The Epilogue: Chapter Two
The Voyage Home

Malcolm Reed

There isn't much traffic, but what there is displays the usual aloof Vulcan courtesy towards strangers. A transport vehicle slows and stops, and takes me up. The driver asks nothing and I offer nothing; these days that's safest for everyone.

Passing through various towns over the next few days, I make my way to a spaceport. I have enough saved up to buy my way on a freighter. The accommodation's basic to say the least (my presence will definitely not appear on the ship's manifest), but the ship's on a return trip to Earth and will call into Jupiter Station with provisions. It's a regular run and its arrival will arouse no suspicions, and if I don't have the skills left to make my way from A to B with no-one being the wiser, then I deserve everything that will happen to me.

I've no way of finding out if anyone still remotely classifiable as 'friendly' is in charge of the station. The Vulcans would have regarded it as contrary to the terms of sanctuary to have displayed curiosity in such details, so my ignorance of what has been happening there in my absence is almost total.

I'm still pleased for the Empire that Burnell seized power. It could do a heck of a lot worse, and definitely would have done if he hadn't pipped Hernandez to the post in the nick of time. He accords Sato the appropriate respect as his Empress (well, more than we ever did, anyway) and for all that he's as ruthless as he'll have to be to hold on to the throne, he's also fair. Erika, I believe, was too much like me before I came under Trip's influence – selfish, arrogant, bloodthirsty and hedonistic – but with an even greater tendency to do cruel and monstrous things just to amuse herself. It was years after we arrived at the Vulcan sanctuary that I learned why Trip had never had the time of day for her.

(It was the nearest we ever came to falling out. Wanting to leave Black to die peacefully in his bed was one thing, but letting Hernandez get off scot-free with what she'd done? He never did explain that to my satisfaction, and I was grumpy for days afterwards.)

Burnell's rule seems to have gone along pretty well, though. He's as hard as I expected, but also as fair… possibly fairer, actually; he's instigated some excellent policies. The gradual transition from slavery seems to have been a good thing, and when T'Pol brought out a scanner and revealed the writ of manumission Austin gave her years ago, just days before the authorization that made it possible for her to arrange Trip's escape, we all celebrated for days.

Though I suppose it's a pipe dream to imagine that aliens within the Empire will ever have full rights equal to a Human, there's always hope, and though it might take decades, the slow shift away from the chattel economy is the first step. At the least, it's improved production in the agriculture and manufacturing sectors. Even the Vulcans, who are supposedly not moved by emotions – and isn't the love of freedom an emotion? – began to work with more alacrity when it was declared that they could buy their freedom by meeting a lifetime production quota, though I have to wonder what kind of quotas were set for those slaves in the sex and other services industries. Requiring their owners to set aside a portion of their earnings (deducted from the quota, naturally) against the day when they would earn manumission will prevent us from having a generation of mendicants, and ordering that the nest egg be turned over to the Empire if a slave should die before earning his or her freedom fills Imperial coffers and discourages owners from killing the slaves to usurp their rightful savings. Moreover, there have been reports of a wonderful irony in the fact that even as the industrial fat-cats are suffering a decline in stock dividends as they lose their free labour source and have to pay wages, the economy is improving because wage-earning Humans and aliens alike now have money to spend.

It's only a pity, I suppose, that T'Pol, having been the first slave freed by Emperor Burnell, was never free to enjoy her liberty as she so soon fell under the cloud of treason for rescuing Trip. Then again, Vulcans are remarkably long-lived, Burnell is impeccably fair, and the Wheel of Fortune is always turning. She may yet see the day when she can live freely and openly, if not equally to Humans, anywhere in the Empire.

The journey to the Sol system, while rather slow (the freighter isn't the speediest of ships) is completely uneventful. I spend a lot of my time asleep in the nest of sacks among the cargo, fulfilling my official designation as a stowaway of whose existence the officers and crew are completely oblivious, and now and again stealing out to appropriate food that has been 'carelessly' left available in the galley when the crew are elsewhere. This small part of the hold has life support, which is switched on for the benefit of a crate of some kind of reptiles that share my tiny space. Presumably they've been fed before transport, because nobody ever comes down to give them any food or inspect them; they're still alive, because now and again I hear small sounds of movement, but they must be hardy enough to survive the journey in these cramped conditions.

