Angel

ANGEL

ANGEL

By
Morticia
 
57/60



CHAKOTAY
I
turned desperately to the gathered elders and gathered my thoughts in an effort
to speak words of eloquence and wisdom.
"My
father, Kolopak, taught me the ways of our people. He taught me the way by which
to measure my actions. The words he spoke to me were thus:

“Remain
close to the Great Spirit. Give assistance and kindness wherever
needed. Do what you know to be right. Be truthful and honest at all times. Take
full responsibility for your actions.
“I
did not choose to leave our homeworld. I took the warrior’s path and, in the
course of my wandering, the spirits cast me far from this land, far from those
I loved. It was not my choice; it was my destiny.
"I
did not rail against the spirits. I did not turn my back on my beliefs. I tried
to follow the beauty way.  I did not turn my back on my faith. I walked the path that
the spirits led me on without complaint. And on the journey that they led me
on, I found the keeper of my soul.
“I
did not seek him. The truth is that in my ignorance I spurned him over and over.
Yet each time that I turned my back, the spirits forced me back to his side.

“In
the end, I did what I finally knew to be right. I accepted the gift of the spirits.
I knew that the path I chose was difficult and would bring suffering upon Angel.
But Tom is the other half of my soul, without him I am incomplete, half a man.
The spirits would not have led me to him unless our destinies were entwined.
I tell you this honestly and take full responsibility for my choices.”

My
words caused a great murmur in the crowd and several of the elders whispered
together. It seemed that my clumsy words had swayed them somewhat. Several of
them cast kindly glances in my direction and I felt the tone of the crowd shifting
favorably towards me. I had an obvious advantage over Angel in this, of course,
since my people WANTED to find me innocent. I was the son of Kolopak. That alone
was reason for leniency.
Then
stepping forward from the throng, Wabashaw smiled at me with surprising kindness.

“It
is our decision that you truly believe yourself innocent of the charge. Your
words have the simplicity of truth. You are not a deliberate liar. 
We also accept that you did not leave willingly. You did not deliberately
choose to abandon the man who you had promised yourself to and your long absence
from our world must indeed have been the work of the Spirits. Whether the choices
you made on your journey home were right or wrong must yet be established, however.”

I
nodded and sighed with relief that they were at least prepared to hear me out,
but my answering smile was frozen by the unmistakable gleam of sly triumph in
Angel’s face as he addressed me in front of the gathered tribe.

“But
not all spirits are benevolent, Chakotay. You have told us that this ‘Caretaker’
in a storm of great fury, stole your ship. We have heard how he performed medical
experiments on your shipmates which left them disease I
I
nodded in suspicious confirmation of his words. I had no idea what he was hoping
to achieve with these comments so his next words stunned me.
“Your
own legends tell of this creature. His name is Iya, devourer of man and beast,
spreader of diseases, a shape shifter who often appears in the shape of a storm.
Iya is a monster, the onifonification of evil. It is he who took you from me
and tricked you into Tom’s arms.”
Angel
ignored my shout of protest and turned to face the elders.
“Who
but Iya could make Chakotay fall for the seduction of the son of your greatest
enemy, the trickster Admiral Owen Paris?”
“Tom
is not his father,” I argued desperately as the tone of the crowd shifted away
from me in angry murmurs. I was tempted to add that there was no such damned
being as Iya, either, but fortunately managed to hold my tongue.

“A
man is the sum of his ancestors. The blood of the treacherous Paris flows through
his veins and taints him irredeemably. Only an evil Spirit would lead you to
him. Tom is not of the people, not of the tribe,” Wabashaw intoned solemnly.

“Angel
may be of the tribe, but he is not of the people – look at him. He is beautiful
but weak. He is not the fitting guardian of a warrior’s soul. Why would the
spirits choose HIM as my mate?” I asked desperately. “I made a mistake when
I chose Angel and the spirits have shown me my error before it was too late.”

“Angel
is Nukatem, he IS a fitting mate for a warrior,” Wabashaw replied crushingly.

