PARALLEL HEROES

It was too much; he’d tried to go on for Jacob’s sake, but it wasn’t working. He couldn’t be both father and mother to the child…it seemed lately as if he couldn’t even be a father.

Vincent gripped the rope handrail of the wooden plank bridge that spanned The Abyss. What was the answer? He stared down into the misty depths. No one knew how deep it was. You could throw a pebble in and never hear it land. Someone had fallen over the edge once, many years ago, and the body had never been found. Father had forbidden any attempt at recovery. Vincent raised his head and squeezed his eyes tightly closed to halt the tears that were so close to escaping. It was exactly one year since the night Catherine had died in his arms, and there was a knot of anguish in his chest that made breathing painful.

A strong wind suddenly swept through the cavern, taking Vincent by surprise and whipping his hair across his eyes. He whirled around, startled from his depression by the unusual activity. The wind increased, stealing his breath and forcing him back against the rope as the bridge swung wildly. Vincent struggled to retain his hold, but the wind swirled harder and faster, forcing his eyes shut and making him dizzy with its circular velocity.

“No!” he growled as the wind tightened its hold on the bridge with a mighty, unseen hand and shook it as if it was a feather. The force sent Vincent to his knees and he scrabbled vainly to prevent himself from sliding over the edge. He seemed to hang in mid-air for several seconds, and it occurred to him that he couldn’t win this fight any more than the one he’d engaged in to try and save Catherine. Even his great strength couldn’t equal a force of nature, and he heard his own voice pleading huskily to his baby son to forgive him for not being able to save himself either.

Then there was sudden, absolute silence…and darkness.

***

Vincent opened his eyes. He was lying on the ground of…where? Not his chamber, not a cavernous area Below. He was Above…outside. A sensation of panic gripped Vincent and instantly clarified his awareness. Rolling over on to his side, he came face to face with a pair of shiny black shoes planted about eighteen inches apart and disturbingly close to his face.

A low, threatening growl rumbled inside him as his gaze travelled upwards to the immaculate black pants and gold/black uniform tunic that covered a powerfully muscled chest and broad shoulders. Slowly, not wanting to startle his companion into using the strange device held in his right hand, and which Vincent assumed to be a weapon since it was pointed directly at him, he got to one knee and leaned back further to see exactly who he was dealing with. The man was wearing, diagonally across his chest, a silver, heavily ornate sash, and just above his left breast was what looked like a badge of some kind.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” said a deep, cultured voice. Vincent blinked and stared up into a face that almost defied description, and despite the teachings of a lifetime, his eyes widened, betraying his surprise. The man’s lower face was unquestionably human, the proud chin boasting a neat black beard. The moustache, although that description was not wholly accurate, was merely a longish twist of hair, which hung from either side of his otherwise clean-shaven top lip. The cheeks were smooth and black-skinned and the eyes were penetratingly magnetic, fierce even. But it was the nose that gave the first clue that this man was not completely human. It was wide and ridged horizontally, and the eyebrows swept upwards over a heavy forehead, which went on and on, the skin formation becoming more intricate in design the higher it went. His chocolate brown hair was as long as Vincent’s, but straight and sleek, drawn back from the sides into a silken sheath which fell between his shoulder blades in a ponytail at the back.

This man was as different as Vincent himself was;  frightening at first glance perhaps, and few would have called him handsome, but the arrangement of the dark-skinned features was powerfully magnetic and not without appeal. In fact, the more Vincent stared at him, the more he was reminded of something Charles had said about Vincent’s own facial differences. ‘Good, different’ he had assured him. It was interesting too, that the man had said: “Who are you?” Most people encountering Vincent for the first time whispered fearfully, “What are you?” as they stumbled back from him, their expressions registering horror that still hurt, however many years passed.

This man showed no fear whatsoever, not even a flicker of apprehension. Indeed, there was an unmistakable air of aggression about him. His stance was just short of confrontational. But then, of course, he was holding a weapon. Suddenly, the man slapped the badge on his tunic and spoke curtly, receiving an answer from some unseen acquaintance.

“Worf to Enterprise.”

“Yes Mr. Worf. Are you all right?”

“Aye, Sir. Did Commander Data transport back safely?”

“Yes. You had us worried when you didn’t show up. What happened, Lieutenant?”

“I am not certain. Commander Riker, I have found someone. Humanoid. Not like the others we encountered. I have not yet established his business here, but in the circumstances I believe it to be in the interests of security to beam him aboard The Enterprise. Please have the Transporter Room stand by.”

“Ready to transport on your mark, Lieutenant.”

Transport? This man wanted to take Vincent somewhere? Well, that was out of the question, and he felt a stirring of anger within him at the Lieutenant’s presumption that he could just take him anywhere he pleased without Vincent having a say in the matter.  He realised he hadn’t answered the man’s question.

“My name is Vincent. Where am I? How did I get here?”

“You do not know?”

“No, I…”  But the man, Worf, was gesturing with the weapon that Vincent should get to his feet, and he had a feeling he needed to think and act quickly if he was to escape without either one of them spilling blood.

“I have no wish to hurt you, but I will not come with you…Lieutenant Worf.”

Worf glared at Vincent as if surprised that anyone would dare to argue not only with a Klingon warrior, but one holding a phaser set on ‘stun’ and wearing the uniform of a Starfleet officer. “I am afraid you have no choice in the matter. Two to beam up,” he barked into the communicator badge on his tunic.

Vincent tensed and looked around quickly, half expecting to see an armed back-up unit approaching. No one appeared, however; Lt. Worf obviously considered himself quite capable of taking Vincent prisoner single-handed. He also seemed to expect obedience simply because he had given an order. Before Vincent could make a defensive move of any kind, there was a crackle from Worf’s badge and the sound of a voice trying to communicate but failing miserably. Both men strained to listen.

***

Aboard the USS Enterprise, the officer substituting for Worf at Tactical position, punched buttons frantically as the ship juddered and lurched, finally coming to a full stop. The bridge crew collected themselves and Captain Picard sprang to his feet as the lighting dimmed.

“Damage report.”

“All decks report no structural damage, Sir, but we have a total systems failure.”

“Well, that’s just great.” Commander Riker spun around to glare at the bearer of such unwelcome news. “Computer? Clarify malfunction.” No reply. “Geordi?”

The voice of the Chief Engineer was as cheerful as always. “I’m on it, Sir. Give me a moment.  I’m trying to establish a link here to get the computer back on line.”

“Captain?” Data swivelled around from his position at Operations, his pale android face betraying no sign of the turmoil which filled his colleagues. “I believe we have entered a wormhole, Sir.”

Picard stared at the blank view screen in front of him, his brow furrowing in consternation.

“But there was no warning. How is it possible that we could approach without our equipment even registering its presence?”

“I do not know, Sir. And at this precise moment there is no way to tell how long we are likely to remain here.”

“Mister Data, get down to Engineering and work with Commander La Forge.”

“Aye, Sir.” The android rose from his seat and walked quickly up the sloping floor area to the turbolift.

Riker turned back to the officer at Tactical. “Did Lieutenant Worf beam back safely?”

The young man’s fingers flew over the control panel. It was barely two seconds before he looked back at Riker, his face anxious. “No, Sir. Transporter Room 3 reports that they were unable to get a lock on the Lieutenant and his prisoner.”

Riker and Picard exchanged dark glances as they realised the potential danger to both the ship and their Chief Security Officer left behind on a hostile planet with an alien prisoner.

“Then he’s on his own until we can get out of this mess and return to Hilas 3 to pick him up.”

***

Worf shouted something incomprehensible as the crackling from his communicator button finally died away into silence.

“Why did you wish me to accompany you?” Vincent asked warily. “And to whom were you speaking?”

“I was speaking to my commanding officer aboard the USS Enterprise,” Worf replied. “I am part of an Away Team that beamed down to investigate some…unusual activity here on Hilas 3. Since you are obviously not a Hilorian, and the situation down here is extremely… volatile, I considered it advisable to remove you from the planet surface until…”

“The planet? Hilas 3? Enterprise? Lieutenant, I am afraid I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about. Please… where am I?”

Worf’s demeanor was of a man trying hard not to lose his temper at a situation which had gotten completely out of hand. “I told you…Hilas 3. Where did you think you were?”

“E-earth. Tell me, Lieutenant Worf…you are obviously an officer in one of the services. This…’Enterprise’…is that your ship? Or an aircraft?”

Worf slowly lowered his phaser and stared at Vincent as if he couldn’t quite make out whether he was being made a fool of, or if, indeed, his companion was as much a victim of circumstance as he himself was. “I warn you, do not take me for a fool…I am not noted for my patience. I am the Chief Security Officer on the Federation Starship Enterprise and…”

“Starship?  You-you cannot possibly mean a…spacecraft?”

“Of  course I mean a spacecraft! Do not dare to play games with me…Vincent …is that your name?”

“Yes. Lieutenant…what date is it?”

“44290.2 of course.”

“Excuse me?”

“Is there something wrong with your hearing?”

Vincent shook his head, frantically trying to puzzle out what was happening here. “No, I… Lieutenant, please. Something has happened to me, I don’t know what. All I know is that I was home. My family was…close by. I was feeling great sadness and…distress when suddenly, it was as if a storm swept in and I was engulfed in it. I believe I may have lost consciousness for a few moments, and when I opened my eyes I was… here…and…so were you. The date was the twenty-first of November nineteen ninety.”

“What? You expect me to believe that you are from the twentieth century?”

“Yes.” Vincent nodded slowly, feeling like a man trying to hold back the ocean with his hands. His heart began to thump in trepidation at what he was about to hear.

Worf stepped slowly around Vincent, studying him closely. “Then you have much to learn. This is the twenty-fourth century and you have somehow found your way onto a planet which is causing the Federation certain…problems. It is as well for you that you are not a Hilorian.” He watched as Vincent backed up, groping behind him for a rock to sit on. When he spoke again, his voice was less brusque. “You are having difficulty accepting what I have told you. I understand.”

Vincent stared at the ground. He took slow, deliberate breaths in an effort to calm himself. What was he to do?  Suddenly, impossible as it would seem to be, he had been transported three centuries into the future onto what was apparently a hostile planet where there was every likelihood that he would be forced to fight in order to survive, as he had been made to do so many times in his life. This time, however, he had no idea who he would be fighting; and there would be no friends or family to return to. Everyone he knew would have died well over two centuries ago…Father, Mary, Mouse…even his precious baby son. The knowledge was devastating and Vincent suddenly felt his throat constrict. He covered his face with his hands and shuddered violently. The emotions that roiled inside him were difficult to separate. He felt raging fury at his situation and sorrow for all he’d lost battling for supremacy over a myriad of other sensations.

