Fic: Compensations Tu/R PG-13
So, way, way late - over a year must be some sort of record! - here is my ficathon entry,
Title: Compensations
Author: Hreod
Written for: greatunironic
Wordcount: 3738
Beta: Surya
Summary: Tucker takes the chance to reverse a mistake
Warnings: In the AU part of the story there are a lot of character deaths, one described, but only in the AU - the story is the fix.
My prompt was 'Tucker is sent 30 years into the past. He does not make it back.'
I tried to write this - had a plot all worked out, but I'm afraid I got tangled up in time paradoxes.
I'm hoping this story will be accepted as being in the spirit of the prompt!
Stardate 3163
The dig was a hive of activity, most of it concentrated around what had been the Xantoran town's commercial centre. Scans had mapped out the warren of narrow streets and a forest of coloured posts had been deployed, marking street corners, buildings, doorways. Three trenches had been opened up and in each one a small team of archaeologists worked in the time-honoured way, carefully removing the dry earth with trowels and brushes.
To the north of main site a smaller group was investigating a burial ground in the precincts of a ruined building, presumed to be an ancient place of worship. In one of these smaller trenches a man stood up and stretched, massaged his aching knees and then pulled off his wide-brimmed hat and wiped the sweat from his high forehead with a shirt sleeve. Cramming the hat back on, he unhooked a flask from his belt and took a long draught of water, grimacing at its flat, tepid taste.
A low whistle caught his attention and, squinting against the sun, he stared over at the trench by the precinct wall. The woman working there beckoned urgently and immediately the man's attitude changed, becoming more alert.
'Be back shortly,' he muttered to his fellow digger before hopping out of the trench and striding over towards the waiting woman. She gestured excitedly as he approached, and spoke as soon as he was close enough that her words wouldn't carry to anyone else.
'I think this could be it!'
'What have you got?' He'd been searching a long time and was wary of getting his hopes up without firm evidence.
He jumped down into her trench without asking permission, careful not to disturb the grave she'd been working on. She held out her hand, eagerly offering up the cause of her excitement.
The unprepossessing lump could easily have been mistaken for a fragment of stone had it not been for the unmistakeable metallic glint from one corner as the afternoon sun caught it. Gingerly the man picked it up, turning it to see all its faces. It was a small, slim metal rectangle, approximately two centimetres by one, although corrosion and accretions made closer estimate impossible by the naked eye. One of the longer faces was rounded.
'There's just this one?' he asked.
'This could be a second; it's difficult to tell.' She picked another small piece from her finds tray, this one even more corroded than the first.
'Let's be sure.' The man pulled an instrument from the inner pocket of his vest and directed it at each of the items in turn. 'The alloy is right, and it's old.' He peered at the grave cut. 'Have you found any bones, hair? Anything we can test for DNA?'
'A lot of bone fragments: a femur there; that's a metatarsal; here's part of the jaw showing signs of massive trauma, and a broken tooth; they're definitely not Xantoran. From the scatter it doesn't look as if the body was laid out in the Xantoran tradition; more like it was just dumped in a hole.'
'Give me the tooth.'
She did so and the man trained his instrument on it, studying the read-out for a moment before pressing a switch on the side of the unit and speaking into it.
'Computer, correlate the reading from the last scan with Starfleet records circa early twenty-second century. See if there's a match.'
'Authorisation is required to access that information.'
'Authorisation Daniels, Commander, Temporal Integrity Commission, code alpha, alpha, seven three, november, oscar, zero, one.'
'It's taking a long time,' the woman said, impatiently. 'How did you know when to search?'
'A hunch,' Daniels, replied tersely. 'It was a long time ago and records in this timeline are bound to be fragmented.'
A full minute and a half passed before the computer spoke. 'Match found,' the tinny voice said. 'Lieutenant Malcolm Stuart Reed, Armoury Officer NX-01 Enterprise, killed in action stardate February 21, 2153.'
Daniels sighed and the woman asked anxiously, 'Is this it?'
