Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Tue, 10 Feb 2004 19:24:47 -0800 In: alt.startrek.creative From: Christina fmlyhntr@sunset.net Title: Planetfall Author: Julie Evans Contact:season7_5@yahoo.com Series: VS7.5 story 39 Codes: others Rating: PG Part: 5/9 Date Posted: 2/9/04 ^*^*^*^*^ Jim saw Michael coming. He could have walked away, but that would just be delaying the inevitable. They'd ignored each other last night during the barbecue, letting the kids' excitement keep everyone occupied, but they couldn't ignore each other forever. They might as well settle it now. And if Michael wanted him gone, he would be. There was plenty of room here. Heck, there was a whole planet, and maybe the Ocampa would welcome him-- "Jim." Jim pasted a smile on his face as Michael approached. "Hey, Michael." He motioned toward the cooler next to him. "Want a beer? It's pretty warm today, and a nice cold drink--" "No, thanks." Jim shrugged and pulled one out for himself. He pressed the cap release and heard the satisfying hiss of air escaping as the bottle cap popped open. "So, what's up?" Michael frowned at his flippant question. "Do you plan on getting your shit together, Jim?" Well, that was blunt. "I'm here, aren't I?" Jim said blandly. "Are you?" Michael asked. "Look, your personal life is your business. If you want to drink, pick fights, and hop from woman to woman--" Jim's guffaw cut off Michael's words. "First of all, how much hopping can I do here, considering the small number of single women?" "It didn't seem to stop you on Pioneer." "That was called flirting," Jim said. Since when was that a crime? "It's a harmless social interaction. And they flirted back." Most of them, anyway. "As for fights, I don't pick 'em, but I'm not going to ignore someone who's spoiling for one. Oh, and I drink synthehol now. You know that." Michael glanced at the beer in Jim's hand. "Yes, I do. Which means you aren't mentally or physically impaired, and you don't have a hangover the next day. Yet you do seem to need artificial assistance to enjoy yourself. Maybe even to feel good about yourself." "Really?" Jim asked sarcastically. "Have you noticed that plenty of people on Pioneer enjoy synthehol? I've seen you drink it. Do you need it to feel good about yourself, Michael?" "No, I don't. That's the difference." Jim took a long drink from the beer bottle while Michael watched him steadily. "Are these criticisms of my lifestyle your way of telling me you want me to pack up and move my shelter to another location?" Michael looked startled. "Of course not. I just want you to understand my position." "Which is?" "I'm not interested in watching you do the same things over and over again. More importantly, I don't want my kids watching it." Jim stiffened. "You've already made it apparent that you don't trust me around them, even on a holodeck. I can't believe you think I'd actually let them come to harm--" "I don't believe that," Michael said. He sighed. "I admit I probably overreacted the other night. I know you wouldn't let them come to physical harm. But they look up to you, Jim. You have an influence on them, and when they see you getting into fist fights, or-- "It was *one* fight," Jim interjected. "And Adamo threw the first punch." "Maybe, but you threw the second. And the third. And the fourth." "Okay." Jim wasn't going to deny that. He had fast reflexes, and he knew how to use them. "But Adamo deserved it. He shouldn't shoot off his mouth." "Right. What was it he said again? That Chakotay knew how to marry the right woman?" Jim shrugged. "It was the implication." As if Chakotay married Captain Janeway simply to take advantage of her position in Starfleet to further his own ends. "So you have to call him an arrogant prick to his face?" "What was I supposed to do?" "Walk away?" Michael said. "Save me from having to put you in the brig to cool off? Captain Janeway and Chakotay certainly don't care what Adamo may think of their relationship, and I doubt they'd want to give him the satisfaction of his words receiving any regard at all." Jim hadn't thought of it that way. He just had the urge to wipe that smug look off Adamo's face every time he saw him, and he'd finally let that urge take control. "Maybe I should have held my temper," he conceded. Especially when Michael's boys had been there, watching. "But people like Adamo, and Diaza--" "Are windbags," Michael finished. "And best ignored." That was easier said than done, at least for him. "I'll work on it," Jim said. He wasn't going to make any promises, but he would try. "Fair enough," Michael said. He paused for a moment, and his expression became solemn. "You can have a great life here, Jim, if you want it. No one's standing in your way. We're *all* starting over, and the past doesn't mean anything here." Except that all pasts weren't created equal. Admiral Diaza and a few of Pioneer's crew had made Jim aware of that in subtle ways. He shook his head. "I don't think everyone has just forgetten my past." "I doubt most of them even know about it, though it doesn't really matter. It's not they who have to forget, Jim. It's *you*." Jim lips lifted in a skeptical smirk. "Me?" "Think about it," Michael said. "I'm going go to help Kajee finish our unpacking. I'll see you at dinner." Michael walked away without waiting for a reply. Jim watched him as he reached Kajee. She smiled and touched his arm, then slid her hand down until their fingers locked. It was a casual gesture, but an intimate one, an indication of the abiding connection between them. And it made Jim envious. He turned away as the two disappeared into their shelter, surprised by his reaction. He hadn't been in the