Forlorn Futures

Posted on Sep 24, 2015 @ 9:19pm by Captain Michael Turlogh Kane

Mission: Civil War

"FORLORN FUTURES"

(Continued from "Future History")

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"You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today."
- Abraham Lincoln (to whom time travel was science fiction)

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Captain's Log, Supplemental - while the crew continue to enjoy their shore leave on Elandipole, I am remaining behind on the Pendragon in order to satisfy some curiosities...

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Location: USS Pendragon, orbiting E-4
Stardate: [2.15]0925.0120
Scene: Artifact Chamber


Michael Turlogh Kane followed Peter Aspinall over to one of the computer control consoles. It was bathed in the sky-blue light from the artifact's forcefield, casting an eerie hue over their features as Peter called up the database menu.

"What was it you wanted to see?" he asked.

There was only one thing on Kane's mind right now. Coming to Elandipole and hearing Peter's story had been incredible enough, but just as amazing were the 'what ifs' - all those possibilities that could never be because of the changes to future history. Now, everything in the Pendragon's databases would never happen, could never happen. Too many steps away from the original path had seen to that. "I want to know what happened to my crew in the original future," he said. "I want to see if they made it or not."

"Are you sure?" asked Peter, hand hovering over the LCARS. "None of it matters now."

"It matters everything to me. That's the future I have to save them from."

"You do too much, Mike," said Peter gently. "People find a way to get killed no matter what you do."

"Can you show me or not?"

Peter shrugged. His fingers danced on the holographic control panel. "Key in their names here. If we have information, it'll appear - "

[[Captain Aspinall to the bridge.]] Kane recognised the voice of Izshlana Vort, the Pendragon's ExO, on the channel.

Peter looked at him apologetically. "Duty calls."

"Of course. There are plenty of engineers around if I need help. Thank you, Peter. We'll talk soon." Kane smiled gratefully and watched Peter depart before turning his attention to the computer. He had seen Peter manipulate the controls already and thought he could do it. It was like weaving one's fingers through thin air, but some sort of holographic sensors detected what the user was doing and responded accordingly.

Kane looked down for the keyboard, reached out a hand, and tried to pull it closer to him. Nothing happened. Shrugging, he stepped closer and tried typing into the mashup of colour, to no effect. Aware that there were engineers watching him, he pointed out his two index fingers and began to jab at holographic symbols and keys. Embarrassment burned within him.

"Having trouble?"

Kane turned around and took a breath. Standing before him was a dead man's face. Drake, the Pendragon's Drake, was standing behind him, wearing one of those brown-banded black uniforms that were everywhere on the Pendragon. A Lieutenant Commander's rank strips cut jags through the black on his left forearm, but it was the face that threw Kane off-balance. It was the same face that had been on the other Drake, the one that had contacted him on Earth, that had accompanied the Phoenix to Limbo, the same face that had been screwed up into a mask of fear and pain as it died in Kane's arms in some filthy alley outside The Pit.

Drake was smiling good-naturedly at him. "Captain Kane? Are you having trouble?"

Kane caught himself. This Drake didn't know, couldn't know. He might have heard that one of the clones was dead, but that was all. None of them were psionic or anything like that, as far as he knew. He took a breath. "Yes. Can you help me?"

"Captain Aspinall sent me to do just that." Drake stepped into Kane's place and began manipulating the controls. "You don't have a user profile. The system won't respond to you. I'll access the database using my information."

All was suddenly clear. "Ah," said Kane. He looked sidelong at the dead man's face. It was older than the face of the other Drake that he remembered, about twenty years older, same brown hair, same green eyes. He knew that it was plastered across the skulls of a number of different clones. "It's Commander Drake, is it not?"

"Yes, Captain. I'm the Pendragon's Intelligence officer."

Kane tried to think of a gentle way to put it, but abandoned pretence and decided to go for the jugular. "You're the man with all those clones. You sent one of them to make contact with me on Earth."

Drake stopped what he was doing and turned to Kane. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you're only half right. I did sent out those clones, but I'm not the original Drake either."

"You're one of the clones?" said Kane distastefully.

"That's right."

"You accompanied the Pendragon on its twenty-year voyage home?"

"I did."

"And you're not the original?"

"No. The real me has been missing for quite some time now, but I believe he's still active somewhere in this timeline."

Kane shook his head in disgust. Intelligence officers were all the same. From Earth to Elandipole, they were duplicitous, scheming wankers who never told you the full story. They gave away just what they think you needed to know, and you had to prise the rest of it out of them. "I didn't know that."

"You do now, Captain." Drake finished waving his fingers through the controls. "The system is standing by. Who do you wish the search for?"

Kane thought about it for a moment. "Any of my senior officers. How about Commander Jos?"

Drake called up the information. A pit of worry opened in Kane's stomach when he saw, in sizable red letters, the word DECEASED over his Starfleet record. Aerdan's holographic likeness had its eyes closed and antennae furled, like it was asleep, or dead.

"I'm sorry, Captain. It says that Commander Jos died when the Phoenix was destroyed nineteen years from now." Drake gestured to the relevant information. "That applies to most of your senior staff - Doctor Foster, Lieutenants BaShen, Dalziel and Byte, and the Gorn you call Chaucer. Our information is that the Phoenix was destroyed by a Neo-Essentialist squadron that managed to trap her in the Altair system."

Kane nodded in silent sorrow. "Most, but not all?" he said. "How about Commander Crichton?"

