Redivivus- Ch 5

Redivivus

by HopefulRomantic

Rating: PG, for language

Disclaimer: Star Trek: Enterprise is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.

Series Summary: The Reconnecting Series is a reinterpretation of Season 4 that went AU shortly after Home. It focuses on the relationships of Trip and T'Pol and their extended family, and features characters introduced in Season 3, as well as original characters.

A/N: In my mind, Henry Archer died when Jon was twelve, so I’m ignoring the reference in Daedalus to Archer’s father dying sometime after he entered flight school.

A/N: Song lyrics at the end of the chapter by Arthur Freed

Thanks as always to my wonderful betas boushh and Stephanie.

Date: 12-20-07

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Chapter Five: Peace

August 30, 2154

NX-01 Enterprise

The Barrens

As Archer strode down the dimly-lit corridor toward Emory’s quarters, he was gripping T’Pol’s scanner so tightly that he thought it might snap in two.

It had all been a lie. Sub-quantum transportation, this trip to the Barrens, the reason Enterprise had been yanked off of the Expanse mission. All of it. Emory had lied to Archer, to Admiral Gardner, to Starfleet. He had dangled an offer in front of the brass that they couldn’t resist—the miracle man producing another miracle—and they had fallen all over themselves to accommodate him.

Miguel Burrows was dead because of the lie.

Archer felt his fury rising in his throat, threatening to choke him. With an effort, he paused in the shadows and focused inward, breathing the way Soval had taught him on the journey home from Vulcan. Gradually he regained control...more of an icy calm than anything approaching tranquility, but it was all he could manage.

Five minutes later, it didn’t make any difference. Archer’s thin veneer of composure stood no chance against the revelation that Emory had knowingly let his own son transport into oblivion, rather than openly admit that sub-quantum transportation could never work. Even as Emory went on about bringing Quinn back, it wasn’t about Quinn. It was all about Emory, just as it had always been.

Archer sat on the bunk, his head in his hands, as Emory’s words hung in the air like empty, meaningless echoes. “I wasn’t thinking…I didn’t know…I’m sorry…” Sure, say the magic words and everybody forgets. Right?

“Please help me, Jonathan,” Emory was saying now, as plaintively as a child. “Help me save my son.”

Archer got to his feet, his trust shot to hell, along with any regard he had left for his surrogate father. He turned Emory’s chair around, forcing the scientist to meet his gaze. “Ensign Burrows was someone’s son,” he said pointedly.

For an instant, his words penetrated the barriers of denial and rationalization, and he saw a flicker of shame in Emory’s eyes.

Archer straightened. “Before I decide how to proceed, I need everything you have on this plan of yours to get Quinn back—your research data, scans of the manifestation, all of it. I’ll want Trip and T’Pol to take a look at it.”

Emory bristled. “I won’t do any such thing.” He attempted a conciliatory smile, but it looked strained. “You know that’s not the way I work, Jonathan. Just give me another day, and I’ll—”

“You’re not keeping up with me, Emory,” Archer said evenly. “There is no more ‘your way’. There is my way, or no way at all. Are we clear?”

Emory’s smile darkened into a scowl, but he made no further protest. He stuck a data rod into his terminal and began poking sullenly at his keyboard.

As he waited, Archer’s thoughts edged carefully toward the more emotionally difficult fallout from this fiasco: Danica. Emory’s duplicity, as infuriating as it was, hadn’t come as a complete surprise, given the man’s controlling and ego-driven personality. But knowing that Dani had gone along with the deception left Jon feeling more hurt than angry. He had thought this trip was their chance to renew family ties that had faded over the years…but looking back on the last several weeks, he realized in hindsight that she had kept her distance, steering conversations toward talk about him, his new girlfriend, life aboard Enterprise—anything but herself. Perhaps it had been an attempt on her part not to lie to him any more than she already had…

“Where’s Dani?” he asked.

“Probably off somewhere with that dog of yours,” Emory muttered, without looking up. “She spends more time with him than she does with me.”

A non-judgmental source of unconditional love...why am I not surprised? Archer rubbed his eyes tiredly and sighed.

Emory handed over the data rod. He looked miffed. “She’s hardly said a word to me since your man died.”

Archer squinted at him. Was Dani upset with Emory? “Why? Did you keep her in the dark about this, too?”