Worf glanced uneasily about him, then sat down on a rock close by to wait. He knew some kind of comfort and reassurance was needed in this situation and wished Counselor Troi was here. She would know what to do. He made no attempt to touch Vincent. Klingons were not a tactile race. Generally, the only times they ever touched another person was either to kill or mate, although Worf was not exactly like other Klingons. He had been raised by human parents, and although he would rather die than admit it, he actually rather enjoyed being touched in friendship, comfort, or affection. But reciprocating that kind of gesture came no more easily to him than speaking the words.

He stared up at the darkening sky, wondering what he was going to do with this… Vincent…whoever he was…until they were able to beam back aboard The Enterprise.

After a few moments Vincent raised his head. “Forgive me. I find it almost impossible to absorb the implications of what has happened to me.”

Worf brushed the regrets aside. “No apology is necessary. I understand that this is all very strange for you.” Before he could say any more, the sound of phaser fire and shouting nearby made both men jump to their feet and spin around in preparation for battle. As eleven shaven-headed men scrambled over and between the rocks to surround Worf and Vincent, the two exchanged a look. In an unspoken agreement they were suddenly comrades about to fight side by side against a common enemy.

“I hope you carry a phaser,” Worf growled, resetting his own to level 1 setting and dropping to one knee with a rock as cover.

“I have never needed a weapon of any kind,” Vincent replied, a trace of regret in his voice, which Worf assumed meant that he wished he had one now.

“Get behind the rocks, they are all armed!”

“No,” hissed Vincent, “I can do nothing from there.”

“Then attempt to get around back of them,” Worf ordered. “I’ll draw their fire.”

With a nod, Vincent slipped between the tall boulders and made his way swiftly around to where the party had come from. The light was fading fast and despite the fact that the ratio was eleven to two, Vincent’s keen eyesight and catlike stealth gave him an advantage. He heard phaser fire all around him and hoped Worf was holding up alone on the far side.   One tall member of the party brazenly rose and levelled his phaser in Worf’s direction. Before he could fire, Vincent delivered a blow to the right shoulder from behind, following it up with a backhand, and the man dropped like a stone.

Two men screamed in pain and catapulted backwards, hit in the chest by Worf’s deadly aim. Another turned to see what had become of the leader and found himself facing an enraged Vincent with right arm raised to strike. Foreseeing his own death, he stumbled, dropping his phaser as he swung at Vincent’s body. Focused on avoiding the phasers, Vincent hadn’t noticed that some of the group carried archaic-looking spiked metal balls on chains, and screaming with glee, the man swung the implement with surprising strength to catch the left side of Vincent’s chest before arching backwards from a raised intensity level phaser blast; dead before he hit the ground. The pain in his side and faint scent of his own blood, enraged Vincent to the primal state he so abhorred in himself but he was operating on raw instinct now and ran into the open, exposing himself recklessly as he roared and threw himself at a group of three men crouched behind a massive rock. They turned too late, their final expressions masks of fear as death approached.

Meanwhile, Worf had moved forward and was engaged in a fistfight with two more Hilorians. As one of them had held him in a vice-like grip from behind, he’d kicked the other in the stomach, and the man had dropped his phaser to clutch at his gut.

A master of martial arts, the Klingon managed to break the grip of the attacker on his back, and haul the man over his shoulder to fall on the ground, the sound of his spine making a sickening sound as it snapped. Worf straightened, his breathing heavy as the warrior in him temporarily overpowered his Starfleet training, and he yanked the first man to his feet and head-butted him. Grabbing up his own phaser from the dirt, he dropped to one knee and swivelled, firing at a sound from the left. Before he knew whether he’d hit his target, a bolt of phaser energy slammed into the middle of his chest, and hurled him backwards. As he lay on his back, paralyzed and unable to breathe, he wondered vaguely why he was still alive. The phaser must have been set on ‘stun’ to cause this reaction in him. Why wasn’t it on a higher setting? Worf fought not to lose consciousness but then wished he could, as another Hilorian ambled over to stare down at him and kicked him viciously in the stomach.

“Klingon filth!” he spat. The blow to his gut caused Worf to gag and breathe again but he still couldn’t move. And even the pain in his stomach was nothing compared to the indignity of having to lie on the ground, helpless, while an alien without honor kicked him over and over again. Willing his immobile limbs to recover in time to avenge this affront to his dignity, Worf gritted his teeth in rage and pain. Suddenly, the Hilorian gasped and blood pumped from his mouth as he pitched forward across Worf’s body. Vincent reached down and lifted the lifeless being, tossing his carcass aside as if it were a feather. Worf discovered he could move his head.

“Are you badly injured, Lieutenant?” Vincent asked, sinking to his knees beside his fallen comrade in battle.

Worf felt the effects of the phaser stun begin to recede and, as soon as he could move his fingers, pressed both hands shakily to his belly. “No,” he rasped between gritted teeth. “It is fortunate for me that the phaser was set only to stun a victim. It causes paralysis and usually unconsciousness, but not injury…and only for a short time.”

“But you are hurt. The Hilorian’s treatment of you must be causing you great pain.”

Worf rolled onto his side and struggled to sit up. “Klingons do not acknowledge pain. It is considered necessary for cleansing the mind and focusing on more important issues.” Vincent raised his eyebrows. “A noble theory and one I can empathize with…even if it is not always possible to conform to.”

Worf took a deep breath and looked at Vincent. “And you? Are you uninjured?”

Vincent lifted the left hand side of his cloak and looked down at his side. There was no blood, but it hurt like the devil and he couldn’t help wondering what his flesh looked like beneath his clothes. “I believe I sustained a slight injury. Foolishly, I realised too late that some of the men were carrying other weapons in addition to those phasers.”

“Are you in pain?”

Vincent inclined his head. “No more so than you.” Worf made a sound, which, if Vincent interpreted correctly, was probably, well, in that case you have my sympathy. “May I help you up, Lieutenant?” Worf opened his mouth automatically to refuse, then changed his mind and allowed Vincent to slip a hand under his armpit while he got to his feet.

They had been acquainted for less than an hour, but already Vincent had learned that it was not in Worf’s nature to accept help very often. In his opinion it was strength that courted respect; weakness was something shameful that should be avoided at all costs. A concept Vincent understood very well and it intrigued him to discover it so strongly nurtured in someone else. What had he called himself… a ‘Klingon’? Vincent resolved to ask him more about that when the opportunity presented itself.

He retained his hold on the Lieutenant until the latter had straightened and steadied himself. They both looked around at the carnage.

“Thank you,” Worf said, looking directly at Vincent.

Understanding that the gratitude implied more than merely the loan of his arm, Vincent nodded. “I have no idea what this fight was about, and I detest violence in any form, but you were attacked without provocation. I could not simply stand by and allow these men to kill you.”

“They are a savage species,” Worf replied darkly. “They have no understanding of honor or duty. They live only to kill and steal from others. The Federation has tired of trying to initiate peace talks with them. Starfleet is now under orders to scan the planet for members of any other race who may be here against their will, rescue them, and leave the Hilorians to live as they will. It is likely that they will eventually destroy themselves; they are a very backward people.”

“Do they not have the same… starships as your people then?”

 “No. Their technology has not progressed beyond the twentieth century.” He glanced at Vincent.  “I…mean no disrespect to your own race.”

“I understand. Lieutenant. Darkness is imminent…since you are unable to make contact with your starship, and since we are both a little the worse for wear, I suggest we look for some form of shelter for the night.”

“I agree. We should both rest. Caves are plentiful on Hilas 3. We should not have too far to walk.”

They moved forward, each biting down a groan as their injuries protested. Neither man was much given to smiling, but there was a wry, shared humor at their situation when they exchanged glances.

Worf was right; they had only been walking for about twenty minutes when they spotted an entrance to a cave. Ever conscious of possible danger, Worf palmed his phaser again, took as deep a breath as his stomach injury would allow, and moved inside. Vincent was right beside him. His new friend automatically seemed to assume responsibility for the safety of anyone in his company, but if there were risks to be taken, then they would take them together. Worf couldn’t have failed to notice that Vincent was eminently capable of defending himself when necessary. Once again, he was puzzled that the Lieutenant had shown no surprise at the way he had dealt out punishment to the attacking Hilorians; hadn’t even mentioned the slashing and roaring.

They moved inside the cave. The temperature had dropped rapidly with the onset of darkness and both men shivered. Vincent’s night vision scanned the interior. The cave seemed to be about fifteen feet square and, unsurprisingly, short on comfort. Worf prowled around the edge, scanning with his tricorder and listening intently for any sign of trouble, but it seemed they were alone.

“We should be safe here until morning,” he pronounced. “I will try to find kindling in order to build a fire.” He turned to leave the cave and Vincent’s sensitive hearing heard his sharp intake of breath.

“Rest,” he said. “I’ll go. I can see as well in darkness as in the daylight.”

“Very well,” Worf agreed, grudgingly. “Be careful…take the phaser.”

But Vincent shook his head. “I told you…I have no need of weapons. You must surely have noticed.”

Once outside again, Vincent searched for anything combustible. From what he had seen of the terrain so far, he estimated there would be no problem with dampness. In only ten minutes he had collected an armful of bare twigs and dead foliage, which he carried back to the cave. Already familiar with Worf’s suspicious nature, he called out softly before entering. “Lieutenant, it’s me.”

The only reply was a grunt and when he moved inside, his eyes adjusting almost immediately, he saw that during his short absence his companion had scooped soft earth into two piles, each about six feet long and four inches deep for them to sleep on. The gesture touched Vincent deeply, coming from a man who was obviously more comfortable demonstrating courage, honor, and unswerving devotion to duty, than affection or vulnerability of any kind.

“This looks most inviting. Thank you.”

Worf muttered something and moved to take the armful of kindling from Vincent.

“No, you have done enough. Let me.” He went down on one knee and arranged the twigs and dead leaves carefully, layering them to produce a fire, which would burn for the longest possible time. He heard Worf step back and lower himself onto one of the makeshift mattresses.

“What do you use to ignite campfires in the twenty fourth century?” he enquired dryly.

Worf reached for his phaser but Vincent held up a hand. “No, please… I have some matches. I expect they will serve equally well.” Rummaging in the folds of his cloak he produced a box of matches and struck one, touching it to three areas in the base of the fire.