Drake worked the controls again. A similar Starfleet record appeared, overwritten with the same red letters and a holographic death-mask. "Jacob Crichton and his wife, a Bolian named Xana Bonviva, were executed for treason on stardate two-four-point-four-seven following their capture by Starfleet. It appears they had a family, but the only surviving records are of two of their children. As of one year later, when our records terminate, Benito Crichton-Bonviva is a doctor under constant secret police surveillance on Luna, and a daughter, one Dahlia Bonviva-McInnis, is wanted for several crimes against the state. In Neo-Essentialist parlance, that means she is a resistance fighter somewhere."

Kane sighed. "I see. Major Thytos?"

At Drake's touch, the view changed again. Kass' likeness was wide awake and staring straight ahead, a look of fury on her aged face. "Former marine, whereabouts unknown, wanted for crimes against the state. Apparently, her two children were publicly executed for their mother's rebellious acts, but it still wasn't enough to bring her out of hiding. Believed armed and very dangerous."

"It's good to see that she's still fighting. How about Selyara?"

Drake keyed the controls, but no results returned. He tried again, but shook his head. "Nothing," he said with a frown. "Not even a Starfleet record. It's like everything regarding her has been erased from Starfleet records. Strange."

Kane smiled ruefully to himself. Strange to Drake, but not so strange to the Shadow Master, he thought. In another future, Selyara's network was spread wide, ranging across empires, manipulating events just as Drake manipulated the computer controls in the here and now. She had fulfilled the dark destiny that the dead Drake had laid out for her - she was a black widow spider at the centre of her web, plucking its strands to cause war and peace, to kill and spare lives everywhere, all to keep her own invisible shadow-empire as elusive as possible.

"How about Jame Barton?" he asked on a whim.

Drake checked. No hit. "Nothing," he replied. "Starfleet record says missing, presumed dead for over twenty years."

Kane nodded. Another little history change. James Barton was probably still living out his pseudo-life as Jacen Barnes on Limbo. Maybe he was dead or maybe he wasn't, and although it wouldn't matter to the future-Barton, Kane squirreled that nugget away in his brain. Perhaps it would matter to the present version.

So there it was, then. Forlorn futures, all of them. By fighting Edgerton in the here and now they were all changing their fates, giving themselves a fighting chance of not turning out like their counterparts in the original timeline.

Kane indicated that Drake should turn the computer off. "That's all I wanted to see, Commander. Please escort me to the nearest transporter room. I'll be returning to the Phoenix immediately."

Drake quickly moved to comply. "Very good, Captain."

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Location: USS Phoenix, orbiting E-4
Scene: Selyara's quarters


Selyara started when she heard the door chime. She had been standing in the middle of her quarters, torn between the idea of heading down to Elandipole for some leave or doing some meditation to process everything she had seen and heard on the Pendragon. Hearing the story of the future had been a real eye-opener, and although she and Aerdan had not spoken of it since they had returned to the Phoenix, it was probably only a matter of time before people started to talk. If Peter had been serious about giving the senior officers supervised access to the Pendragon's database, then he might be getting quite a few visitors in the near future.

"Come in," she said, turning to see who was there, and raised an eyebrow when the doors hissed open to reveal her guest. "Michael. Back so soon?"

Kane walked in. His demeanour was thoughtful,and she didn't move farther beyond the doorway. "Selyara. I've just come tell you something."

She raised an eyebrow. "Go on." Seeing him pause, she almost chuckled, but stopped. His body language was off, she could see that. He seemed almost apprehensive. "What is it?"

Kane made to fold his arms, then hung them down by his sides, then finally shoved them behind his back and clasped them together tightly. "Selyara, listen. I've just been going through the Pendragon's databases. I got the chance to see some of our future histories."

"I didn't think you were hanging around there to make conversation," she said, narrowing her eyes. "That bad, was it?"

"It wasn't good," Kane said, shaking his head. He looked her dead in the face. "Listen, Selyara, if you ever feel that you're getting too angry or frustrated about anything, or that you're not in control of your life, I want you to come and talk to me. I might not be able to to help, but I I want to try. Alright?"

Selyara wondered what was going on. The look in his mismatched eyes was almost virulently earnest. Telling him what he wanted to hear was probably the best option, and she took it. "I will," she said slowly. "Thank you, Michael," she added for extra effect.

"That's all I wanted to say," he said. "Will you be going planetside soon?"

She shrugged. "I was thinking of packing some clothes just before you called."

"I think I might head down and get some fishing in," he said off-handedly. "Perhaps I'll see you down there?"

"That would be nice."

There was nothing more to be said. She watched him leave, and folded her arms when the doors slid closed on his shadow. "What was all that about?" she muttered to herself, but quickly put the pieces together. He'd seen something in that database, something that made him feel bad enough to come and see her with his half-assed attempt at chivalry. This time, she did chuckle out loud, but the humour quickly gave way to curiosity. "What did you see about me?" she murmured, considering for a moment to abandon her curiosity. It might be better not knowing. But that didn't take. It hadn't taken for ten years.

Selyara picked up a PADD and secreted it away in the folds of her clothes, tossing her communicator onto her bed. No point in being disturbed.

Giving Michael a few more seconds to disappear, she left her quarters and made for the nearest turbolift, wondering how hard or easy it was going to be to get access to the Pendragon's database.

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NRPG: Moving things along, right?


Jerome McKee
the Soul of Michael Turlogh Kane
Commanding Officer
USS PHOENIX


"He speaks an infinite deal of nothing!"
- Shakespeare's "The Merchant of Venice", Act 1, Scene 1.117

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