly, better than anything he'd ever worn.
"What's your name?" something not human said to him when he stepped out. It had a face like a wild boar.
"Philip Keegan," he said.
"Phil, my name's Retut. Do you have any special skills?"
"No," he said.
"Good, then you're in maintenance. Come with me." Retut led him out of the room and down the hall. He walked into another room filled with debris that some people were working on. "Here," Retut said. "Help clean this up. Are you good with tools?"
"No," Phil said. "But I learn quickly."
"I'll get you some textbooks later." He walked out.
Phil walked among people with blank eyes, bruised skin and torn uniforms. He followed their lead, never lifting more than the other humans. They worked for hours, in silence, the time broken by two meals and eventual success.
When they finished, one of the women leaned against a wall and said, "The Delta Quadrant. I don't believe it."
"That's the military for you," Phil said.
"What?" she replied.
"You know," he said and found only confusion. "It was just a joke."
She sighed. "I know it was a joke. It was inappropriate. Random negative commentary won't help the situation. If you have a problem with command, tell them not us."
"Sorry," he said. "I guess I was raised differently."
They sat against the walls without speaking until Retut returned.
"Good job," he said. "Go back to your rooms and get cleaned up. Get some sleep. We'll start on Cargo Room Two tomorrow," He turned to one of the workers. "How'd he do?" he said, pointing at Phil.
"He didn't give us any trouble," the worker said.
"Good." He looked at Phil. "Come with me. I've found you a room. The crew is below complement, so you get it all to yourself. It's a little out of shape, so you'll have to fix it up."
"Hey, what's another couple of hours work?" he said.
"Good attitude. You'll do well here."
Retut took him through damaged corridors and down two levels, stopping at a door.
"Here you go," he said. "The replicators on this deck are off-line, so try not to get hungry. See you tomorrow."
The damage in the room surpassed expectations. Phil decided to leave it until later. It wasn't much worse than a college dorm in any case. It had a bed made from two cots, a couple of chairs, a bathroom, a shower, a recess in the wall he took to be the replicator and something like a desk with a screen above it. He sat down in front of the screen and looked around it.
"How does this work?" he said.
"Please restate question," the panel answered.
Oh, of course. "Show me... show me any historical information you have on... Khan Noonian Singh."
The screen displayed text: Khan Noonian Singh, considered foremost among the eugenics. Undisputed ruler of one fourth of the planet Earth at the height of his power. He escaped justice at the end of the Eugenics War by placing himself and eighty-three other eugenics in cryo-stasis aboard a DY-100 series planetary transport. He was eventually—
"Stop," Phil said. "Display a full historical record of the Eugenics War."
As he read, he could hear Khan's voice and the voices of the other eugenics giving their orders. He read the background of the war, then an overview of the conflict, then the text displayed the details of the war. He stopped on one paragraph. He reread it four times. He fell against the desk reading it. He finally closed his eyes to it, crushing them shut, trying to force the words from his eidetic memory.
"You bastard," he whispered.
"Please restate request."
"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" he screamed and punched his fist through the panel.
STARDATE 55222.97: Second Day of the Trial
"Thank you, Lieutenant Keegan," Commander Ponomarev said.
"The prosecution may challenge the account," Admiral Chauhan said.
"The prosecution is satisfied with Mister Keegan's description of how he arrived on Voyager. We have depositions from the crewmembers mentioned that support his statements."
"So noted," the admiral said. "We will hear opening arguments."
Philip Keegan stood and walked to the center of the room. "Three hundred years ago, I stood at the threshold of one of the darkest times in human history. A war, caused by my own people, devastated the planet. That devastation struck the world with a despair that lasted until Zephram Cochrane led mankind into space some seventy years later. The legacy of my superior race is sorrow and pain. I can understand, more than anyone in this room, why we are hated and feared. I cannot throw myself before the mercy of this court. I cannot beg your forgiveness, but I can offer my remorse. I can offer my penance. I committed no crime at the level of Khan, but I am all that is left to bear his guilt. I could be imprisoned or abandoned on a planet, and that may satisfy some, but I have chosen redemption. I will not be a victim of my own perfection. I will surrender my life and my destiny to the people of the Federation and to Starfleet. I ask to serve where Khan would demand to lead. My crimes, all of them, were committed to give me the chance to undo some of Khan's transgressions. I offer my guilt for a greater good, and I offer my service to Starfleet."
