by Emily
After watching for what seemed like hours, Commander Elias Vaughn finally broke the silence. "Are we done yet?"
Captain Picard smiled, not looking away from the incredible lightshow. "Done watching?"
"Done looking, for me Breen. They're not here, Jean-Luc. I don't mink they ever were."
Picard's smile faded. 'I've come to agree with you, but we have to be thorough. Another run through the thick of it, and we'll have completed a second grid. We want to be able to declare a reasonable certainty, after all our efforts."
They stood before the viewport in the captain's ready room, the ever-shifting view of the Badlands spread out in front of them in shades of flame. For the last several days, the two men had taken to meeting there as the ship completed each run, to watch the plasma storms together.
The Enterprise had been searching the treacherous area for nearly three weeks, the constant atmospheric disturbances making it necessary to pilot and investigate manually, their sensors useless beyond a very short range. Vaughn had come aboard to advise the mission on Breen tactics... though even if their supposed presence had turned out to be true, he doubted he'd have been of much use. The captain and crew of the Enterprise-E were more than worthy of their distinction, and Vaughn was certain they could handle themselves against a few Breen.
It's been nice to spend some tone -with Picard and his people, anyway. Vaughn liked Picard, having met him on more than one occasion in the past. He'd always thought the captain bright, if a bit dry, and surprisingly well-rounded. His tactical instincts were superb, and he carried his command well, with distinction and grace. A little formal, perhaps, but not offensively so, his politeness clearly stemming from a respect for others rather than some self-promoting mechanism. But Vaughn had worked with this particular Enterprise crew only once before, at the Betazed emancipation over a year ago—a mission that had earned them his profound respect.
The intercom beeped, Will Riker's voice interrupting Ins musings. "Captain, the new course is plotted. Allowing for the predicted plasma currents, Commander
Data suggests that we begin immediately, and that we start out at one-quarter impulse for the first two million kilometers."
"Make it so," Picard said, and as the ship eased toward the shimmering Badlands, Vaughn thought again about the coded transmission he'd received only a few hours before. Even the dramatic beauty of the plasma storms wasn't enough to distract him entirely. He was bone-tired, and not from three weeks of chasing a rumor.
"I'm thinking of retiring, Jean-Luc," Vaughn said abruptly, a little surprised at his own impulsiveness as the words left his mourn. He'd been considering it for months, but hadn't planned to tell anyone until he'd decided. And he didn't even know Picard all that well....
... although he probably knows me as well as anyone. Vaughn didn't know if mat was good or bad, but it was the truth.
Picard also seemed surprised. He turned to look at Vaughn, eyebrows arched. "Really? May I ask why?"
"You may, but I'm not sure I have an answer," Vaughn said. "I suppose I could just say that I'm getting too old...."
"Nonsense. You can't be much older than I am."
Vaughn smiled; he'd never looked his age. 'I'm a hundred and one, actually."
Picard smiled back at him. "You wear it well. But you still have decades ahead of you, Elias."
"I suppose I mean old in spirit," Vaughn said, sighing. "Since the end of the war, I find myself thinking differently about things. After eighty years of charging off to battle..."
He paused, thinking. He'd never been an eloquent
man, but he wanted very much to define the path of his feelings, as much for himself as for Picard. After so long a war, so little time for pleasures or luxuries, he felt out of touch with the delicacy of bis self-perceptions.
"I've always been a soldier," he said. "I was trained lor it, and have excelled at it—and for a long time, I've felt my role to be an integral part of the peace process. Now, though.. .just lately, I've been thinking of the universe as an unending series of conflicts that doesn't need another aging warrior to help circumscribe them."
Vaughn shook his head, searching for more words to explain what he'd been feeling. "Wars will always be waged, I know that. But I'm starting to think of myself as a participant in war, rather than someone working toward peace. And the difference between the two is immeasurable."