Nukatem.
In my people’s legends the Nukatem were artificial creatures made by the Great
Spirit himself. Unnatural, large, preternaturally beautiful. Yes, I could see
how Angel could be perceived as such a creature. To my people, a Nukatem was
a fitting mate for one such as I.
“Tom
is an agent of Iya, he must be cast out,” Angel said in triumph.

“Return
him to his people” came the answering cry from the elders.
~~~

BEYVAHL
The
ceremony is almost complete. My mother and sisters have tattooed Tom with our
ancestral mark. The blue lines stand in harsh contrast to his pale features,
and yet they only serve to illustrate the passionate icy fire of his eyes. From
the first moment I saw them together, I had never doubted the love my brother,
Chakotay, felt for this man. Yet it had seemed surely only love born of pity
for a weak, broken figure whose vulnerability screamed from his thin shoulders
and haunted features.
Where
Angel had always carried the beauty and assurance of golden sunlight, this Tom
had seemed to cast only a pale moon shadow. Yet the spell of Tom’s charm was
not as fragile as first appearances suggested.
As
the thin silvery strands of a cobweb hide a deadly strength behind their fragile
beauty, so Tom’s persona hid a spirit of surprising force.
It
had been Tom’s aura of vulnerability that had drawn my mother to him initially.
She was one of those people who found themselves irresistibly drawn to protect
the afflicted.
Yet,
she had re-evaluated him. She had looked beneath his weak surface and found
a warrior’s heart. She had declared that he would perform the Wkangana.
She had called him the Thunderbird.
The
Thunderbird. The spirit of war. His eyes fire, his glance lightening, and the
motions of his wings filling the air with thunder.
Tom
did not walk in the sun’s shadow. He was not the grey incorporeal shade I had
believed. I had measured him and found him wanting because I had not understood
the yardstick by which he could be valued. He was not tarnished silver, he was
lightening. He was the Thunderbird.
Knowing
Chakotay as I do, I should not have been surprised. It was ironic that he had
managed to find such an opposite to Angel. 
Angel’s splendid physique and perfect features hid a weak and imperfect
soul. Tom’s broken body hid a spirit of such strength that it shone from his
eyes as he offered himself to the spirits.
I
doubted even Chakotay understood what he had brought into our midst. Mother
said she sensed the hands of the spirit world in this and, with increasing dread;
I was beginning to believe her.
How
could I fail to believe her with the evidence in front of my eyes?

We
had left the farm and walked to the highest point of Asgaya.
The
vast mountain cast deep protective shadows over the settlement of Dorvan Central
where Chakotay was even now fighting for his husband, ignorant of Tom’s torturous
journey to meet the Great Spirit.
I
had not believed it possible that a man so weak and lame could traverse the
broken, rough-hewn path that led to the summit of Asgaya. My people had carved
crude steps in the granite mountain and centuries of constant use had worn them
to a smooth and deadly sheen. Mosses and lichens had grown to hide the handholds
and render them treacherous with their wet slime.
Even
my mother had struggled with the journey. Her old bones and age-thickened limbs
had made her breathless and exhausted by the time we had reached the place where
the first rays of new dawn struck Dorvan. The place where a soul could meet
the morning sun, the new, sweet earth and the Great Silence alone.

It
was on the narrow ledge beneath the summit that Layla and my mother applied
the ancestral tattoo. Tom’s eyes were glazed with pain, his breath torturously
short from the exertions of the climb and the thin air of the mountain. We had
not broken fast and the Spirits only knew where his already emaciated frame
had drawn energy for the journey.
Already
his deceptive strength and quiet proud demeanour had won my grudging respect.
I knew that even if the Spirits rejected his plea that still I would hold fast
to my decision to support his claim to Chakotay. No matter his parentage, this
man WAS worthy to keep my brother’s soul.
My
mother had whispered to him quietly, teaching him the words of the prayer, instructing