When Keegan sat down, the prosecutor stood. Commander Simone Brown was a tall, attractive woman of about forty. She smiled before she spoke.
"Redemption and remorse are wonderful goals, but those goals are what prison is for. No, Philip Keegan did not commit the acts attributed to Khan Noonian Singh. No, he was not a part of the Eugenics War. No, he did not harm the people of the Enterprise or the Reliant or Regula One. And he is not charged with those offenses. He is charged with lying to his superior officers on multiple occasions for personal gain. He is charged with mutiny in taking control of the starship Voyager, a crime if his time in control of Voyager were two years or only two hours. He is charged with insubordination and he is charged with violating a developing sentient, the ship's doctor, for his own purposes. And, he committed these acts out of arrogance. He knew if he were exposed, he would be removed from his position. He decided to supersede the regulations of Starfleet, an organization he promises to serve, and he placed his own ideals above the clear dictates of the founders of Federation law. The Federation and Starfleet were built upon the ideal that the greater good is the few suffering for the many. No one who places himself above that ideal should be a Starfleet officer."
Commander Brown returned to her seat.
"Thank you," the Vulcan admiral said. "We will have a short recess while we consider your statements, then the defense may call its first witness."
Keegan stood. "With all due respect, Admiral, my witness list is incomplete. Four of my key witnesses have yet to return to Earth or make sub-space contact."
"Which witnesses are those?" Admiral T'Lara asked.
"Commander Data, Commander Julian Bashir, Captain Montgomery Scott and Ambassador Spock. In particular, records show Doctor Bashir was sent on a mission to the Gamma Quadrant the day after I filed my formal request for a hearing. He has not yet returned."
Admiral Chauhan scowled at the prosecutor. "I will see to it personally that Doctor Bashir returns. You understand, however, that recalling Ambassador Spock will be much more difficult. I hope he is not vital to your case."
"I hope that as well," Keegan said.
"Do you have other witnesses prepared?" Admiral Chauhan asked.
"Yes, sir, I do."
"Then we will hear from them. This court is in recess for fifteen minutes."
In the holding cell, Commander Ponomarev watched her client read from a PADD. He read whole pages at a time, tapping the advance button like a metronome. She leaned against a wall well away from him.
"I take it that wasn't it," she said.
He stopped but did not look up. "No," he replied.
"Why not use it? Tell them and be done with it. You said it would exonerate you."
"No," he said. "I never said that. It might convince them to keep me around."
"Why waste the time for the trial? Why give the prosecution that chance?"
He looked at her. "I thought you would know that."
"I know what you told Simone," she said. "But there's always more with you."
"Did I ever tell you about my grandfather?"
"You mentioned him a few times."
"He was the most amazing man I ever knew." Phil sighed. "He taught me a difficult lesson once. I want to prove I can learn from it." He sighed again, more painfully this time. "I want to know I can do this without his help."
"That doesn't make any sense," Anzhelika said.
"I know. I'm sorry." He smiled at her. He seemed so human when he did that.
A guard opened the door. "We are ready for you," he said.
"The game's afoot," Anzhelika said. Her client smiled at her again and followed her out the door.
STARDATE 54691.55: Six Months Before the Trial
"Hello, Mister Eugenic," Neelix said, holding out a plate of food.
"Don't call me that," Keegan replied.
"I call Mister Tuvok 'Mister Vulcan'," he said.
Keegan looked at the guards. "There's a difference. You need to ask someone about it."
Neelix put the plate down on Keegan's cot. "I'll do that," he said.
"That's enough, Neelix," one of the guards said.
"Yes, Ma'am. Lieutenant, I'll see you at lunch."
Phil finished the meal thinking Neelix should stop trying to cheer him up by experimenting with the food. He set the plate down, expecting a long day of waiting, when Captain Janeway walked in.
"Stand outside," she told the guards. "You're getting what you want," she said when they were gone.
He didn't react.