Picard was silent for a moment, and they watched as the Enterprise slid effortlessly into the bright and tur-bulent space of the Badlands. Vaughn felt strangely relaxed, at ease with the captain's silence. He suspected that what he'd said was being carefully measured by Picard, scrupulously considered, and the thought was oddly comforting.
"Perhaps you need a change of vocation," Picard said finally. "Do you know the story of Marcus Aurelius?"
Vaughn smiled. A great warrior of ancient Rome, a general who'd lost his taste for battle in spite of his successes. The original soldier-philosopher of Earth. 'You flatter me."
"Not at all. And I'm not suggesting that you turn to writing your meditations on war and peace... though perhaps that's not such a terrible idea. You have more
strategic and tactical experience than any career officer I've ever known, Elias, but that doesn't mean you have to use it as a soldier would. You could write, or teach."
Picard faced him, his expression earnest "Of course, you can do whatever you wish. But—forgive my presumption—I don't think you're the kind of man who would be content to sit back and watch the worlds goby."
Vaughn nodded slowly. "You may be right about that" He took a deep breath and expelled it heavily, finally reaching the foundation of. his thought the essence of what he was trying to express. "I don't know. I just know mat I don't want to fight anymore."
Picard leaned back, looking out at the fiery storm once more. "I understand," he said softly, and Vaughn believed mat he truly did. The captain's ability to empathize was perhaps his most admirable trait It was a rarity hi any species, and most particularly hi upper echelon Starfleet
The intercom signaled again. "Captain, Commander—we may have something."
That was a surprise. Vaughn left his person thoughts behind as he followed Picard toward the door to the bridge. He'd been so sure about the Breen, had already decided that perhaps the Klingons had picked up something, but mat "possible Breen warp signatures" wasn't it Following the treaty, the Breen had withdrawn to their home space for the most part But though they were certainly capable of deceit building a military presence hi hiding didn't fit with the Breen's I cultural psychology....
... although it does fit in with a few other reports I've heard of late... Reports that were still on a need-
to-know basis. It was a funny thought though Vaughn was too aware of the Enterprise's current position to find any humor in it.
They stepped out onto the bridge and moved to their scats, Vaughn taking the advisory position to the cap-lain's left. All they could see on screen was the rolling sea of unstable plasma.
"Mr. Data, report," Picard said.
The android consulted his operations console as he spoke. "Sir, the ship I am detecting is not Breen. It is a freighter, and it appears to be Cardassian in origin."
Picard frowned. From his other side, Riker spoke softly. "What's a freighter doing out here?"
Data answered him. "It is caught between two conflicted masses of pressure. Sensors indicate that the freighter is powerless, and mere are no life signs aboard. Also, that they have been trapped in this area for an extended period of time."
"Estimate? How long?"
"Considering the relative consistency of bom pressure fronts and initial reads on hull integrity, I would estimate mat this particular eddy has existed for thirty years or more."
Picard's frown deepened. "Can you get a visual?"
"Trying, sir."
A few seconds later, the main screen's view changed, and Vaughn caught his breath, fascinated. The long, dark freighter tumbled slowly end over e
nd against its bright backdrop, as it apparently had for decades, dead and alone. Vaughn felt his earlier exhaustion dropping away at the sight barely noticing his relief that there was no battle to be had.
Haunted, it looks haunted.
"Captain, if you have no objection, I'd like to lead an away team to investigate," he said, not sure why he was so intrigued, not caring particularly. It seemed to be a day for impulsiveness.
Heard glanced at Vaughn and smiled, so slightly that it was barely visible. He looked back to the screen.
"Commander Data, is the ship's hull intact?"
"Yes, sir."
Meaning it's possible to initiate an atmosphere, at least temporarily. AG's a must, but we can suit it against cold, wouldn't have to wait for an environmental toxin analysis then, either....
Picard nodded, and turned again to Vaughn. "Commander, I hope you'll allow Commander Riker to ac~; company you, and advise you in your selection of team members."
"Of course. Thank you, Captain."