him in the ways of our people. Yet still, I felt she went too far. She did not
merely give him the words of tribal initiation; she instead gave him the summoning
cry of a shaman to Bakbakwalanooksiwae himself.
I
had been raised to believe in the Great Spirit, yet my beliefs were mundane
and passionless. I knew the spirits existed just as I knew that there was oxygen
in the air I breathed. Both facts were equally true to me and equally irrelevant
to my normal life. It was only as Tom turned from us to make his lone final
scramble to the summit that fear clenched my heart.
Realisation
struck me. The spirits WERE real and this outsider, this white man Tom Paris,
would face them alone, demand their attention and perhaps be struck dead for
his arrogance.
I
lurched forwards in sudden fear. I had to stop him. How could I face Chakotay
and tell him that I had conspired in this madness? That I had allowed Tom to
die alone on this mountaintop?
My
mother’s hand caught my arm in a grip so tight that I could not break free without
harming her.
“Trust,”
she whispered, “believe, Beyvahl.”
So
helplessly I watched as Tom balanced himself precariously on the summit and
reached his arms up to the sky in a gesture of sacrifice. He teetered for a
moment, off-balance, and a few loose stones rattled down to us from beneath
his feet. His feet staggered for purchase, while my breath caught until my heart
threatened to burst, and then he steadied and raised his voice into the clear
morning sky.
“Oh
Great Spirit, whose voice I hear in the winds and whose breath gives life to
all the world, hear me. I come before you as one of your children.”

For
an anticlimactic moment I was aware of nothing more than Tom’s surprisingly
strong voice and the distant cry of an eagle. Then a chill wind rose to whip
at my exposed cheeks and I saw Tom sway unsteadily under its sudden force, yet
his voice did not falter.
“I
seek strength not to be superior to my brothers, but to be able to fight my
greatest enemy.”
The
first rays of morning sun blinded me as they speared out of the purple dawn.
My eyes blinked and watered against the sudden brightness.
“I
am small and weak. I need your strength and wisdom. Let me walk in beauty and
make my eyes ever behold the red and purple sunset.”
And
then the newly brightened sky began to darken around us.
“Make
my hands respect the things you have made, my ears sharp to hear your voice.”

As
Tom spoke, as each word left his lips, the clear new sky above our heads was
filling with black clouds. Huge and pregnant with the promise of storm.

Coincidence?
Perhaps, yet the sky broiled with fury and resonated with the rhythm of Tom’s
pulsing heart and I was filled with fear and excitement.
There
was an electric charge in the air, sufficient to make the tiny hairs on the
nape of my neck crawl and shiver.
Tom
was stood alone in the elements, his short blond hair whipped by a wind that
had risen from nowhere. His arms outstretched beseechingly, he was shouting
now to be heard above the wailing currents of air.
“Bakbakwalanooksiwae,
devour my spirit, cleanse me and transform me.”
And
I swear, on the honour of my ancestors, that it was at the precise moment that
he spoke the name of Bakbakwalanooksiwae that the heavens opened and a bolt
of lightening arced down to spear him as he swayed on the pinnacle of the mountain.

Layla
screamed and fainted but my mother merely began to chant loudly, her arms thrown
up to the storm clouds in ecstasy, as bolt after bolt of lightening struck down
on Tom.
I
saw him jerk and flail under the assault but he did not fall. His voice never
faltered, and the white fire ran to earth beneath his feet, blackening the rocky
ground but leaving him unharmed.
Then
the rocks beneath my own feet trembled as the energy that should have dissipated
through the earth instead charged upwards through Tom’s body and exploded out
of him in two huge fountains of pure white light.
For
a moment, two perfect wings of energy pulsated from his body and he slowly turned
towards us with a grin. His blue eyes had rolled back in his head so that only
the whites showed and those white orbs glowed with terrible purpose.

I
felt my knees give way and I collapsed to the blackened soil in worship of the
Thunderbird.
~~~