Throughout his life Vincent had taken camping trips alone. He survived partly on the few provisions he always took with him, but mostly on his intelligence and instinct for survival. If there was one thing his fate had taught him early in life, it was survival…at all costs.

In less than thirty seconds the fire was burning brightly, casting eerie shadows on the walls of the cave and illuminating his companion’s dark, somewhat fearsome features. Vincent sat back to enjoy the warmth.

“You make good fires.”

Vincent permitted himself a small half smile. From Worf, that was probably the most extravagant praise he had ever conferred upon another, and Vincent found he was absurdly pleased. “You make good beds,” he countered, tilting his head in acknowledgement of the compliment.

Satisfied that the fire was safe to be enjoyed from a distance, Vincent shrugged off his cloak and sat down on his own ‘bed’. The injury to his side was causing him some pain and he wondered if he should investigate its severity. He slipped a hand inside his vest and pressed exploratory fingers against the side of his chest. He was relieved to find his shirt still dry. After a moment he felt Worf’s eyes on him.

“Is your wound causing you pain?”

Vincent shrugged. “A little. I was considering whether I should see if it needed wrapping, but since we have no water and I cannot afford to rip up any of my clothing for a bandage, there seems to be little point.”

“I too, have nothing but my uniform. I would help you if I could.”

“I know you would, Lieutenant. Thank you. I am sure it is of no consequence. But forgive me…whatever discomfort I am in, must be nothing compared to the pain you must suffering from the vicious beating you received.”  Worf opened his mouth in his customary automatic denial of pain he considered was a warrior’s cross to bear, but Vincent interrupted him. “Friends do not lie to each other, Lieutenant…and after what we faced together today…we are surely that?”

“My…friends…usually call me Worf…when we are off duty, of course.”

Vincent took that as an invitation. “You have no first name, Worf?”

“That is my first name…and my last.”

“I see. Well, my friend, do not tell me you are not in pain because I can see in your eyes that you are. Also, as an empath, I have a vague sense of it.”

Worf looked interested. “You do? I am familiar with that particular sensory power, of course. In fact, I have a…friend who is half Betazoid and she is constantly able to sense the emotions of those around her.”

“Then she will feel your pain and be worried about you now.”

Seeing Deanna in his mind reminded Worf of his colleagues somewhere far above, and he touched two fingers to his communicator button again. “I believe she will have enough problems to handle at this time, without being concerned for me.” He tried to establish contact with ‘The Enterprise’ without success. After muttering a couple of words that Vincent decided must be a foreign tongue, he glowered straight ahead into the firelight, his intense eyes fixed on the dancing flames.

Undeterred by his companion’s apparent withdrawal from the conversation, Vincent continued quietly. “Worf, you showed no sign of surprise or shock when we met. Do you not find my appearance… disturbing?”

Worf turned his head to look at Vincent and his expression was one of genuine puzzlement.

“Why should I?”

“Because…you cannot have seen anyone like me before.”

“No, not exactly. But you cannot possibly know that. How can you be sure there are not members of your race serving in Starfleet…or on The Enterprise even?”

Vincent chuckled softly at the notion of himself in an immaculate black and gold uniform, travelling through time and space in a starship. The vision was curiously exciting.

“I do not believe I said anything humorous,” snapped Worf, the pain of his stomach injury causing his temper to fray even more quickly than usual.

“Forgive me,” Vincent said softly, “but you cannot know how much your reaction to me… and your words… have lifted my spirits. You see, to my knowledge, there is no one like me in my world…Earth. I believe myself to be human, but…the darkness inside me constantly reminds me that there is… something else, too.” He stared at Worf. “You saw it when I killed those men…heard it…the demon inside me that casts a shadow over my life, never knowing when it will surface and hurt someone.”

“You are a warrior,” Worf declared firmly. “Why should you fear that side of your nature? As long as you fight with honor, you should be proud.”

“How can there be honor in a fight that ends in death? Because of these.” Vincent held up a hand and spread his fingers to show Worf the fur and claws he so detested.

“I have met other species with clawed fingernails. You are not so different as you believe, Vincent.”

“In my world I am. I am forced to live apart from the rest of society…in a world created by my father beneath the streets of New York.”

At this, Worf’s fiercely compelling eyes widened in surprise. “Why?”

“Because my appearance frightens people. And…in my time, at least…what they fear, they try to harm. I would have been killed, even as a baby, had I not been found and brought to the sanctuary of what became my home underground.”

“Merely because you do not look like other humans?”

At Vincent’s nod, Worf clenched his fists. “It is almost beyond belief. That humans so long ago were not only primitive, but without honor.”

“I would not say that, Worf. There are some wonderful, honorable people both in my world Below and in the world Above. But you have to understand that in my time, only humans inhabit earth. And animals of course.”

Worf considered this for a few seconds. “Then, there are no Klingons there?”

“Klingons?”

“Like me.“

“No, Worf. There is no one like you.”

“Then…I, too, would be an outcast? I, too, would be hunted down and killed simply because I am not human?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

Worf looked genuinely shaken.  He scrambled to his feet and prowled around the cave, coming to rest on the other side of the fire and staring down into its dancing flames. “I have fought many battles with many enemies,” he breathed. “People have sought conflict with me because of their dislike of the Klingon race. We have not always been the most peaceful people in the universe,” he added in explanation. “But I do not think I have ever been attacked simply because I looked different to the other combatants. That must have been…difficult for you to accept.”

“Sometimes I still have difficulty accepting it,” Vincent replied. “I am beginning to see that life in the twenty-fourth century has advantages…if I could live among your kind and have no one look twice at me.”

Worf winced and his hand went to his stomach, but he waved away Vincent’s concern and sat down again. He took a moment to get a hold on the pain, rather than have his voice betray any sign of vulnerability. Vincent shook his head in despair. Although he understood all too well that feeling of needing to be strong and not give in to weakness, Catherine had slowly, sometimes painfully, brought out another side of Vincent; a side which now acknowledged that admitting to pain, whether physical or emotional, was not necessarily a sign of weakness. That there were times, even, when admitting to it and accepting help, gave those around you strength and satisfaction.

He looked over at Worf and found himself wondering about the empathic ‘close friend’ he had spoken of. Something in his voice had told Vincent that perhaps there was more to it than friendship alone, and he found himself wondering about the type of woman who would be sexually attracted to the Klingon. Before Catherine had come into Vincent’s life, he had always assumed that because of his outward appearance, he would forever be denied the kind of love he’d dreamed of as a young boy, the love, both physical and emotional, that a woman felt for a man. But Catherine had changed a lifetime of thinking that way. She had shown him during their three-year bittersweet relationship that she found him intensely appealing sexually. She had loved his mind and his body with a fierce, deep passion that had resulted in the birth of their son, Jacob.

It was remembering his own reluctance to accept the possibility of physical love that made him speculate about Worf now. Certainly, the Starfleet officer was equally different, at least facially, and Vincent wondered, with an ache of pain and love, what Catherine would have made of him.

The striking difference between the two men, however, was in their attitude towards themselves. While Vincent, though comfortable with himself among friends and family, was always decidedly uneasy about meeting someone new and waiting for their reaction to him, Worf appeared to have no inhibitions whatsoever about his appearance. Indeed, while he had said nothing to indicate he was egotistical, there was a certain nobility and pride about him, as if he considered himself equal to most and probably superior to some.

Vincent found this fascinating and wished he had managed to cultivate more confidence in his youth. But then, of course, Worf was not alone. He was one of a whole race of similar-looking people. In fact, scrutinizing his companion in the firelight while trying to imagine some of those people, Vincent decided Worf was probably considered a superb example of Klingon manhood, looked up to and admired by men and possibly having his choice of women. The thought made him smile just at the exact moment Worf turned to look at him.

“What?”

“I was wondering about your…friend you spoke of. Is she very beautiful?”

Worf’s heavy brow furrowed in consternation, obviously uncertain whether to discuss his personal life with this stranger. Vincent had the distinct impression that only a very few, carefully selected people were privy to even a small part of Worf’s private life.

“Yes.  I believe she is considered to be…beautiful. Of course, most Klingon men would not look twice at her, but then…I am different from most Klingon men.”

“Why is that?”

“Because my natural parents were killed when I was very young, and I was adopted by a human couple. They raised me as their son and I have grown up surrounded by human values and customs. But that does not mean I have rejected my heritage,” he added meaningfully.

“Is that the reason you did not take your adoptive father’s name?”

“Yes. Their family name is Rushenko. I saw no point in using any other name than my given one.”

Vincent smiled ruefully. “I understand. My adoptive father’s name is Wells…but, like you, I have no need to use it. I do not have a birth certificate. My existence is unknown to the rest of the world.”

Worf made no comment but seemed to think about Vincent’s words.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters, Worf?”

“Yes. I have one true brother of my own blood. I also have a foster brother.”

“And do you love them both?”

“I…have…affection for both, yes.” He glared at Vincent for a moment. “You ask many questions.”

Vincent inclined his head in apology. “Forgive me. I did not intend to pry…only to learn more about you, Worf. If you would rather not talk…”

“No, it’s all right. I do not mind. You…interest me, too.”

“I do?”

“Yes. Some things are not easy for me to speak of, Vincent, but…I sense a…kinship with you. I find myself wishing to know more about your life.”

Vincent reached over and briefly squeezed Worf’s upper arm. For a moment the Klingon looked startled, but he relaxed almost immediately and even showed a faint trace of a smile.

“What should I tell you?” Vincent said.

“About your life…your family.”

Vincent explained in more detail about the tunnel world, answering occasional questions pitched by Worf.

Suddenly the latter took Vincent completely by surprise. “Do you have a…mate?”

“I-I…there was a lady I loved very much…but she…died. “

Worf looked as if he could have bitten off his tongue. “I apologize for my tactlessness. Although I do understand. I, too, lost the woman I loved.”

Vincent looked up, surprised. “But I thought…”

“No. Her name was K’ehlyr. She was half Klingon and half human. She had her own ideas about numerous things. In many ways she had little respect for her Klingon heritage. In time, however, I believe we would have bonded…” He almost smiled. “…although it would not have been a strife-free relationship. But she was killed.”

Again, Vincent reached out and touched Worf’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Worf. Catherine too…was killed. I have never really healed from the pain of losing her. She died in my arms exactly one year ago, after giving birth to our son…I never even knew she was pregnant. She was kidnapped, and I searched for her for many months. When at last I found her, it-it was too late.” Vincent heard the tremor in his voice and stopped before the pain of talking about Catherine’s death took hold and caused embarrassment to his friend.  But again, Worf surprised him.