Vaughn and Riker both stood, Riker asking for Data; to join them, recommending that La Forge and an Ensign Dennings meet mem at the transporter. Vaughn found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the exanimate freighter, and finally understood why he was so interested, the reason so fundamental but so odd that he'd almost missed it.
Somehow, looking at the lifeless freighter, he felt | quite strongly mat his future was inexorably tied to; whatever (hey would find there.
/ am getting old. Such fanciful thinking and daydreaming adventure wasn't his style. Vaughn shook: himself mentally and headed for the turbolift, but in spite of bis own best efforts to act bis age, his excitement only grew.
II
Ensign Kuri Dennings was the last to arrive at the transporter room, slightly breathless in her environmental suit and obviously excited to have been asked along. As she hurriedly donned her helmet, Riker introduced her to Commander Vaughn, making a point to mention the anthropological study she'd done on Cardassia's occupation of Bajor. Vaughn asked several educated questions about the Occupation as they stepped onto the transporter pad, all of them making minor adjustments to their helmets before pressurizing their suits.
"Is everything ready?" Riker asked La Forge, his own voice sounding annoyingly strange in the confines of the headpiece. Irritating, SEWGs. No matter how streamlined the suits got, they still felt bulky and restrictive.
"Yes, sir. Our tractor beam is holding her steady. Gravity's been established, there are some emergency
lights... though it's going to be a little cold, even with the suits. Negative 80° Cat last check."
They could handle cold, but not dark. "How long will we have before the portable's cell runs low?" Riker asked.
Vaughn answered. "Considering the size of the freighter, I'd say about two hours. It's a standard cargo model, isn't it? 220?"
He directed his own question at La Forge, who nodded, looking distinctly impressed behind the thick lens of his faceplate. "That's right, Commander."
Vaughn smiled. "Sorry. I should leave the engineering matters to the expert."
Riker was also impressed, though not because of Vaughn's awareness of portable generators; Vaughn himself was an impressive man. He seemed to know a little bit about everything, bat used it well, also knowing when to defer to others.
And when to shut up. The elder commander didn't seem to ramble, ever. Riker didn't know that he'd be so reserved with eighty years of war stories under his belt, and his taciturnity only added to his appeal; Vaughn wasn't mysterious, exactly, but mere was an impression of great intensity behind his genial exterior, of levels operating within levels.
"Shall we?" Vaughn asked, and then nodded to Palmer at the controls. "Energize, if you please, Lieutenant"
A sparkle of light, and they were standing hi the well of a large control room, Uttered with random debris and dusted all over with glittering frost There were no bodies; the crew had probably sealed themselves in whatever areas were easiest to seal, to retain atmosphere for
as long as possible. The freighter's bridge was cold, empty, and dimly lit by a handful of emergency lights, reminding Riker of nighttime on the mountains of Risa. He'd camped there last before the war, alone, huddled in front of a small fire as a cold plateau wind ruffled his hair....
... where did that come from? A weird connection, to say the least Risa was light-years away, literally and figuratively.
Vaughn stepped away from their group, surveying their surroundings. Ensign Dennings and Data bom held up tricorders and started to take readings, and La Forge turned toward what had to be the engineering console with bis case of adapter components, his silvery eyes glinting in the low light
"Anything we didn't expect?" Vaughn asked, addressing no one in particular. Data answered, his voice startlingly clear. Physically, he didn't need a suit, but the helmet comlinks were still the best way for him to stay in contact with the rest of them.
"Tricorder readings are consistent with those of the Enterprise sensors," Data stated. "This ship was caught in a plasma storm approximately thirty-two years and four months ago. The structural damage in evidence would have made it impossible for mem to break free from this pocket of space. Their power and life support would have failed in a matter of days."
"There were at least three Cardassian ships lost in i he Badlands around that time," Dennings added, "but all military, no record of a freighter."
Geordi had plugged into one of the consoles and was reading from a small screen. '1 think it's called the Kamal," he called. "Ring any bells?"
