Gleams That Untravell’d World
Title: Gleams That Untravell’d World
Rating: PG
Pairing: Chekov/Sulu, Chekov/OFC
Warnings: Character death (of old age). You may need a hanky.
Summary: Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’ gleams that untravell’d world, whose margin fades for ever and ever when I move.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, it belongs to Paramount and Gene Roddenberry.
A/N: Betaed by the lovely starsandgraces. I was working on a fic for someone. Then this one stamped its way into my head and demanded to be written.
Lethov closed the door behind him, locking out the pale yellow sky that was only now beginning to darken into cloud-softened twilight. He was glad that rain was threatening tonight. It meant that he couldn't see the stars coming out, pale pinpricks glittering against the black sesil-cloth of the night sky.
Turning on the solar-catcher lights, he headed for the kitchen table. It had been months since he'd actually seen the hand-polished wood of the table, covered as it was with sheets of paper bearing equations and diagrams and hastily-scribbled notes. He could have used a touchscreen, but he thought better when everything was laid out like this. His wife didn't understand his obsession, but she'd indulgently allowed him to commandeer the furniture as long as he kept his notes away from her cooking surfaces.
Akanu was in the kitchen already, cooking dinner. Her straight, dark hair was tied back out of the way in her usual practical style, and she hummed softly to herself as she chopped up the root vegetables that she'd been devouring hungrily for the past few months. "Lutas called today," she said casually, her eyes still on the food she was preparing. "He caught sight of some of your work. He seemed impressed with something - I think it had something to do with that fuel made out of air that you keep muttering about? Anyway, he will be coming back tomorrow, and he wishes to speak with you about it."
Lethov felt a surge of hope go through him. "So they are interested in my equations now, yes? Perhaps they will listen this time."
Akanu turned to meet his eyes, her swollen belly making her move awkwardly in a mockery of her usual fluid grace. "Lethov, my love, do not forget me and your child in your quest for the stars," she said, her eyes softening affectionately. She might not understand why he desired to touch the stars that he couldn't bear to look at, but she understood his need to do so.
"Never," he promised her, pulling her carefully into his embrace and holding her there. His arms looked pale against the yellow of her skin. It reminded him of something, but that was no surprise. Everyone on Skyros was the same shade as his wife. Except for him.
* * *
He was choking, gasping, dying. He couldn't breathe. The air smelled wrong, he was drowning in it . . . Pavel? Pavel, can you hear me? What have they done to you? Doctor, please tell me you can fix this . . .
"Lethe, wake up," came a sleepy mumble from the slight figure lying next to him in the bed. "You'll wake our daughter if you keep yelling like that."
Lethov sucked in a breath, blinking furiously to dispel the last, lingering shards of the dream. "I'm awake," he said, more to himself than to Akanu.
"You were calling something," she said, her words sleep-slurred. "It sounded like my name, but it wasn't. Hakanu? Hikalu? Something like that."
Hikaru. Lethov knew it, more surely than he knew his own name. But the rising tide of consciousness was stealing even those last echoes of his dream, leaving him trying to remember a name that vanished like smoke in the wind.
* * *
"See over there? That's the gantry where the drivers will get into the starship," Lethov said, pointing across the field. His son giggled and bounced on his shoulders, his daughter clinging wide-eyed to his leg. They'd been begging to come see Daddy at work for weeks now, ever since the infosheets had run that article on the revolutionary new technology that he was so deeply involved in. Some pessimists on Skyros decried the expense of building something so useless as an aircraft that could fly outside the atmosphere, but far, far more had become caught in Lethov's dream with him.
The long, tall rocket was only half-constructed, workers swarming over it and using the antigrav scaffolding to lift pieces into place. Lethov watched distantly. The rocket was nothing like the sleek silver shape that he felt instinctively was the proper shape for a starship, but it was a start.
* * *
He could breathe now.
Dammit, Sulu, stop hovering. These experiments won't run any faster if you glare at me.
He's already losing his memories, Doctor. What if he forgets me . . . us? We're running out of time.
Don't you think I know that? The virus is moving faster than I thought. Damn Skyrosians and their atmosphere . . . bioforming people . . .
Pavel? Pavel, please hold on. I wish I could touch you. Just hold your hand. But you're behind that forcefield. I can't breathe in there, you can't breathe out here. Please come back.
Who are you?
* * *
Lights blared bright around Lethov's desk, his touchscreen filling with symbols and lines. He ignored the outside world, the windowless room blocking out day and night.
The door creaked open, and he gritted his teeth. He'd been meaning to have that oiled, but never seemed to be able to find time for it. He refused to turn around as he made the circle on his screen tip sideways. Filling it in, he turned it into a flat karac-seed ovoid. A graceful neck coming out below one edge, leading down to a cylinder. The right shape for a starship.
