Strange New Worlds 2016 (29 page)

Geordi La Forge was smiling as he read the telemetry from the torpedoes. “Transpectral
sensors are online.” A lot of people were saying this was the apocalypse, just like
they’d said during the first total eclipse or the first recorded star going nova.
It didn’t matter to the chief engineer if the storms were evil or an anomaly of nature.
The only thing that mattered was the science, and when that much trilithium hit plasma,
the storm in this sector would simply cease to exist. “Shield generators are at one
hundred thirty percent optimum capacity. Six seconds to detonation.”

Worf watched the torpedoes disappear into the breach of flame like Klingon warriors
marching into
Gre’thor
to do battle with
Fek’lhr
himself. “Detonation in three seconds . . . two . . . one.”

All eyes turned to the viewscreen, but nothing happened.

“Captain, I’m no longer receiving telemetry from the torpedoes.” La Forge sounded
shaken, unsure. “But the storm density in this sector has increased by more than thirty—”

Without warning, tentacles of flame reached out and curled around the starships that
represented the last hope for the Alpha Quadrant. Shields flickered, then collapsed
like cracking eggshells as superheated plasma tore through them in the cold of space,
shattering the hulls of the Starfleet, Klingon, and Romulan armada. Lights went dark
throughout the vessels, followed by the telltale puffs of venting atmosphere from
hull breaches and then the twisting and turning abstract specs that could be only
one thing: bodies.

Picard reacted immediately. “Deploy armor!”

As the steel-gray skin covered the
Sovereign
-class starship, warp cores were breached on the crippled ships. A squadron of Romulan
warbirds tried in vain to back off but were caught in the chaos, with each explosion
of energy marking an extinguishment of life. A wing of Klingon battlecruisers broke
formation, veering off wildly to avoid the deadly debris and shockwaves.

Picard realized these were no random energy surges. They were precise, malevolent,
and—from their pattern—the
Enterprise
was next. “Drop shields! Helm, take us on a parabolic heading toward the debris.
Lock on to any life signs in range and beam them aboard!”

As the
Enterprise
began its arc, streams of superheated plasma tore into the mighty vessel. A growl
slipped from the Klingon when the console next to him exploded. Ignoring the metal
shard in his side, he wiped the pale purple blood from his station. “Armor is holding.
Multiple signatures being beamed aboard.”

Dozens of tendrils concentrated on the
Enterprise
, their numbers increasing as the ship’s defenses withstood their onslaught. Antimatter
leaked out of the port nacelle like blood from a wound as the mighty starship moved
even faster through the graveyard.

Picard knew there wasn’t much time left. “Mister La Forge, prepare for warp speed!”

La Forge didn’t have time to answer Picard. Systems were failing faster than the chief
engineer could reroute them. Duranium girders groaned, protesting the insanity of
a ship designed for space doing battle in a sea of flames.

The
Enterprise
was in trouble.

“Five hundred seventy-two life signs aboard.” Worf’s voice tightened as he fought
to keep his balance amidst the conflict between twenty-fourth-century technology and
the anger of the storm. “The debris field is clear.”

The starship captain could feel the predator bearing down on his ship. “Picard to
all ships: Fall back to DS 9. Helm, maximum warp!”

Kira watched the viewscreen go dark as the
Enterprise
and the few remaining ships escaped.

A voice echoed throughout Deep Space 9. “What are the three keys to enlightenment,
Nerys?”

Ops fell silent as all eyes turned to the top of the stairs in front of Kira’s office.
Dukat walked out from a pyre of flame. Kira was ready. “Computer, run program Kira
omega!”

The chroniton force field surrounded Dukat, but the Cardassian stepped through it,
unconcerned. “Am I not a merciful God? Have I not shown charity? Bajor remains untouched
by my hand, a gift of my love to you.”

Dukat slowly descended the stairs toward Kira. “Has not the mighty Federation been
humbled before my power? Does not the entire universe now know humility before the
majesty of the Pah-wraiths?”

Two Bajoran officers fired their phasers directly at Dukat. He glanced at them, and
they disintegrated into ash. “Have I not shown you that all these years your faith
has been misplaced in false gods?”

Kira could no longer hold back the tears as the demon approached her.

Dukat smiled. “Open yourself to me, to your destiny, Nerys. Take your rightful place
at my side, and we will rule the universe from our throne here on Terok Nor.” Dukat
outstretched his hand. “Join me in the fire of enlightenment, Nerys, or burn with
them in the fury of my power.”

Kira Nerys looked at the outstretched hand and knew that the fate of Bajor and the
universe rested on what she did next.

April 9, 1959

Lester Johnson was speechless.

The janitor had been sneaking into Benny Russell’s room for the past three years to
read his stories. This was the first time one of the stories upset him.

