The Prodigal, Part One

Posted on Oct 26, 2015 @ 12:23pm by Lieutenant James Barton
Edited on on Oct 26, 2015 @ 12:25pm

Mission: Civil War

"THE PRODIGAL, PART ONE"

(Continued from "Ohana")

=[/\]=


"For this son of mine was dead, and is alive again;
he was lost, and is found..."

-Luke 15:24

=[/\]=

There was darkness. There was nothingness. There was peace.

Then there was a break in the nothingness. He didn't recognize it as a "sound", so much as realize that it was different than the silence that stretched back...to the beginning of all things, at least.

He thought that smooth things should be smooth and that rough things should be smooth too.

The thought seemed strange to him, and he remembered he'd been swimming in a sea of thoughts just as nonsensical and amorphous for a long time. When he realized that things could "seem" to him, and that he "remembered," he realized that meant he existed.

That thought opened a flood gate of questions that poured on him faster than he could recognize them, but he began to answer them instinctively, recreating his existence. *What am I?*

*I'm a person.*

*What's that?*

*A thing that feels pain.*

*Do I have a name?*

*Yes. It's Jim.*

The sound came again. It was a high, piercing thing that poked holes in his wall of discovery, but couldn't bring it down. Nevertheless, he hated it, in the manner of an infant. His hate was an unfocused, all encompassing presence: hard like a hammer but as wide as a Kentucky field.

*Do I have an arm?*

*Last I knew, yes.*

*Is that what hurts?*

*Yes.*

*Why does it hurt?*

*It's twisted and pinned underneath me.*

*If I moved, and then maybe moved my arm out from under me, would that make it stop hurting?*

*It might.*

*Can I move?*

*Maybe. I don't know. Probably.*

*Should I try to move?*

*Let's table that for a second. It's not a bad idea, but... let's just...*

The sound came again. It was a chirp that repeated just twice in rapid succession. Like a sharp, quick whistle it was there and then it was gone. It was terribly annoying, but also terribly familiar, which was more annoying because he couldn't figure out why. It was the sound of having half a memory jam an ice-pick into your eyeballs. That's what it was like.

*Where am I?*

*On my arm.*

*Where else?*

*On the ground. I can tell because I feel it everywhere, but only on one side of me.*

*Where is the ground?*

*At the bottom. At the bottom of... I don't know.*

*Is there a way we could find out?*

*I couldn't begin to imagine.*

*Didn't I used to have eyes? Could I try opening my eyes?*

*Probably. That's a little close to movement, though. Which I still don't think is a bad idea, but I'm just not ready... to...*

From somewhere a thousand miles away, a faint *hiss* tried to get his attention and failed. It was followed by the sound of voices, though by the sound of it, the voices had taken a detour through deep waters and grown twisted and garbled. As he lay still, they began to unwind themselves.

"-shhuure heeez inaaaaair?" That voice was low.

"Yyyyessssh. Compooer saays he is." That voice was higher.

"Pretty dark in there."

His attention drifted from the voices to yet another new sense that was returning to him, this one was centered in the hole in his face, and while he couldn't quite remember the word that meant 'face hole,' he was proud of himself that the word "taste" came to his mind comparatively rapidly. He could taste. And his face hole tasted like ten dogs' assholes had crawled inside for an orgy, died midway through due to an undetected gas leak, and begun to succumb to the tyranny of decomposition. That's what it tasted like. He moved his lips and tongue. They were dry, but not exactly 'dry.' It felt like they were coated in a film that had once been liquid, but had turned long ago down a very different path. He smacked his lips. The taste and sensation didn't go away.

The voices insisted on being heard again. High Voice was saying, "-don't need your assistance waking him up. I've asked you to maintain watch at the door, and that's what I'd like you to do, crewman."

"Come on, Procter. He's not laying an-" Low Voice began to interject, but was cut off.

"Crewman Newman, you are addressing-"

"Apologies, *Ma'am.* But he's not waiting in ambush in there. He's dead drunk. Can't you smell it?"

"Sir."

"Excuse me?"

"Starfleet regulation states, regarding addressing a female superior, in section-"

"Apologies... Sir."

There was a pause, almost exactly like the pause a person takes when they take a deep breath to control their frustration. High Voice, whose voice was high because she was a woman, continued in a voice that seemed unnaturally polite. "I'd like you to follow my instructions, and maintain a watchful presence at the door while I locate him, please."

"Yes, sir."

There was a pause. “Is your name seriously, 'Crewman Newman?' Never mind. Not important.” She took a calming breath. “Wait here, please.”

His arm hurt. His head hurt. There was rugburn on his cheek and his mouth still tasted awful. *Mouth,* he thought bitterly. *Mouth. Obviously. How could I not have remembered mouth?* He had problems of his own, but he was still far away enough to allow a moment to be glad that he wasn't whoever those two were looking for. He was of no concern to anyone, barely even to himself.

"Mr. Barton," came High Voice's high voice, tearing across his silence like a teenage driver destroying a neighbor's lawn.

*Shit,* he thought, when he remembered that 'Mr. Barton' was him.

"Computer. Active all lighting," she demanded to the air.

Suddenly, his reassuring darkness was as far away as memories of a past life, and the universe became one of cruel and omnipresent illumination. He was glad he'd fought the earlier impulse to open his eyes. He had no doubt he'd have been killed instantly; as it was, even through his clenched eyelids the light undid everything within him, striking all at once in his brain, back, eyes, stomach, bowels, and sense of orientation.

"Mr. Barton, where are you?"

Her voice was moving now. She was searching the room looking for him, and he knew that when she found him, it would be very bad. He considered burrowing deeper into the carpet and hiding from her forever, but then he remembered that he didn't know the first thing about burrowing, and decided that his second best option was to give himself up rather than wait to be found out.