“Now I know why I sensed a kinship with you.  K’ehlyr also died in my arms, and it was not until the moment of her death that she confessed that her child was mine also.”

Vincent’s eyes widened. “So, you too, have a son?”

“Yes. His name is Alexander. And he does use my parents’ name. He is, after all, part-human. He is seven years old and causes me…many problems. We do not always get along.”

“But you love him?”

The fierce, dark features softened, Vincent surmised, as much as they were ever likely to.

“I do not always like him but…yes, I do…love him.  However, I do not think I was cut out for fatherhood.”

“It isn’t easy.” Vincent smiled. “I have learned so much from Jacob, even though he is still just a baby.”

“It will not get easier as he matures,” Worf grumbled.

“I am looking forward to watching Jacob grow; to teaching him all I can…reading to him, telling him stories and watching him as he learns to walk, write, and read for himself.”

Worf stared at Vincent in disbelief. “It is not a man’s role to do those things. A boy’s father should teach him strength and loyalty…how to become a warrior and use those qualities to honor his family. Though no doubt K’ehlyr would have disagreed with many of my own beliefs,” he added wryly.

Vincent wasn’t surprised to hear that. No doubt K’ehlyr considered Worf’s views to be unacceptably chauvinistic. “I’m afraid I also disagree with you that a father should not read to his child and do whatever else is necessary. In any case, I do not have a choice. I am alone. It saddens me deeply that Catherine will not see our son grow to manhood.”

“I, too, am alone,” Worf responded.

“But what about your empathic friend? Will she not help you?”

“It is not her responsibility. Alexander is not her child…although she does care for him, I know.”

“And does she…care for you too?”

Worf thought about that for several seconds, and Vincent wondered if he was offended at being asked so personal a question. But his new friend intrigued him and he was anxious to learn more about the man. “Worf, forgive me…you do not have to answer that if you would rather not.”

“And I would not…if I did not choose to. Yes. I believe Deanna does care for me. We have become…close, recently.”

“And you? Are you in love with her?”

The fierce, black eyes glared at Vincent for a moment, and he was sure Worf was going to dismiss such a preposterous and presumptuous suggestion. Then the Klingon looked back into the firelight, as if searching for an answer to something he’d never really considered with any degree of seriousness before.

“If you are,” Vincent continued softly, “you should tell her, Worf. To love and be loved in return by that person is the most precious gift in life. You and I both had it once. I will never have it again…for me there will be no one but Catherine, but it sounds to me as if you have another chance of happiness. Do not throw it away, my friend. Bravery, courage, and strength are all noble virtues that I aspire to and which you have in abundance…but loneliness is an unwelcome companion. Everyone needs someone to turn to for love and warmth. Someone who will give you strength and renew your spirits when all seems lost.”

When Worf made no reply, Vincent turned away slightly, stretching out his hands to warm them in the heat of the fire. After a moment or two he lay down and closed his eyes. His side still hurt, but there was nothing to be done, so he ignored it as best he could and prepared to sleep.

“You are a wise and compassionate man, Vincent. You make the weaknesses and vulnerabilities I have always tried to exorcise in myself, seem like strengths.”

Vincent opened his eyes in surprise and looked over at Worf, but the other man lay down, turning his back, and it was clear that there would be no more conversation that night.

The following morning Vincent awoke with a start to find Worf kicking over the embers of their fire, but every movement seemed to cause him pain, and on closer inspection his face looked pinched and strained. Before he could speak, a voice came through Worf’s communicator button.       

“Mister Worf, this is Commander Riker…come in please.” 

Worf slapped the button. “Worf here, Commander.”       

“Thank God. Are you all right?”  

With a glance at Vincent, Worf replied, “There was a battle, during which I sustained an injury, Commander, but I do not believe it to be serious. Is The Enterprise unharmed?”

“Well, there’s been no structural damage to the hull. We hit a wormhole and lost all power. Geordi’s been able to get our communications back on line, but he estimates it’ll be another couple of hours before we can get you back through the transporter. Stand by, I’ll put Dr Crusher on.”

“That will not be necessary Comm…”

“Worf, this is Beverly. What’s wrong?” 

Worf raised his eyebrows and sighed in irritation. “Nothing, Doctor. May I speak with…”

“Where are you hurt?”   

Vincent shot a warning glance at Worf, sensing the other was about to deny his condition again. Worf looked as if he’d like to hit someone, but, probably fearing a lecture from Vincent or his crew, or even both, ground out between his teeth, “My…stomach…is rather tender.”

“Are you losing blood? What kind of wound is it?”

“Doctor, I do not have time for this!”

“Find time Lieutenant. That’s an order.” The voice belonged to Captain Picard, and Worf’s eyebrows rose from their fiercely furrowed glare. “Aye Sir. I, ah…have no external bleeding, but there is some pain, and I suspect there may be some slight internal injury.”

The doctor’s voice came back on line. “You may be bleeding inside, Worf. Try to keep as still as possible until I can reach you or we can get you back aboard.”

“Thank you for your…advice, Doctor. May I please speak with Commander Riker again?”

The first voice came back on the line. “What is it, Worf?”

“The situation down here is…unpredictable, Commander. We have already fought one battle. I do not know how many Hilorians are in the area.”

“We?”

“Yes, Commander. The er…prisoner, fought beside me. He is a good man, Commander.”   He looked over at Vincent. “He saved my life last night.”

“Then he has our gratitude. Look after yourself, Worf. We’ll have you back here as soon as we can. Out.” The line went dead and Worf scowled. “Let us hope they will not be too long.”

Vincent stood up and brushed off his clothes. “What is to become of me, Worf? I cannot go with you to your starship, but neither can I remain here. I…I do not know what to do.” He gestured helplessly with his hands. He hated feeling powerless in a situation, but what choice did he have? He was an alien in a world of violent strangers. Was he destined to spend the rest of his life running and hiding? If so, he might become like them; fighting for survival the only way they would allow; by killing and returning to a state of primitive wildness that his darker self sometimes demanded.

“I will not abandon you, Vincent,” Worf pledged. “Trust me; somehow we will find a way to return you to your own world. Now…” He bent to retrieve his phaser from beside the makeshift mattress, grunting with pain as he slowly straightened.

Vincent was immediately concerned. “I believe the doctor is right. You should rest and be still, in order not to aggravate your injury. I will keep watch outside for intruders.”

But Worf shook his head. “No, we must keep moving. The Hilorians have a nasty habit of throwing firebombs into any caves they come across on their reconnaissance missions. They tend to sleep at night, as we do, but it is too dangerous to remain here during the daytime.”

“Worf, you are not fit to travel.”

“A warrior must put aside discomfort to do what has to be done. We must leave immediately.”

Shaking his head, Vincent followed Worf as he strode out of the cave, looked about him and set off in the direction they had been going the previous evening.

The sun rose about thirty minutes later and Vincent was stunned at how hot and uncomfortable it became in a very short time. When he had awoken to find Worf standing over him the day before, it had been close to dusk and pleasantly cool. Now it was reminiscent of all the stories of the desert Vincent had read over the years, with the sun blazing down on two solitary figures bereft of water in a barren, hostile land. It almost made Vincent smile, so aptly did the description fit his and Worf’s situation.

The two men didn’t speak much as they walked. For one thing, it was far too hot for socializing and Vincent guessed Worf was in far more pain than he was ever likely to admit. He held one arm across his stomach as he walked. He knew it would do no good to plead with his companion to rest. Worf would not rest until he dropped; and then Vincent would be there to help him. He just hoped when that time came, Worf wouldn’t have damaged himself beyond repair.

They had walked for about an hour and a half without seeing a soul, when suddenly there was a scream about a hundred yards ahead of them to the left. Worf snatched his phaser from its holder and both men began to run in the direction of the sound.

“Take care!” they called to each other in unison as they ran. Other sounds reached them as they grew nearer. A woman wailed and cried in terror and men’s angry voices shouted and hurled abuse. As Vincent and Worf raced around an enormous rock, they saw four Hilorian men pounding with their fists a woman who cowered on the ground on all fours while apparently trying to protect something with her body. Vincent swung a mighty fist, crushing one man’s shoulder and knocking him, screaming, to the ground as Worf simultaneously grabbed another by the back of his collar and hurled him sideways, stunning him with a phaser blast.

Vincent followed up with another crushing blow to the third man’s cranium and the fourth whirled to defend himself, knowing, as he regarded Vincent and Worf, that he hadn’t a hope in hell. His last action in life was to hit Vincent in the face with a hastily pitched rock. Vincent roared in pain and fury and his eyes began to water, blurring his vision, but Worf head butted the man in the stomach, knocking him to his knees and giving Vincent time to snap his neck with a single swipe of his wrist.

Worf made it to his knees, then crossed both arms over his stomach, groaning. Vincent shook his head and applied pressure to his streaming eyes with the heels of both hands for a second or two until he could see a little better. Groggy, and with his hearing and vision temporarily impaired, he started to go to Worf’s aid, but the Klingon jerked his head towards the woman. “Help her.”

Vincent turned and tried to focus on the whimpering figure on the ground. He reached her in three steps and fell to his knees beside her.

“Help my baby…please…help my baby!” Before Vincent could say a word, she rolled over in the dust and gave one last, shuddering breath. It was only then that Vincent saw what she had been protecting. A small blanket-covered bundle moved and a tiny fist pushed out of its folds as an infant cry rent the air. Vincent carefully lifted the baby in one arm and wiped his eyes with his other hand in order to see the child better. Easing the material away from its face, he found himself gazing down on the strangest little face he had ever seen in his life. It was fat, with dimpled cheeks, fair skin, bright red eyebrows, and long, straight hair. Its eyes were impossible to see properly as they were screwed up tightly in the natural action of an infant crying. But its nose and mouth were the most inhuman of all. It had, what could best be described as a beak, open now and yelling, with tiny points of teeth. It was certainly much more human than bird, but Vincent unwrapped the little squirming body in order to see what the rest of it looked like. He was relieved to see that in all other respects it was basically a human male child, with completely normal genitalia. He moved the long hair aside and found, instead of ears, small slits at the sides of the head.

Vincent stared down in wonder. Was this how Anna had felt when she had found him in that pile of trash so many years ago? Strange as the baby was, it was far from ugly. On the contrary, it was extremely appealing, and its plight tugged at Vincent’s heartstrings.