'Yes,' Daniels said. 'I think it is.'
* * * * *
Stardate 2153
The Xantoran landscape reminded Commander Tucker of the hills above San Francisco; strong afternoon sun cast sharp shadows on tree-covered scree slopes strewn with boulders and sparse grass-like plants. The shuttlepod sat on the only large flat area, as close as possible to the Denobulan geologists' last know position. They were going to have to scan an area of a couple of kilometres or more to find where the Denobulans had entered the cave system.
'Travis, you stay with the 'pod and get our gear ready; Malcolm and I'll see if we can track down the geologists.'
Ensign Mayweather nodded and began to take their gear out of stowage as Tucker and Lieutenant Reed headed off up the slope.
'There's a ledge along there,' Tucker said, pointing. 'According to the scans that's where the cave entrances are; six of them that way, four the other side of that outcrop. It'll be quicker if we split up.'
'I'd advise against that, sir. We know the Xantorans don't want us here - there could be patrols.'
'The capt'n got us permission for this mission-'
'Which means they know exactly where we are.'
Tucker huffed his displeasure at the interruption. 'It means they have no reason to try and stop us. Splitting up is the obvious way to go.'
Reed stopped walking. Turning, Tucker was in time to see the moue of disapproval as Reed straightened his shoulders and shifted to a more formal stance. Tucker sighed, recognising this as the prelude to a dispute he could only win one way. Cutting to the chase he said: 'We're splitting up, Lieutenant. That's an order.'
Reed pursed his lips, and Tucker hastened to placate him.
'I'm sorry to pull rank, Malcolm. I hear your objections, and I've taken them on board, but time is running out. I'll take the caves to the right; you check the other side of that rock pile.'
'Yes, sir.'
They separated, continuing the climb, each towards their allocated search area.
'Malcolm,' Tucker called. He hated having to overrule Reed, particularly on security issues, and wanted to be sure his friend hadn't taken offence. Waiting until the other man turned towards him, he continued, 'You take care, okay?'
Reed nodded, with one of his half smiles. 'You too, Trip.'
Satisfied all was still well between them, Tucker nodded back and continued his climb.
Twenty-five minutes later he was making his way back along the ledge, having found nothing. He flicked open his communicator.
'Tucker to Reed; how you doing, Malcolm?'
'Commander, I've been trying to call you. The third cave here looks hopeful. There are crystals of some sort near the entrance that interfere with scans and communications, but there are signs the Denobulans have been there. I was just on my back to report.'
'Great; I'll see you back at the shuttlepod. Tucker out.'
He was half way down the slope, sliding sideways on the loose stones, when he saw Reed round the outcrop on the ledge and start to follow him. Tucker's foot caught on a tussock of grass, and he was fully occupied for a moment regaining his balance.
Suddenly a shot rang out, followed by a sharp cry of pain.
Tucker spun around to see Reed sprawled on his back, two armed Xantorans bearing down on him. As he watched, Reed lifted his phase pistol and fired, hitting one of the Xantorans.
Tucker yelled, hoping to distract the other attacker, and started running towards Reed, pulling out his own phase pistol as he went. He hadn't covered a quarter of the distance when another five Xantorans rounded the headland. The leader fired at Tucker, but the shot missed, hitting a nearby rock. As the rock exploded, scattering shrapnel, he realised it was a projectile weapon, and a high powered one at that: whatever their government might have agreed to, these Xantorans had lethal intent.
He flung himself flat on the ground, firing wildly in the direction of the patrol, even though he had no real hope of hitting anyone from that distance. Horrified, but impotent to help, he watched as the patrol leader turned his weapon on Reed, hitting him squarely in the face. Tucker's stomach churned as, even from his distance, he saw that the side of his friend's head had been blown away.
Reed was dead.
Unequivocally.
Irretrievably.
Dead.
