Star Trek 4½: Aftermath Of The Whale Rescue

Another one just for fun, about what happened after Dr. Gillian Taylor volunteered to go forward in time. Inspired by the excellent Lost To Eternity (well, that's my muse's story and she's sticking to it!). Admiral Cartwright's first name was never given, so I've made up my own.

NOTE: In our time, the humpbacks are not as endangered as they were in 1986, and may yet recover. But this is set in a parallel continuum where they, sadly, did go extinct.

San Francisco Bay

After the Probe has departed

"Jim!" Dr. McCoy cried happily. "Stop soakin' Spock, willya? They're sendin' a shuttle!" Sure enough a Starfleet shuttle, flashing an Admiral's Salute, was approaching.

"I'll give Cartwright this," James T. Kirk agreed, "he gets things done."

"Admiral," Spock said soberly, "our hearing notwithstanding, Starfleet Command will likely require a debriefing." He paused. "Doubtless Temporal Investigations will take a hand."

Kirk snorted, but Spock was right. The Temporal Investigations Department had been set up after they'd returned Captain Jeffrey Christopher to his own time. He was already in their black books owing to multiple breaches of the Temporal Prime Directive. But every time, he groused to himself, I was doing what I had to do. This latest episode's no exception.

Except for Gillian.

He sighed. "They'll want to know about Gillian," he nodded.

Gillian, who was admiring George breaching, caught the note of concern and asked, "Hey, you guys won't be in trouble, will you? I mean, there's the little matter of you saving all their lives!"

"That," the Admiral grinned, "is how I get away with it."

The amphibious shuttle touched down and a hatch opened on Starfleet rescue personnel. "Admiral Kirk, are you okay, sir?"

"Fine," Kirk nodded, "just playing with the kids." Impishly Gillian splashed him.

Bones said, "Speak for yourself!"

"Ensign," Kirk ordered, "take her," he indicated Gillian, "first. She's more important."

"Hi," Gillian smiled, "I'm -"

But Ensign Dave Black was a keen historian, whose Academy thesis had been "Oddities Of The 20th Century", and he'd studied Gillian's case in detail...and thus he recognised her. "Dr...Taylor? Gillian Taylor?!"

Gillian frowned. "Yeah?"

"Dr. Taylor disappeared in 1986, old calendar," he breathed. "So that's what happened!" Overcome with enthusiasm and awe, he shook her hand. "Welcome to the 23rd Century! Oh, my history teacher is gonna have tribbles when he hears about this!"

She looked the question at Kirk. Tribbles?

He looked pained. Don't ask. Please don't ask.

Temporal Investigations

An hour later

Dulmer groaned, "Oh, not him again!"

Lucsly nodded. "Him again. And this time he brought a Dr. Gillian Taylor back with him. Luckily her disappearance from 1986 caused little furore; her fellow workers assumed she succumbed to despair after losing 'her' humpback whales, so there was minimal investigation. And virtually no historical alteration, as she was an orphan and had virtually no friends." He looked bleak. "The poor creatures went extinct anyway."

"He gets worse…" Dulmer sighed. "But we still can't touch him, can we?"

"'fraid not," Lucsly shook his head. "The first two times - Psi 2000 and Captain Christopher - were pure accident. The 1968 incident was at the request of Starfleet, and anyway there was a predestination paradox - that orbiting platform. If Kirk hadn't gone back, the platform might have started World War III 85 years early. Everything since has been to uphold the TPD - even while violating it. Same with the Prime Directive." Now he sighed. "We should bust him. There's more than enough evidence. But...he keeps saving life as we know it."

"Yes," Dulmer conceded. "Speaking of predestination paradoxes, there's the invention of transparent aluminum. Dr. Marcus Nichols is credited with it historically, but Montgomery Scott gave him the idea. He was using future knowledge...so in effect no-one invented it. A circle in time. What do we do about that?"

"Nothing," Lucsly groused, "starships depend on it for viewports in this time zone. If Scott hadn't done it, then it would never have been invented and he couldn't have gone back with that knowledge . Effectively it's self-creating...the sort of thing we're supposed to stop. But nothing significant came of it."

"Fair enough," Dulmer nodded. He held up his case. "Back to the 24th?"

"Back to the 24th," Lucsly agreed. "We've got a call," he wielded a tiny PADD, "about a Captain Benjamin Sisko."

Without any fuss, the two vanished.

