Chapter 4
‘Rocket 88’ sat at the far end of the Shuttlebay, facing out. It was a mining shuttle, reinforced hull- even more reinforced with the upgrades available to the Pathfinder. The shuttle was hovering on a magnetic field. There were rings extending the length of the bay, and twelve more that extended from the shuttle bay. Acceleration rings. The intent was to accelerate the shuttle above it’s normal flight capacity to minimize exposure to the energy vortex that was the whirlwind storm called the Nexus that twisted its way through space like a ribbon of fire. It was suspected that the energy of this storm was perpetually maintained by a moving tear in the space/time continuum, which resulted in a wake of particles bubbling out of the vacuum. It may have been dark matters being render visible, or dark energy coalescing out of the medium. No one knew. It defied all known physics. It could be discerned traveling slower than light, and yet at times, its orbit around the galaxy clearly indicated it was traveling fast then light. It was enigma. Garcia had been there, courtesy of Q. Now, he was going, courtesy of Star Fleet.
“Tam,” Losira’s voice poured from the intercom. “We’re at optimum distance from the anomaly. You’re go for launch.” “What time is it?” Garcia asked. “14:32,” Simone said.
“What time is it on Earth: specifically, Houston, Texas,” Garcia said.
“03:32,” Losira said.
“Oh, good,” Garcia said. “Cause I’d hate to launch at something stupid like
13:13.”
There was silence. No one ever laughed at his jokes.
“Are you nervous?” Losira asked.
“No. Why I should be nervous? We’re going to accelerate me just shy of the break my neck g-force, into a storm that has taken out ships as big as a Starship,” Garcia said. “It would be nicer if we could wait till half past 8…”
“You’re shuttle will be fine,” Simone said. “You’re go for launch.” “You don’t have to do this,” Losira said.
“Yes, he does,” Simone said.
“We can abort,” Losira said.
“I am going,” Garcia said. “Stand by one.”
He reached over and opened the comm. panel, and pushed play: Ike Turner/Jackie
Brenston, “Rocket 88.”
Garcia accepted the melody into his head, drumming the panel and shaking his head as if he were performing, and then pushed the button that surrendered his craft to computer control. The computer accelerated him through the rings. Even with inertial compensators, he felts G’s pushing him into the seat. By the time he hit the end of the Shuttle Bay the shuttle’s engine were at full. The shuttle departed the shuttlebay like cannon ball. At the end of the rings, solid rockets ignited, giving extra boost. They fell away as he hit outer bank of the storm, depleted. It seemed to Garcia’s eyes that the storm was twisting to purposely avoid him, blocking entrance. Making a warp bubble in this chaos would be impossible. The ship accelerated down the length of the ribbon, rocket power only, tossed like a hot air balloon that had lost the envelope and was riding a cyclone. Lightening ripped at the shuttle, leaving burn marks in the transparent aluminum in the forward screen. At the last second the Nexus expanded suddenly, swallowing Rocket 88 whole.
The song was over. There was silence. There was stillness and blackness. It was so dark outside, interior lights were completely mirrored in the viewports
“Garcia to pathfinder,” Garcia said. No response. “Umm, I survived entry.” He touched his shirt, feeling the portable womb underneath. “Things One and Two are functioning within normal parameters.” He sat there. “Don’t remember it being this quiet.” He dimmed the lights. He still couldn’t see outside. He turned all the lights off, and walked around the shuttle in complete darkness, feeling the walls with his hand, and still there was nothing visible beyond the ports.
Garcia continued to walk around the shuttle. “Can anyone hear me?”
Nothing. He was perturbed. “Lal? Duana? Anyone?”
Nothing.
“Alright, Things One and Two, what should we do while our mother’s away?” Garcia asked.
“Open the door.”
Garcia turned around, looking for the source of the voice. Beyond the fact it was female, he couldn’t identify the voice, or the source. He was rather alarmed by the voice. He chastised himself. He had the voices of internal companions for a while, so why should this one freak him out? Still, he brought the lights up to confirm he was alone. He was hoping Amanda was there.