A mammoth and heavily scarred arm appeared unsteadily between the bed and the wall, almost like the gesture of a schoolboy who's heard his name called for attendance. However, judging by the teetering uncertainty of the arm, it appeared the schoolboy had developed some kind of a palsy. "Tha's me," he slurred, summoning the wherewithal to lift one side of his torso. He realized that he was securely wedged in the narrow space, and that freeing himself would take an effort he wasn't ready to invest.

"Mr. Barton. I have orders to-"

"Go 'way."

She took another breath. "James Barton. I'm here to relay-"

"Go 'way," he insisted. "M'busy."

For a beautiful instant, he thought she'd gotten the message. Then the bed that was supporting at least half of his weight was shoved away from the wall and he toppled onto his back. The shoulder he had been laying on flared, and then the pain began to subside. The arm itself was so dead that he could neither move nor feel it. His eyes opened and teared at the onslaught of the light. "GawDAMN," he bellowed.

She was standing over him now. She was tall, or at least she appeared so from his current vantage. She cut a fiercely trim figure in her Starfleet uniform and the lights in the overly bright room danced off of her golden hair like a halo. Her smile wasn't angelic, though. It was strained and faltering, held in place only by her white knuckled refusal to let it slip from her face. "Mr. Barton. I have orders to escort you to Captain Kane."

Using his good arm, he dragged a hand across his face. "I'm going to have to disappoint you and the Captain, then," he scowled up at her, trying to focus on the pips on her collar. Finally he saw the golden circle next to the ebony, and finished his sentence, "...Lieutenant."

"You won't disappoint me, sir. Because I will accomplish my orders, even if I have to carry you to the captain's ready room." Her false smile widened. "I hope it doesn't come to that."

He grinned, though there was very little humor in it. "Your orders."

"Yes, sir."

"Because you're a Starfleet officer."

"Yes, sir."

For the first time, inflection began to touch his voice, and he tried to spread his hands in a 'well, there you go' gesture, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the limp deadness of his left hand. "But you're not. You're not Starfleet, so you're not an officer, so you don't REALLY have orders. So, if you don't mind..." He moved to roll back over onto his side and shut his eyes again.

Her smile didn't move, but her voice hardened like an angry diamond. "I. Am. Starfleet. Sir."

He opened his eyes, only because he couldn't roll them properly while they were closed. "You can drop the act, Nurse Ratched. I know. Okay? I know. I know about the Non-Essentials or whatever they're called. I know they took over the Federation. No Fed, no Starfleet. No Starfleet, no orders. You're just playing dress up... Lieutenant."

Her expression didn't soften, exactly. Instead, she looked downright puzzled. She turned from him to examine the quarters, seemingly processing what she was seeing for the first time. The couch was overturned. A glass end table had been smashed into pieces, and the metallic frame beaten and twisted unrecognizably. There were empty glasses everywhere, alongside several filled with varying amounts of dark amber liquid. At least a dozen others had been smashed at various points around the room. After a moment, and with her voice hesitant, she asked, "When did- How long have you been in here, Mr. Barton?"

"Few days."

"A few days," she repeated, clearly skeptical.

"A few days," he insisted. "Locked the door just three, four days after we got to 'Landipole. And how did you get in here, anyway? Door was locked."

"Sir," she began, even more hesitant.

“Locks don't work around here.”

“Sir.”

"What?"

"The PHOENIX has been in orbit of Elandipole for better than three weeks."

His eyes snapped open as the meaning of her words seized him. *Three weeks.* Again, he began to rub his face. He was regaining use of his left hand. "Three weeks," he said aloud, though quietly. Then he began to force himself to a seated position. "Well, that was a good one..."

He saw her posture stiffen as he moved, and he noted that she didn't reach out a hand to assist him. As he finally began to come really awake, he imagined himself as she must be seeing him now, and he couldn't blame her. When he was seated, leaning against the bulkhead and battling a wave of nauseous vertigo, he could look over the bed now to the crewman standing in the doorway, watching the scene play out with rapt attention. He looked around the room at the devastation he'd wrought, and held up his hands in as non-threatening a gesture as he could conjure.

"Just... Just give me a minute." His voice trailed off and suddenly he looked up at her, and his face was almost heartbreakingly pleading. "Three weeks?" Before she could answer, he blinked away his confusion and waved her off. "Never mind."

"Do you need medical assistance, sir?" Her tone could be interpreted a lot of ways, but concern was not among them. She was eyeing him like she still expected him to pull a disruptor from under the bed and draw a bead on her.

"No. No, I'm okay. Let me just get myself up here and..." While he was talking, he twisted his torso and reached his hands up to the window sill formed by the transparent portholes set into the bulkhead. Clawing at them, he dragged himself upwards, rotating as he did so. As he looked out the window, his voice died away as he saw not the empty expanse he'd expected, but the four dozen ships that had reached Elandipole while he'd tried to drown his demons in replicated bourbon. They hung there, suspended in space, blocking out the stars and much of the view of Elandipole IV, but the cavalcade of their running lights and glowing nacelles offered a beauty all their own. Even during his years as an officer, he couldn't recall ever seeing an armada to equal it.

From behind him, the blonde lieutenant spoke in a reverent whisper as she took in the same sight he did, though not for the first time. He could tell it was no less beautiful to her now than when she'd first seen it. "There is a Federation. And there is a Starfleet."

"I see that," he said without sarcasm. He turned to her, beginning to grow reasonably comfortable again with sobriety, and with being awake. He could see that she wasn't as tall as she'd first seemed, but was tall nonetheless. "Lieutenant, I think you had probably take me to see the captain."