She continued, "Starfleet will not conduct a trial with the prosecutor, the defense and the accused sixty thousand lightyears from the court. You will be granted a temporary reprieve. Upon our return to the Alpha Quadrant, the charges will be re-filed. Until then, you will retain your current rank of lieutenant, junior grade."
"Thank you, Captain."
"Do you really think you fooled anyone?" she asked.
"I didn't need to fool them, so long as I got that result."
"So you get to wear that uniform for how long? Fifty years if things go poorly. You could retire with honor."
He shrugged. "I won't retire in fifty years."
"And why is that?"
"I have a three-hundred-year lifespan."
"What?" she said. "Why?"
"Something my grandfather wanted. The genetic engineers implemented life extension in the eighth batch. One hundred and fifty years for them, and two hundred for the ninth."
She shook her head. "Why didn't they build an eleventh batch?"
"They planned on it. They were going to wait ten years from the end of my batch to see how the first group did."
"What happened?" she asked.
His eyes drifted off. "Something bad," he said.
"Well," she said. "I'm afraid you'll have to stay in the brig a little longer. The crew is not happy with you, or some of the information you provided."
Twenty-eight papers credited to a respected scientist of the late twenty-first century were proven to be identical in style to the Unclaimed Thesis and the three "Anonymous Einsteins" Keegan took for his own. Two of the Einstein papers were published before the scientist was born.
"I read his autobiography when I was at the Academy," she told him. "I remember thinking his writing style was so different in his papers. I thought it was a part of genius, the mind shifting from one mode to another like a split personality." She sighed. "How many others are you going to reveal?"
"All of them. My people deserve recognition for their benefits to mankind as much as for their crimes against them. I would provide this information whatever the outcome of the trial. It is not a threat to secure a beneficial verdict."
She examined the ground for inspiration. "Protocol whitewash; it did its job, I'll say that. We can't find any of your commands left in the computer. Why did you install those commands anyway? When did you think it would be necessary for a good Starfleet officer to gain complete control of the ship?"
"A few years ago," he said. "After a bad experience with a girlfriend."
"Are you joking?"
"No, oddly enough. I knew I would be discovered at some point. I had to show you I wasn't Khan. I think it worked. You didn't shoot me, after all."
"You didn't give me the chance."
He laughed. "I guess we did things differently in my day than in yours. A show of power is not as well received now."
"No," she said. "But we still understand violence. Thirty people have asked the Doctor to scan their DNA to make sure they are free of contamination. Many others fear to see you expose a beloved ancestor. They want you to shut up, and they are being very vocal about it."
"'The Federation has a responsibility to the truth.' I am done with lying and silence," he said.
"'Confession is good for the soul?'" she asked.
"Yes," he said, smiling. "I need as much good in my soul as I can get. The people of the Federation and the families of those thieves will adapt. My people will be as hated as they are now, but they will be hated with a greater accuracy."
Kathryn Janeway leaned against the door frame of the cell and flicked the defensive shield. Her finger numbed from the contact. "Could you get us home?" she asked.
"They're demanding that too, aren't they? No," he said. "It's much easier hiding in the Alpha Quadrant. If I could get us home, I would have done so by now."
"The fact that this helps you—"
"Means nothing," he replied. "I avail myself of my environment, much as you do."
"Speaking of which, I am going to double your guard: two to watch you and two to protect you. I am afraid you will be in this cell until the crew forgives you."
"You could tell them I'm a better cook than Neelix."
She laughed. "For god's sake, Phil, I'm a better cook than Neelix." She went to the door and ordered the guards to return to their post. Walking away, she thought, Finally got the last word in.
Some hours later, Neelix returned with lunch. He held the tray out with shaking hands and wouldn't put it down until Keegan walked to the opposite side of the cell.
"No desert, Neelix?" Phil asked.
Neelix jumped back. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'll... I'll... I mean—"
"I was kidding, Neelix. I'm on a diet, remember?"
"Yes, Mist— Lieutenant. Enjoy the meal." He walked out quickly.
"Ahh," Keegan said to the guards. "Deep fried something. My favorite."
STARDATE 48404.9: One Month after Voyager's Arrival in the Delta Quadrant
"No, Phil, stay," Crewman Denise Reed said. "It was just getting interesting."
"We're replacing eight damaged struts tomorrow," Crewman Keegan replied. "I want to be ready for it."