“I don’t understand, Benny,” Johnson said, shaking his head. “This here story, this
ain’t like you.”

The author looked at his friend. Other than Manning, Johnson was the only person he
could talk to. The older man’s dark skin hid his age well, but his eyes showed each
and every hard lesson life had dealt him. Johnson meant well, but there was no way
the man could relate to what he was going through.

“Lester, I’m in here because I couldn’t stop writing, because I felt I had to tell
these stories. But tell them to whom? You and Doctor Manning are the only people to
have read my stories in years. I’ve been writing all this time and for what?” Benny
Russell looked around the room at the boxes that bore the names of starship captains
on them. Six years of dreams were in those boxes, six years of writing about others’
lives while he spent his in a psychiatric institution. “For nothing.”

Johnson understood the pain in Russell’s voice. He knew what the young man had been
through—being pushed down for speaking up, with the occasional beating included just
because.

Johnson had started a family late in life, which meant he had to work two jobs with
his head down and mouth shut. No matter what was said to him, he took it so he could
put food on the table and a roof over his family. His wife never spoke about it, but
he knew she could see it was more than just a hard day’s work that made him so tired
when he got home. He could feel it in the way she massaged his shoulders and always
had dinner ready.

Although he’d never said it, Johnson was proud of Russell. It was like something inside
the young man had never learned to keep his head down and mouth shut. Through it all,
Russell just kept writing and fighting for his release. On visiting day, his friend
seemed almost free, rejuvenated every time that Cassie walked through the door. But
now she was gone, taking his smiles with her. Johnson was no doctor, but he knew that
would be enough to break anyone.

As the janitor stared at the pages filled with pain and anger, he knew he needed to
reach out to his friend, help him, but he didn’t know how. He wasn’t like Russell.
He didn’t have the words. Hell, he’d never even finished high school. But maybe there
was something he could say to the young man.

“I never told you this,” Johnson said, “but I been telling my kids your stories.”

He thought about his two boys and precious girl, wide-eyed and taking in every word
that came out of his mouth, and smiled. “Man, you should see their faces when I tell
them about starships and all them worlds. They raise their hands, asking questions
like they in school. I’m telling you, they can’t get enough; they know the names and
places better than me.”

Pride in Russell and his children washed over Johnson as he continued. “But it’s more
than that. When I talk about your Captain Sisko and his son, or Geordi, or that Lieutenant
Uhura, they see themselves. Your stories tell them that they can be somebody.”

Russell stared at Johnson in disbelief.
Could this be true?
The janitor always looked forward to every twist and turn in the stories that filled
the boxes around them. Like Russell, they too were imprisoned, but Johnson had freed
them, taken them out into the world Russell yearned to rejoin. His friend had breathed
life into them through his children. The story now lived within them.

Johnson interrupted his reflective moment as he returned the handwritten pages. “Son,
don’t you get what’s going on out there?”

Russell could feel the pain and anguish in his friend’s voice. “You got people fighting
and being beaten . . . dying for the right to be human. Churches being burned, children
are being murdered—children no older than mine.” Johnson tapped on the pages with
his thick fingers. “And here you is, writing about a future where black, white, red,
yellow—it don’t matter, we just people. My babies now dream of a time when the color
of a man’s skin don’t mean he’s less than anyone. This here
Star Trek
that you writing ain’t no science fiction, son. What you’re writing is . . . hope.”
Johnson’s voice broke. “You can’t destroy that.”

“What do you mean you’re changing the ending?” Russell heard the frustration in Doctor
Manning’s voice. He leaned forward in the worn leather chair across from her. Her
office always relaxed him. Here he felt as if he could talk to her without the institution’s
eyes upon him.

It was crucial to him that she understood his decision. “You’ve helped me see that
focusing solely on my stories was a mistake. I’m not retreating into them again.”
Russell stared deeply into the doctor’s eyes, hoping she could feel what he dare not
say until he was free of this place. “I want to—need to—get out of here and start
living.”

For the first time ever, Nia Manning broke eye contact with Russell as she spoke in
a tone filled with an emotion he’d felt from her but never heard in her voice before.

“If that’s true, Benny, then please, explain to me why you’re doing this now, when
we’re so close.”

Russell exhaled, and in doing so realized he’d finally let go of a burden he’d been
carrying for far too long. “Life is about joy and pain, happiness and despair. Taking
all my anguish about Cassie leaving, about this place, and pouring it into
Epilogue
won’t ever truly set me free. But accepting it, learning from it, moving beyond it,
will.”

He smiled—more to himself than his doctor. “My stories have always been about overcoming
the darkness in the world around us and in ourselves. I don’t have to destroy that
message so that I can live.”

Russell thought about the possibility of one day getting his stories published. When
that day came, he wanted it all to be for something.