The relief on her face was palpable, and for just a heartbeat, a genuine smile crossed her face. It was a beautiful smile, and he was surprised to realize that she was a stunning beauty. It wasn't the kind of thing he noticed much anymore, but he'd have to be blind not to see it. But as fast her real smile appeared, it vanished and was replaced in an instant by her harder, more professional, affected one. "Yes, sir."

He moved, then wrinkled his nose. "Lieutenant," he began.

"Mr. Barton," she asked, rapidly growing wary again.

He looked down at her, and for the first time, their eyes actually met and held each other. "We've kept Kane waiting this long. I don't think it would be a bad idea to keep him waiting ten minutes longer so I can grab a shower before we go."

He wasn't finished speaking before she'd opened her mouth to deny his request, but from what he could tell, something strange happened before her words found her voice. Her own nose wrinkled and he knew she was finally smelling the same thing he was and they both knew it wasn't just the room they were standing in. "I think that might be a good idea, Mr. Barton."

=[/\]=


SCENE: Turbolift -> Captain's Ready Room


The shower had felt wonderful. Given his say, he would have stayed inside for an hour, letting the hot water cascade down his matted hair and mangled torso, but he knew he didn't have the luxury of time. He knew that the severe blonde lieutenant was just on the other side of the 'fresher door, counting the minutes; he could tell she wouldn't have balked at storming in and dragging him nude from the shower if she felt he was taking advantage of her patience. So he did the best he could at focusing on the business of bathing, though it wasn't easy. As he came more and more awake, he also became more and more aware of his sluggish movements and unfocused thoughts, a lingering souvenir of the bender he'd put himself through.

Leaving the shower and the refresher, he'd reentered his quarters to find that she'd replicated clean clothes for him. They'd been sitting in a neat, folded pile at the foot of his bed. She'd flatly refused to leave the room to give him the privacy to change, only willing to go so far as to diplomatically turn her back and avert her eyes. He'd fumbled with the closure on the trousers and ended with his head and right arm in the same shirt sleeve on his first attempt, but had finally gotten himself dressed.

Now they were in the turbolift, heading for the bridge, the captain's ready room, and his command audience with Michael Kane. Neither of the two security officers had said a word since they'd left his quarters, both seemingly waiting for the moment when the behemoth they escorted would begin a heaving rage, leaving him to stew on his hangover thoughts. They alternated between ruminating on how much he hated the feeling of the remaining alcohol in his system, and his puzzlement over the summons from Kane.

He was hoping to suss out why the Irishman would want to see him. If the PHOENIX had been in orbit as long as the blonde had said, then it made sense that he would be rousted from the quarters he'd been granted as a courtesy and forced to head planetside, and the security escort would certainly make sense if he was being so evicted, but that wouldn't explain Kane's desire to see him first. The captain didn't seem the type for 'thank you' speeches, and he'd already been gracious enough to allow Barton the private quarters to regroup. Perhaps instead he was annoyed at the perception that Barton had taken advantage of his hospitality. The former officer shook his head subtly as he rejected the notion. Even if it were the case, Kane didn't seem the kind to take the time to deliver a personal chastisement. For as needlessly difficult and short-sighted as he seemed to Barton, the other man hadn't struck him as the type to twist a knife, especially when there would be so much work to do while the Federation went through the painful process of rebirthing itself.

For a moment, Barton wondered if Kane was bringing him to his quarters to try one last time to justify his actions and behavior, to get Barton to come around to seeing his reasons for dealing with Embry and the refugees the way he had. He snorted and let that idea fall by the wayside as well. He didn't get the sense that Michael Kane was the kind to rehash decisions that had already been made, and the idea that he would need, or even want, James Barton's validation for his actions seemed anathema to the ship's commanding officer; Kane was far too certain of himself for that. Woefully so, in Barton's opinion. But if he wasn't looking to hammer Barton or justify himself, then what did that leave? It was a puzzling question, though he began to realize that he wouldn't be solving it before the turbolift reached the bridge, so he abandoned the attempt and tried to prepare himself for anything.

When the lift stopped and the doors hissed open, Barton found himself for the first time in more years than he could remember on the bridge of a Federation starship. The sight took his breath away, though he tried not to let it show. Memories of his time as a command track student, as a helmsman, as an engineer, and as a ship's gunner flooded over him as he looked at the corresponding stations. The bridge design itself was iconic, only just-so-slightly modified from the bridge of the classic Galaxy-class design. He noticed that all the stations were manned, and that brought a realization that punctured his cluelessness, just a little. He and the security officers had passed far more officers in the corridors of the ship than he'd seen at any point since he came aboard. He...and the security officers... He remembered Kass telling him the Phoenix had no security staff of any kind beyond her Marines and another piece clicked into place. *They've shored up the crew,* he realized. He didn't know if they were fully staffed, but it was obvious that the Phoenix's days of running on a skeleton crew were over.

A familiar blue-skinned face turned from 'the big chair' to regard the new entries on the bridge. He hadn't seen Aerdan Jos since the escape from the space station where he'd misspent so many years, but the Andorian nevertheless gave him a pleasant, if not overwhelming, smile and his antennae dipped slightly. "Mr. Barton," he said with a subdued, yet welcoming tone.

"Commander Jos," he returned the greeting.

"We are escorting Mr. Barton to a requested meeting with Captain Kane," the blonde lieutenant interjected, squaring her shoulders as she spoke.

"Of course, Lieutenant," Jos replied, not commenting on the way she'd interjected. "I believe he is expected."

She inclined her head. "Sir," she said by way of acknowledgment. The Andorian turned back to his duties and Barton felt a light, yet insistent, hand at his elbow. He took the unsubtle suggestion without comment and moved towards the ready room doors. He was mortified to see his finger tremble, just slightly, as he reached out and activated the door signal. He heard the notification chirp, recognized it as the sound that had first lead him towards consciousness from wherever he'd been previously, and had just enough time to grimace at the memory when the accented voice of the captain carried out, "Come in."