My waking hours are spent mostly reading, a pursuit I've found unexpectedly pleasurable since seeking sanctuary – I never really had time before then, but it's one of the luxuries of peace and leisure. Now and again Trip used to joke that I ought to write my autobiography, but I always told him I wouldn't want to give the reading world the horrors. Better on all counts that what I've been and done will end with me.

=/\=

The ship's propulsion systems aren't as finely tuned as those of Fortress were. The slight judder as the freighter drops out of warp and the impulse engines engage to take us through the Sol system wakes me from a light, dream-filled sleep.

I dream a lot, these days. I used to sleep so heavily I hardly ever remembered dreaming, but as I've got older, I find that I sleep more shallowly. Lately I've been dreaming about Liz more. For a long while after I lost her I didn't, and I was never sure whether it was worse to forget my loss in my sleep and then wake to the reality of it again, or to never have even the illusion that she was with me.

But now I have to do with present reality, and I can be under no illusions as to how dangerous it is. Jupiter Station is a Priority One security area, and anyone penetrating it without authorisation is liable to be shot on sight.

It'll be a few minutes yet before the ship couples up. I occupy them with tidying up my makeshift bed and walking quietly up the corridor to the nearest comm. unit, where I bring up the image from the forward viewscreen.

It's so familiar that for just a moment I feel a lump in my throat. Last time I saw that station, it was displayed in all its magnificence on the screen in Fortress, and I was coming home.

Home.

And in spite of myself, in spite of everything that's happened and all the time that's passed, I still feel as if I'm coming home. It still feels as if Trip is there, running the place with all his old masterful precision; as if Liz is there, helping Doctor Lucas in Sickbay. Even as if at some point when I get in there, I can expect to hear a welcoming 'Prook!' and look down to find Beans rubbing herself against my leg in welcome.

It's so real that for a moment I'm bewildered as the helmsman doesn't steer the ship towards the docking port that was reserved for my flagship. It's in view briefly as we manoeuvre, but it's empty, so there's no saying whether Fortress is out on duty right now or whether the man who took over from me has changed her home port. To him, this place was just a step on his upward climb; for me, it represented so many things, from the very worst to the very best.

A few moments later, the freighter docks at one of the lower saucers. This area is geared to cargo processing, and the crews will be ready to spring into action to get the goods offloaded as soon as possible. For a freighter, time is money; for the station staff, efficiency is first, last and everything in between that their boss demands of them.

... Lucifer, I still think of Trip as 'their boss'. Whoever the actual head of the station is nowadays, though, I daresay nothing significant there will have changed. They'll be a certified fool if they don't follow his systems to the letter.

Even now, it's child's play to me to hack into the station's personnel files. I scan the officers; did the inevitable cull after Trip's departure take out all of his trusted staff?

... Good grief. Kelby's still running the station, even after all these years. I remember the days when he got shunned by the engineering crew back on Enterprise for hardly knowing his arse from a hyperspanner.

No. Even if I knew he was loyal to Trip's memory still, it's too much of a risk to involve him.

The name I want springs out at me, and I breathe a gusty sigh of relief that she's here on the station. I don't suppose even now she'll be risk-averse, and I need someone with guts as well as loyalty. Admittedly her loyalty was never given to me per se, but I'm hoping and trusting that even now I can borrow it. If I'm guessing wrong – and in the circumstances, I very well may be – then I'll find out soon enough.

Trip used to have a code for when it was too risky to send open instructions. I find her comm. frequency and tap in.

Inevitably, she'll be extremely busy. Whichever way, she won't have time to respond immediately, so I'm going to have to sit tight and wait with as much patience as I can command. The freighter will be coupled up for about two hours max, so I have to hope she can slip away within that time frame; if not, I'm going to have to take the risk of running an extremely tight security cordon unassisted before we undock, and frankly I don't rate my chances of succeeding.

I log out and return to my illicit quarters. I wish I could sleep, but I'm too keyed up; I can't even concentrate properly on my book. Liz and I got to speak to Amanda Cole at West Havens refugee camp, but she's been an important figure in the Empire for a long time now. Whose side is she really on these days? Will she be willing to take the risk of helping the man who had her promoted to lieutenant (she's a major now, unsurprisingly) and put her in charge of his ship in his absence, or will she instantly conclude that a wanted fugitive from Imperial justice is trying to gain unauthorised admittance to the station, and come to collect both me and the reward from the master she's been serving for the past twenty years?