ADMIRAL
OWEN PARIS
“What
the hell do you mean, the transporters won’t work?” I spat at Data in disgust.

Data
gave me one of his cool impassive looks and repeated with torturous precision.

“We
are unable to transport within a 20 kilometre radius of Dorvan Central.”

“Why
the hell not?” I demanded furiously.
“There
is too much electrical inference in Dorvan’s atmosphere over the area you wish
to transport to.”
“Damned
preposterous. You’re trying to tell me that I can transport to anywhere on the
planet EXCEPT Dorvan Central?”
“I
AM telling you that, Admiral,” Data replied.
Despite
the android’s impassive face, I was positive the mechanical bastard was laughing
at me. I turned to Will Riker, more certain of my ability to intimidate a flesh
and blood officer.
“Dorvan
has a temperate climate. It is a backwards, agricultural world. How the hell
do you explain the fact that this phenomena has magically appeared just in time
to conveniently stop us beaming down?”
Riker
appeared to look thoughtfully at the readings from the Science console before
considering his reply and then turned to me with a shrug.
“Coincidence?”
he suggested and I could almost swear I saw a twitch of a smile lurking behind
his dark beard.
I
seethed in the command chair. Although none of Enterprise’s crew had been stupid
enough to protest my commandeering of the ship, they all seemed to take great
satisfaction in watching my efforts thwarted.
When
we had first arrived in orbit, my immediate plan had been to simply lock onto
Tom and the others and beam them onboard.
My
orders to that effect had been politely refused by Riker. The First Officer
had taken great pleasure in reciting Starfleet Rules and Regs when dealing with
non-aligned worlds.
He
obviously had decided that his career was expendable because he was as sure
as hell going to pay the price for his insubordination when his next promotional
review was due.
The
problem with being a Starfleet Admiral was that although I have the authority
to order the Enterprise crew to follow my orders, I also have to maintain a
strict adherence to regulations. Otherwise I would be giving my insubordinate
subordinates an excuse to officially question my actions.
I
could have ignored Riker and snatched Tom anyway, but such a direct breach of
protocol, if reported by Riker (and I had no doubt that the little bastard would
do it) could have resulted in Starfleet’s insistence on Tom’s immediate return
to Dorvan in an attempt to appease the slighted natives.
So
I attempted to make nice with the Dorvan idiots and unsurprisingly my efforts
to negotiate with the Dorvan government had fallen on deaf ears. The cheeky
bastards had denied MY authority, had refused to allow me to even set foot on
their world.  Then they had allowed
a representative from the Heran ship to beam down.
It
was a direct slap in my face but it also gave me the opening I had been looking
for. I had sent a sub-space communication back to Earth, advising them that
the Dorvans were intending to negotiate an alliance with the Herans.

It
took only 5 hours before my permission to veto standard procedures and prevent
the alliance at all costs had arrived from headquarters. 
I had immediately ordered that the fugitives be retrieved and now it
appeared that during the delay some fucking storm had developed out of nowhere
and the transporters wouldn’t work at all.
“It
must be an artificial storm, some form of defense barrier,” I spat angrily.

“Dorvan
has no technology that would be capable of such weather manipulation. As you
yourself said, sir, they are a backwards agricultural world,” Data 
replied.
“Then
where the hell did it suddenly appear from?” I challenged the infuriating machine.

“Maybe
Chakotay’s spirits sent it?” Will replied lightly.
I
had to grit my teeth not to smash his sarcastic smile across the bridge.

“Prepare
a shuttle for launch.”
“We
will be unable to pilot through the storm, Sir. We will have to land on the
edge of the electrical disturbance and enter on foot,” he advised me smugly.