The knowledge paralysed him. He might well have stayed where he was until the patrol came after him if it hadn't been for Mayweather. Even years later he couldn't clearly recall how they'd gotten back to the shuttlepod and safety, leaving Malcolm's shattered body behind.
* * * * *
Stardate 2177
Commodore Tucker stomped a path around his desk, trying to ease the kinks in his calf. The injury, sustained in the battle that destroyed Enterprise, was often painful. Three days adrift in an escape pod with no medical aid meant the damage could never be completely repaired, not by Human medical science anyway. And he was lucky to be alive - he often told himself that when the pain was bad, but it was getting harder believe: Sopek, the T'Mir's captain, hadn't been interested in taking prisoners, but at least he hadn't attacked the escape pods, as an Andorian ship would have done.
Wasted muscles and a knee he could neither bend nor straighten completely had put paid to his career in space, but a beleaguered Earth could ill afford to lose his experience and expertise, so here he was, flying a desk, still in Starfleet after all these years.
He was on his third circuit when he became aware of a strange sensation, like the static crackle of a thunder storm, although the view from his office window clearly showed a bright, calm spring day. He spun around and took an over-hasty step backwards, stumbling against the desk as his knee buckled. For a moment his jaw hung open as he stared at the man who had appeared in front of his bookcase, then he snapped his mouth closed and a stony expression settled on his features.
'What do you want?' he asked coldly. Nothing in his previous encounters with Daniels gave him to believe that the time-traveller's sudden reappearance after nearly 30 years was a good thing.
'We need to talk,' Daniels replied.
Tucker shook his head. 'Not interested. I don't care about your temporal cold war any more; maybe I never did. In case you haven't noticed, we've got a real war going on here.'
'It's not about the war-either war.' Daniels paused, then said gently, 'It's about Lieutenant Reed.'
Tucker stiffened and turned away, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat as he limped around the desk. 'I've got nothing to say,' he declared, his back to Daniels and his shoulders tense.
'He shouldn't have died.'
Tucker swung around, leaning heavily on the desk top. 'I don't need you to tell me that,' he spat. 'The only person I was ever in love with, dead because of my bad judgement; before I even had the chance…' He stopped unable to go on, shut his eyes and took a deep shuddering breath. 'Get out,' he said more calmly, sinking into his chair.
'You don't understand, Mr. Tucker. Lieutenant Reed should not have died. When he did everything changed.'
'That's not my problem. I told you, I'm not interested in your temporal war.'
'Should not, and need not.' Daniels spoke quietly, watching the other man closely.
'Need not?' Tucker grimaced, not daring to give in to the sudden flair of hope. 'Why now? Why wait so long?'
'It was difficult; even tracking down the critical moment took years, then finding you. So much had gone, the timelines were fragmented.'
'Because Malcolm died?'
The buzz of the intercom cut through the tension in the room.
'Damn!' Tucker hit the switch with more force than necessary. 'Yes?'
'I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but I have Mrs Anders asking to speak with you.'
'Tell her I'm busy,' Tucker snapped, irritated; then: 'If it's about helping the boys with their project, tell her I haven't forgotten. Anything else I'll call her back in an hour. And hold my calls until I say otherwise.' He cut the comm off without waiting for acknowledgement and turned back to Daniels.
'Why? Why is Malcolm so important?'
'I can't tell you that.'
'Can't, or won't?' he demanded. Before the other man could respond Tucker scrubbed a hand over his face and said, 'Forget it. I know you can't say. I still don't know why you're here though.'
'I need your help to restore the timeline,' Daniels said.
'Yeah, but why now?' Tucker persisted. 'Why not go back to before it happened, before we went to the surface, and warn me?'
'We tried, more than once, but things have changed so much that we couldn't get back early enough. No matter what we did we could only arrive three minutes before Mr Reed's death; not long enough to influence your actions.'
'But long enough to save Malcolm - to shout a warning, push him out of the way or something.'
'That didn't work,' Daniels said sadly. Mr Reed survived the attack, but the timeline was still altered in…undesirable ways.'