"Father." The voice was quiet, the odd emphasis on the th something that she'd picked up from him as a baby.
He sighed and looked over his shoulder. "Maryta."
"You were supposed to come to dinner with Galsin and me tonight," she said, her eyes revealing her disappointment even as her voice stayed level. He found it hard to look away from her eyes - they were the same as his, the green hue a rarity among the uniformly dark-eyed Skyrosians. "Even famous geniuses need to eat," she added, trying to add some levity. He mouth smiled, but again those eyes betrayed her.
"I am sorry," he said penitently, unable to bear the thought that he'd hurt his little girl. Not so little any more, though - grown and married now, and seemingly happy. "Is it too late now?"
Now those green eyes brightened, and she laughed. "Not at all. I know you, Father. It's all stuff that will keep, and Galsin will be keeping it warm in the heater." She held out her arm, and Lethov shut down his screen and took it gallantly. "I sometimes think that these scientists you work with don't remember that people need to eat," she added as she pulled him out of the room and down the corridor.
Lethov thought back to it. "You are right. Very frequently, we forget these things completely."
"You never did learn to cook," Maryta sighed. "Imagine, a man not knowing how to cook! Mother . . ." Her voice faltered.
"Your mother is an exceptional woman, and our separation was nothing to do with you," Lethov said firmly. "I am sure she is happy with your second-father."
"And you were always married to your work," Maryta teased as they left the building. Lethov tensed as he looked up. Stars. So close he could touch them, the way he - no. He'd never been off-planet. Why was he certain that once he'd walked among the stars as casually as he was striding to Maryta's groundhopper now?
Lethov looked down at the ground and pretended that the tears that filled his eyes weren't there.
* * *
No! It can't be too late, there has to be something you can do!
He's gone, Lieutenant. He might look like Chekov, but there's nothing left of him any more. It's as if his brain's been reformatted. Even if I could reverse the viral bioforming, he'll never come back. He's a Skyrosian now.
Excuse me, Doctor. I . . . I have to go.
* * *
Lethov sat at the back of the control room, listening with the rest as the first star pioneers landed on Skyros' nearer moon. It was a good start, but somehow he couldn't share the exultation that was resonating between the control team and the pioneers. It wasn't enough. There had to be a way of going faster than light, despite every other scientist on the planet disagreeing with him.
"Today, the moon. Tomorrow, the stars," he murmured to himself, his voice lost in the wild whoops of joy filling the room.
* * *
You'll take care of him?
Of course, Captain. He will be valued among my people, and we will look after him. He will never know that he was anything but a Skyrosian.
Thank you, Charter Anelis.
Bones, where's Sulu? I thought he'd be here.
I don't think he wanted to see this, Jim. He said goodbye earlier. Chekov - Lethov - just looked right through him, then asked who he was. I've never seen that look on Sulu's face before.
Yeah. Those two were . . . I hope he stays in Starfleet. I wouldn't blame him if he wanted to resign.
* * *
Tomorrow came decades later.
Lethov had insisted on going on the first trial of Warp One. His surgeon grandson had tried to dissuade him, pointing out that he was significantly more frail at a hundred and ten than the pioneers who would be accompanying him.
That was why he'd built in inertial dampeners, Lethov had told him tartly. Anyway, if it killed him, so be it. Better to die up among the stars than be trapped on the ground. Warp One was his last creation, and he wanted to be there when it made its flight. Maybe then he could bear to look at the night sky again.
He wasn't sure why he'd chosen the name, but it seemed to fit. Warp One still wasn't the right shape for a starship, but he'd bowed to design practicalities. He knew it would work, though. After all, he'd designed it.
And it did.
Warp One broke the light barrier, carrying him and the two pioneers with him past the edge of their solar system. It worked again, carrying them back home and into communication range. Lethov was sent back to Skyros in a capsule while the two pioneers performed a few more test runs.
As soon as he was retrieved, Lethov planted himself in the control room and refused to move. Which was why, eight days later, he was there when aliens contacted them for the first time.
"This is Admiral Hikaru Sulu on the USS Athena."
Lethov watched proudly as his granddaughter (now head of the Skyros Starseeker Agency) talked to the man on the screen. Admiral Hikaru Sulu - was 'Admiral' a name or a title? - was an old man, perhaps as old as Lethov. But he looked younger, stronger, fitter than Lethov. Perhaps this Federation had better medical technology. They certainly had better vessels. He glanced at a side screen, showing a magnified view of the Athena floating in orbit. Finally, the right sort of starship.
Strange. Hikaru. He knew that name. The face . . . the face was familiar. He'd never seen the man before, and yet he was sure he knew him. But the faster he chased the mystery, the more elusive the memories became. Until, finally, all he was left with was the certainty that the memories had been there once.
Lethov gave up the fight, shut his eyes and smiled. He'd done it. He'd brought Skyros to the stars.