“Make
it so,” I replied angrily. No damned storm was going to stop me now.

~~~

WILL
RIKER
I
left the bridge to organize the away team. It would take us at least three hours
to reach Dorvan Central on foot from the nearest safe landing place. 
Possibly more since the settlement was nestled in the only mountainous
district of the planet.
It
would have been more prudent for us to wait until the storm cleared but I had
realised that the Admiral was not in the mood for prudence, he was after revenge.

I
understood his concern for his son, only I wasn’t convinced that it was Tom
who was his primary target. Everything about Owen’s actions since his commandeering
of the ship had been directed towards the capture of Chakotay.
He
had barely mentioned Tom’s name in conversation. Always it had been Chakotay
in the foremost of his mind. I had seen his insane rage at my sarcastic mention
of Chakotay’s spirits.
Only
to be honest, I hadn’t truly been being sarcastic. 

I
first met Chakotay at the Academy. I had been a green first year cadet and Chakotay
had already graduated but was still waiting for his first posting to come through.
With typical bureaucratical inefficiency I had been assigned to the quarters
that Chakotay had still failed to vacate.
The
remembered humiliation of barging unannounced into his occupied quarters still
has the power to make me blush. Yet, with the generosity that I quickly learnt
to equate with the quiet Indian, Chakotay hadn’t thrown me out on my ass to
look for temporary lodgings.
Instead
we shared the cramped quarters for the three weeks it took for Chakotay’s outward
transfer to come through.
With
little in common, and too great a divide in knowledge and experience to discuss
Starfleet together, we had at least attempted some form of mutual companionship
in those weeks. We had often sat up nights, discussing politics and philosophy.
Chakotay had still been in denial of his own beliefs at the time and so I had
delighted in playing devil’s advocate to try and rile the calm of my slightly
older friend.
I
had delved and researched into old Native American legends in my search for
ammunition to throw during our debates and then had used the knowledge to needle
Chakotay incessantly.
I
had never actually believed in Chakotay’s spirits, dismissing them as antiquated
legends from a pre-technological society. 
And yet, my years on the Enterprise have opened me up to a myriad of
things that I would formerly have dismissed out of hand. 
Perhaps Chakotay’s spirits WERE real.
I
sincerely hoped so. I couldn’t imagine Chakotay getting out of THIS shit alive
without super-natural aid.
~~~

JACQUELINE
We
are just three hours from Dorvan where my son awaits me. Of course, he doesn’t
know I am coming. He probably doesn’t even know that I care enough to bother.

I
never pretended to be a good mother.
I
could have saved him so much pain, so much grief. I could have protected him
from Owen. I could even have made the right choice all those years ago and saved
all of us.
I
have this mad dream in which we swoop in to Dorvan, evading all the Starfleet
vessels and steal Tom and his Chakotay from under everyone’s noses.

Then
Jean-Luc and I will magic them away to some safe place where we can finally
be a family.
It’s
a fairy tale of course. Quite apart from the impossibility of taking on the
whole of Starfleet, there are personal issues too. There’s Jeanette and Elisabeth
to consider. I have grandchildren. I have a husband.
Husband.
Admiral Owen Paris. Self-important, uptight, self-righteous Owen.

I
still love him and it saddens me.
Because,
whatever happens now, I will never go back to him.
Jean-Luc
and I will stay together.
God
help me for my selfishness. I have taken the opportunity of Tom’s latest wild
escapade and have carved myself some happiness out of the ruins of his dreams.

Many
years ago I made a mistake. Tom paid the price. To be honest, he’s still paying
the price.
But
me? I have no more currency to spare.
Jean-Luc
and I have found each other again. Our mutual inadequacies as Tom’s parents
have forged a bond between us. We have made a pact to tell the world that Tom
is OURS and to live or die together in the attempt to make things right for
him at last.
Together.
The idea makes me strong.
It’s
strange. T’Pel is alone and THAT makes her strong.
Then
again, she is a good mother to her children from what I can gather. She has
never been weak. She had never let her children suffer because of her own fears
and inadequacies. She has never made the mistakes that I have made.

Guilt.
Regret. Constant companions for so long that they have become part of me now.

Hope.
Revenge. My new companions. They bear sparkling swords of righteous anger and
guilt and regret are now pale shadows. I have no time for them, no time for
self-pity.
I
will leave THAT selfishness to Owen. Let HIM wallow in it.
Tom
is in danger.
Finally,
he will learn that a mother may sometimes be selfish, sometimes be weak, but
a mother will NEVER fail to fight for her child when it really matters.