The doors hissed open and he stepped through, noting as he did that his escort took up positions outside the door, neglecting to follow him inside. Kane was at his desk, looking over a number of PADDs strewn across it. Remembering the multitude of officers he'd passed and his times wrestling a similar number of PADDs, Barton realized at once that Kane was struggling to keep up with the number of transfer orders that required his approval. He stood at the threshold as the Irishman frowned at the display in his hand, thumbed three points on it to signify his authorization, and finally looked up at him.

"Mr. Barton," he said, neither warmly nor coolly.

"Captain Kane," he replied, trying to match the officer's tone. Until he knew what the purpose of this get-together was, he would keep his cards close to his chest.

"Thank you for coming," Kane said, the picture of decorum. Barton neglected to point out that he hadn't been given much of a choice in the matter. Kane's gaze flicked to the officers at the door. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Crewman. Please return to your posts."

The male crewman nodded and turned away immediately. The woman, the one her partner had called "Procter," hesitated, her eyes dancing between her new captain and the giant she'd brought to stand before him, obviously concerned about leaving him undefended. An instant later, however, her sense of duty overcame her misgivings and she turned away with a last sidelong glance, leaving the two men alone.

For an eternity of a moment, they stared at each other, not speaking, each regarding the other with both suspicion and curiosity. The last time they'd spoken, the newcomer had flatly and forcefully questioned Kane's command. The aftermath had rocked them both; Kane had been chastened by two of his most trusted officers and James Barton had been forcefully resurrected from the ashes of Jacen Barnes. Now, Barton couldn't shake the feeling that Kane was looking right through him – or trying to – right to his insides. He had found himself faltering, close to looking away from the captain's gaze and resolving not to grant such a surrender, when Kane's expression...changed. It didn't soften, exactly, but instead became something inscrutable. He spoke first. "I would like to start by offering my personal thanks for your assistance during Embry's mutiny. Your actions in the cargo bay not only likely saved many refugee lives, but you also were directly responsible for protecting Selyara Chen and Major Thytos from grievous harm." Memory washed over his features, and he corrected himself, "Further grievous harm, anyway. For that you have my thanks, as a Starfleet captain and otherwise."

Barton was trepidatious. He hadn't expected Kane's thanks, so he was surprised, but something in the Irishman's tight eyes and rigid shoulders told him this wasn't the real reason for his summons. "I did what I thought needed to be done," he said. He thought he saw Kane's eyebrow raise, just slightly - a look that said, *You and me, both* - before the Captain caught himself and his gaze returned to neutral. "I'm glad Kass is okay." He paused for the briefest instant. "Selyara, too. I wish we could have done more."

Kane's jaw worked slightly, almost as if he was chewing on the other man's words. "Yes. I know the feeling." Each man looked away then, their gaze suddenly caught by something...anything...that wasn't the other's eyes. Then Kane turned his focus back to Barton. "That notwithstanding, there are other issues that must be addressed."

So that was it. Kane HAD brought him here to rehash the scene in Engineering, only this time when the ship wasn't in danger and he was here, in his private study and on his own turf, so that he would hold all the cards. Barton was just opening his mouth to let the bully know where he could stuff his four rank pips, when Kane spoke again and Barton felt his capacity to move, even his jaw and tongue to speak, float away like campfire smoke.

"The Abstract of Surek bombing on Vulcan."

Jim Barton, freshly reborn and still new to himself, was suddenly in two places at once. He was standing in Michael Turlogh Kane's ready room aboard the USS PHOENIX, and he was also standing on the planet Vulcan, choking smoke and the acrid tang of copper blood in the air. One place was today, and the other was so many years ago, but he was standing in both, and in both, he was helpless. He felt himself begin to sweat, and he hated the fact that he could smell the bourbon escaping his pores. He knew the captain could smell it too.

Kane fixed him with a level stare, neither comforting nor condemning. His voice was even and calm, but he was obviously aware of the import of his words. "I don't know if you're aware, but Vulcan Security in conjunction with Starfleet Intelligence has maintained, since very shortly after the bombing, that though there were over a dozen conspirators, the primary responsibility for the attack lay with just two men: Edward and James Barton."

Jim Barton tried so hard to focus on the PADDs on Kane's desk, but he couldn't. Not with so many bodies everywhere and the fire. The heat of the flames was driving the bourbon sweat in rivulets down his back now. The starship's air was too filtered, too dry, and there were kids here – Oh God, why were there KIDS here?!

In Kane's office, he simply said, "No." On Vulcan, he'd screamed. Especially when he saw the boy. The lone blonde head among so many dark haired corpses. The boy who'd been so excited about a field trip with his class just that morning so long ago...

"No," Kane repeated, asking for clarification.

"No, I wasn't aware that the Vulcans and Starfleet thought my Dad and I were responsible. Not before the Engineer told you all." His voice was far away. It was relentlessly impassive. It sounded a lot to him like Jacen Barnes.

The Phoenix's captain furrowed his brow. His voice neither raised, nor dropped, but it somehow seemed to thicken with menace. "Don't make me ask you, Mr. Barton."

The words came out of him unbidden, uncaring about his feelings on confession. They'd been standing outside the door for over a decade and had finally been invited in. "Ask me what? If I did it? If my Dad did it? If we killed all those people, all those kids? If I killed my son?" He blinked, and then looked Kane dead in his mismatched eyes. "Yes. We did. He did. I did. I...remember that."

The words hung in the air like swamp humidity, heavy and cloying. Kane seemed like he was torn between listening reasonably and leaping over the table to beat the larger man to death. At least, he looked that way to Barton. "Well. There it is. I appreciate your candor." Barton said nothing. "As I'm sure you understand, I need to inform you that you will not be relocating to Elandipole IV with the rest of the Limbo refugees."