Starfleet Command, Briefing Room

Before Admiral Kirk's hearing

Gillian was sat before a desk; the chair was amazingly comfortable, she noticed. She moved, and was startled to see its upholstery changing shape to better fit her. Memory plastic, she mused, impressed, only more advanced. A man in what she was coming to recognise as Starfleet uniform came in and smiled. She was heartened to see from his insignia (before being killed in action when she was sixteen, her Dad had served on U.S.S. Pueblo, and had taught her about insignia) that he was a high-ranking officer...and black. That would never have happened in her day.

But then she remembered her indignant fuss about the guys playing the role of doctors and her a mere patient, as many a corny sitcom would've had it...and their honest incomprehension as to why it might be a problem. Even then she'd been thrilled to comprehend that they came from a world and/or a time where it really didn't matter who did what. It had, quite simply, never even occurred to them, and never would.

And here was the definitive proof that race and/or gender was no barrier to achievement. I think I'm gonna like it here.

"Good morning, Dr. Taylor," the officer said in a reassuringly deep voice, and sat. "I'm Morris Cartwright, Starfleet Command C-in-C."

"That's Commander-In-Chief, isn't it?" He nodded. "My Dad taught me about military ranks. Um, I'm not in trouble for not having my passport, am I?" she asked concernedly. "I was kinda rushed. I hope I'm not an illegal immigrant or something."

He chuckled. "Amazing how many 20th Century people are worried about that when they arrive. But no, nowadays passports are a thing of the past. No country has travel restrictions of any sort. Even if they wanted to, Federation law doesn't permit it. While there are Starfleet regulations about travelling to the past, because of the dangers of altering history, the ones concerning people coming forward are a lot looser.

"This is just an informal debriefing," he told her, "to establish who you are and where you're going to fit in our society. I doubt a scientist like you, open to the new and the different, will have much difficulty."

"I'll need a place to stay," Gillian agreed, "and a job, so I can pay the rent." He smiled. "What, have I said something funny?"

"Dr. Taylor, we don't have money any more," he told her gently. "We'll help you find an apartment. There, you can do whatever you like, as long as it hurts no-one else."

"I don't need to pay my way?" she asked incredulously, until she recalled saying tiredly to Kirk, "Let me guess: you don't have money in the 23rd Century," and his defensive "Well, we don't."

"Not at all," Cartwright shook his head. "We've left the profit motive behind. There's no poverty on Earth any more. The days of large corporations exerting a stranglehold on the less fortunate are long gone. So is all the pressure to accumulate more and more things. People, even in Starfleet, work because they want to, not because they have to. No-one works to live, or lives to work unless they want to. Seriously, you can do whatever you like." He held up a carafe. "Tea?" he offered the young, pretty woman.

"Do you still drink tea in the 23rd Century?" Gillian smiled.

Cartwright chuckled. "We drink all kinds of things. The Picard family, for example, makes some very fine wines, especially the house red, Château Picard."

Gillian looked surprised. "Hey, I've heard of that." She looked wry. "Costs a fortune, I hear, but you get what you pay for, y'know?"

"They've been making wine for centuries," Cartwright nodded, "they use a mix of traditional and modern methods." He grinned. "Except it doesn't cost anything. To the Picards, it's a labour of love."

"Yeah, Admiral Kirk said you don't have money," Gillian nodded. "A Utopian dream in my time. I still can't believe no-one's gonna charge me rent. How'd you do it?"

"Partly through rationalising our economy, and partly by increasing the general wealth via captured asteroids," he explained. "The theory was that if everyone becomes rich, then no-one is, because wealth is relative." He looked rueful. "Wasn't that easy in practice - we had the Bell Riots in 2024, for example, and the Third World War - but in 2063 we developed warp drive and met the Vulcans."

"I met Ambassador Sarek, and his son Spock in 1986," Gillian noted. "Very aloof, aren't they? I love the pointed ears," she quipped. "An answer, I gather, to Vulcan having a thin atmosphere."

"Very intelligent, too. They were a big help in putting Earth back together. There were those who held that they were holding us back when it came to the Warp 5 engine, but Captain Jonathan Archer helped a lot with that. Played a large part in the founding of the Federation."

"it's amazing," Gillian breathed. "I tried to imagine what the future would be like. Never thought I'd be in it!" she laughed.