He could rest now.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Chekov/Sulu, Chekov/OFC
Warnings: Character death (of old age). You may need a hanky.
Summary: Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’ gleams that untravell’d world, whose margin fades for ever and ever when I move.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, it belongs to Paramount and Gene Roddenberry.
A/N: Betaed by the lovely starsandgraces. I was working on a fic for someone. Then this one stamped its way into my head and demanded to be written.
Lethov closed the door behind him, locking out the pale yellow sky that was only now beginning to darken into cloud-softened twilight. He was glad that rain was threatening tonight. It meant that he couldn't see the stars coming out, pale pinpricks glittering against the black sesil-cloth of the night sky.
Turning on the solar-catcher lights, he headed for the kitchen table. It had been months since he'd actually seen the hand-polished wood of the table, covered as it was with sheets of paper bearing equations and diagrams and hastily-scribbled notes. He could have used a touchscreen, but he thought better when everything was laid out like this. His wife didn't understand his obsession, but she'd indulgently allowed him to commandeer the furniture as long as he kept his notes away from her cooking surfaces.
Akanu was in the kitchen already, cooking dinner. Her straight, dark hair was tied back out of the way in her usual practical style, and she hummed softly to herself as she chopped up the root vegetables that she'd been devouring hungrily for the past few months. "Lutas called today," she said casually, her eyes still on the food she was preparing. "He caught sight of some of your work. He seemed impressed with something - I think it had something to do with that fuel made out of air that you keep muttering about? Anyway, he will be coming back tomorrow, and he wishes to speak with you about it."
Lethov felt a surge of hope go through him. "So they are interested in my equations now, yes? Perhaps they will listen this time."
Akanu turned to meet his eyes, her swollen belly making her move awkwardly in a mockery of her usual fluid grace. "Lethov, my love, do not forget me and your child in your quest for the stars," she said, her eyes softening affectionately. She might not understand why he desired to touch the stars that he couldn't bear to look at, but she understood his need to do so.
"Never," he promised her, pulling her carefully into his embrace and holding her there. His arms looked pale against the yellow of her skin. It reminded him of something, but that was no surprise. Everyone on Skyros was the same shade as his wife. Except for him.
* * *
He was choking, gasping, dying. He couldn't breathe. The air smelled wrong, he was drowning in it . . . Pavel? Pavel, can you hear me? What have they done to you? Doctor, please tell me you can fix this . . .
"Lethe, wake up," came a sleepy mumble from the slight figure lying next to him in the bed. "You'll wake our daughter if you keep yelling like that."
Lethov sucked in a breath, blinking furiously to dispel the last, lingering shards of the dream. "I'm awake," he said, more to himself than to Akanu.
"You were calling something," she said, her words sleep-slurred. "It sounded like my name, but it wasn't. Hakanu? Hikalu? Something like that."
Hikaru. Lethov knew it, more surely than he knew his own name. But the rising tide of consciousness was stealing even those last echoes of his dream, leaving him trying to remember a name that vanished like smoke in the wind.
* * *
"See over there? That's the gantry where the drivers will get into the starship," Lethov said, pointing across the field. His son giggled and bounced on his shoulders, his daughter clinging wide-eyed to his leg. They'd been begging to come see Daddy at work for weeks now, ever since the infosheets had run that article on the revolutionary new technology that he was so deeply involved in. Some pessimists on Skyros decried the expense of building something so useless as an aircraft that could fly outside the atmosphere, but far, far more had become caught in Lethov's dream with him.
The long, tall rocket was only half-constructed, workers swarming over it and using the antigrav scaffolding to lift pieces into place. Lethov watched distantly. The rocket was nothing like the sleek silver shape that he felt instinctively was the proper shape for a starship, but it was a start.
* * *
He could breathe now.
Dammit, Sulu, stop hovering. These experiments won't run any faster if you glare at me.
He's already losing his memories, Doctor. What if he forgets me . . . us? We're running out of time.
Don't you think I know that? The virus is moving faster than I thought. Damn Skyrosians and their atmosphere . . . bioforming people . . .
Pavel? Pavel, please hold on. I wish I could touch you. Just hold your hand. But you're behind that forcefield. I can't breathe in there, you can't breathe out here. Please come back.
Who are you?
* * *
Lights blared bright around Lethov's desk, his touchscreen filling with symbols and lines. He ignored the outside world, the windowless room blocking out day and night.
The door creaked open, and he gritted his teeth. He'd been meaning to have that oiled, but never seemed to be able to find time for it. He refused to turn around as he made the circle on his screen tip sideways. Filling it in, he turned it into a flat karac-seed ovoid. A graceful neck coming out below one edge, leading down to a cylinder. The right shape for a starship.
"Father." The voice was quiet, the odd emphasis on the th something that she'd picked up from him as a baby.