Live
or die, I will make Tom proud to be my son, OUR son.
~~~

SENIOR
PLANO (Heran Modality Starship “Milton”)
 

“Another
Federation vessel is approaching on a direct intercept course with the planet,
Senior.”
I
looked with disinterest at the view screen where the vague outline of the approaching
ship had just reached sensor range.
“Typical
Old Human behaviour. They throw themselves like rats at a wall in the hope that
sheer weight of numbers will collapse it,” I replied tiredly.
“What
are your instructions, Sir?”
“Retain
our current orbit. They are ignoring our presence, we will show the same disinterest.”

“There
are already five Federation ships in orbit, Senior. At this rate, by the time
Angel returns we may be forced to fight our way back out of this system.”

I
sighed and sat back in my chair. I understood the nervousness of the youngster.
We Herans were so enslaved by our genetic predisposition to freeze in the face
of danger that even our ship’s pre-programmed advanced tactical defense program
was little comfort against our instinctive mental fear of the Primals.

“We
may lack the aggression of the Primals, but our technology is superior and will
protect us. Our ship is unstoppable.”
“Like
the Titanic was unsinkable,” the helmsman muttered rudely.
I
grinned in appreciation of the old Earth reference. Just as Khan had loved to
quote Milton, so we Herans devoured Earth history and literature. Our founders
conred red the literary works of the Primals to be the only things worthy of
preservation when we had left Earth. 

“What’s
not destroyed by Time’s devouring hand? Where’s Troy, and where’s the Maypole
in the Strand?” I quoted to distract the youngster’s fear.
“Damn,
you got me. Who said that?” my helmsman replied, his previous concerns drowned
by the need to identify my obscure quotation.
“Ah,
education these days,” I sighed dramatically. “Perhaps you should look for the
reference while we orbit.”
~~~

CHAKOTAY
The
saying “all hell broke loose” is usually used in wanton exaggeration. Yet it
is the only way to describe the reaction of the Elders to Nayib’s announcement.

“Tom
Paris has issued challenge to Angel. He demands the right to perform the ritual
of Wkangana. He insists that the Spirits alone can make judgement over his marriage
to Chakotay.”
I
admit that my own scream of outrage nearly drowned the collective protests.
Only Angel was silent and pensive. Even in my shock and horror, I found a small
vicious voice inside my head that silently whispered, “you missed THAT possibility
in your research, didn’t you, you bastard?”
To
be honest, the idea of Angel being subjected to the barbaric Wkangana gave me
a small measure of satisfaction. My former charitable thoughts towards my ex-lover
had been frozen by his crusade against Tom. I had entered this hall full of
guilt for my desertion of Angel. Now, I simply couldn’t wait to be rid of him
from my life.
On
the other hand, I would rather meekly accept his claim and move to Hera than
see Tom’s already abused body suffer the torture of the ritual.

I
had come to understand my people’s beliefs. I had even begun to treasure the
Spirits and daily I strove to walk the beauty way. What I had never been able
to fully accept was the OTHER side of our traditions. I had the same horror
of the Wkangana, as the first white missionaries must have felt on witnessing
the cruel barbarity of our justice.
Intellectually
I understood that the acceptance of the spiritual path necessitated the sublimation
of physical pain and pleasure. Just as fakirs proved their spirituality by walking
on coals and lying on nails, so our people had traditionally proven the purity
of their spirits by facing and enduring horrific physical pain.

So
I didn’t protest out of a lack of belief. Yes, a spirit was forged through pain
and suffering into strength and purity. I understood and believed that implicitly.

But
what no one seemed to understand was that Tom had ALREADY passed his rite of
suffering. How much more pain could a mind and body handle than Tom’s year as
a quadriplegic?
Before
his accident Tom had been a weak man. He had been lost in self-doubt. He had
hidden his frailties behind walls of sarcasm and masks of indifference and scorn. 
The Tom who had finally emerged though may have LOOKED battered and beaten
but he had found within himself a core of strength that stunned me.

They
had no RIGHT to judge him and I wouldn’t allow it. My heart broke as I spoke
the words that would both deny him and save him.
“Tom
cannot issue challenge. He is not of the people, not of the tribe.”