'More undesirable than this?' Tucker said sourly.
'The presence of our agent had unforeseen effects. And yes, worse than this,' was the bleak response.
'So what do you want?'
'It is essential that you are the one to save Mr Reed's life. If it can't be the younger you, then you're the next best thing.'
'That doesn't make sense. He'll still know it wasn't me, the other me. And how can I be there twice anyway?'
'He won't know; in fact it's vitally important that he doesn't know. It is essential to the preservation of the timeline that Mr. Reed believes you saved his life.' He held up a hand to forestall Tucker's objection. 'He won't see you. All it needs is a shouted warning, in your voice; in person, not a recording.'
'And then everything will be back as it should be? This hell-hole of a timeline will vanish - I'll vanish?'
Daniel's hesitation was reply enough, even before his apologetic, 'I'm afraid it's not that simple.'
'How come?' Tucker demanded. 'That's what happens isn't it; you guys work your fix and the mistakes pop out of existence?'
'Sometimes. But for that to happen the fix, as you call it, has to be worked soon. Even under normal circumstances 24 years would probably be too long; the alternative timeline - the mistake - would have diverged too far. In this case that's certainly true. The changes are immense. I was only able to reach you because of the link established by our previous contact. So much is wrong here.' Daniels trailed off staring out of the window, apparently overcome by the differences one small change had made.
'So I'll end up back here, stuck with all this wrongness while you get to go home to a nice restored future? Is that what you're saying?' Tucker made no attempt to keep the bitterness from his voice.
'Not everything here is worse, Mr Tucker. However bleak it may seem every timeline has its compensations.'
'Yeah? Name one!'
'You'll know Mr. Reed did not die,' Daniels offered.
'That's not a compensation, not in this timeline. Here he's still dead, as is Captain Archer - killed by our erstwhile allies the Vulcans. Thirty-nine people died when Enterprise was destroyed, all of them friends of mine. I'm one of the 'lucky' ones,' he finished, voice heavy with sarcasm. 'No compensations from where I'm sitting.'
'I think you'd find there are if you could see what should have been,' Daniels said sadly. 'But it's a pointless argument: neither of us can change this timeline, past or future. What we can change, what you can change, is Mr. Reed's fate. Wouldn't you want a future for him even if you, this you, can't share it?'
'Yes.' Tucker sighed. 'All these years I've been haunted by that one mistake. Worse things have happened than one man's death; real bad appalling tragedies, death and destruction on a massive scale. But it's Malcolm who haunts my dreams: I see him die over and over and then I wake up here - crippled, alone and still fighting a war we probably can't ever win. So yes, I'll do what you want, and if I have to end up back here, maybe at least the nightmares will stop.' He got to his feet, grimacing and leaning on the desk as his calf started to ache again.
'Good.' Daniels' stance eased a little as though he hadn't been sure of Tucker's cooperation. 'We should go now.' He pulled a small box from his pocket and stepped towards Tucker, stopping in surprise as Tucker retreated, maintaining the distance between them.
'One condition: I get to see him.' Tucker waved aside the protest he could see forming. 'He doesn't have to see me, but I get to see Mal or you can forget it.'
'I don't think you really mean that,' Daniels said with a sad half-smile, 'but yes, I'll make sure you see him. Now can we go?' The unaccustomed impatience in Daniels' voice did more to convince Tucker how serious the timeline disruption was than any of the man's explanations.
* * * * *
Stardate 2153
They materialised on a rocky hillside Tucker doubted he'd ever forget. He staggered slightly, looking around, squinting against the bright sunlight, his breath catching as the reality of where he was hit home.
'Are you all right?' Daniels steadied him with a hand to his elbow.
'Yeah, rough ride.'
Daniels nodded. 'We don't have much time.' He pointed to a track leading uphill through the undergrowth. 'This way.'
Tucker scrambled after him, ignoring the protests from his knee. They were to the left of the slope he and Reed had climbed; a low ridge hiding the shuttlepod from view. As they crested the rise and Tucker stopped, momentarily overcome by emotion.