market for that kind of attachment, certainly not since his return to the Alpha Quadrant. He'd deliberately avoided reunions with old friends and what little family he had left, and the occasional liaisons he'd had with women had been nothing more than quick, physical mergers. That had been his choice. Angelo had chosen to bond with Celes, while Noah had reconnected with his daughter, Hannah. If Jim had wanted someone's unconditional support, or someone to serve as a deeper reason for putting his messed up life back together, then he'd have someone. Wouldn't he? He couldn't help thinking of Marla. She'd had Harry Kim's unconditional devotion. She'd found what she longed for but she'd turned it away, convinced she didn't deserve it. She'd refused to believe that her worth wasn't inextricably tied to her past. He and Noah had both tried to reason with her, to no avail. Now it seemed he wasn't really any different at all. It wasn't a cheery thought. He was emotionally isolated and without direction--despite coming to New Earth to find a new direction--because he wanted it that way, not because anyone was standing in his way. Not because anyone here, or back in the Alpha Quadrant, cared much whether he succeeded or failed, but because he was flat out afraid to try again. Jim looked at the half empty bottle in his hand. Then again, maybe his thinking was screwed up, as usual. Who said he needed *this* to feel good about himself, except Michael? If that were true, it would be working a lot better-- Jim overturned the bottle and poured out the rest of the synthehol. It was warm anyway. He glanced back at his shelter, where his belongings were now unpacked and arranged orderly enough to pass a Starfleet inspection. He was as settled as a man who had next to nothing could be. He tossed the empty bottle into his recycle container and started walking northeast, toward the common site. Even though the actual building wouldn't start until tomorrow, there had to be something he could do for Angelo. Unpack tools, stack lumber, measure the structure markings, whatever. It would be better than loitering in front of his shelter, with nothing to do but think. ^*^*^*^*^ Day Three, USS Pioneer, morning: Doctor T'Pren sat at her desk with fingers steepled, brow furrowed, and mouth set in a tight line. She was not upset in the human sense of emotional distress, but she was disquieted. She had rechecked the data three times, diligently looking for any refutation of her findings. She'd found none. Unfortunately there was no other conclusion. An error had been made, a grievous one, and it must be corrected immediately. But first she had to inform the captain. T'Pren pressed several keys on her console, initiating the necessary database search. By the time she returned the information she would need to formulate the appropriate remedy should be ready. She rose from her chair and was headed for the door when her combadge beeped. //Doctor T'Pren, this is Doctor Binet. We haven't received the altered formula for the repellent yet. Is there a problem?// "Indeed, there is." It was Doctor Binet's request less than an hour ago that had led T'Pren to her current discovery. "My research indicates that the repellent will not be effective. I am devising an alternative treatment." "An alternative treatment?" Margot Binet's tone was baffled. "But I thought Romulans were genetically linked to Vulcans. It should be easy enough to adjust the repellent to their--" "There is an additional complication, Doctor. I must consult with the captain, but I will contact you shortly. Please wait for my call." T'Pren closed the channel before Doctor Binet could ask further questions. She calculated that she had twenty point three minutes before the computer retrieved all the data she required. That would be time enough to apprise Captain Merves of the current lamentable development, as well as inform him of the situation with Distor Stann. Perhaps the latter would lessen the unpleasant impact of the former. ^*^*^*^*^ Captain Joshua Merves poured a second cup of coffee--his limit for the day--and settled back into his chair, feeling pleased with himself. The transfer of the colonists and all their belongings had gone quite smoothly. In fact, now that he reflected on it, the entire trip to the Delta Quadrant had gone smoothly. He'd never been on a ship with over two thousand people, had never even considered what was entailed in running operations on a massive transport vessel like Pioneer. And while the ship *was* massive, dwarfing both Voyager and Odyssey together, it had felt pretty cramped at times. Now it was almost empty. With the colonists now on New Earth, and about half the crew on shore leave, Merves figured there were less than sixty people aboard right now. Other than the occasional beeping of status indicators, and the low hum of forced air circulation, the ship was silent as a tomb, as his father would say. His father was an archeologist, so he would know. Merves took a sip of his coffee. He supposed a colony could be a nice place to live, if you enjoyed that sort of thing. He'd lived in plenty of them during his childhood. He preferred to be in space, which was why he'd joined Starfleet instead of following in his father's footsteps. His parents had worried that serving on a starship was dangerous, but he'd seen enough destruction during the war--entire colonies wiped out, planets like Betazed and Cardassia laid half to waste--to believe that any place was completely safe. If they'd seen some of the things he seen-- The door announcer beeped, and Merves was glad to dismiss memories not worth revisiting. "Enter." "Captain Merves." Dr. T'Pren inclined