Angel
turned to me in triumph. I had publicly admitted that Tom had no place on Dorvan
and he was now assured of his victory.
“Beyvahl
has accepted him into our family, Chakotay. When I left the farm, Tom was already
journeying to Asgaya to perform the initiation ceremony. The dawn broke an hour
ago. Tom is now ‘of the tribe’,” Nayib told me solemnly.
“Prepare
the sweat lodge,” Wabashaw instructed the elders as he accepted Nayib’s words
and I howled in despair.
~~~

On
a nearby mountain, the wolf’s long howl was answered by the keening war-whoop
of the Thunderbird.
~~~

JEAN-LUC
“There’s
the Excelsior, the Terminus and the Heran Modality Ship,“ Harry said nervously.

“Keep
a fixed orbit between them and the Herans,” I instructed. I knew that the Enterprise
was here, I could smell her, but presumably her orbit was a half-turn behind
these vessels. If we came in line with them, we would remain on Enterprise’s
blind side and Owen would not notice our presence unless the Excelsior or the
Terminus reported our presence.
There
was no reason for them to suspect us though. We had approached with the correct
‘fleet codes and as far as they knew we wjustjust another ship joining the ever
growing web around Dorvan.
I
had another reason for choosing this particular orbit entry, however. I had
been one of the people directly responsible for winning Hera its closed-world
status. My intervention, at the point when Hera had come to the attention of
both the Federation and the Klingon Empire, had prevented a blood bath.

The
Herans were genetically engineered supermen. Even in today’s society the lessons
of the Eugenics wars had not been forgotten. Khan was the bogeyman who lurked
in the nightmares of all Federation citizens.
The
Herans had decided that their only chance for survival in a hostile galaxy,
given their own inability to fight, was to release a virus that would change
Primals like myself into Herans. End of war.
Of
course the virus had been contained. A peace settlement had been reached and
only the crew of the Enterprise had been infected with the virus. My children,
or my children’s children at least, would be Herans too.
Except
that my only child, Tom, had fortunately been born before the infection.

I
was like Owen now, in a way. I could not father a new son; I had to instead
prove myself worthy of the one I had abandoned.
I
wondered how Will Riker was feeling on the Enterprise. He had already confessed
to me that he considered Chakotay a personal friend. He had admitted to only
a short acquaintance with the man, but the very fact that such a brief encounter
had left such a lasting impression gave me hope that Tom was in good hands.
I had checked Chakotay’s unblemished service record. I even sympathised with
his reasons for jog thg the Maquis. He seemed like a good man, so perhaps my
son was simply braver than his father.
He
had given up everything for the person he loved. If only I had been so courageous,
or less selfish at least, at his age then neither Tom nor Jacqueline would have
suffered.
But
the real reason I was thinking about Will was because of the Herans. During
our time on the planet resolving the conflict, Will had learnt that his own
particular height and build had been partly the result of genetic engineering.
It had turned out that during the eugenics war a number of Khan’s followers
had fled to Alaska to hide.
It
had been a difficult time for the young man. He had had to come to terms with
the fact that he was partly that which he had been brought up to fear and loathe.
Coming on top of Deanna’s relationship with Worf, I had worried for his sanity.

Of
course, he had pulled through with his usual aplomb. Yet I had often found him
deep in thought in the subsequent years and he had often admitted to a wish
to return to Hera. The combination of loathing and wistfulness on his face had
always worried me. It was as though he had found a fire that burnt and yet drew
him inexorably into its flame.
Yet,
it wasn’t a wish to protect Will that drove me to contact the Herans. To be
honest, at this point, the only person who I was trying to save was Tom.