“She’s not an engineer or a physicist, Jon,” the scientist replied, with a touch of impatience. “There’s no point in my telling her every little detail.”

“Little—!” Breathe, Jon. “You had her lying to me, and she didn’t even know what she was lying about?”

“She knew she was helping Quinn!” Emory said stoutly.

“No, Emory. She was helping you.” Archer headed for the door—he had to get out of here. In the doorway, he said over his shoulder, “The transporter’s off limits until you hear from me.” He left without waiting for a reply.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Phlox was still fussing over T’Pol, as Trip hovered nearby, when Archer returned to sickbay. “How’s the hand?” he asked.

Phlox gave him the long-suffering look of a doc who’d been trying to treat a kid who wouldn’t sit still. “When the commander finally submitted to a proper examination, I determined that the damage isn’t permanent,” he replied. “It will take time, and doubtless some cosmetic work on my part, but she’ll be fine.”

Archer looked relieved. “I’m glad to hear that.” As he held up a data rod, Trip saw the tense set of his jaw. The captain was angry, very angry. “This is the project Emory’s actually here for. Forget about sub-quantum transportation—that was a smokescreen. He’s trying to get Quinn back.”

T’Pol raised an eyebrow. “His son is alive?”

“I’m not entirely certain,” Archer said carefully. He shut his eyes briefly, taking a measured breath. “I need you two to look at Emory’s research and give me your take on it.”

Hearing Emory officially confirmed a liar wasn’t news to Trip, considering his and Archer’s earlier suspicions. Bringing Quinn back from the dead, though—Trip hadn’t seen that one coming. He felt horribly disillusioned and damned furious, all at once...which was only a fraction of what the captain must be feeling. Emory had been like family to him.

As Trip took the data rod, he felt a matching wave of concern for Archer from T’Pol. She, too, was sensing the anger and emotional turmoil the captain was keeping tightly reined in. “Understood, sir,” she told him.

“We’ll get right on it, Cap’n,” Trip added. Archer nodded and headed out.

Trip sighed as he fingered the data rod. “Looks like the captain lost himself another father.”

“That makes three, doesn’t it?” Phlox said. “If one counts Admiral Forrest?”

“Admiral Forrest was an honorable man,” T’Pol observed as she rose from the exam table.

“I don’t think anybody’s gonna make that mistake with Emory.” Trip started for the exit with T’Pol. “Is she good to go, Doc?”

“Does it matter?” Phlox said mildly.

“No,” they both replied as they left.

Phlox gestured magnanimously to his empty sickbay. “Then by all means, be on your way.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jon found Danica in the forward observation lounge, staring at the starless void outside the viewport as she petted Porthos, who sat close beside her. She turned as the door opened, and Jon saw that her eyes were red-rimmed from crying.

She must have seen something in his expression, because anxiety flooded her face. “It happened again, didn’t it? Was someone else—”

“T’Pol was injured,” he replied. “But Dr. Phlox says she’ll recover.”

Dani stood, stricken, looking almost childlike. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...”

“We know about Quinn,” Jon said.

With a soft exhalation, Danica sank back into her chair—collapsed, really. She looked exhausted...relieved of her secret, perhaps, but not free. Regret and guilt still hung over her like a pall. “Dad had been hinting that there would be some kind of risk,” she said dully. “I assumed the danger had to do with the power outlay. I had no idea that Quinn would be the danger. God, I didn’t even expect this crazy scheme to work.” She looked at the floor. “I should have told you.”

“Why didn’t you?” Jon sat beside her. “Dani, you’ve never lied to me before. Why now?”

Almost imperceptibly, she shook her head. “Because I couldn’t kill him. It took so much work to bring him back...”

Jon was at a loss. “Help me to understand, honey. I want to.”

Restlessly, she began petting Porthos again. “After Quinn was lost, Dad didn’t want to work, or eat, or even get out of bed. Mom came back to see if she could help, but...” Danica winced. “That lasted about five minutes. Dad used up his compassion quotient with her long before then. Besides, he was bound and determined to die.”

“But he had you,” Jon pointed out.

She gazed out at the blackness. “I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t Quinn, so I didn’t matter.”