“Do not fear, little one,” he soothed. “I won’t let anyone harm you. You’re safe now.” Almost as if the infant knew Vincent would take care of him, it stopped crying and seized his thumb with five tiny fingers. Its eyes opened wide and the last tears squeezed out over satin soft baby cheeks. The pupils were of normal human size and black…but the irises were golden.

“Is the child alive?” Worf asked, with difficulty.

“Yes.” Vincent hurriedly re-wrapped the baby and got to his feet, crossing to help Worf.   “Look.  Do you recognize this race?”

Worf peered at the child and shook his head. “The mother was Hilorian wasn’t she?”

Glancing over at the woman’s body, Vincent nodded. “I believe so. She may not have been the child’s natural mother, of course.” He looked around him. His vision was almost back to normal, but he couldn’t hear as well as usual and his head was pounding. “Worf, we have to get out of here. Can you stand?”

“Of course.” With Vincent’s hand under his arm, he managed to get to his feet, but when he tried to straighten, he groaned in agony and bit down on his lower lip. Clutching his stomach with both hands, he spat out some unintelligible words that Vincent guessed were probably his native tongue…and expletives at that. “Leave me,” he gasped. “I will only slow you down. Go…with the child.”

“I’m not leaving you, Worf, so don’t even try to argue with me. You don’t have the strength.  Now let me help you. Either we all go, or none of us.”

There was another string of curses and Worf forced himself upright. “You are a stubborn man, Vincent,” he managed.

“I’ve been told that. That’s probably something else we have in common, my friend.” Worf’s only reply was a scathing glance, but he reluctantly allowed Vincent to take his arm and support some of his weight as they began to walk.

“You might feel more comfortable without that magnificent metal sash, Worf,” Vincent suggested after a few yards. “It must be heavy. Why don’t we leave it here?

Worf stopped dead and glared at him in genuine horror. “This sash is not just for adornment! This is a sash of Honor. It is a part of me. I hope to die wearing this sash.”

Suitably rebuked, Vincent said no more about it.

“What about you,” Worf said, after a little while. “Why do you continue to wear that long cape? It must be stiflingly hot.”

Despite the heat, Vincent had kept his cloak on, reasoning that since there was no question of abandoning it, he’d only have to carry the wretched thing if he removed it. He looked at Worf for any sign of sarcasm, but the man’s face was inscrutable.

“Like your sash, Worf, it is a part of me. Although,” he added with a tilt of his head, “I do not hope to die in it.” The other man shot him a glance to see if he was being made fun of, but he was in so much pain that he decided he didn’t really care, and said nothing.

“Riker to Lt. Worf.”  The communicator button crackled once, then the Commander’s voice came through clearly.

“Yes Commander, I am here.”

“We’re ready to transport. How many?”

“Three, Sir.”

“No!” Vincent tightened his grip on Worf’s arm. “I cannot go with you!”

“Excuse me a moment, Commander.” Worf slapped the button and turned to Vincent.

“You must come with me. What sort of a life can you make for yourself here?” He looked down at the now sleeping alien baby. “What about him? How will you take care of him if you are running for your life? You will need to kill animals just to survive, Vincent, and once aware of your existence on their planet, the Hilorians will hunt you down and kill you.”

“But I cannot live in outer space! No, Worf, I will have to take my chances. I will protect this little one as long as I am able, but I cannot go with you.”

“Lieutenant, I’m waiting.”

Worf spoke into the communicator again, struggling to keep a rein on his impatience with his superior. “My apologies, Commander. Please bear with me for another moment.” Turning again to Vincent he spoke more gently than before. “I did not want to raise your hopes in case it is impossible, but I believe there is a good chance that once aboard The Enterprise, we may be able to return you to your own world.”

“I appreciate the thought, Worf, but even if such a thing were possible, my world below the streets of New York will hold nothing for me. It is unlikely that three centuries on, it even exists any more. And even if it does, I will be as much an alien there now as this child!”

“I did not mean to return you in this present time. We have the technology to travel through time, Vincent. Will you trust me?”

Vincent’s head was spinning, not just with pain, but with the implied possibilities Worf offered. Was it really possible that their starship was also a time machine?  It was too fantastic to contemplate. Mr H.G. Wells had held as much fascination for Vincent as any other child, but with maturity came the separation of fiction from fantasy. He knew he had no more time for contemplation. Worf’s Commander would wait no longer.

Vincent looked down at the trusting, peaceful face of the little bird-faced baby. What sort of life could he possibly offer it here in this hostile environment? Better, surely, to be raised on a starship where aliens were accepted, welcomed even. Yes, the baby had to leave. And himself? Well, even he would be accepted, and there was something very tempting about that.

“You have convinced me, Worf. The child and I will come with you. Thank you.”

The Klingon raised his eyebrows in relief and punched the communicator button again.

“Three to transport Commander.”

“Thank you, Mister Worf. Good of you to let us know. Stand by. “

“What happens now?” Vincent asked.

“Nothing. Just stand quite still. It will only take a moment.”

Vincent felt a wave of near panic, as a shaft of light seemed to immobilize his body. Suddenly dizzy, he closed his eyes and waited. When he opened them, he found himself standing on a podium, still holding onto Worf and the baby.

Several people were staring at them. There was a man at a control panel on the opposite side of the small room. He looked quite calm, as if the whole operation had gone exactly as planned. Standing just below them on the floor were five people: a distinguished, bald- headed man, very upright with hands behind his back and wearing a maroon and black uniform; a taller, bearded man in the same colors, dark-haired and handsome; a short-haired woman in gold and black like Worf. She was pointing a phaser directly at Vincent, but, at the slightest motion from the bald man, holstered it immediately.

An attractive, red-haired woman moved towards them. She was wearing a blue and black uniform under a knee-length cotton coat, and she carried a bag. Vincent identified her immediately as the doctor, and sure enough, she moved toward the little group on the podium, waving an instrument over all three of them and reading the results off a machine in her other hand.

The other member of the party was a beautiful, slender woman, also in blue and black uniform. She had huge, worried eyes and voluminous long, almost black hair drawn up at the sides to cascade in fluffy curls over her shoulders. As soon as the doctor had made her cursory examination, the raven-haired beauty ran to Worf and helped him off the podium. Vincent didn’t need two guesses to know that this was the enigmatic empath of whom he had spoken…Deanna Troi. Her concern for Worf was almost palpable. He started to brush her concern aside, then caught Vincent’s look and softened, allowing her to put an arm around him, although it was clear he was acutely embarrassed at being fussed over.

It occurred to Vincent that none of the party was looking at him with fear or hostility.  Presumably since Worf was the Chief Security Officer and had recommended bringing Vincent aboard, describing him as ‘a good man’, that was endorsement enough for the Captain and crew of this starship.

The bald-headed man stepped forward. He had the air of one who was used to being obeyed. Vincent guessed he must be the Captain and the man’s first words immediately confirmed this.

“Welcome aboard The Enterprise.” He spoke directly to Vincent. “I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard…” He gestured in turn to the tall man beside him and the doctor. “This is my First Officer, Commander William Riker…Dr Beverly Crusher, Chief Medical Officer.”  He glanced towards Deanna, still holding Worf’s arm and raised a cynical eyebrow. “Ship’s Counselor, Deanna Troi seems a little, er, preoccupied.”

The woman looked up guiltily and, smiled at Vincent. “Forgive my rudeness ah…”

“Vincent. My name is Vincent.”

“Vincent. Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Vincent bowed his head graciously and returned his attention to the Captain. “I am afraid I have no knowledge of how I came to be on the planet from which you transported us, Captain. I am from Earth…a very long time ago, it seems.” He could not prevent a faint tremor in his voice as he again realised that despite the fact he was on a starship full of people, he had never been more alone in his life than he was right now.

The doctor smiled and beckoned him down from the podium. “May I see?” she asked, gently pulling back one edge of the blanket covering the baby. “Is this your child, Vincent?”

“No. Hilorians killed his mother. Lieutenant Worf and I were forced to kill them, but the child survived. We had no choice but to bring him with us.”

“No, of course not,” Beverly Crusher muttered. “I’d like to carry out a full examination in Sick Bay. Which… ” she looked meaningfully at Worf and Vincent in turn. “…is where both of you should be right now.”

“It’s good to have you safely back, Mr. Worf,” the Captain said. “You look a little the worse for wear, but I’m sure Doctor Crusher will soon have you fixed up.”

“I am fine, Captain,” the Klingon protested, but it was brutally apparent to everyone in the room that he was not, and, gritting his teeth, he reluctantly allowed Deanna to take his elbow as the doors slid apart at the touch of a button and they stepped out.

“Someone will show you to your quarters when the Doctor has finished with you, Vincent. We’ll talk later when you’re feeling more comfortable.” Captain Picard smiled and Vincent inclined his head in acknowledgement of the hospitality he was to receive.

In Sick Bay, a nurse relieved Vincent of his precious burden, and Beverly gestured to him to remove his cloak, tunic, and shirt and lay down on a high, narrow bed, which looked marginally less comfortable than Father’s beds in the Hospital Chamber Below. Father!  The word echoed in his head and the image it evoked caused a spear of pain to twist Vincent’s heart. He would never see the beloved old man again, not Father, nor Mary… not even the children. And not even his most cherished treasure of all…Jacob. Vincent was suddenly overcome with a terrible weakness, which had more to do with his emotional condition than his physical one. He sank down shakily onto the bed, covering his eyes with his hands. He felt a hand on his shoulder and the Doctor’s gentle voice.

“What is it, Vincent?”

He shook his head but was unable to meet the Doctor’s eyes immediately. He fought to keep his voice steady when he spoke. “Forgive me, Doctor. Less than twenty-four hours ago I had a home that I now realize I never truly appreciated…a loving family and friends. That was in nineteen hundred and ninety. Suddenly…somehow…” he gestured helplessly with his hands. “I found myself on a hostile planet with Lieutenant Worf standing over me with a weapon.” Vincent looked up then. “And it was three centuries ahead of the one I had left behind. I have nothing now…no one.” His voice had dropped to a whisper.

“Vincent…” He blinked, listening attentively, seeing in her eyes a look he had often seen in the women who knew and cared for him. A look that said she wanted to take him in her arms and hold him, when in fact what she really must do was behave like the professional she was and treat him for his physical injuries. She almost visibly took hold of herself, and helped him remove his clothes until he wore only his patched and faded cord pants. Normally he would have resisted undressing in front of anyone, but the way he felt at that moment, he really didn’t care any more.