"Well, you're not the first emigré we've had from the past," Cartwright noted, "for example we've encountered various people in suspended animation," he carefully didn't mention Khan, "but you're the first volunteer." He looked serious. "Dr. Taylor...I hope you realise that even in a fully-functioning starship which can make proper use of the Lightspeed Breakaway Factor, we can't take you back - the Temporal Prime Directive. If we did, and you had advance knowledge of the future…"

"...it might not happen," she understood. "I get it. Makes sense. But I'd figured that from the start. And anyway, what was I leaving behind? A crappy apartment with a leaky shower? A job that no longer meant anything because George and Gracie had been spirited away - God, that jerk Bob! Plus pollution, the threat of war, the economy going to hell…" She let out a breath. "For me, the choice was easy." She brightened. "Anyway, from being one of the prominent whale researchers, I am now the most prominent!"

"That's true," Cartwright agreed, "Kirk did us an enormous favour rescuing you. I gather from his report that you have an eidetic memory." She nodded, remembering wryly how Kirk and Spock had learned that.

Gillian's pickup

"What did you mean when you said all that stuff back at the Institute about extinction?" Gillian asked.

Spock began, "I meant -"

Kirk interrupted with, "He meant what you said on the tour, that if things keep going the way they are, humpbacks will disappear forever."

But Gillian shook her head. "That's not what he said, farm boy. 'Admiral, if we were to assume those whales are ours to do with as we please, we would be as guilty as those who caused' - past tense - 'their extinction.' I have a photographic memory, I see words."

Kirk and Spock were briefly nonplussed. A native of 21st Century Earth might have said: Uh-oh. Busted.

Without any sense of irony, Spock inquired, "Are you sure it isn't time for a colourful metaphor?"

Like 'oh, shit', Kirk thought ruefully. Maybe you have got it after all.

"Good. That'll help us bring you up to speed. We have various quick-learn techniques."

"300 years of catch-up learning," Gillian anticipated. "I bet that'll be a headache."

"It will," Cartwright smiled, "but well worth it to you and to us."

Her progress was amazingly rapid. She learned about Starfleet, the Federation, various worlds and the people on them - and the current state of interstellar affairs. There was an uneasy, fragile peace with the Klingon Empire, and another which in some ways was more uncertain, with the Romulan ("Rihannsu," a researcher indignantly corrected) Star Empire. Like America and the Russians, she thought sadly. Some things never change.

But some, she discovered on using her iPod (no, PADD, she corrected herself), did. The Berlin Wall was now no more than an historical footnote. The Soviet Union, too, had ceased to exist.

On Earth at least, there was peace.

Seems the hippies at Berkeley got their own way after all. 'Make Love, Not War'. Right on. She laughed at the memory of Kirk explaining that Spock had done "a little too much LDS".

I'm hungry.

"Excuse me," she called to a passing white-haired waiter (or whatever). She was startled to see he had blue skin - and antennae.

"Hello," he said in a mellifluous voice. "What do you require?"

"Is there anywhere I can get a bite to eat around here? Something I can recognise?" she added ruefully, having seen 23rd Century cuisine.

Trelev of Andor understood her dilemma. He smiled. "Sisko's Restaurant isn't far away. Thomas makes traditional Creole dishes in the traditional manner."

Her mouth watered. "Oh, I love Creole! Where?"

Starfleet HQ, Main Concourse

Ten minutes later

A Starfleet ensign was very helpful; he started to give her directions, but slapped his forehead. "D'oh, as they used to say," he said ruefully. "I can just beam you there. Have you used the transporter before?"

"Mmm-hmm," she nodded. "I think they're terrific."

He looked wry. "Don't let Dr. McCoy hear you say that. He tends to check he's still got all his extremities after beaming." He sobered. "I think he remembers what happened to Admiral Ciana and Commander Sonak when they tried to beam aboard the Enterprise." He sighed. "Even then, transporter malfunctions were rare, but when they did occur…" Ensign Hollins shivered.

"What happened?" Gillian asked gently.

"Their patterns weren't stored properly, and were...distorted. When they rematerialised in HQ...well, everyone would rather they hadn't."

"My God," Gillian murmured, thinking of Kirk and his remonstrating with her when she took him by surprise, becoming a stowaway. No wonder he was mad at me. God, if I'd known...

"But that can't happen any more," Hollins added, "not since Commander Scott came up with a new self-checking protocol. He made transporter accidents literally impossible even when there's a malfunction. It's been certified 100% safe."