A strange thought grabbed Barton unexpectedly. Since he was going to the brig anyway, he wished that he'd dropped that mouthy doctor. The thought barely had time to become a regret before he banished it. "Right. I get it."

Kane stood. So it looked like the purpose of this meeting was so that the Captain could march him to the brig himself. *Way to win an argument, Kane,* he thought. He almost marveled at the other man's cruelty, but then he thought of Elx Rodn and then he thought of so many others and he remembered that he deserved no better. Silently, he gave the Captain his due; he'd underestimated the Irishman's ability to twist the knife, after all.

"So here's what happens now."

"I can guess-"

"What happens now" Kane continued without pause, "is that you will be removed from your quarters and relocated immediately to the USS Gandhi Her orders are unlikely to see her taken into the heat of the conflict with the Noe-Essentialists, and I've already spoken to her Captain. She's willing to house you in the Gandhi's brig until such time as we restore a proper and functional system of government, at which time you will stand trial for your crimes and receive whatever judgment is rendered you."

"I understand." He was shocked to realize that a part of him had not only been expecting, but hoping for, this day. This was the day when he was finally, fully caught. When the process of recognizing his damnation began. It was the day he'd been running from and toward for longer than he could remember and now there was nowhere left to run. He couldn't deny, and wouldn't if asked, that he had nothing less coming and that he welcomed his doom. It was what was right and there were no other options.

So he was entirely unprepared for the next word out of the Captain's mouth. Kane himself looked obviously pensive as it passed his lips. "Or..."

The word drifted lazily in the space between them. Barton couldn't tell if Kane was having difficulty choosing his next words or waiting for him to speak. He didn't know what he was supposed to say. "Or," he repeated.

Kane continued to stare at him, continued to bore through him, and finally stood. "Why did you join Starfleet, Mr. Barton?" He took a half step around the desk, in the direction of the large window overlooking Elandipole IV.

Jim blinked, confused at the sudden switch in the conversation's direction. "What?" Kane didn't repeat himself, merely staring and waiting for an answer. Barton shook his head. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes. You do. I'd like to know."

He didn't have to answer. Kane didn't have the power to compel him; he knew that. Yet, he couldn't deny, he was compelled. He began to open his mouth to answer and realized – for just an instant – he couldn't remember. His eyes closed for two heartbeats while he searched memories caked in dust after years of disuse. He remembered his brother, the golden child with the impossibly bright future. He remembered when the letter came with his brother's acceptance to Starfleet Academy. He remembered when his parents got the call about the shuttlecraft crash. He remembered a tearful promise made alone in a darkened room. The effort it took to turn his high school grades around, the guilty thrill when his own acceptance came. He remembered the years of study and how the stories of men like Cochrane and Kirk and Picard awoke something powerful within him. Then he remembered. It was that thing they awakened, that thing his brother had, that thing he'd discovered at the Academy, that had propelled him into Starfleet, and then forced him out of it and headfirst into his father's madness on Vulcan.

"A belief that I could make a difference. I believed that I could change things."

"What things?"

Barton shrugged. "I didn't know. I still don't know. I was young, and stupid, and I thought I was ready for anything. Like every other kid." Kane's jaw worked for a moment as he obviously mulled the civilian's answer. "Why are we talking about this?"

Kane activated the desktop display, and with two quick commands brought up the same record that Jake Crichton had displayed in Engineering just a few days...*weeks,* he corrected himself...ago. Once again, he was looking at his bygone self. It was unsettling to see just how little his face had changed. Like so much of the genetic therapy, the age defying upgrades had seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea at the time. He could feel the eyes of his ghost watching him, like those of an old painting. Kane continued, like a prosecutor laying facts before a jury. "Exemplary marks which put you in the ExO's seat on your training cruise. Your first decoration, the Cadet Star, before you'd officially graduated." He scrolled down the list as he spoke. "Your time on the Farragut. Commendation. Your brief tenure on the Zeus. Two official letters of recognition from your CO entered into your record. Overseeing security and tactical on the fleet's flagship. Your service there caught enough attention that you were chosen to help Gateway, one of the fleet's most historically significant endeavors, to get off the ground." The captain paused for just a moment, letting his words sink in before he spoke again. "Not 'every stupid kid' achieves those things."

Barton nodded, willing to concede a point. "Yeah. I got lucky and I served with some great people who propped me up and make me look better than I was. What does that have to do with... What are you driving at?"

"I think," Kane said very simply, "that if this man still exists, that Starfleet could very much use him."

Barton did Kane the courtesy of not laughing in his face, but not without effort. "You're insane."

"I assure you that I'm not. You don't know the scope of what we're facing."

"I know about the Neo-Essentialists. I know they've taken over the Federation council."

"They didn't 'take over' the council. They snuck in and blew it up, murdering almost every legitimate representative of the Federation. This isn't just some political schism; it's a full on civil war."

"The Federation's been to war before. It's not the first time it's been threatened and it's come through every time before. This won't be different," even as he was speaking, Barton found that his faith in what the words he spoke was limp and pale.

Kane heard it, too, but reserved comment. Instead, he answered the assertion. "It's already different."

"Why?"

"Because they win, Mr. Barton. We know that because it's already happened." The former officer looked both stunned and confused. Kane sighed, "One of the ships out there is the USS PENDRAGON. Her Captain is a friend of mine, and has spent nearly the last twenty years running from and losing ground to the Neo-Essentialists."

Barton blinked. "Twenty years? How is that even possible?"

"Because, at nearly the limits of their ability to resist, they stumbled across a controlled temporal anomaly that-"

"TIME TRAVEL?!" Barton nearly shouted. "You've all violated the temporal prime directive!" He swiveled his head, as if looking for someone to second his shock, but he and the captain were alone.