Below him, about a hundred metres away stood the shuttlepod. The hatch was open and Travis Mayweather was kneeling outside it running final checks on their climbing gear. Tucker saw his younger self begin to scramble down to slope towards the 'pod. Automatically he looked to where the path rounded the outcrop, searching for Reed.
Reed appeared on the ledge, zipping his breast pocket, presumably after stowing his communicator. He started to follow the younger Tucker down the slope, oblivious to the two Xantorans Tucker could clearly see closing on his position.
Daniels' low-voiced, 'Now, Mr Tucker!' and his own yelled, 'Malcolm, behind you!' were simultaneous.
Reed dropped, rolled into the meagre shelter of a largish rock, phase pistol in hand. His actions were automatic, his acceptance of Tucker's warning unquestioning. Seeing the danger he fired, each blast finding its target. Reed got to his feet and started towards the fallen Xantorans.
'No!' Tucker called, shaking off Daniels' restraining hand.
'He mustn't see you, Mr Tucker,' Daniels urged, dragging him back out of sight behind a bank of shrubs.
Reed had stopped at Tucker's shout, looking from the younger Tucker to where the voice had come from and back, clearly perplexed.
Tucker saw himself start to race towards Reed's position, then halt and pull out his communicator. After listening for a moment he called urgently to Reed, 'Malcolm, we've got to get out of here; there are more of them just 'round the hill.'
Reed visibly pulled himself together, and set off at a run towards the shuttlepod.
'You okay?' Tucker called as Reed caught up with him.
Even at this distance Tucker heard the panic in his younger self's voice.
'I'm fine.'
Tucker closed his eyes briefly, holding back a sob at the sound of Reed's voice uttering the well-remembered assertion.
'Thanks to you,' Reed finished. He looked towards the bushes that concealed Tucker and Daniels with a puzzled frown. 'Weird acoustics here; it must be the cliff.'
The pressure of Daniels' hand on his shoulder was all the warning Tucker had. Reed's face was the last thing he saw as the hillside faded around him.
* * * * *
Stardate 2177
'We did it!' Daniels sounded surprised.
Tucker, surrounded once again by the walls of his office and the pressures of his own dire timeline, found it difficult to care. He sank tiredly into his desk chair.
'Good for us.'
'I'm sorry,' Daniels said.
'For what?'
'For this.' His gesture took in the office, the headquarters building, the war against Vulcan and Andoria, Tucker himself. 'For not being able to change things.'
Tucker shrugged. 'Malcolm is still alive, back then; that's what counts.' And hearing himself say it, he realised it was true - Malcolm was alive; that really was what counted, and knowing it made him feel better, in spite of everything he couldn’t change.
He sat for a long time after Daniels left, padds and plans forgotten on the desk. Seeing Malcolm again, so close and yet so unattainable, had torn at his heartstrings, but at the same time, he realised it had eased a pain he had lived with for far too many years.
Shrugging off his dark mood he keyed a number into his comm. The contact logo faded, replaced by the image of a middle-aged blonde woman.
'Trip! You didn't need to call back. Didn't your receptionist tell you? It was only about the boys.'
'Yeah, I guessed it would be. I'm just calling to check you're home. Can I come over now? Something's happened, something good - I think. I'd like to talk with you about it.'
'Sure. I'm just finishing up some work. The boys have soccer after school, so we'll have time to ourselves.'
'Thanks. See you soon.'
He stopped on the steps of Starfleet Headquarters, looking up at the imposing façade, at the daubed graffiti - anti-Vulcan and -Andorian most of it, but some anti-Starfleet too.
Compensations, Daniels had said.
'I know the sorrows well enough,' he reflected, rubbing absent-mindedly at his knee. 'I just wish I knew what the compensations were.'
Turning his back on Starfleet, the war and all his worries, for a short time at least, he set off to get his car for the drive to his sister Lizzy's place.
--end-