He heard the hurt in her voice, the sadness. It had never seemed fair to him that Danica, through no fault of her own, had been relegated to living in Quinn’s shadow, always trying to be noticed and loved by her father, just a little. But her gift was with people, rather than machines or theoretical equations. She had a knack for looking past a person’s flaws and finding the good in them—their “chewy chocolate center,” she’d called it once. Jon had always figured her for a career as a teacher, a diplomat, even a space explorer “seeking out new life,” in the best Zefram Cochrane tradition. Quinn had doted on his younger sister, serving as a buffer between her easygoing and forgiving nature and their father’s demanding perfectionism. Then Quinn—Emory’s favorite, Danica’s protector—had vanished.

“But I wasn’t ready not to matter.” Dani stood, squaring her shoulders. “So when Dad was too weak to fight me anymore, I wheeled him into his lab and left him there. God, but he cursed me. He wanted no part of that room—the birthplace of the sub-quantum prototype that had swallowed up Quinn. But I was hoping the memories would help him to come to terms with Quinn’s death and accept it.” She chuckled weakly. “The last thing I expected was for him to burst out of there, babbling that he’d figured out Quinn was alive, suspended in some kind of interspatial rift, and he was going to figure out how to rescue him. It was crazy talk.” She turned to face Jon once more. “But for the first time since Quinn’s accident, he had a spark of life in his eyes. He started eating, that incredible mind of his began working...he was alive again. So I let him go. I even encouraged him.”

Jon ached for her. He couldn’t fault her for loving her father, but he wanted to strangle Emory for being such a blind, single-minded old fool. “What did you expect to come of it?” he asked.

Danica began pacing. “I was hoping that when he realized he was chasing rainbows and Quinn was really gone, I could harness the momentum and steer him onto one of the other legitimate projects that had been lying fallow. Something real.” She smiled wanly. “Didn’t quite work out that way.”

Jon watched her prowl around the room. “You never said anything in your letters.”

“You were in the NX program by that time. You were fast-tracking toward Enterprise—you had your own life.” Dani fidgeted self-consciously. “And I admit it—I didn’t want the other favored son swooping in and taking Dad’s attention away…what little I’d managed to get.” She shook her head ruefully. “Didn’t matter anyway. By that time he was just humoring me, letting me think he was working on other things. I didn’t find out until too late that he’d sweet-talked the backers into more funding with lofty promises about the wonders of sub-quantum transportation. Before I could fix that, he contacted Admiral Gardner about securing a warp-five engine to test out his phantom prototype. We were in so deep by that time that if I’d come clean and put a stop to it all…” Her hands fluttered to her sides in defeat. “It would’ve sucked the life right out of Dad all over again.”

There was something about the tense set of her shoulders and the haunted look in her eyes that told Jon there was something more sinister at work. “Is that the only reason you kept quiet?” he asked.

She stood still and silent for a long time, staring out the viewport. Finally she spoke, her voice a dull monotone. “He said I couldn’t tell. He said we owed it to Quinn to do everything we could, anything we had to, to get him back.”

We owed Quinn. Same old calculating, manipulative Emory. He’d blackmailed Dani with her own love for him, and for Quinn...starved her by withholding his own affection, yet kept the tantalizing possibility dangling close by, if only she did all he asked of her.

She turned to Jon, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I should have come to you,” she said bleakly. “I feel responsible. You lost a crewman…”

Jon took her firmly by the shoulders. “Honey, listen to me. Emory had no right to put you in the position of having to choose between us. He is the one responsible.”

She stared at him, frozen…and then she shut her eyes, seeming almost relieved to hear someone say the words aloud. He felt her shudder beneath his hands, and he was reminded of the phrase “giving up the ghost”…as if she were finally letting go of some long-held hope that had died inside her. He pulled her into his arms and held her, feeling her relax bit by bit as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“You think we can get Quinn back?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know,” he answered.

Still leaning against him, she looked out at the starless void. “I wonder what it must be like for him, y’know? Is he conscious? Is he in pain? Does he think we’ve given up on him, forgotten about him?...”

He stroked her back soothingly. “Hey, stop torturing yourself.”

She pulled away. “Tell me that tomorrow, when all this is finally over.” She shook her head in bemusement. “I don’t think I’ll know what to do with myself when this is over. Getting Quinn back is all Dad has wanted for fifteen years.”