her head briefly in greeting as she entered. "I have two matters that require your attention." Merves waved a hand toward the chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat, T'Pren." T'Pren sat, and raised an inquiring eyebrow before she spoke again. "Would you prefer to discuss the pleasant matter first, or the unpleasant?" Merves' mouth quirked. Despite her Vulcan equanimity, T'Pren had worked with humans for a long time, and it showed. "Give me the good news first. Maybe it will make the bad news easier to take." "Very well. Distor Stann has requested my assistance in propagating his species." "Propagating..." Merves' voice trailed off in confusion. "I thought he was the only one who survived the destruction of his planet." "Technically, no." "I see," Merves said, though he didn't. "Well, that is good news, but you're going to have to explain further, T'Pren." "Of course, Captain. Keaynnin biology is markedly different from that of most humanoids, particularly in the area of reproduction. On Keaynn, when a young male and female engaged in sexual intercourse, the female deposited an egg into the male's genital tract. The egg was then stored in a sac within the male's body. If you would like me to explain in specific detail the biological processes and organs involved in transferring--" "Not necessary," Merves said. Clearly the Keaynnin were--had been--unique. "Continue." "During this early phase of sexual maturity both males and females were highly active, mating frequently, and with multiple partners. Each time a male and female engaged in sexual intercourse an egg was transferred. At a certain age, a Keaynn female went through a final phase of sexual maturity, wherein she and a chosen male entered a monogamous relationship and married. At that time their sexual intercourse became limited, and focused on reproduction only--" "Only?" Merves echoed. T'Pren gave him a cool look, then continued. "During this method of intercourse the male returned an egg to the female, along with a wash of sperm. Generally this occurred one egg at a time, though there could be an occasional multiple transfer. The transfer resulted in fertilization and implantation of the egg within the uterus--nearly one hundred percent of the time if Stann's information is accurate--and a pregnancy occurred. A child was born some five months later." Merves held up a hand. "Wait a minute. If I'm understanding you, then these fertilized eggs do not contain the mother's genes?" "Most likely not, though there is always the possibility that the mother may have had intercourse with the father during the sexually open phase of her life." "Interesting." To say the least. Merves was aware of a number of unusual methods of reproduction in the galaxy, but this one was stranger than most. "So, in Keaynnin culture it is paternity that is fact, while maternity is merely a rumor." T'Pren's eyebrow rose at the captain's amused smile. "If I understand your idiomatic meaning, that is partially correct, though maternity is not even a 'rumor.' It is irrelevant. In Keaynnin culture, the woman who bears the child is its undisputed mother. In human cultures--and Vulcan cultures of the past--genetic parent issues generated much animosity, and a long history of sexual discrimination. Because of their method of reproduction, such sexual conflicts did not occur in Keaynnin culture." "I suppose not," Merves said. Maybe that also explained the remarkably peaceful nature of the Keaynnin, as Stann had portrayed their culture. There were no sexual politics to feed aggression. "Exactly how does this relate to Distor Stann?" "Distor Stann is carrying in his reproductive sac a number of eggs. He had not yet mated permanently. Among the Keaynnin, infertility was apparently highly uncommon, thus no methods of artificial reproduction were ever developed. Stann, however, has discovered that such methods do exist within many cultures in the Federation, and after much reflection, he has requested my assistance in exploring the possibility of adapting those methods to his Keaynnin biology." "Can it be done?" Merves asked. "Yes. I have reviewed the matter with Doctor Ibrahim, the colony's geneticist and neonatologist, and we have devised a method to extract and fertilize the eggs, then chemically stimulate the embryos to grow to term in the colony's incubators." "Exactly how many eggs are we talking about?" "Two hundred and sixty seven." Merves' mouth fell open. "Two hundred..." His mouth closed again, while he tried to comprehend that number. "Is that feasible? For Stann to raise two hundred and sixty seven children?" "Doctor Ibrahim will not remove all the eggs at one time. The intention is to stagger the births over many years. Stann has become quite admired among the colonists, who also sympathize with his plight. I believe they will be willing, if not eager, to assist him in raising his offspring. As for Stann, despite his appreciation of the kindness the colonists have shown him, I believe his mental and emotional health hinge on communion with his own kind." "I wouldn't doubt it." Merves had also sympathized greatly with Stann's plight. He couldn't imagine being the last human in the galaxy. The mere thought gave him the willies. To know that humankind was extinct, that he was totally alone--the last of his kind--he didn't know if he could live with that knowledge. He wasn't even going to entertain the thought of Earth--its people, its culture--its entire history--obliterated from existence. TBC -- Stephen Ratliff ASC Stories Only Forwarding In the Pattern Buffer at: http//trekiverse.crosswinds.net/feed/ Yahoo! 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