Kane was quiet for just a moment. "That is...one interpretation. I don't see it that way, but I won't argue the semantics or the philosophy with you. But I will say that what's been done has been done at the utmost extremity of need, and I'll offer no apologies. We've done what must be done, and we will continue to do so. If that means time travel, so be it. And if that means accepting the service of someone who abandoned their commission long ago, we'll do that too."

Barton crossed his arms. "So I sign on with one of these ships, join the fight against the Neo-Essentialists, and if we restore legitimate rule and I get to go my way and sin no more? That's your offer?"

"Not quite."

"Then what?"

"You serve with distinction aboard a Starfleet vessel. You give us back the man in that service record, and WHEN we restore legitimate Federation rule and eliminated the Neo-Essentialists, you will submit yourself to Starfleet and Vulcan authorities. You'll then stand trial for your actions on Vulcan. After that, you'll serve whatever sentence is laid on you for your crimes."


Barton flushed. "Oh, okay. I see my mistake. I thought you were offering a you-scratch-my-back-and-I'll-scratch-yours. This is you-scratch-my-back-and-I-break-yours."

It was Kane's turn to redden, but he kept his voice even. "You've admitted to culpability in a crime that killed over a hundred people. You've killed innocents. You've killed children. Surely you can't imagine that you just get to walk away from that?"

Barton's memory flashed over the last several years – the running, the nightmares, the visions, the way he hated mirrors, the Whisper – and he was tempted to tell Kane that he hadn't been able to 'walk away' from anything, but ultimately he knew that doing so would just be a smoke screen. All at once, there was a cold knot in his stomach as he realized that, dammit all to Hell, Kane was finally *right*.

His next words were quiet, and lacked the brassy tone that Kane seemed uniquely capable of pulling out of him. His voice wasn't much more than a whisper as he lowered his head and said, "No one would want me."

"I'm sorry," Kane said, not hearing the other man.

Barton raised his chin again, trying to force himself to be resolute. However, his eyes were touched by sadness and shame. "I said no captain would want me on their crew. I'm a liability at best and a massive security risk at worst."

Kane nodded, conceding the point. "Yes. I can see how that could be an issue. However, as I've said, these are momentous times and atypical circumstances. I've given it some thought. As it happens, I already know of a ship that could benefit greatly from your skills and experience, and I know her Captain would welcome them."

Barton's gaze drifted to the window, and the armada of ships that lay outside of it. "Where?"

"The USS PHOENIX, under the command of Michael Kane." Kane would never, even under the ministrations of the most overenthusiastic of Cardassian interrogators, admit it, but after all the annoyance the larger man had caused him, and despite the insanity of their current plight, the abject confusion on Barton's face and the behemoth's stunned silence was incredibly satisfying, in an utterly immature way.

Barton was confused, stunned, and was suddenly caught in a powerful vertigo. Nothing made sense anymore. "Here?"

"Here."

"Under you."

Kane's jaw set and he squared his shoulders, but his frustration couldn't find a way into his tone of voice. "Yes. Under my command." There was a pause, before he continued as an afterthought, "which you will follow in the manner and with the grace of a Starfleet officer."

Barton had too many questions. For a moment, they all charged to escape him and created a bottleneck that forced him into shocked silence. Finally, a single question broke the logjam in his mind and came bursting out his mouth like a shot. "Why?!" The volume of it took both men aback, and Barton rephrased, quieter but with no less intensity. "Why would you want me here?"

Now it was Kane's turn to choose his words. He moved back towards the chair behind his desk, but didn't sit. He placed his hands at the top of the chair's back like a podium and began to lay out his case like a college professor. "You and I haven't exactly gotten along since you came aboard. I understand that you disagreed with some of my decisions," he saw that Barton was about to interrupt and made his own correction, not letting the other man derail his point. "MOST of my decisions regarding the former residents of Limbo. You've made your thoughts and feelings on my command very clear in the most disruptive of manners and at the most inappropriate of times."

"So, why?"

"Because at the same time that you were almost making me tear my hair out, you were also sacrificing your own comforts and safety for the benefit of my crew and the refugees. According to Commander Jos, it's unlikely that Major Thytos would have survived the events on Limbo without your intervention. I've heard reports about the kinds of hours you put in volunteering to police the refugees in Shantytown. The gambit with the transporters during the riot likely saved dozens of civilian lives. If it weren't for your work with Major Thytos outside the primary deflector, the Phoenix and everyone aboard her would have died in the Hyperion Expanse."

"I just-"

"Did what needed to be done. Yes, I understand. That's why I want you. I want you because you do what needs to be done, even when doing so requires sacrifice. Much of the crew already trusts you."

"Many of them won't. Not once they know."

"They'll come around," Kane said. "You'll win them over."

The irony of hearing those words from Michael Kane was almost enough to make him laugh. Almost. Before the humor could register though, he was struck again by the insanity of the situation, and the vertigo swallowed his chuckles. "What would I – where would you want me? Engineering? Flight control?"

"Security. We've been beaming over transfers from the other ships for days, including a full complement of security crew."

Barton held up his hands. "You don't want to do that. You're going to have a brand new SecTac trying to build an entire department out of folks who haven't served together. Security's not like other areas on the ship. Everybody knows that it can get dangerous out here, but Security are the ones responsible for running in when everybody else is running out. They've got to have...a bond. Building trust among folks is going to be hard enough, but still absolutely crucial, with all of them coming from different ships. Sticking someone in the SecTac spot and making them do all of that, AND fold in an AWOL with a rap sheet just isn't right."

"It appears that we're finally in agreement on something, Mr. Barton. It wouldn't be right or fair to ask a SecTac to build a department that included you as a subordinate."