“What do you want?” Jon asked.

“I just want to know Quinn is at peace,” she said simply.

She looked so tired. “How long has it been since you got any decent sleep?” he asked.

Dani chuckled dryly. “Sleep? What’s that?”

“You remind me of me.” Jon steered her out of the observation lounge. “Time to turn off your brain for a while.”

“This coming from you? Obsessed-With-My-Career Jonathan Archer, from that noted family line of Obsessed Archers?”

He aimed her down the corridor, toward her quarters. “I’m a changed man, remember?”

“Ah, yes. Kyle, your new love.” Danica smiled speculatively. “So are you thinking long engagement, or are you going to declare ‘carpe diem’ and just go for it?”

Jon looked pained. “Why does everyone keep assuming I’m going to marry her?”

Danica eyed at him as if he’d grown antlers. “Jon. C’mon. The picture by the bed, the letters back and forth, the Porthos seal of approval? Seriously, are you going to be the last one to figure it out?”

“Hmm. That does seem to be a cosmic maxim with me, now that you mention it...”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Keeping her injured hand folded neatly behind her back, T’Pol set the data rod on Archer’s ready room desk. “Dr. Erickson’s theories are highly unconventional,” she reported.

Beside her, Trip continued, “But the data he’s collected so far does seem to support his claim that Quinn is out there, suspended in some kind of subspace field.”

Archer was surprised—and, he had to admit, hopeful. Until this moment, he hadn’t allowed himself to emotionally process the flickering, half-formed image of Quinn that T’Pol’s scan had captured. He hadn’t even dared to acknowledge that it was real. But now… “Are you saying we can get him back? Alive?”

“The possibility exists,” T’Pol replied cautiously.

“And so does the danger,” Trip said. “The bad news is, if one of those manifestations passes through a stack of torpedoes, or one of the ship’s critical systems, game’s over. The good news is, we can calculate the intervals when they’re gonna show up, so now...” —he said the word with pointed emphasis— “...we could prepare for them.”

“Now we could,” Archer repeated quietly. He thought of Miguel Burrows, and fought down another wave of frustration. Dammit, Emory, why didn’t you just come clean with me as soon as we reached the Barrens? Of course I’d have had a shit-fit, but we would at least have been prepared. His eyes flicked from Trip to T’Pol. “Emory said he would need another day...”

“He has been conducting detailed scans of the manifestations as they appear, in order to obtain a reliable transporter lock on his son’s signal,” she explained. “According to the data, one more scan would be necessary. The next interval will occur in five point two hours. Retrieval could theoretically be attempted during the following interval, in another four point eight hours.”

Five hours until the next manifestation. What Archer really wanted was time enough to analyze the power signature of one of those things and design a force field to protect Enterprise against it, or a confinement field to trap it. How long would that take...five weeks? Five months?

“There is another concern, Captain,” T’Pol said. “Quinn’s transporter signal is growing weaker. It has been decaying steadily for the past fifteen years. Further degradation will result in an inability to recover him intact.”

Archer spread his hands flat on the empty expanse of his desk, visualizing a scale with Enterprise balanced precariously on one side and a lone, helpless Quinn on the other. “Opinions?”

“If you wish to retrieve Quinn, now would be your best opportunity,” T’Pol said. “Probability for success will lessen as time passes.”

“Assuming you do go through with this…” Trip rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “As the interval approached, we could put the ship on tactical alert, warn the crew, deploy security teams, scan continually for the power signature of the manifestation. I’d also recommend taking all weapons offline and powering down all non-essential systems. Practically everything is being routed to the transporter anyway.” He eyed Archer steadily. “But even if we take every precaution, we can’t guarantee the safety of the ship and the crew. So the question becomes: is it worth the risk to try to get him back?”

“I’ve been asking myself that for hours.” Archer turned to look out the viewport into the blackness. “A good man is dead who should not have died. Now we know another man is trapped, and we’re his only hope of survival. We were brought here under false pretenses, but we’re here. If we turn the ship around and leave, without even trying to save him...”

He didn’t have a chance to finish. Or perhaps he didn’t need to. “I will recalibrate the bridge sensors,” he heard T’Pol saying quietly to Trip.