“I am going to be really upset if this is just a dream sequence,” Garcia said. There was no response. What did he expect, a laugh track?
“You want me to open the door?” Garcia asked.
“Open the door. Step out.” “Um, who are you?” Garcia asked.
“We can wait.”
“Seriously, who are you?” No reply.
Garcia waited. An alert on one of the monitors chimed. Oxygen supply running low. He tapped on the gauge, as if that would make a difference.
“This can’t be right,” Garcia said. “We have carbon scrubbers. I will run out of food and drink before I run out of air.”
There was a cat reflected in the front port. Garcia turned to where the cat would be but she wasn’t there.
“That’s seriously creepy,” Garcia said. “You should be nice to me. I have a friend name Schrodinger.”
A light caught his eyes. Looking up at the front port was a distant star. It went supernova, whited out his window, then went dark. It repeated, a star, supernova, white space, then the window went dark. A moment later, the star was visible. It shone for a moment, like a morning star penetrating clouds, then erupted, whited out the window, and then was gone.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Open the door. Step out.”
Garcia paced. He spoke to the twins. This was nuts. This wasn’t the way he had imagined it being. He also didn’t understand why he was afraid. Stepping out into the voice should be easy. He had already died a million times, but it wasn’t like he was going to die. At least, not right away. He had his emergency life belt.
“May I speak to Guinan please?” Garcia asked. “Kirk? Picard. Anyone else?”
No response.
“Amanda? Are you messing with me?” Garcia asked. No response.
Garcia turned to the door. He forced himself to breathe, expecting something bad to happen. He opened the door manually, overriding the security protocol. The door opened. He stepped out. He arrived in a living room. Confused, he turned to where the shuttle had just been, but it was gone. He was in a living room. He was drawn to a Christmas tree, and the repeating pattern of a star going nova in the ornaments.
“There you are?!”
He turned to see Simone rushing him. This was not Simone. Her hair was shorter. Her ears were human. She kissed him and pulled back, laughing.
“What? Seen another ghost?”
“Simone?” Garcia asked- pronouncing it the Vulcan way Si-mo-ne, which almost sounded French when said correctly.
“Simone,” she corrected, saying it the Human English way. “Did you take your meds today?”
“Meds?” Garcia asked.
“If you can’t remember to take your autism meds, we’re going to go on the monthly shot,” Simone said. “Come on.”
Garcia followed her out of the room. He arrived jarringly in another space. He breathed. He was pretty sure he was suddenly on the Enterprise. He was on the transporter pad. Simone, Vulcan Princess, was at the control panel. She wore the silver dress, miniskirt, no back to the dress. He didn’t understand how the top stayed in place, unless it was painted on. He wanted to touch her to see if it was paint.
“You should comfort her.” The voice was in his head. He still couldn’t identify it.
“Simone?” he asked.
Simone transported him.
He found himself on the transporter pad, alone. Only, it was odd. It was disconnected, as if it were a studio set. He went further into the alcove to touch the back paneling. Someone entered the room. Female. 21st century clothing. She gave a start. She looked a great deal like Counselor Troi, but this wasn’t her. He was sure of that. Garcia was connected to Counselor Troi and looking at her was like looking at a mannequin. He felt absolutely no emotional presence from her. An irrational voice in him said ‘ghost.’ Was he dreaming? Was she human?
“Oh, I am sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know anyone else was here.”
“It’s okay,” Garcia said.
She began to cry. Garcia was baffled. He didn’t know what to do. She sat down on the edge of the transporter pad. He came cautiously closer, sitting near her.
“You’re crying,” Garcia said.
“I know!” she said. It was all she could do to catch her breath. “I am so sorry.” Garcia sat down on the pad next to her.
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because I am crying!” she said.