"Oh," Gillian noted, relieved. She stepped onto the platform. "I think you say 'Energise'."

"You do," Hollins grinned, and beamed her to Sisko's Restaurant.

She rematerialised, thrilled, and immediately saw the sign: Sisko's. She opened the door.

"Come in, come in," Thomas, who despite his advanced age would later father Joseph, smiled. "New faces are always welcome at Sisko's! What can I get you?"

"Hi," Gillian smiled. "I couldn't press you to crayfish Creole, could I?"

"You could indeed," he grinned. "It'll be a few minutes. A drink while you're waiting?"

"Ooh, yes, a dirty Martini, please."

"Oh, now, it'll be non-alcoholic as per the law," he cautioned, "there's a new drink called 'synthehol'. Has all the taste and effects of alcohol, but you can dismiss them at will. Now I can taste the difference, but I've been cooking here for nigh on fifty years, so you'd think I can," he grinned again.

"Aren't you due for retirement?"

Thomas stared at her. "Retire? Me? The only way I'll retire is in a box, and by Federation law that's my choice." He shrugged. "Besides, I'm only 70."

"70?!" she gasped.

"Retirement, for those as want it, isn't till age 85," he told her. "Why, didn't you know that?"

"No," she breathed, "I - I'm sorry. The thing is...I'm a time traveller. I was brought here from 1986."

"So that's it," he nodded wisely. "Explains your body language. I thought it was a little off. Plus, while you're a pretty one," Gillian smiled, "your face doesn't look 23rd Century." He sat. "So, a fish out of water, huh?"

"More a whale," she smiled. "I came with two humpback whales, George and Gracie. George sang to that Probe, got it to leave - Kirk's idea." She looked sad. "Humpbacks are extinct in your time. I tried to save them, really I did. I freelanced for Greenpeace, I joined or started research programmes, I worked at the Cetacean Institute...but ultimately it was all for nothing," she tried not to cry.

"I learned about humpbacks in school," Thomas told her. "When I was a boy, there was an initiative to bring them back using skin and other tissue samples - they were going to clone them, and manipulate the samples so as to bypass inbreeding."

"Yes, I took some samples as part of my research," Gillian nodded. "So...why didn't they?"

Thomas looked sad. "They could have, nearly did...until a Vulcan pointed out that since there were no wild humpbacks, there was no-one to teach the cloned humpbacks how to be humpbacks. Even with protection and the fact that no-one hunts any more, the oceans can be a dangerous place."

"Especially if you don't know what you're doing," Gillian saw, "and if you don't know what dangers there are. Sharks, orcas, even giant squid. A young humpback had to run the gamut of all those things even in 1986. If they didn't have wild adults to protect them…" She sighed. "You'd be creating them just to watch them die. I see." Then she perked up. "But now...George and Gracie are habituated, but they're still wild! They know what the oceans are like! So we could bring them back! We will, or my name isn't Gillian Taylor! It is, by the way!"

"And about your Martini," Thomas smiled and looked conspiratorial, "there's real alcohol in it."

"I won't tell if you won't," she smiled.

The crayfish was exquisite.

There followed a successful tour of duty on the Oberth-class U.S.S. Cousteau, studying the Aquans of Argo. Her quip to Kirk about learning to breathe underwater (AUTHOR'S NOTE: See the novelisation of Star Trek IV) actually came true; she was adapted as Kirk and Spock had been, and swam with the Aquans, exploring their sunken world after the Enterprise had made it safe. There was a running joke about the phasers being fired, for the first time in Federation history, according to instructions from Geology instead of the Bridge.

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Mentioned in Star Trek Logs 5, Alan Dean Foster's novelisation of The Ambergris Element)

Then Gillian's heart leapt at the news that George, Gracie and their calf, who with similar humour was called Harpo, were to be cloned as had been planned, to restore humpback civilisation on Earth to its long-vanished glory. Immediately she put in a transfer request, which was granted.

"We'll be sorry to lose you, Gillian," Captain S'Bess, a Caitian, purred, "you've been a treasure."

I still can't believe I'm working with a cat, Gillian marvelled, although with those claws and fangs, S'Bess is no kitty-cat, that's for sure!

"Still," she commiserated, "our loss is the Cetacean Institute's gain."

"Is it still there?" Gillian asked. "Wow."

"Mrrow," S'Bess purred, "it's been rebuilt after it was demolished during the 2024 Bell Riots."