"So I don't understand what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking that you have a unique understanding of the challenges that are involved in organizing a Security and Tactical division."

"Well, sure, but I don't-" Realization struck him. "Me?!"

"Yes."

"You want me to be your Security and Tactical?!"

Kane nodded. "I want you to be the Chief Security and Tactical officer of the USS Phoenix, until such time as hostilities with the Neo-Essentialists are ended. Then, you will go before the courts to stand trial for what happened on Vulcan...with my testimony and recognition of your service. It may make a difference and it may not, but it's what there is. That's my offer, and my request, to you."

"So, regardless of what happens, I end up in a cage," Barton said after a moment's reflection. "Not a whole lot of choice there."

"That's not true, Mr. Barton. As I said, the Gandhi is not expected to see combat under our current orders. It's virtually a certainty that the Phoenix will. If you choose not to serve, the odds are all but certain that you will survive the coming conflict. There will be no such guarantees here; here there will be only one guarantee: that you will have a chance to make a difference."

Suddenly, all at once, Barton knew that he was standing inside one of those moments that would define his entire life. Usually, such times could only be identified by looking backwards through time, but even as he stood in the Captain's ready room, he could taste fate on the wind. He stood now with life and death before him, salvation and damnation offered on equal platters, but he couldn't tell which was which. "When do you need an answer?"


Kane looked...disappointed? "I'd like one now, but I can understand if you need time to consider."

"I do."

Kane grimaced and nodded. "Then consider, and return to me later this afternoon. We don't have any more time to spare than that." With that, Kane resumed his seat and took up one of the abandoned PADDs. The dismissal was unmistakable, and Barton moved towards the bulkhead door,which whooshed open at his approach. "Oh, Mr. Barton? Until we speak again, you will remain in the custody of and under the supervision of the officers escorting you." Procter and Crewman Newman gave each other a glance and a quick nod, moving to unknowingly take up positions beside the man Kane wanted to make their department head.

Swallowing his first response, Barton nodded, and stepped through the door. He had some thinking to do.

=[/\]=


SCENE: Sickbay
TIME: A short time later.


Jake Crichton stood at the observation window, gazing into the long-term patient ward. The beds were empty now, save two. Evangeline Montoya and Arthur Embry. Both victims of Selyara Chen's ministrations were still locked in their strange catatonia. Jake had asked Dr. Suvek about their progress and learned there'd really been none. Their bodies functioned well enough, but their minds were gone.

Despite that, a small cadre of Marines were standing by, waiting as some of the new medical staff performed a final battery of tests, ensuring both patients were ready for transport to the hospital ship. Jake supposed that the Marines had shown up just in case the malnourished 63 year old man and the 140 lb. woman were faking their vegetative states and preparing to make a run for it. Whatever it was that brought them here, the Marines were obviously taking their jobs seriously, their phasers were all pointed at the floor, but not in a casual way.

He turned back to Montoya. She was staring off into space, her expression slack. A series of intravenous tubes hung from an IV station near her biobed. She looked exhausted, which wasn't a bad trick for someone who wasn't technically conscious. The med techs buzzed around her, checking vitals, downloading her treatment history to their PADDs and running through a checklist of tasks before giving clearance to have her beamed away.

Behind Jake, the Sickbay's doors opened and closed. He noticed, but didn't bother to turn to see who'd entered behind him. A shape moved into the space beside him. The lights were being kept low, but not so low that he couldn't see the reflection in front of him, as if the sheer size wasn't enough of a dead giveaway.

Barton was looking through the observation port and not at him, so Jake returned his attention to Montoya. Neither man spoke for several moments, while the med techs finished their work.

Suddenly, "Who was she?"

Barton's voice was quiet, but not enough to keep Jake from starting. "What," he asked.

"You're not here for Embry. So, the girl. Who was she? Please don't say she was someone you used to know."

"No," Jake began, and after a short pause, "She was someone I used to work with." He grinned, even as Barton gave him a brief, yet withering, sidelong glance. "I used to serve with her. We served on Gateway Station together." His smile didn't change, but his next words were loaded. "So, all three of us have that in common, I guess."

"I was on Gateway long enough to brew a pot of coffee and leave half of it behind me," Barton countered. "I'm well aware that you've seen my service record. Thanks to you, a lot of other folks have too. You don't need to keep hitting me with it."

"You're welcome. And I'm thinking that maybe I do," Jake was turning now to give the larger man his full attention. "I'm not sure if you've been keeping up with current events-"

"I know the situation," Barton cut him off.

Jake continued undeterred, "Because there's a lot you need to be aware of."

"Neo-Essentialists. Time travel. New President. Civil war. I got it."

Jake blinked. "Oh. Well. Good." He regained his footing and pressed forward. "Good. Then you know exactly what we're about to go up against. You know how big, and how bad it is. So my question is: when are you going to stop moping around here, suit up, and get to holding the line with the rest of us?"

Barton turned to him, his expression darkening. "Did Kane send you? I told him I'd-"

Jake held up his hands. "No. Not at all."

Barton's shoulders relaxed. "Oh. Okay."

Jake took the briefest pause. "I mean, I knew that he was going to be talking to you, but-"

"Sonofabitch!" Barton threw up his hands, whether to smash Crichton or the window, Jake wasn't sure, but as soon as he'd exploded up, they lost their momentum. His two giant hands hung stupidly in space for just a moment, before he rested them against the observation portal and let his weight sag against them. He leaned there for a moment, sagging with a body language that didn't match his youthful face. "This isn't my fight. Not anymore. I walked away-RAN away-from all of this years ago. You all rolled into my home with this shit and you swept me up in it with you. And I've been a good sport. I played along. It got me shot at, and it got my ass kicked, and it almost got me melted, and the same person that did this to THEM," here he held up his hands to display Montoya and Embry, "not only went digging around in my brain, she left part of herself in there. I didn't choose any of that. I mean, I'm just saying...I've pulled my share of the weight. Ain't I?"