He sighed and looked over his shoulder. "Maryta."
"You were supposed to come to dinner with Galsin and me tonight," she said, her eyes revealing her disappointment even as her voice stayed level. He found it hard to look away from her eyes - they were the same as his, the green hue a rarity among the uniformly dark-eyed Skyrosians. "Even famous geniuses need to eat," she added, trying to add some levity. He mouth smiled, but again those eyes betrayed her.
"I am sorry," he said penitently, unable to bear the thought that he'd hurt his little girl. Not so little any more, though - grown and married now, and seemingly happy. "Is it too late now?"
Now those green eyes brightened, and she laughed. "Not at all. I know you, Father. It's all stuff that will keep, and Galsin will be keeping it warm in the heater." She held out her arm, and Lethov shut down his screen and took it gallantly. "I sometimes think that these scientists you work with don't remember that people need to eat," she added as she pulled him out of the room and down the corridor.
Lethov thought back to it. "You are right. Very frequently, we forget these things completely."
"You never did learn to cook," Maryta sighed. "Imagine, a man not knowing how to cook! Mother . . ." Her voice faltered.
"Your mother is an exceptional woman, and our separation was nothing to do with you," Lethov said firmly. "I am sure she is happy with your second-father."
"And you were always married to your work," Maryta teased as they left the building. Lethov tensed as he looked up. Stars. So close he could touch them, the way he - no. He'd never been off-planet. Why was he certain that once he'd walked among the stars as casually as he was striding to Maryta's groundhopper now?
Lethov looked down at the ground and pretended that the tears that filled his eyes weren't there.
* * *
No! It can't be too late, there has to be something you can do!
He's gone, Lieutenant. He might look like Chekov, but there's nothing left of him any more. It's as if his brain's been reformatted. Even if I could reverse the viral bioforming, he'll never come back. He's a Skyrosian now.
Excuse me, Doctor. I . . . I have to go.
* * *
Lethov sat at the back of the control room, listening with the rest as the first star pioneers landed on Skyros' nearer moon. It was a good start, but somehow he couldn't share the exultation that was resonating between the control team and the pioneers. It wasn't enough. There had to be a way of going faster than light, despite every other scientist on the planet disagreeing with him.
"Today, the moon. Tomorrow, the stars," he murmured to himself, his voice lost in the wild whoops of joy filling the room.
* * *
You'll take care of him?
Of course, Captain. He will be valued among my people, and we will look after him. He will never know that he was anything but a Skyrosian.
Thank you, Charter Anelis.
Bones, where's Sulu? I thought he'd be here.
I don't think he wanted to see this, Jim. He said goodbye earlier. Chekov - Lethov - just looked right through him, then asked who he was. I've never seen that look on Sulu's face before.
Yeah. Those two were . . . I hope he stays in Starfleet. I wouldn't blame him if he wanted to resign.
* * *
Tomorrow came decades later.
Lethov had insisted on going on the first trial of Warp One. His surgeon grandson had tried to dissuade him, pointing out that he was significantly more frail at a hundred and ten than the pioneers who would be accompanying him.
That was why he'd built in inertial dampeners, Lethov had told him tartly. Anyway, if it killed him, so be it. Better to die up among the stars than be trapped on the ground. Warp One was his last creation, and he wanted to be there when it made its flight. Maybe then he could bear to look at the night sky again.
He wasn't sure why he'd chosen the name, but it seemed to fit. Warp One still wasn't the right shape for a starship, but he'd bowed to design practicalities. He knew it would work, though. After all, he'd designed it.
And it did.
Warp One broke the light barrier, carrying him and the two pioneers with him past the edge of their solar system. It worked again, carrying them back home and into communication range. Lethov was sent back to Skyros in a capsule while the two pioneers performed a few more test runs.
As soon as he was retrieved, Lethov planted himself in the control room and refused to move. Which was why, eight days later, he was there when aliens contacted them for the first time.
"This is Admiral Hikaru Sulu on the USS Athena."
Lethov watched proudly as his granddaughter (now head of the Skyros Starseeker Agency) talked to the man on the screen. Admiral Hikaru Sulu - was 'Admiral' a name or a title? - was an old man, perhaps as old as Lethov. But he looked younger, stronger, fitter than Lethov. Perhaps this Federation had better medical technology. They certainly had better vessels. He glanced at a side screen, showing a magnified view of the Athena floating in orbit. Finally, the right sort of starship.
Strange. Hikaru. He knew that name. The face . . . the face was familiar. He'd never seen the man before, and yet he was sure he knew him. But the faster he chased the mystery, the more elusive the memories became. Until, finally, all he was left with was the certainty that the memories had been there once.
Lethov gave up the fight, shut his eyes and smiled. He'd done it. He'd brought Skyros to the stars.
He could rest now.