"Wow!" Gillian said again.

Sausalito, Earth

As Gillian arrived in Sausalito. being bathed in brilliant sunshine, she marvelled at the fact that the Cetacean Institute had been rebuilt, but with modern equipment and a much larger tank. Not only that, it was open to the Pacific - which meant its objects of study could please themselves, going to and fro between the Institute and the open ocean.

That's as it should be, Gillian thought, the way I always wanted it - so the humpbacks could choose to stay if they wanted to. I never felt it was right that they should be in captivity. Even before I knew they were self-aware I wanted to leave it up to them, but our budget didn't stretch that far. The enclosed tank was the best we could do. But this… this is beautiful, she enthused. It's perfect. Not just simulated seawater, but real seawater, so our friends feel at home.

She was greeted by a young man who reminded her vividly of Bob. "Welcome to the Institute, Director!"

"I'm sorry?" Gillian asked curiously, while he shook her hand with enthusiasm.

"Oh, didn't Starfleet tell you? Yes, you're our Director, on account of knowing more about humpbacks than anyone else on Earth. We're lucky to have you, and we're so excited!"

"So I see," Gillian smiled, charmed by his enthusiasm. "You know, you remind me of a guy I knew back in 1986, Bob Briggs - he was the Director then."

"Well, there's a good reason for that," he sobered, "because I'm Mike Briggs - a direct descendant of Bob."

"Oh," Gillian nodded.

"He didn't treat you very well, did he?" Mike looked apologetic.

"No, but he meant well," Gillian gently assured him. "I was angry at first, but he really thought he was doing his best by me. Besides, he's long gone - and," she smiled, "no grudges. I'm not the sort to hold them." Mike beamed. "So, who have we got?"

Their lineup was:

Gillian, as Director;

Mike as her assistant;

T'Hel of Vulcan, an expert linguist who had worked on the Universal Translator with Nyota Uhura;

Numerous staff, some of them students at Starfleet Academy who were working for extra credit to study the whales' navigational senses - with a view towards applying and using same on starships. There was even talk of cetacean crew members.

There was, as Mike smilingly explained, knowing of her past, no budget. If they needed something, Starfleet would deliver it promptly. "And Starfleet used what the Enterprise learned on Argo to stabilise the San Andreas Fault and reduce earthquakes to the status of 'nuisance'," he added, and chuckled. "Once again, a geologist was directing the phaser fire. Captain Chin of the Redoubtable was saying, 'I know this is a good thing, but it's not right that Geology is directing the use of our main phaser batteries! It's just not the way of things!'"

They laughed.

An approaching figure looked down her nose at them, but somehow Gillian knew the Vulcan was kidding. "Typical human irrelevancies," she said dryly. "Greetings. Logic suggests that since we are expecting only one visitor today, you are Dr. Gillian Taylor." She raised her right hand in the Vulcan salute. "Peace and long life."

Gillian tried to mimic the gesture, but couldn't quite manage it. She settled for returning the greeting as was traditional in Vulcan culture. "Live long and prosper."

"I am Dr. T'Hel. And," she almost looked amused, "I have already done both; despite appearances I am 127.9 Earth years of age. I have worked with Commander Uhura on the latest version of the Universal Translator, Doctor. It has proven efficacious in communicating with dolphins. It is my hope we can modify it to communicate with the humpbacks."

"You mean...I'll be able to talk to George and Gracie?" Gillian gaped. "All those years we studied whale song, and every time we thought we were close to cracking it, they went and changed it, and we were back to square one!"

"Indeed," T'Hel remarked, "your copious research notes compiled before your...departure have been studied extensively. A masterpiece of flawless scientific work," she acknowledged. "It is a privilege to be working with such a distinguished scientist."

"I wasn't distinguished back then," Gillian shook her head, "I was just one more whale researcher with my finger in the dyke."

T'Hel raised an eyebrow. "In which case your talents were unjustly unappreciated back then. Much has been learned from your notes, which were preserved by Dr. Briggs before the Institute's unfortunate destruction."

In that moment she mentally forgave Bob.

"We've got an uphill job ahead of us," Mike told her, "repopulating the humpback species. But now we have three new genetic sample sources, namely George, Gracie and Harpo. With the samples we already had, and with George and Gracie to teach the new humpbacks, it's a matter of recombining them to prevent inbreeding until we establish a large enough breeding base.