As Archer turned back to face them, Trip replied to T’Pol in the same soft tone, “I’ll get with Malcolm about taking weapons and non-essential systems offline before the next interval gets here. I have more work to do on the transporter...”

Archer cleared his throat. “So you’ve decided, have you?”

They both looked at him, wearing matching expressions of innocence. “Didn’t you say, Cap’n…?” Trip asked.

Archer knew Trip and T’Pol were only rarely able to speak to each other through the bond. Nevertheless, they had developed a very efficient method of non-verbal communication...which they were obviously using now. Watching them, he was charmed, and a little envious. “I must have,” he said with a small smile. Then he grew serious once more. “Burrows’ death put us on the right track. If we can do this, he won’t have died for nothing.” He stood. “All right, we’re on a rescue mission now. Let’s get to it.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Working with the demoted-from-godhood Emory Erickson, Trip concluded after less than half an hour, was almost as exasperating as trying to work with the former, insufferably egomaniacal version. The new Emory chafed and fidgeted at his inability to give orders, made all kinds of disapproving faces from behind that padd he was constantly fiddling with, and muttered monosyllabic answers to Trip’s questions, when he spoke at all. It was like working with a four-year-old brat who’d been banished to a corner for a time-out. Trip doubted the man had had all that much practice at being courteous; not really a job requirement when you’re always the guy in charge. But Emory seemed irritated by the very idea that he had to expend valuable energy just to be civil.

At least I’m getting my hands dirty again, Trip thought with satisfaction as he packed away the equipment from the last diagnostic test. Cut-down-to-size Emory wasn’t taking over—or even lifting a finger to help him—this time around. “We're still getting a spike in the array,” Trip reported. “I could swap out the emitter coils with something from engineering. That might even it out a bit.”

Emory didn’t look up from his padd. “Sounds good.”

Both men knew full well that Trip was making the suggestion out of politeness, and Emory’s approval was a symbolic gesture. But it was better than strained silence. “I’ll get on it,” Trip said, as he started putting his tools away.

He felt Emory’s eyes on him. “I know you don't approve of what I've done,” the scientist observed.

That’s the understatement of the year. Aloud, Trip said, “Do you need my approval?”

“I'm disappointed that you think less of me.”

So that’s what Emory was really ticked off about: losing a sycophant. And he had the gall to try to make Trip feel guilty about it. “You liked me better when I worshipped your shadow?” Trip asked, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.

“Yes.”

Trip stared at him. A man was dead, the captain was walking a tightrope trying to save another man’s life while keeping Enterprise safe—and here was Emory, still splashing around in a bottomless well of ego. The guy was a real piece of work.

Emory shrugged, unrepentant. “It’s an honest answer.”

“I'd think you'd be out of practice,” Trip said bluntly.

Emory went back to studying his padd. “You may want to reserve judgment on my actions until you've lost a son.”

Trip shot to his feet, furious, very nearly blurting out, I do know what it’s like! I thought my son was dead, his ship sacrificed to save ours!… But Emory hadn’t earned the right to be told the intimate details of Trip’s private life. Never mind that it was classified information anyway.

Trip took a calming breath as he stowed the rest of his tools. “Ensign Burrows’ folks lost their son. I figure they’ll be qualified to judge you, as soon as they hear the news.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emory shift uncomfortably in his chair. “I lost a sister last year,” Trip went on as he got to his feet. “She was only one of seven million, but she was important to me. And this crew—we lost twenty-six of our own during the war.”

Emory hunched down lower, averting his eyes as Trip turned to face him. “I don’t begrudge you your loss,” he told the scientist. “But you talk as if you’re the only person ever to have lost a loved one, or as if your son were more important than those others. That’s not the way it is. Surak said, ‘The loss of one life is a loss for all’.”

Emory covered his self-consciousness with a look of annoyance. “Who the blazes is Surak?”

Trip smiled faintly. “A wise old Vulcan I’ve read about.” He headed out. “I’ll be in engineering.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Archer would remember those few minutes at the transporter as a series of images...

Trip resting a reassuring hand on Emory’s shoulder as they all waited.

Danica standing stock-still, arms nervously wrapped around herself, immobilized by apprehension.

Quinn’s half-formed body sparkling and shimmering on the transporter pad, hovering between reality and the void.

The sadness in Phlox’s eyes as he quietly conveyed the results of his sensor scan of Quinn.