Too
much, too late, perhaps.
I
had no room in my heart for anyone else. Except Jacqueline.
~~~

SENIOR
PLANO (Heran Modality Starship “Milton”)
 

“The
new Starfleet vessel is hailing us, Senior.”
I
looked up in surprise. This was an unexpected move on the Federation’s part.

“What
do they want?” I snapped impatiently. I couldn’t imagine a dull-brained Primal
having anything to say that would interest me.
“It
is registering as a private Admiral’s yacht, but the speaker is identifying
himself as Captain Jean-Luc Picard.”
“Picard?”
I repeated in amazement. I hadn’t spoken to the man for years and couldn’t imagine
why he was concerning himself with this private matter. Nevertheless, he was
entertainingly well read for a Primal and had proven his sharp wit on our previous
acquaintance. I was prepared to listen to him. 
“Put him on speakers!”
“Do
you want visual too?”
“Of
course,” I said irritably.
The
monitor flickered and then the face of Captain Jean-Luc Picard was revealed.

~~~

JEAN-LUC
 

“Senior
Plano, it’s been too long,” I said smoothly as I identified the proud beautiful
face of the Heran Senior.
“But
wherefore thou alone? Wherefore with thee came not all hell broke
loose?” Plano replied.
“Milton?”
I asked with an appreciative grin. The Senior’s tendency to converse with quotations
had always struck a sympathetic nerve in my own soul.
Plano
nodded, his eyes twinkling, “Your ship has shrunk, Picard. You do not meet me
with the threat of phasers today.”
I
looked around my tiny bridge and shrugged.
“What
stronger breastplate than a heart untainted?
Thrice
is he armed that hath his quarrel just-”
Plano
smiled and finished for me:
"And
he but naked, though locked up in steel,
Whose
conscience with injustice is corrupted.”
“You
read the Shakespeare I gave you, then,” I said.
“I
can’t understand why the founders didn’t take it to Hera. I like him. Henry
VI had a certain ‘verve’ that Milton lacks,” Plano commented with a wry grin.
“But tell me of this righteous cause that convinces you of your invulnerability
before my superior weaponry.”
“My
son is on Dorvan. His life, liberty and perhaps even sanity are being played
out on the stage below.”
“Your
SON? I do not understand. This is a private matter. My son, Angel, has requested
my help to rescue his betrothed who is a native of this world. Surely this Chakotay
is not YOUR son?”
“Chakotay
is the HUSBAND of my son,” I replied firmly.
“This
cannot be. You are known as a man of honour to our people. How can you have
sired the viper, Tom Paris?”
“Viper?”
I repeated in disbelief.
“Angel
has told us of how this man stole his betrothed. How he has beguiled and bewitched
him, trapping him in unescapable obligation and setting the whole of the Federation
against him. Chakotay’s life is now forfeit. His only chance is to return to
Hera with us where he will be safe from retribution.”
“I’m
sorry to say this, Senior, but your son is a sad, bitter man who has lost Chakotay
to another. Tom is not to blame; no one is to blame. Tom and Chakotay love each
other and Angel needs to simply let them go.”
“No
doubt those are Tom’s words,” Plano spat derisively.
“No,
they are merely the facts. Tom and I have not spoken over this matter, but I
have with me people who can testify to the genuine love between my son and his
husband.”
“Why
has your son not defended himself to you, his father?”
“The
silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.” I replied simply,
unwilling to admit that Tom didn’t even know he was my son. 

“That
damned Shakespeare had an answer for everything, didn’t he?” Plano muttered,
“I admit that Angel’s obsession with this primal is of great concern to me.
I am not happy with his choice of an old human as a mate. To be honest, it would
suit me perfectly for your son to keep his ‘husband.’ However, even should I
support you in this, there is still the problem of Chakotay’s safety.

“I
am perhaps prepared to face my son’s wrath by denying his choice of mate. I
am NOT prepared to face the consequences of this Chakotay’s subsequent death.
Angel might forgive me the former, he would never forgive me the latter.”

“I
understand. To be honest, I am sure that if the only chance for Chakotay’s life
is to accompany you to Hera, then Tom also will see the necessity to up up
the man he loves.” I said, ignoring Jacqueline’s gasp of horror at my words.

“We
are decided then, as fathers? Should Chakotay’s freedom from the Federation
be assured, then I will take Angel home alone. Should the Federation refuse
to pardon him, then you will take your son away and let me leave with Chakotay.”

“Agreed,”
I said solemnly.
 

Go
to Part 58