Denise looked to the other people at the table for help. Three faces returned sympathy to her. "You probably had it memorized a week ago. Do you know how hard it is to find someone who's actually read Renaissance poetry that wasn't a Shakespearean sonnet? At least talk to me about Mary Wroth. Just for a minute? Please?"
"I'm very sorry, Denise, but I have a lot of reading to do. You don't want me to drop a strut on your head do you?" He shrugged innocently and walked out.
"I'd like to drop a strut on his damn head." She turned to the others. "I was being obvious, wasn't I?"
"I've never seen you more obvious," one of them said.
"Thank you. What is wrong with him?"
"I think he's insane," another one, Ensign Suder, said.
"And thank-you."
"No, I think he's genuinely insane. You'll excuse me, please." The Betazoid stood and followed Keegan. He ran to catch up and called out when he saw Phil.
"Ensign Suder, how may I help you?"
"Crewman, you have a very strange way of thinking," Suder began.
"Is this about Denise?"
"No. You have an almost Vulcan mind. You think about a tremendous amount of material simultaneously. It's very detailed, very complicated. It's a mind I envy. But, there have been flashes I've noticed a few times. Do you believe you're a eugenic?"
"What?"
Suder stepped back. "Wow. I've never found a mental shield that strong in a human before. Where did you learn how to do that?"
"I had an unusual upbringing," Phil said carefully.
"If you keep something like that up too long, you'll give yourself a headache," Suder said.
Phil nodded. "Yes, I'll keep that in mind."
"About the eugenics..."
Phil answered slowly. "I thought, if I were a eugenic, I could get us home. I guess my fantasy got a little strong."
"Yes," Suder said. "I thought it was something like that. Everyone is having trouble dealing with the situation. I know I've had my problems, but we don't need one of those psychotics to get us home. We'll get there on our own. The holodeck can run a good psych program for you. Just talk it out."
"Thank you, sir. I will do that. Excuse me please."
Phil's long legs carried him to his room at almost a run. Too excited to sit, he called out to the computer while pacing between the screen and the bathroom door.
"Computer, I need any available background material on Ensign Lon Suder." He stopped long enough to read. "What the hell is a Betazoid?" He read again. "Are you shitting me? Those nutcases were right? Holy fuck." He continued to pace. "Computer, are there any plans for telepathic shields in the database?"
"Nineteen such devices are on record."
"Display them." Swallowing a page at a time, he considered and discarded most of the designs. Finally, he tapped the screen, highlighting one device in particular. "I need complete instructions on how to implant this shield," he said.
"Warning, all telepathic shield designs are currently experimental. Use of a telepathic shield is not recommended by Starfleet."
"Duly noted. Display the requested information."
Six hours later, three versions of Philip Keegan sat in holodeck two perpendicular to each other as if at the corners of a square. As the living Keegan in the center moved, the holographic Keegans in front of him and to his right mimicked his actions. He lifted a laser scalpel and cut the skin above the ear of the hologram in front of him and felt the warmth and pressure of the cut above his own ear. He peeled back a flap of skin, an odd sensation if there was one, and inserted a universal translator. He planned to implant a translator soon anyway. He attached the device to his skull, fusing it in place with a skeletal regenerator. A thin wire slid out of the translator and dug through his soft tissue until it contacted his auditory nerve. It eased into place, and he heard a crackle. His tricorder indicated the translator was functional. He inserted a small tube into an opening in the translator. Nanobots crawled through the tube and out a series of holes at the base of the device. When a nanobot encountered his skull, it shoved its legs into the bone and locked itself into place. A new nanobot would crawl over the old, lock itself into place, and connect itself, nose to tail, with the first bot. Millions of nanobots, in twenty different streams, moved out over his skull, split into new streams, and continued. Soon, a fine web of nanobots covered his skull. He removed the tube and replaced it with an optional power upgrade. It would provide energy to the added circuitry in the translator. When the power source slid into place, Phil felt first a disorientation, then nausea, then mild pain, a headache, more nausea, and finally a fuzziness he knew would never go away. He would adapt to it. He picked up a tissue regenerator and sealed the seam in his scalp.
"Computer," he said. "End program. Delete it from memory." He picked up his supplies and walk out.