The station's scanners are more than capable of identifying one Human bio-sign among the Vulcans on board the freighter. She won't even have to hunt me down, just turn up with a security detail – and the time's long gone when I'd have given myself anything like a fighting chance against even equal odds.

My time on Vulcan's paid off in some respects. Even if I can't read, I can meditate. I have enough discipline left for that, so with a difficulty that I've become resigned to, I assume the usual position. It would be nice to have an actual candle flame, but I've stared into one often enough to be able to recreate the image in my mind's eye: the perfect petal shape, gently wavering in a stray draught every now and then, its lines clear and sharp except right where they blur at the very point...

"General?"

Lucifer, I must be better at this than I thought. Either that or my mind switched off of its own accord; even now, there are occasionally times when I fade briefly 'in and out', the last cursed legacy of The Project. Grandmother's cure worked for a good while, but its effects are beginning to fade as I age. It's not the toxins in my system any more, but the damage that they did.

She hasn't changed much. We're all older, but she's still trim and attractive, and best of all, she's alone.

Not that that matters all that much, because not only is she armed, I've no doubt whatsoever that these days she could knock me over with a shoulder-barge and I'd have problems getting up again.

She helps me to my feet, which is nice of her. "General!" How long is it since anyone used my former rank? I can't remember. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to get into the station," I breathe. "And find somewhere to hide out for a while."

She eyes me dubiously, which is hardly surprising. "For how long?"

"A week or so, depending on traffic. No more than I have to."

"May I ask why?"

I smile tiredly. "As unlikely as it may seem, I want to protect the people who've been harbouring me."

"You don't want it obvious that you arrived on a Vulcan ship." She can still reason, but can she believe me?

"Exactly. If you can get me on board, I can fend for myself till the time comes for me to break cover."

If I were her, I wouldn't take me on trust either. Approvingly I note her searching stare. "Excuse me for pointing it out, General, but getting you on to the station and letting you run loose does constitute something of a security risk."

"Would you be willing to accept my word that I intend no harm to anyone on the station or to its operations? – My word as I'd have given it to Commodore Tucker?"

OK. It's a low blow. But in my position, I'm not able to be particularly choosy about the weapons I use.

She stares at me a bit more. Then, "Would you be willing to trust me if I took you onto the station as my prisoner, sir? – And kept you there as one?"

Damn, she's better at this than I thought. Which is excellent news, for the station's protection, but probably not quite so good for mine.

It's a decent scheme to get me aboard, admittedly, but keeping me as one is slightly different. She could quite easily 'keep me' until whoever's in charge of security on the station these days has leisure to arrange for me to be packed off to face justice in a strait jacket with bows on.

"Who's the Security Head on board these days?" I ask warily.

"General Vaja, sir."

Hmm. Thick as thieves with Burnell, as I recall. And, worse, he's Pack. I may not even get to Earth if he gets a sniff of my presence.

However...

Trip trusted her absolutely. And though admittedly his trust was spread with a far broader brush than mine was ever capable of being, he was no fool, however much of a one he must have appeared when he decided to save a murderous, treacherous, universally-loathed bastard from his well-earned fate and try to turn him into some vague approximation of a decent human being.

We all believed his trust had been betrayed in the worst possible way when the young (at least I still think of her as young) lady before me turned up in Burnell's staff, but I trusted her too. She wasn't Pack, but she was Trip's Pack. I knew that and he knew that, and I think Burnell knew that too.

"I accept your suggestion, Major," I say, keeping my voice even. "But I can tell you where you can hide me in the meantime that won't show on security cameras, and I request that at the end of the period of imprisonment you file a report of having discovered me, and deliver me directly to General Vaja."

She's startled, and shows it. "Directly to the General, sir? But..."

"I don't have any tricks up my sleeve, Major. Not this time. I'm aware of the risks, and I'm willing to take them. Just help me protect the innocent, that's all I ask." It's all that Trip would have asked, too, and I'm absolutely sure she knows that.

=/\=

Time, they say, goes in circles. I watch the limited visible area of ceiling pass beyond the clear protective visor of the hazmat suit as I'm wheeled onto Jupiter Station, supposedly a stowaway who's been hiding out in an area that's exposed me to dangerous levels of radiation. I'm a Human, so the Vulcans know nothing about me and care less; I'm supposedly unconscious, so must be taken to Sickbay for treatment and identification. Cole has the authority to get me past the security checks, and nobody is keen to linger too close even to the hazmat protection. Even anyone who peers in will see nothing but a partially bandaged face.