"We have the advantage that there's no time pressure - and even if human beings were inclined to hunt with anything more deadly than a camera," he added, "no way would we hunt humpbacks. It's illegal all over the Federation to hunt sentient species. Even the Caitians, whom I believe you've met, only hunt non-sapient prey," he went on.

"Has their sentience been confirmed?" Gillian wanted to know.

T'Hel nodded. "By me. I employed a Vulcan technique we call mind-melding. This is a procedure by which we touch a sentient being at certain points and join our minds."

"So that's what Spock was doing!" Gillian burst out. "When I asked him what he was doing in the whale tank and he said 'Attempting the hell to communicate', he actually meant it - he was talking to Gracie! That's how he found out she was pregnant! I asked him, 'How did you know Gracie's pregnant? Nobody knows that' and he said, 'Gracie does'."

"Indeed," T'Hel nodded, and almost smiled. "In our meld, Gracie shared the memory with me. It was my testimony before the Federation Science Council which defined and secured their status as sentient beings." Now, surprisingly, she did smile, with Vulcan restraint. "They are sentient, Gillian. There is no longer any doubt."

"We'd always suspected," Gillian murmured. "It might've been anthropomorphising, but a few of us were sure. Now to know it for a fact…" She shook herself. "Okay, let's get started. First problem: adjust the UT so we can talk to them."

"I suspect that will be relatively simple," T'Hel said, "particularly if George and Gracie cooperate."

They did, and soon George said merrily, At last! You figured it out!

"Oh, it's such a joy to really talk to you guys!" Gillian bubbled. "And all those times I thought you knew what I was saying, you really did, didn't you?"

As the dolphins told us they used to say in the 21st Century, busted, George returned, amused. We were too clever to reveal how clever we were.

And thus began some highly productive and fruitful research. Soon Gracie was pregnant again, and a few years later the new calves were sexually mature, and began breeding themselves. We think in terms of generations and centuries, Gracie told her, not years and decades. We look forward to making new songs - but this time you will understand them.

"I've always loved them," she smiled. "A fellow researcher used to play whale song recordings so he could get to sleep. He always said they relaxed him like nothing else."

We too are relaxed by the songs, Gracie surprised her.

"Wow, I never knew that," Gillian marvelled.

Gillian found herself much in demand across the world for her skills and knowledge. She regularly played with the dolphins, who liked her. One in particular was known to them as Mates Often - dolphins' names for themselves tended to be descriptive. Thus there was Tuna's Bane, Swims Deep, Flyer (because she was the world's fastest dolphin and often breached so high and fast she seemed to be flying) and Keen Hunter, among others.

They knew Gillian as Kind Seeker Of Knowledge, and she was touched.

The Cetacean Institute, a month later

The Vulcan was wearing an expression peculiar even by Vulcan standards as she entered Gillian's office. "Dr. Taylor," T'Hel said slowly, "your presence is required."

"Who by? Sorry," Gillian corrected, knowing the Vulcan obsession with minutiae and proper English grammar, "by whom?"

"Mates Often requests your presence," she told Gillian. "He has become a spokesperson for the delphine life forms." She paused. "He is not alone."

That, she discovered, was putting it mildly. When Gillian ventured outside, a dolphin - Mates Often, she recognised him by the scar on his dorsal fin, acquired when he'd fought a Great White and won, killing it - waited at the end of the pool where it opened to the Pacific.

Behind him were...dolphins. Hundreds of dolphins. No, thousands.

And now whales of all sorts - even, to her astonishment, blue whales - were joining them. The blues had staged a remarkable comeback after legislation had been passed to protect them.

There were porpoises.

Orcas.

Right whales.

Baleen whales.

Sperm whales.

George, Gracie and their beloved calf, Harpo.

White and grey whales.

Pilot and minke whales.

Even bowhead whales.

In short, representatives from every delphine species on Earth were there.

Waiting for her.

Some, like the orcas, were theoretically natural enemies of certain others. Yet the orcas were behaving perfectly placidly.

There were, T'Hel later estimated from holorecordings of this incredible event, at least a million of them.

Never before in the history of the world had such a mass of whales gathered together. Not fighting. Not feeding. Not mating.

Just waiting.

"I confess," T'Hel murmured, "to utter astonishment such as even Surak, Father Of All We Became, might admit to. This is unprecedented in the history of Earth. Never has there been a gathering of so many different species...and so many, many individuals."

"Is all...this...for me?" Gillian breathed, incredulous.