“It’s okay to cry,” Garcia said. “I cry all the time. Especially when I am sad. Are you sad?”
“I don’t want it to be over,” she said.
“Oh,” Garcia said. “Yeah. There is that.”
She wiped her eyes on her sleeves and found a tissue in her pocket. “This was the best run I ever had. I loved the people I worked with. The fans have been absolutely wonderful. I bet I could into any home in America and be treated like family. I have never experience so much love and happiness in my entire life combine.”
Garcia nodded as if he understood what she was saying. “So, it’s coming to an
end, and the sense of coming to work and being family will fade.” “Yeah,” she said, looking at him. “You’re really listening to me.”
Garcia eyes were wide. He felt young, like when he first met Deanna Troi so long ago. “Well, yeah. You’re here. You’re sad. You’re speaking from the heart about the love you have for people, and I suspect based on your statement about fans, you are tremendously loved. It seems to me that that level of love is so profoundly real that it will always be with you. What do you think?” She sniffed. “Yeah.”
“Who knows? Maybe this is just the first chapter of the bestest book ever written,” Garcia said.
“Thank you for that,” she said. “I am sorry. I didn’t ask your name.”
“Oh, Tammas,” Garcia said. “Tammas Garcia.”
“I don’t remember meeting you,” she said. “Are you here for demolition? I thought they were going to leave it up for the movie.”
“Movie?”
“Who are you?” she asked again. She got up and stepped back. “This is a closed set. Do you have a badge?”
Garcia stood up. He reached for his pocket. He acted as if he had lost the badge.
“Um, thought so,” he said, fumbling for a badge.
She stepped just outside and yelled for security. When she turned back into the room to tell him not to move, she found him gone. She was confused. There was no way for him to have gotten out without going past her. Security arrived.
“Yes, Marina?”
“Comfort her.”
He found himself with Troi. She was standing on the dock, overlooking the ocean. He approached her.
“Counselor?”
She turned to him. She was crying. “You can’t use my name?” she asked.
“Deanna?”
“I want out,” Deanna said. “I don’t want to be in your head.” “I don’t know how to help you,” Garcia said.
“You could just stay on the Pathfinder. I can live a decent life with Reginald,” Deanna said.
“Seriously?” Garcia asked.
“You don’t want me. Neither Will or Thomas want me,” Deanna said.
“Barclay doesn’t know you…”
“Yes, he does. You use to. You wanted me! You created me. Not her. She was trying to help and you stole me away, a pocket copy to hide in your own universe, and once you had me, to you put me on a shelf,” Deanna said.
“I am sorry…”
“You’re sorry. Did it ever occur to you, you didn’t want her either?” Deanna demanded.
“I love Troi!” Garcia said.
“I am Troi!” she snapped. “Every bit of me is her. The only difference is I share your brain, not hers. Everything of her from the time she downloaded into your brain is her. Yes, I have diverged, but just look at the landscape I find myself in! I can’t fight this? I can’t run away from this. Tell me, seriously, what I should do? Duana and Ilona, they’re insane. They’ll love you no matter what. Lal, she is so deeply in love you she doesn’t know what to do with herself. I, on the other hand, have finally grown up and accepted, you don’t love me, you never have, and I want out.” She pushed him. “Out.”
She pushed him again. “Out!”
He fell off the side of the dock into the water. He was submerged for only a moment and then he was in a desert. Simone, Vulcan Princess, sat on a rock, in the sun, in a desert, near a pool of tar and mud that were bubbling. There was no one for miles around. He had enough sense that he knew he shouldn’t be here, but also knew that if he wandered, he would likely die. He approached, quietly.
“You’re not welcome here,” Simone said. Garcia stopped.
“Why do you persist?” Simone asked.
“I…”
“Don’t say you love me,” Simone said. “You are not the life I signed up for.” “I…” Garcia didn’t know what to say.
“I am purging you from my mind. You are not welcomed…”
Garcia fell through the earth into the bubbling spring. A geyser shot twenty feet in the air, taking him up.