“I understand how lonely you must feel right now, but it may not be as bad as you fear. This starship is the most technologically sophisticated in the entire fleet, capable of things you possibly only dreamed of in the twentieth century. Try not to worry. As soon as you’ve rested, I’ll have Counselor Troi meet with you; she’s far more experienced at dealing with trauma of any kind; it’s her job. Right now I want you to try and relax and let me examine you, okay?”

Vincent nodded and Beverly touched his shoulder again, encouraging him to lay back on the bed. It felt good to lie on a reasonably soft surface again at last, and Vincent took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn’t fall asleep until the Doctor had finished with him.

She picked up an instrument with which she scanned his entire body, paying particular attention to his head. Vincent had never seen anything like it in his life. By her expression, the machine had told her most of what she wanted to know.

“You have a head injury, Vincent, and your right eardrum is bruised. Are you in much pain?”

“No, just a headache. But I am not hearing you as clearly as usual.”

“That’s what I thought. Don’t worry, I’ll soon fix that for you.” She reached for another instrument and turned Vincent’s head to the side. He heard and felt nothing, but suddenly every sound in the room was amplified. He couldn’t believe it and whipped his head around to stare at Beverly. “How did you do that?”

She smiled, obviously proud of her equipment. “I told you, this is an extremely sophisticated ship. And medical knowledge has progressed a very long way since the days when laser surgery was becoming commonplace.”

“Is there nothing you cannot heal?”

“Sadly, yes. Despite ongoing research, there are still things which cannot be rectified or prevented. And of course, while certain diseases have been eradicated, new ones come along to take their place. But then if there were no death anywhere, just try and imagine how impossible our lives would be.”

Vincent contemplated the implications for a moment and understood. “Then perhaps even the greatest minds are governed by a superior force to ensure they do not become too clever for the good of their people.”

Beverly nodded slowly, studying Vincent. “Perhaps. I suspect you have a brilliant mind, Vincent. What work did you do on Earth?”

Too weary to engage in another in-depth conversation about his life, Vincent uncharacteristically took the easy path. “I was a teacher.”

“What did you teach?”

“Many things. Literature, music appreciation. Whatever was needed to expand young minds.”

“It must have been a very special school.”

Again, that shard of pain that threatened to splinter Vincent’s heart. “Yes…it was.”

In a little under fifteen minutes, Dr. Crusher had used her incredible magic machines to heal Vincent’s two broken ribs and the gash across his chest; his eyes felt wonderfully clear and comfortable and his hearing was as acute as ever. He stood alone in the center of a suite of two rooms, which had been allocated, as his quarters while he was aboard The Enterprise. All he needed now was to sleep for about a week.

The young man who had brought him here had instructed him on how to order whatever refreshment he wanted from the food replicator. Dr. Crusher had called him brilliant, but Vincent had never felt more idiotic in his life as he quietly requested a ham sandwich from a hole in the wall. When it materialized before him, he blinked in amazement and asked for a cup of tea. He was so tickled when that also appeared that he couldn’t resist trying something else, and very soon Vincent had a sandwich, a huge slice of  ‘Death By Chocolate’ cake, some cheese and crackers, a selection of fresh fruit, a vanilla milkshake. and two cups of herbal tea lined up on the table. Guiltily, he sat down and began to eat, glancing about him furtively as if he half-expected someone to appear and sentence him to a court martial or some equally unpleasant punishment for messing with Federation equipment and wasting food.

The experience had, however, lifted his spirits a little and he managed to eat most of the food, leaving only two pieces of fruit and a cup of the herbal tea.  Feeling bloated and uncomfortable, Vincent wandered slowly into the bedroom where he undressed and crawled gratefully beneath a midnight blue satin sheet. The light in the room dimmed at his request, but by this time Vincent was too exhausted to be amazed. He closed his eyes and was asleep before he even had time to think of Catherine…something he did every night before he slept.

***

The following morning Vincent was awakened by a musical tinkling which seemed to come from the door. Puzzled, he slipped out of bed and shrugged on a robe which was lying over a chair, and which he hadn’t even noticed the night before. Tying it tightly around himself, he went into the living room and tried to open the door. The sound came again, and having no success, he called out, “Please…come in if you are able to.”

The door slid open and Deanna Troi stood outside, smiling. She was carrying some garments over her arm and held them out to Vincent.

“I-I’m sorry,” he began, baffled at how she was able to gain access to his room from the outside when he was unable to open it internally. “There does not seem to be a handle on the door.”

Deanna’s smile grew wider. “It is activated by your voice. I’ve brought you some clothes…and a message. Captain Picard would like you to join him in his Ready Room on the bridge in fifteen minutes if that’s convenient.”

Vincent nodded and accepted the clothes, grateful for the kindness he continued to receive in this brightly lit, alien world of space and technology.

“I’ll let you get dressed now, but I’d really like to talk to you later, Vincent. I think I can help you.”

Vincent knew it was true. Her empathic gift was very strong. He could feel it just by looking at her. “Thank you. And of course I will see the Captain. But first, can you tell me if Lieutenant Worf’s condition is improved? I fear he was badly hurt and I would like to see him.”

“He’s fine. Well, at least, he keeps insisting he’s fine, although he’s actually suffered quite a severe stomach injury. Were you with him when it happened?”

“Yes. We were attacked by several Hilorian warriors with weapons. We were fortunate to escape with our lives, but Worf was paralyzed by one of your phasers and, unable to defend himself, he was viciously kicked and beaten before I reached him. Is he going to be all right?”

Deanna’s brow furrowed. “Oh yes, the internal bleeding has stopped. If Beverly can just keep him off his feet for a couple of days, he’ll be fine.

“But Worf told the story quite differently.”                                              ‘

“What do you mean?”

“He said a Hilorian took him by surprise and rolled a boulder into him, crushing him against a rock.”

Vincent was baffled. “That is not what happened. Why would he lie?”

“I think I know.” Deanna raised her dark eyebrows and gave a knowing smile. “Worf is an extremely proud man, Vincent. In his eyes, it’s okay to be injured as long as the injury is sustained in an honorable way. I don’t think he would consider lying helpless on the ground and being kicked, an acceptable excuse. He couldn’t say he was shot or stabbed, since it would be obvious to anyone that he wasn’t, so he came up with this story about being rammed in the stomach while he was caught off guard. To him, that is a little more acceptable, though probably not much.”

Vincent held out his hands in defeat. “I should have realised. I believe I have come to know Worf quite well, considering our short acquaintance. Please, Deanna, do not tell anyone what really happened. I would hate to betray his trust…even though he has nothing whatever to be ashamed of. He is a brave and courageous warrior who I am proud to know and call a friend.”

“Yes, he is,” smiled Deanna. Suddenly they both became aware that Vincent was still dressed only in a bathrobe. “Now, I’ll leave you to dress. You can see Worf whenever you like. He’s still in Sick Bay and growling at anyone who goes near him, so you’ve been warned!”

“I do not think he will growl at me.”

Deanna paused to look curiously at Vincent over her shoulder as she left the room, but he merely gave a small smile and inclined his head in thanks.

Worf was, indeed, scowling fiercely when Vincent entered the Sick Bay, but when he saw who his visitor was, his features softened. “Vincent. I am glad to see you. Are you well?”

“Yes, thank you. But what about you? I have been worried.”

Worf raised his eyes to the ceiling. “I will admit I am a little sore, but Dr. Crusher seems determined to keep me prisoner here for no good reason. It is…most frustrating.”

“Don’t worry, Worf.  I have it on good authority that it will only be for two days at most if you co-operate. And for the sake of the staff and patients, I do not believe she will keep you here longer than necessary.”

“What has she been saying?” Worf snapped.

Vincent tilted his head. “Nothing. But you told me yourself you are not known for your patience.”

Worf snorted disgustedly, but his eyes sparkled and Vincent knew very well that he wasn’t nearly as angry as he tried to pretend. “Deanna was obviously very worried about you.”

“You should not read too much into that. Deanna worries about everyone.”

Vincent smiled and stood up. “You forget, Worf… I, too, am empathic. I can sense the emotions in others, and hers are particularly strong. I will see you later.” He touched the Klingon’s shoulder as he turned to go, leaving Worf staring after him, a thoughtful frown on his face.

Spotting Dr. Crusher in her office, he tapped on the glass door. She looked up and smiled, gesturing for him to enter. “Sit down, Vincent. I’m glad to see you.  How are you feeling?”

“I’m quite well, thank you, Doctor. I have been visiting with Worf. He seems much better today.”

Beverly nodded, leaning back in her chair. “Yes, he is. And after two days rest, he’ll be as good as new again. Although I may have to put a restraining field over him to keep him in that bed. He’s a terrible patient!”

Vincent smiled sympathetically. “I’m sure he would not wish to be a burden to you.” Beverly looked behind Vincent through the glass and he twisted to see what had caught her attention. A small boy with features very like Worf was running through the door. He skidded to a halt beside the Klingon’s bed.

“Is that Worf’s son?” Vincent asked, awed by the sight of the unusual child draped over the bed chatting as naturally and with as much confidence as any boy or girl to be found in the Tunnels.

“Yes,” smiled Beverly. “That’s Alexander. He’s a wonderful child; he and Worf fight a lot but he’s the most precious thing in Worf’s life. Of course, he’d rather die than admit it,” she added with a grin.

Vincent shook his head sadly. “Where I come from…where I live…people are not afraid to tell each other how they feel.”

“Some of us are that way here, too. People are people, Vincent, wherever they are. Some are naturally open, others more reticent and less able to show their feelings. I don’t think time has anything to do with it.”

Vincent nodded slowly. She was probably right. “Doctor, the baby I brought back from Hilas 3…”

“Ah yes, the baby.”

“Is he well?”

“Actually, yes. I’ve run all the usual tests and he seems to be a perfectly healthy child.”

“Is he… have you… I mean, do you know where he comes from?”

The Doctor shook her head. “I’ve never seen another like him. But that sometimes happens, Vincent. There are so many star systems that it’s not unusual to meet new and unusual races. For instance, I’ve never seen anyone exactly like you before, either.”

Vincent gave a soundless chuckle. “I would be surprised if you had, Doctor.” Before Beverly could pursue the conversation, he continued, “What is to become of the child?  I    feel responsible for him. I understand more than most what it is to be one of a kind.”

“He won’t be alone, Vincent. If you have no objections, he’ll be raised here on The Enterprise, go to school…he’ll make friends and live a happy life.”

Vincent looked down at his hands. “A Happy Life. Yes, I hope so.”

“Vincent, you sound so sad. Do you…have a child?”