Emory’s fierce glare as he shook off Archer’s hand, refusing to accept defeat.

Quinn cradled in Emory’s arms, looking as young as if he’d materialized out of a distant memory, gazing up at his father as his own life gently faded away.

The rescue mission succeeded, if only for a few heartbreaking moments.

After the body was brought to sickbay, Danica made no protest as Emory monopolized Quinn’s bedside, showering his lost son with tearful apologies and pleas for forgiveness. Aside from a short conversation she had with Phlox, Dani remained at the perimeter of the room with Archer, her arm linked securely through his as she silently watched.

At last Emory’s litany came to an end. He kissed Quinn on the forehead, then lowered himself into his chair, emotionally spent. “All right, Dani, I’m ready.”

Danica made no move toward him. “I’m not.”

He looked at her in surprise. She turned to Phlox. “Doctor, would you mind taking my father to his quarters?”

“I’d be glad to,” Phlox answered easily, crossing to Emory’s wheelchair.

So this is what Dani and Phlox were talking about earlier, Archer realized. Now that he thought about it, he had seen no trace of the insecure, affection-starved Danica since his talk with her in the observation lounge.

Emory was clearly flustered now, almost upset. “But—my treatment—”

“Phlox knows how to give the injection,” Dani said calmly. “You’ll be fine.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Dr. Erickson,” Phlox added smoothly as he wheeled Emory out. “Off we go, then.”

Archer caught a glimpse of Emory’s expression as he twisted around to look back through the doorway: bewilderment, hurt, even anger. “Dani?—”

Then the doors shut, leaving Danica and Jon alone with their fallen brother. Jon almost felt guilty admitting it, but the quiet was a relief.

At last Dani moved, still holding Jon’s arm as she went to Quinn’s side. For Jon, it was a surreal tableau…like looking into a time warp, seeing a Quinn who hadn’t aged a day, who appeared well and whole, merely asleep.

Dani picked up one of her brother’s hands and held it. “He never talked about dying, even after Dad’s accident.” She cocked her head at Jon. “You never talked about it either, when you were testing those NX prototypes that kept blowing up.”

Jon shrugged. “Never came up in conversation.”

“You fearless young men and your grand experiments.” She looked down at Quinn again. “I remember the day he left for the Barrens with Dad. He was so excited…”

Jon put his arm around her. “He died doing what he loved, Dani—pushing the boundaries of what was possible.”

Carefully, she laid Quinn’s hand back down. “And he and Dad were together at the end. That was good for both of them.” Arm in arm, she and Jon gazed down at their brother’s peaceful face. Softly, Dani said, “All these years, I feel as if I’ve been holding my breath…waiting. It’s still hard to take in.”

“I know.”

“What happens now?” she asked.

Jon kissed her on the cheek. “You live.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was a little after five a.m. as Archer crossed the dark, empty mess hall with a fresh cup of coffee and surveyed the display board that had been put up a few months ago, while Enterprise was in spacedock being refitted after the war. The board was filled now, with shore leave pictures and candid crew photos, reminders of home and family. Archer searched the cluster of faces until he found the snapshots he remembered Miguel Burrows happily tacking up back in April. The ensign had spent part of his leave on a camping trip in Arizona’s Canyon de Chelly, accompanied, as had been the tradition for a couple of centuries, by a Din’eh guide who told the stories passed down by his ancestors, and spoke about the ancient Anasazi who dwelled in the canyon millennia ago.

A quiet voice behind him pulled him gently from the world of ancient cliff dwellings and rock glyphs, and the smiling young ensign roaming among them in the photos. “You’re up early, sir.”

Archer turned to see Chief Quartermaster Hendley in the doorway. “Haven’t been to bed. What’s your excuse, Chief?”

Hendley shrugged as he came over. “Taking care of ship’s business. The lighting has been dark for so long, I guess my internal clock quit on me.” He offered Archer a padd and stylus. “Ensign Burrows’ roommate finished packing up his personal effects. I have them safely stowed for the trip home.”

Archer nodded and took the padd. Hendley glanced past him, to Burrows’ pictures on the wall display. “Shall I add those, sir?”

Archer turned back to the photos. “Let’s leave them up for now. The crew might like looking at them.”

Hendley studied the pictures, one by one. “Ever been there?”