Kamala. The smell of her hair, and the way she tilted her head ever so slightly when she spoke... Riker blinked, taken aback by the sudden vivid memory of the empathic metamorph. He hadn't thought of Kamala in years.
Seems like I'm determined to let my mind wander. Deanna said I've been less focused lately, guess I should have paid more attention....
He also knew from Deanna that the crew desperately needed some time off, mat stresses were high and productivity low. Since the end of the war, the Enterprise had been inspecting defunct military installations, transporting supplies and emergency aid, chasing after possible terrorist groups—in short, wrapping up the loose ends to a war. It was almost the Enterprise's turn for a much-needed break, and considering his lack of concentration, he abruptly decided that it couldn't be too soon.
Dennings was checking a padd she'd brought with her. 'There was a transport freighter Kamal, but no record of it being lost Of course, the Cardassians aren't exactly famous for sharing that kind of information. Not men, anyway."
Not much of a mystery here; the freighter had gotten stuck. For some reason it reminded him of an abandoned ship they'd come across when he'd been on the Potemkin, though that had been a personal craft, caught in a natural soliton wave....
Snap out of it, Will!
Vaughn turned to address mem, his eyes glinting with interest "Well. I know it's not standard procedure, but if no one objects, I'd like very much to poke around a bit, see what there is to see."
He looked at Riker. "Commander, I know there are safety protocols to consider...."
Riker smiled at the half question. Vaughn certainly didn't need his permission, but was gracious enough to ask, acknowledging his status as executive officer. "I think an 'unofficial' inventory would go much faster if we split up."
"I think so, too," Vaughn said, smiling in turn. "I thought I'd head for the aft cargo bays... perhaps we could each take a direction, and check in every fifteen minutes?"
Everyone nodded, and Riker found himself feeling relieved, looking forward to having a few moments to collect himself as he assigned sections to Dennings and Data; La Forge wanted to stay on the bridge and download whatever information he could. Riker wasn't tired, hut felt as though he was suffering the symptoms of too little sleep—although of course he had stayed up too late, catching up on reports, and men a very late dinner with Deanna...
... curled up together afterward
and talking about work, her eyes as dark and shining as when we met...
She'd had a sleeveless yellow dress mat she often wore that first summer he'd been stationed on Betazed. Me remembered the crisp feel of it brushing against his arm when they'd held hands and walked through the university's grounds, laughing about some random observa-tion and enjoying the sun against their youthful faces—
God. He had to get some downtime, and soon.
There were dead Bajoran civilians in the cargo bays, corpses crushed beneath long-worthless boxes of sup-
plies or sprawled atop broken sections of hull and deck. Prisoners of the Occupation, their sad, frozen bodies were too thin, a testament to the suffering they'd experienced in life—and though there were a number of Cardassian soldiers among the dead, the oppressors and villains of the Occupation, Vaughn found himself unable to work up any anger. They were all dead. The Occupation was history, and dead was dead. He wasn't always so unfeeling, so uninterested, but the reality of the Kamal had become a veil, a mist through which his life was being played like a holodeck program.
The memories had started small at first, shadows of experience that touched him and were gone. But the memories grew in detail as Vaughn continued to walk through the dark and cold, becoming more than vague images, becoming brighter than what was in front of him. Having never experienced a spiritual epiphany— and from the oft-heard tides of such experiences, he assumed that was what was happening—he wasn't sure what to expect, but perhaps the memories were part of it Part of letting go...?
Violence and death and rationalizations. It was hard, the truth; he'd seen and done many things that he wished he hadn't He walked on, and the memories came faster, the intense feelings striking like lightning. People he'd loved, long ago; a dog he'd had as a child; the first time he'd kissed a girl. But overriding the touches of fond nostalgia were the battles, the substance of his life as a soldier. He couldn't stop remembering other tragedies, deaths as needless and terrible as the ones laid in front of him now. He'd witnessed innumerable wars, he'd documented the bloody aftermath