“Yes. A son. His name is Jacob.”

Beverly leaned forward, resting her arms on the desk, a happy smile on her face. “How old is he?”

“One year…exactly. At least…he was. I will never see him again.”

The doctor looked as if she could have cut out her tongue. “That was so stupid of me. Vincent, I’m sorry.” Before he could reply, Beverly’s communicator button bleeped.                                                                                                                                                          Beverly, it’s Deanna. Have you seen Vincent?  The doctor glanced up and Vincent got to his feet.

“Yes, he’s here with me.”

Oh, good. I’d like to fix an appointment to see him later.  Would one–thirty be okay?

Vincent answered Beverly’s questioning look with a nod.

“That’s fine, Deanna.”

***

“So, Vincent, are your quarters comfortable?”

“Yes Captain Picard. They are much larger and more extravagantly furnished than I am used to. I am grateful to you for your hospitality.”

The Captain tugged down unnecessarily on his tunic and clasped his hands behind his back, moving around from behind his desk to face Vincent. “It is I who am grateful. I understand from my Security Chief that you fought side by side with him and saved his life.” Vincent looked down at the floor, unwilling to corroborate the claim. The Captain continued,”I also believe you are a very long way from home… and from your own time.”

Vincent’s head shot up again. “Lieutenant Worf told you…or, perhaps, Dr. Crusher?”

“Certainly. They are both extremely worried about you. In fact…I have never known Worf to demonstrate such concern or friendship for someone with whom he has had so short an acquaintance. You have made quite an impression on my crew, Vincent.”

“I do not know what to say, Captain.” Vincent shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I was a little…distressed and…overtired, when we arrived here. I am afraid I may have embarrassed Doctor Crusher.”

“Not in the slightest. But she was worried. Vincent, The Enterprise is a highly sophisticated vessel…the finest example of twenty-fourth century engineering and technology. It is capable of incredible speed, withstanding more damage than any other starship in the galaxy if attacked by alien craft; it is even able to travel through time.”

Vincent’s golden eyebrows furrowed in enquiry. “You have every right to be proud, Captain, but…”

“But you have no idea why I am telling you this.” Picard didn’t wait for a reply. “Vincent, there is a possibility, and until I get clearance from the Federation for such a mission, it is only a possibility…that we may be able to help you.”

“But how? Forgive me if I sound slow-witted, Captain, but you cannot mean that you are able to return me to my own time? Such a thing is beyond comprehension.”

Picard smiled and perched on the edge of the desk. “That is exactly what I am saying. Oh, I realize that in nineteen-ninety such a thing was still only in the very early stages of development, but tremendous advances have been made since then. It is very much a reality now, Vincent. Not something we do every day… it puts enormous pressure on the ship…but sometimes, when it is considered necessary or the right course of action, then we will do it.”

“You would…do that…for me?”

Picard stood up and clapped Vincent on the upper arm with the air one whose time is limited. “Leave it with me. I will do what I can to help you.” He walked with Vincent towards the door. “In the meantime, relax and make yourself comfortable. If there is anything you need, just let one of my crew know. We will talk later.”

Knowing he was being dismissed with the skill and diplomacy only practised so delicately by the British, Vincent thanked the Captain and left the room, walking slowly up the carpeted slope of the bridge to the turbolift. “Deck 17,” he said, a little uncertainly, to the empty chamber, and in under a minute, was back in his own accommodation.

He spent the rest of the morning quietly. He tried to read but found himself unable to concentrate, and in the end, opted for just sitting with his eyes closed, thinking. He knew he should probably take a walk around, as he had been invited to do, and meet some of the several thousand people on board the starship, but such a mission did not come easily to Vincent, and at one-fifteen, he found himself pacing restlessly around and waiting for Counselor Deanna Troi to come. He had not realised how much he needed to see and speak with her.

She arrived, five minutes late and smiling warmly as he invited her to enter. “Shall we sit down?” she asked, and he nodded, leading her to a long couch where they sat about a foot apart. “I’m not going to make polite small talk and ask how you are, Vincent, because I can feel your emotions very clearly.”

“I know,” he replied. “I, too, am an empath. Do you find it stressful, sensing the emotions of others?”

“Sometimes. Right now I do.”

Vincent looked down at where his hands rested on his thighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I want to help you.” She turned to face Vincent and surprised him by reaching out to press her right hand to his chest. Almost immediately she closed her eyes and groaned, but she didn’t remove her hand. Vincent stared at her worriedly, unsure what to do. He felt suddenly strange, and wondered why his heart was pounding.

“Oh, Vincent…I’ve never felt such overwhelming sorrow in anyone as I do in you. You’re in such pain, aren’t you?” Her fingertips pressed harder into his chest and he drew a deep breath, trying to quell a sudden need to cry. This woman understood everything, without him saying a word, she knew. Oh, maybe not exactly why he was so desperately unhappy, but she could feel it in him as clearly as if it were a tangible thing.

“Deanna…” he stammered, his voice unsteady. “Do not put yourself through this.”

“No, it’s okay. Don’t try and suppress your emotions, Vincent. You have to let me feel everything. It’s the only way I can help you.” She opened her eyes and Vincent could see his own pain reflected in the beautiful deep brown orbs. “You don’t mind me touching you like this?” He shook his head, unable to take his eyes off her. “You feel terribly… desperately…alone. But it’s not only the fact that you’ve been transported to a different time. There’s something else. Tell me, Vincent.” She gasped and clenched her free fist. “God, it hurts!”

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, knowing that he was causing Deanna deep distress and that the only possible way of easing it for her was to unburden his heart in the hope that by releasing long pent up emotions, he might also relieve some of the pressure she was feeling through him.

“There was a lady,” he breathed, “her name was…Catherine. Fate decreed that we meet …and I fell deeply in love for the first and only time in my life. And, to my utter amazement…she…loved me, too.” He felt as if he had been holding his breath, and paused to inhale, drawing the air in slowly, giving himself time to collect his jumbled thoughts and ravaged emotions. He and Deanna held each other’s gaze, as if to look away would be to forever lose the precious contact they had established between their souls.

“Why should you be amazed that she would love you?” she asked softly.

Vincent gestured vaguely to his face. “Look at me, Deanna. Do you see a face that you could love?”

“Yes, I do. If I were not in love with another.”

“Then, you are as extraordinary a woman as Catherine.”

“Please continue, Vincent. You can hide none of your emotions from me. Let me absorb some of your pain and you will feel better, I promise. I promise you, Vincent.”

“What about you? All I am doing is hurting you.”

She moved her fingers on his chest and it was as comforting as if she had squeezed his hand. “As you speak, the pain will ease for both of us. Go on, Vincent.”

He began again. “It was…hard. I could not live in her world…and it was not the right time for her to live in mine. Part of me hoped that she would find love with someone else. But when she did…it broke my heart.”

“She left you?” Vincent shook his head.

“No, she returned to me. As time went on, we realised that although we could never truly be together, neither would we ever be apart. We were as one…connected in spirit. Then, came a time of great upheaval and distress in my life. I–I became ill and Catherine saved me…she literally brought me back to life by the giving of her love.”

Deanna frowned, confused. “But you said she loved you before that.”

“When I say she gave me her love, I mean… her physical love.”

“The two of you had never made love until then?” She sounded incredulous.

Vincent shook his head slowly, his eyes still riveted to hers. “I allowed my fears to keep us apart. I betrayed her trust with my doubts and then…when we finally became one…it was too late. She was marked for death by her association with me.”

Deanna turned her head one way and then another, baffled by his words. She took both his hands in hers and shook him gently. “What are you talking about, Vincent?”

He lost the battle with his grief and felt the tears stream down his cheeks. His voice was no more than a whisper when he replied. “I impregnated Catherine, and because of that…she was captured and…killed. Please, Deanna…do not ask me to explain further, I cannot …cannot…”

“All right, it’s all right, Vincent. Let it out now, all of it. Come on.”

She leaned forward and took him in her arms. His last resolve shattered at the feel of her soft warmth against him and he clung to her, shaking with silent, wracking sobs until he couldn’t breathe and she had to rub his back.

“Forgive me,” he said, at last, easing away from her, but she dismissed his apology and imprisoned his right hand between both of hers.

“That was cathartic for both of us,” she explained, a little breathless herself. “It was draining and I know you must be as exhausted as I am, but you’ll feel better now, I’m sure. You’ve been bottling up all that pain and grief for such a long time.”

“A year,” he muttered, “the same age as my son was…the night that…” He found he couldn’t complete the sentence.

“The night that you found yourself in another world.”

“Yes.”

Deanna released his hand and stood up. She walked over to the food replicator and asked for two glasses of water. Carrying them over to the couch, she handed one to Vincent and drank thirstily from the other. He whispered his thanks and immediately drained the glass, surprised to find how much he needed the cold, fresh liquid. Deanna sat down beside him again.

“You may well have to make a decision, Vincent.” He looked at her, puzzled. “You have to think long and hard and choose whether you would like to remain with us here on The Enterprise, making a new life for yourself and maybe for the child you brought with you, or whether you would prefer to go back to the sadness you left behind.”

“You really think I have a choice?”

“Yes, I do. If Captain Picard told you he would try and obtain sanction from the Federation to return you to your own time, then he will do it…”

“What if they will not sanction such an action?”

Deanna smiled. “The Captain is a highly respected member of Starfleet. They know he doesn’t make such requests lightly. I believe they will grant him the authorization needed.”  She stood up and looked at him with affection. “I’m going to leave you now. I think we could both use a rest.”

Vincent stood up and surprised himself by bending to kiss her cheek. “I do not know how to thank you, Deanna.”

“You just did,” she smiled.

“May I ask you something?”

“I think after what you and I have just shared, you can ask me anything, Vincent.”

He wasn’t sure about that, but she was such a special woman, he needed to know if her own life was happy. “You said earlier that you were in love with someone.”

“And you want to know who it is.”

“I’m sorry. I have no right to ask you.”

“Of course, you have. The friendship we have between us now gives you that right. But I think you know who it is, Vincent.” Her answer pleased him, but he was uncertain if he should continue. Deanna resolved his dilemma. “You’re wondering if I know how he feels about me.”

“Well, I…”

“Vincent, I’m an empath. Worf’s emotions are probably the most difficult to read of any man on this ship, and he’d hate it if he thought I could, but yes, I think he does love me. He just hasn’t quite gotten around to realizing it yet.” She grinned, and Vincent thought Worf was probably the second luckiest man in the world…star system…whatever this place was, to hold the heart of Deanna Troi. He just hoped his friend would have the sense to realize it before she grew tired of waiting. He suspected that there were probably plenty of other men on board who would jump at an opportunity to court the beautiful Counselor. “Might I make a suggestion that I hope you will not consider too impertinent?”