“Not yet. I’ve been to the Expanse, I’ve time-traveled to the 29th century…but I haven’t toured the American Southwest. The Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, Canyon de Chelly…I’ve always told myself they’re not going anywhere, and I’d get there one of these days.” Faintly, Archer shook his head. “I should stop putting things off.”

“Yes, sir.”

With a small sigh, Archer returned his attention to the padd, scanning down the list of Burrows’ personal effects. As he signed the form, he said, “I didn’t realize he was such an old-movie buff. He had a collection that Trip would envy.”

Hendley smiled. “I noticed. His roommate told me that Miguel never missed Movie Night when he was off duty.”

Archer remembered Trip mentioning that he was planning to start up Movie Night again, now that the power was back to normal; the films had become a crew staple during the long journey to the Barrens. He’d been asking for suggestions. “Was there something Miguel particularly liked?...”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The return of Movie Night became an impromptu tribute to Miguel Burrows. Chef whipped up an array of the ensign’s favorite snacks, and Trip screened one of Miguel’s most beloved musicals, Singin’ In The Rain. The attraction was such a big draw that Trip ran the film three times.

Jon managed to coax Danica to the last showing. They slipped into a couple of seats in the back just as the lights went down and the movie began. Jon spent most of the film watching Dani, simply enjoying the sight of her smiling and laughing. It looked as if she hadn’t had a chance to do either for a very long time.

The audience was completely absorbed in the film, nachos and popcorn forgotten, by the climactic sequence—the premiere of the musical-within-the-musical, The Dancing Cavalier. Gene Kelly’s actor Don Lockwood, playing the musketeer Pierre, lay seemingly moments from death, cradled in the arms of his lady love. “Pierre, you’re hurt!” she cried worriedly over him. “Speak to me, speak to me!”

In true fairy-tale form, Pierre sat up, magically restored, a song on his lips.

I'll kiss her with a sigh

Would you? Would you?

His beloved sang to him in return.

And if the girl were I

Would you? Would you?...

Unexpectedly, Jon heard sniffling beside him. Danica was ducking her head, wiping away tears. “Sorry,” she whispered. She gestured toward the door. “I’d better…”

“Sure.” He rose and led the way out.

In the corridor, Jon gave her a napkin he had grabbed on the way out. Danica leaned against the bulkhead and dabbed at her eyes, looking a little embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to pull you out of there.”

“No problem.” He leaned back beside her, shoulder to shoulder. “C’mon, you’ve had fifteen years of emotions pent up inside you, waiting to come out. It’s bound to be a little messy.”

She managed a laugh. “I guess so. But it feels good to get back to being alive.”

He grinned. “If I can do it, anybody can.”

Dani returned his smile, but it was short-lived. Out here, away from the fantasy world of songs and happy endings, reality would not be denied. “So how is this going to work when we get home, about hijacking your ship, and your crewman getting killed?”

“I’ve spoken with Admiral Gardner,” Jon replied. “There’ll be an inquest to determine culpability for Burrows’ death, and how big a role Emory’s deception played.”

Danica studied the damp, mangled napkin in her hands. “Maybe they’ll let me work in the prison infirmary...”

He nudged her shoulder in gentle reproach. “Don’t throw in the towel just yet. I’m going to speak on your behalf. I know you weren’t fully in the loop, and that you were emotionally coerced—”

“No!” Dani looked up sharply. “Don’t tell anybody that. It’s true that Dad kept some things from me, but as for the other, my goal was just as selfish as his, and just as impossible. I wanted him to love me.” She sighed wearily. “Neither one of us got what we wanted. Serves us right.”

Jon took her hand. “You told me you wanted Quinn to be at peace.”

Dani’s eyes welled with tears again, but they seemed to wash away her melancholy, leaving a serenity that reminded Jon of the look he’d seen on Quinn’s face as he’d breathed his last. “Yes,” she whispered with a smile.

He slipped a comforting arm around her and produced another napkin. Laughing softly, she leaned against him, wiping unself-consciously at her tears as they listened to Debbie Reynolds’ effervescent voice drifting out from the mess hall.

...What a glorious feelin'

I'm happy again

I'm laughing at clouds

So dark up above

The sun's in my heart

And I'm ready for love…

~~tbc~~

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