Garcia found himself back at the starting point. The tree. Staring at the bulbs.
“Here you are,” Simone, English wife said.
Garcia didn’t look at her.
“I forgot why I came here,” Garcia said.
“Love?” Simone asked.
He looked at her. “Do you love me?”
“Oh,” Simone said, pouty face and hugging him. “You doubt?”
“I am difficult. I have thoughts. I have behaviors. I have…”
“I love you,” Simone said. “Love isn’t rational, by definition. In fact, if you rationalize it at all, it ceases being love. If there are conditions, it becomes rational, it ceases being love. You don’t have to make sense, or be consistent, or be perfect…” “So, you love me unconditionally?” Garcia asked.
“No, silly,” Simone said. “Unconditional is a condition, and therefore is ceases to be love.”
“That sounded Vulcan,” Garcia said.
“Are you saying women can’t be logical?” Simone asked.
“How do I comfort someone who I have harmed?” Garcia said.
“Do you love them?” Simone asked.
“I think so,” Garcia said.
“OMG, Tam, do we have to watch ‘The Fandango’ again? If you thought you loved someone, then you loved someone. That’s all love is. Thoughts. Mostly,” Simone said.
“How do I comfort someone I harmed?”
“By first, loving yourself,” Simone said. “By being yourself. If people can’t accept who you are, then they have conditions, and that’s not love. Allow them to go their way. Allowing them freedom, that’s love.”
“If they can’t get away from me?”
Simone hugged him. “What’s going on?”
“Would you still love me if you knew I did something horrible?”
“This thing. Can you fix it?”
“That has yet to be determined,” Garcia said.
“If you can fix it, I expect you to fix it. If you can’t, well, it is what it is,” Simone said. “If you do a bad thing, should you go the rest of your life not loving others, or yourself?”
“I think experiencing love, whether feeling it or receiving it from others after I do this thing would be inappropriate,” Garcia said.
“And, that’s why you’re here,” Simone said.
“How do I leave here?” Garcia asked.
“You just step out,” Simone said.
Garcia nodded. He stepped out of the room. He arrived back on the Pathfinder. He arrived in his old Ready Room, now Losira’s room. She was there. So was Simone. They’re conversation came to an abrupt end. They stood. He had tears in his eyes. “I am unworthy,” Garcia said. “And I want to die.”
Chapter 5
The intervention circle included Counselor Rossi, Troi-using Kalandan technology, Lal using Kalandan technology, Duana and Ilona utilizing Preserver manifestation orbs, Captain Losira using Kalandan technology, the primary one, baby bump and all, Doctor Jurak, and Captain Simone.
“He’s clearly depressed,” Troi said. “Give him some booty juice and let him sleep for a couple days. He’ll be fine.”
“The last thing a depressed person needs is sleep. You need a good fight,” Jurak said. “Let’s get a Hockey match going.”
“He’s pregnant,” Lal said. “He can’t play Hockey, Klingons or no.” “There is that,” Jurak conceded. “The portable womb should filter out antidepressants.”
“It will,” Simone said.
“We should have sex,” Duana offered.
“That is not an approved treatment for depression,” Simone said.
“Cheers me up,” Ilona said.
“It would release endorphins and increase serotonin levels,” Jurak said.
“He has sufficient levels of sex and he’s still depressed,” Simone pointed out.
“Also a good point,” Jurak conceded.
“You’re not very helpful,” Lal pointed out. Troi laughed.
“I am doctor, not a psychiatrist,” Jurak pointed out.
“Has it occurred to anyone that maybe he has died enough and that is causing depression?” Duana asked.
“I think he’s having a midlife crisis,” Ilona offered.
“It is definitely existential,” Lal said. “I went through this, too…” She tapped her chest. “It’s not a good feeling.” She began to cry.
“Oh, fuck, Tam,” Troi said, pulling Lal to her. “Would you get over yours