Jake nodded. "That's why we need you. People already rely on you, Barton. It's already started. Whether you like it or not." He waited for the larger man to respond, but Barton didn't take the bait. "I don't believe the other part, though. The part about not choosing any of this. I don't think that's true."

Barton didn't say anything else. After a moment of waiting for a reply, Jake sighed and turned back to the observation window. He watched the techs finish their preparations and step back from Montoya's biobed. One of the techs touched a comm badge on her chest, spoke an order that Jake couldn't hear, and Montoya was stolen away in a shimmering blue light. The techs paused for the barest instant before moving en masse to surround Embry and begin the process again. The Marines looked on, waiting.

"Embry made a big impact on you, didn't he," Jake asked, his tone was easier now. Barton couldn't tell if it was a change in the topic of the conversation or in Crichton's tactics, and until he did, he wouldn't respond. "I figure, maybe working with him in Shantytown gave you a sense of purpose. I'm thinking, may there wasn't a lot of that going around on Limbo.

*Tactics, then,* Barton thought to himself. "Embry was a fool. And insane..." He didn't want to say more, but it didn't feel right to speak so harshly of the man he'd come to say goodbye to, and who would be gone in just a few moments. Against his own will, he continued. "But...I think he meant well. In his own way."

"For all the good that does. 'In his own way,'" Jake countered. "You know, I think Edgerton means well 'in his own way.' Problem comes in though, cause his way is batshit crazy, and full of people he isn't worried about stepping on. Remind you of anyone?"

Barton felt his hackles rising. "Not... Not my problem."

"So you keep saying. And yet, here you are. Still. Door's not locked, Big Guy. You're free to go whenever you want. But here you are, sticking around. I think it's for a reason, and I think I know what it is, and I'm just waiting for you to figure it out."

Barton finally turned back to him. He wasn't glaring at Jake, exactly, but his expression wasn't far off. He considered the newly minted second officer a moment. "Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?"

"Absolutely," Jake said without pause. "All the time."

A flash of blue in the room beyond the observation window caught both of their attention. They turned back just in time to see Embry disappearing, leaving behind nothing but an empty biobed and a troubled legacy. The Marines, visibly satisfied with their performance, relaxed and began to disperse. Moments later, Sickbay was all but empty.

"Well," Jake said. "I guess that's that."

Barton didn't reply.

"Okay," Jake said, "Last pitch. Go back to Kane. Stay. I think you want to; I know we need you to. There. There it is. Nutshelled."

When Barton turned back to him, his expression had softened. A little. "You know, he told me that if I didn't-"

Just then, the doors to Sickbay opened once more. Jake turned and saw the two security officers waiting for James Barton and Dr. Cade Foster. Then the doors hissed closed and there was only Foster. Jake was satisfied to see the doctor draw up short, just for a moment. However, Cade's natural smarm quickly reasserted itself, and he walked towards them, a malicious grin spreading across his face.

"Am I interrupting a romantic moment," Foster cooed. "Let me guess. Monkeywrench said 'yes.'"

"Shut up, Foster," Jake said.

"Oh, you're the man in the romance? My mistake. Sorry. I just figured with all that facial hair, Ol' Jimmy here would be carrying you across the threshold instead of the other way around." He frowned. "That's gonna be tough, though. Where do you you suppose a Sasquatch gets a wedding gown? Do you figure they have their own stores?"

"Go to Hell," Jake frowned. Barton noticed the engineer's hands were balling up.

"Ah ah ahhh," Cade said, wagging a warning finger at Crichton. "Use your words, Monkeywrench. No more suckerpunches."

"Did you come in here for something," Jake demanded.

"Well, y'know, not that it really MATTERS, because, after all, this is Sickbay and I kind of AM the Chief Medical Officer, but as a matter of fact, I did. Party favors. Plenty of new officers aboard the ship – supple young ones – and I want to make sure they get the proper Phoenix welcome. Morale building, and all that."

"You know, beyond the fact that you're a real compliment to your uniform, I am second officer now. If you tell me you're planning on drugging the crew, I can have you put on report."

"Relax, Punchy." Cade dismissed him with with a wave of his hand. "I just came down to grab something to help me sleep. I pulled an all-nighter and I can't drop off."

"You could have replicated something."

"Not strong enough," Foster shot him down. "I only go in for the good stuff." He held up a hypospray, wiggling it between his fingers, as if to prove the point.

"Yeah," Jake said. "Not better. With the misuse of medical supplies."

"Oh, calm down. I wrote myself a prescription." Jake looked as if he wanted to press the issue, but recognized that it was hopeless. Foster hobbled toward the door. "I'll turn your mood lighting back on. Be safe. And if you won't do that, at least name it after me. Actually, scratch that. Name your dirty Half-Sasquatch idiot baby after someone else." Then he was gone, and Sickbay was quiet and dark again.

"That guy's an asshole," Barton said after a moment's reflection.

"Yeah," Jake said, still scowling at the doors.

"You got him in the face?"

Jake turned to Barton, the memory of laying Foster out tugging the corners of his mouth upwards into the ghost of a smile. "Yeah. I did."

Barton nodded once, and one side of his own mouth inched upwards. "Good for you."

Then he turned and marched in the direction Foster had gone. As the doors opened and Barton strode through, Crichton could see the two person escort start and hustle to keep step behind their quarry. Then the doors hissed shut and Crichton was left alone with his thoughts.

=[/\]=


Dale I. Rasmussen
~writing for~
Lt. James Prophecy Barton
Sec/Tac of the USS PHOENIX