Greetings, Doctor, Mates Often chittered, the Universal Translator strapped to his back rendering his speech intelligible. May your waters run calm and deep. We have come to say hello. The delphine community has empowered me to speak for them.

"Uh...hi," Gillian managed, feeling that was inadequate. "Are you the spokesperson - the spokesdolphin - for all of them?"

His chittering would've sounded amused even without the UT. It suffices. You were our champion in the time from which you came. Many spoke in their songs of your kindness. Your selflessness. Your hunger for knowledge. Now she was sure he was laughing. In fact we understood you perfectly and could have helped you translate our songs. Perhaps we should have. But it was felt we should conceal our true cleverness. Now he looked sad, if a dolphin could do that. That, I believe, was a mistake. Had you known, our kind might not have been hunted.

"About that…" Gillian knelt down by the water's edge and stroked Mates Often. "I...I'm sorry!" she cried, tears starting. "We didn't know! We DIDN'T KNOW! Oh, God, how can you ever forgive us?!" she screamed, distressed beyond measure. "We SLAUGHTERED YOU! BUT WE DIDN'T KNOW! WE DIDN'T UNDERSTAND!" Her voice dropped. "That's no excuse. Nor a justification, there isn't one. Just an explanation.

"I...I don't know if I can speak for all Mankind. I don't know if I should. But…" she looked out to the many thousands of whales and dolphins, "to all of you, to your noble ancestors, I just want to say that...that I am truly sorry..."

Her sobs were heartfelt. The other researchers were crying, too.

Even T'Hel shed a tear.

But Mates Often reared out of the water and gave her the distinct impression that had he had hands, one would be patting her shoulder comfortingly. We do not blame you, Gillian, he told her gently, for you did not kill us. Nor do we blame your fellows for what their ancestors did. It was the mistakes of these ancestors which led to the slaughter, and in truth we are not blameless. We should have allowed you to learn the truth. Even when we were being hunted, we were concealing our cleverness. We were wrong.

Her head lifted, startled out of her tears. "What -?"

We might have stopped it; even back then your kind knew better than to hunt intelligent beings. But we made mistakes even as your people did. And now, he added brightly, we have a chance to correct them, to rebuild. Our friends have returned, against all the odds. True, it will take a long time. But, he flicked his tail, we don't mind. Nor do they. With your help, we will restore their place as hunters of the deep. The krill of the Cold Waters, he chittered with an almost human smile, had best beware!

"Are we...forgiven?" Gillian whispered.

Let the matter never be spoken of again, Mates Often squealed with solemnity. We will depart now. There is much to do. The fish will not eat themselves. Welcome to our time, Gillian.

With that and a last flick of his tail, he swam away. The other attendees chittered and squealed farewell, and departed.

Until only George, Gracie and Harpo were left.

Dr. Naismith breathed, "In all my years of marine research, that was far and away the most incredible thing I've ever seen." She grinned. "You realise people are gonna call you the Whale Whisperer now!"

Gillian laughed. "There are worse things!"

She was surprised to learn from George that there was a time limit - the Probe would return in 300 years' time. But, he added, I asked it to tamp down its destructive effects. When it comes, it will only sing. And, he raised a pectoral fin, we will have good news and new songs by then.

"Where did it come from?" Gillian asked. "Starfleet said it came from the other side of the Romulan Neutral Zone." ('The Rihannsu Neutral Zone', she could hear T'Hel silently correcting her.)

George whistled. By the Probe's request, I may not share that information with you. Not yet. When it returns, if the Probe permits, that will be the time for your people to ask. I am sure you understand its caution.

"Given what the 20th Century did to you...yeah, I get it," Gillian agreed. She stroked George's flank. "But things are different now, George. We understand you. We know how smart you are. We couldn't hunt you if we wanted to, it'd be illegal. We learned from those mistakes. We will never repeat them," she finished firmly.

As it should be, George agreed. Yes, things have changed. We'll consider it.

THE END

"You know...I could take those whales somewhere...where they'd never be hunted."

"You? You can't even get from Sausalito to San Francisco without a lift!"

"If you have such a low opinion of my abilities, how come we're having dinner?"

"I'm a sucker for hard luck cases."

- Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home

Like the movie, this tale is dedicated to the brave men and women of Challenger.

It is also dedicated to the crew of Apollo 1, and the crew of Columbia.

Per Ardua Ad Astra