How much has happened since the last time I was brought on board this way. What a different person I am, inside and out. I've lost my youth and strength, though I'd like to say I've retained a fair number of my marbles; but the life I've lived since then has been so infinitely richer, more so than I could have dreamed possible as I lay there raging against my imprisonment. The time of my greatest happiness was so pitifully short, but I had it, and that's more than I could ever have said if I'd had my way on that day and made my escape from whatever devious plans my captor had in mind.

Cole pushes me into the turbo-lift, but instead of taking me to Sickbay she takes me to the lower levels where security is rather less intense. Naturally even here there are surveillance cameras, but there are a few tiny rooms not deemed interesting enough to have one installed. The cupboard where spare brooms for the maintenance team are stored is one of these, and it's even possible (by pursuing a rather circuitous approach) to reach it unobserved.

Nobody's going to pretend that as quarters go, it's luxurious. But she attaches one end of my handcuffs to the coolant pipe running up one wall (she wasn't kidding about keeping me prisoner) and goes away for a minute or two, to return with some packs of absorbent cloth that will lie on the floor and provide me with bedding that's at least as comfortable as the makeshift mattress I had on the freighter.

We make arrangements about matter-of-fact things like toilet requirements and food and hydration, and I have to ask her one question that's been niggling at the back of my mind ever since I saw her name on the personnel rota.

"How did you end up here, when the last time I saw you, you were head of the Emperor's protection detail?"

She grins and says proudly, "I ranked up, sir. The head of the protection detail is traditionally a captain."

"Surely there's more to it than that."

The grin softens into a sweet smile. "Yes, sir. The humanitarian mission is going like gangbusters, and I suggested it could operate more efficiently if I was here on the station where most of the items we distribute are gathered. The Emperor agreed and suggested I could also be helpful by consulting with General Vaja, since I already know the station and knew Commodore Tucker so much better than he ever did. I'm sure he remembered how, as Head of Station security, it was difficult for him to gain the trust of the 'Fleeters working here."

Oh, Austin, you clever boy! "So, you're 'consulting' with the Security Chief, not serving under him," I clarify.

The sweet smile becomes a cocky grin. "Yes, sir," she practically gloats. "I'm still a member of the Emperor's personal staff and report directly to him. I show General Vaja the proper military respect, but I don't take orders from him."

"The Emperor has you spying on him!" I feel a spark of almost paternal pride both in Austin for using his staff so well and in Amanda for positioning herself to be so useful to her Emperor.

Looking a little embarrassed, she says, "Well, watching, sir. I haven't been asked to ferret out any information just yet, only pass along what I see and hear."

"And I trust you're exercising all appropriate caution in your duties?" I really am worried for her. Even just watching and listening can be dangerous in the Empire, especially if you happen to stumble across a secret. And Vaja – nobody's fool even in my day – will be fully cognisant of her observation, and probably more than a little resentful of it, considering she's junior to him in rank.

"Yes, sir," she assures me. "I almost never transmit findings to the Imperial Palace. I travel there weekly and deliver them in person. The few times over the years that it appeared to be urgent, I used an old radio frequency and about half an hour later, got an e-mail back from a friend that was the signal to tell me the news had been received."

Then she leaves me with a litre bottle of water and an emergency waste disposal pack, promising to return later with food and more supplies.

"I'll leave you loose if you'll agree to me locking the door, sir," she says bluntly. "And with respect, by 'locking it', I mean 'I lock it and order the computer to monitor its status, and if you unlock it for any reason whatsoever, I track your biosign and shoot you on sight'."

"Well, that's very clearly stated, Major. I'd imagine we can both live with that arrangement." I smile at her, and she smiles back, a hard smile that says she doesn't care whether I appreciate her frankness or not and she will kill me if I break my side of the bargain.

I've said she was Pack – even if not mine. She embodies the best qualities of it, and no wonder Burnell wanted her on his team.

Still, I've no intention of breaking out. As dull as it will undoubtedly be to be confined here for however many days it takes before I can be safely 'discovered', I'm perfectly prepared to put up with it.

And then, I will find out what calibre of man is now in charge of the security on Jupiter Station.

What in the world is Malcolm up to? Is there any way this could end well for him? If you've been enjoying the story, please review.