“Go ahead.”

“Tell him how you feel.”

Deanna looked horrified. “He’d probably ask for a transfer to DS9 and I’d never see him again! I think women may be his only real fear in life! Of course, he’d never admit that, either,” she added with a rueful grin. “I expect I’ll see you later.”

“Goodbye, Deanna…and thank you again.”

She touched her fingers to her lips and pressed them lightly to Vincent’s before stepping out of the room. Vincent stared at the door for several seconds after it had closed.

***

The next twenty-four hours passed in a rush of activity for Vincent. He was introduced to more people in that time than he’d ever met in his whole life; he was taken on a tour of the starship Enterprise and learned a little about space travel in the twenty-fourth century. Although possessing a trained scholastic mind, Vincent’s very natural amazement at the phenomenal developments and scientific advancements that had taken place since the 1980s made it almost impossible for him to assimilate in such a short time. He felt as if he wandered from deck to deck and from section to section almost in a daze, as first one officer, then another showed him a little of his or her own particular field of achievement. It pleased him that women appeared to be equally qualified and respected. Catherine would have approved heartily, he thought.

He visited Worf and the baby in Sick Bay several times; on the last occasion finding his new friend dressed and preparing to leave. Alexander was waiting patiently for his father beside the bed.

“It looks as if I was almost too late,” Vincent observed, touching the child’s shoulder affectionately before turning to Worf. “Are you quite certain you are well enough?” he asked worriedly, but the Klingon brushed away his concern.

“I have been ready to take up my duties for the last day and a half, so don’t you try to stop me, Vincent; I have had enough trouble getting Dr Crusher to release me from this infernal place.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Vincent replied dubiously. “I was just on my way to visit the baby …would you care to accompany me?”

Worf hesitated but Alexander jumped up and down excitedly. “Please, Father! I’ve heard he’s really neat, with a beak and stuff!”

Worf glared at his son, then made an effort to speak gently. “Alexander…the infant’s features are of no consequence. I do not wish to hear you speaking unkindly about him. Many years ago – long before you were born – there were those who looked upon our own race as…strange-looking.”

The child’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. “Why would they think that?”

Vincent turned his head away to hide a smile behind his hair.  The three crossed the room and looked down upon the face of the tiny bird-faced creature.

“Wow,” breathed Alexander, bending over the crib to put a small finger into the hand of the baby and giving a delighted squeal when the child seized it. Vincent glanced up at the nurse. She was smiling down affectionately at the two children. Vincent almost felt as if he had come full-circle. What an amazing time this was; when four different species stood together in a room and no one gave it a second thought. He caught Worf’s eye and found himself thinking about him and Deanna. He knew instinctively that no one would find it unacceptable or even odd, that the two of them were in love. Yet he and Catherine had been denied that basic human right in the bigoted, frightened time in which they had lived.

Suddenly Worf looked towards the door and straightened. Following his gaze, Vincent saw Captain Picard and Commander Riker approaching. Both acknowledged himself and Worf with a nod.

“It’s good to see you on your feet again, Mr. Worf. Can I expect you back on the bridge shortly?”

“Aye, Sir. I was just about to check the duty roster.”

“Well, take your time,” the Captain smiled. “I believe you have until this evening.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Vincent?”  Picard looked like the bearer of important news, and Vincent’s heart jerked as if tugged on by a puppeteer. “I have good news for you. The Federation has sanctioned my request to try and return you to your own time. We’re merely cruising at the moment, awaiting our next assignment, so…” His hesitation and affable expression implied that they could begin whatever course of action was required, without delay.

Vincent struggled to regain the power of speech. “Y-you mean that I can go now? Forgive me, what I should have said was…”

“It’s quite all right. I believe I know what you meant. And yes, we can begin as soon as you’re ready. Perhaps if you’d like to say your goodbyes and collect any belongings from your quarters?” He turned to Worf. “If you’re up to it, Lieutenant, perhaps you’d be kind enough to bring Vincent to Transporter Room 3 in say, forty-five minutes?”

“Aye, Sir.”

“Captain,” Vincent started, as Picard turned to leave. “The baby…should I…take him with me. He is not, after all, your responsibility.”

“Perhaps not initially, no, but when you brought him aboard, he became our responsibility …unless you wish to take him back with you to Earth. I would ask you to consider the matter carefully however; the twentieth century was not kind to those who did not look exactly as they were expected to.” He seemed to search for something in Vincent’s eyes. “I suspect even you must have had your share of difficulties.”

Vincent nodded, drawing a long breath. “That is quite an understatement, Captain. In fact, I have had to live my whole life in a secret world below the city of New York.” He looked towards the tiny baby. “This little one would have to do the same…but he would be loved and cared for by good people…as I myself was.”

“Well, the decision is yours, of course. But I must caution you that time travel is still, even now, a very delicate and complex operation. It is conceivable that while comprehensively detailed information will be programmed into the computer, things might not go exactly as we would wish. For example, you could arrive on Earth in a different city, Vincent…even a different country. In other words, if the danger of living among ordinary people is too great, then perhaps you should consider remaining in this time where everyone is used to other races and species. There are many other places where you could begin a new life among people who would welcome you.”

Vincent looked at Worf, not for advice, but for confirmation that any decision he made would receive his friend’s full support. He received an almost imperceptible nod. Turning back to Picard, he spoke firmly.

“I must try to return to my own life, Captain, by whatever means are available to me. But I will not risk this baby and subject him to possible danger. I know he will be cared for here, even though he will never know his mother or father.”

“There are over three thousand people on board The Enterprise, Vincent, including hundreds of married couples. It is quite possible that one of them will wish to adopt the infant.”

Vincent’s eyes opened wide at the possibility. Again he glanced at Worf, but the Klingon merely cleared his throat and looked down at his shoes.

“Thank you, Captain.” Vincent reached into the crib and rubbed the baby’s cheek tenderly with his finger. A sudden constriction in his throat stopped him from speaking for a moment, but young Alexander broke the tension.

“Don’t worry, Vincent…he’ll be okay. I’ll take care of him for you, kind of be his big brother.”

Worf’s head shot up in horror but he said nothing.

“Thank you, Alexander.” He touched the boy’s head gratefully.

“I’ll see you at 13.00 hours then, Vincent.”

“Yes, Captain…and thank you.”

Picard and Riker turned and walked towards the door, leaving Vincent, Worf, and Alexander standing beside the crib.

“You are a very fortunate man, you know, Worf. You had a woman you loved and who gave you a son to be proud of. And,” Vincent added pointedly, “you have another chance of happiness now. Don’t waste it, or you might be sorry for the rest of your life.”

Worf looked as if he were battling with several emotions, none of which Vincent suspected would be considered acceptable in a Klingon.

At exactly 13.00 hours, Vincent stood before the assembled senior staff of The Enterprise. Even Geordi La Forge, the Chief Engineer, and the android, Data, had joined them, since they had been instrumental in configuring the finely tuned details of this operation. Beverly Crusher stood with her hands in her pockets, trying not to look apprehensive, and Commander Riker looked calm and confident, the epitome of a First Officer. Picard stood, dignified and alert, as each of his staff approached Vincent and shook his hand, wishing him a safe journey.

He looked at Deanna Troi. She was fighting not to cry, but her enormous brown eyes were glistening, and as she came forward to hug Vincent, he felt an almost overpowering sense of affection and sorrow in her. He knew it was sorrow at his leaving, but he hoped that Worf would soon re-direct that emotion with something else.

“Goodbye, Deanna,” he said gently.  “Thank you for everything.”

“Bye, Vincent. Try and be happy.” She turned on her heel and hurried back to the others, pressing a finger to the corner of each eye.

Vincent turned to Worf. “We met under strange and difficult circumstances, Worf, but I am proud to have known you. If things could be different…”

“Then we would continue to stand side by side,” Worf interjected, “whether in battle or friendship.”

“If all goes well, I doubt we shall ever see each other again.”

“No. But I shall never forget you. Goodbye, Vincent.” Worf gripped Vincent’s upper arms and for a split second Vincent thought he was actually going to pull him into an embrace, but that was not the Klingon’s way. The fact that he had touched Vincent at all, clearly demonstrated his affection.

“Goodbye, Worf.”

Vincent looked around at the little crowd of faces, then turned and stepped up onto the podium, taking his place on one of the circular plates in preparation for transportation.

“Good luck, Vincent,” Picard called, then, turning to the man at the control panel, “Energise.”

The little party watched Vincent’s image shimmer and disappear, then made their way out of the room to continue with their duties and life aboard The Enterprise. Only Deanna, Worf, and the Transporter Chief remained, and at a signal from Worf, he too made a hasty exit.

“Ahm…Deanna,” Worf moved towards her slowly, not entirely sure what he wanted to say.

“Yes?” She looked up, her tears pretty much under control now. He was standing right in front of her and her perfume filled his nostrils. Unused to the feelings Vincent had forced him to acknowledge almost since their first meeting, and which had been battering at his insides continually since then, Worf felt a little odd. “Vincent seems to have the power to change people’s lives.”

“I’m not sure about that. Perhaps it’s just that he makes people think about their lives and realize they have choices.”

“Perhaps. Yes, I think that is what he did for me. Deanna, you and I have become close friends, wouldn’t you say?”

She gave him a small, tender smile. “Yes, I would.”

Worf took a deep breath and fidgeted. “Do you…I mean could you, in time…care for me, do you think? I mean, in the way a woman…cares…for…a man.”

Her eyes opened wide, her expression one of delighted surprise, and she seemed to consider her reply carefully. “Worf, I do care for you…very much. And…I know you care for me too.”

He immediately looked indignant. “How do you know that?”

She assumed a patient, amused expression. “How do you think, Worf? I’m half Betazoid and the Ship’s Counselor; it’s my job to know what others are feeling.”

“Hmm, well…yes, I suppose so.”

“Would you rather I just let you struggle to find the words for what you want to say?”

He glared at her for a second then realised she was simply trying to help him, and that becoming irritated with her was completely contradictory to what he actually wanted. She took a step closer and he felt her fingers slip around his left hand.

“Please say it, Worf, ” she murmured, lifting her face slightly so that when he looked down at her, their lips were almost touching. A gamut of emotions raged through him, squeezing his heart in a way he’d never known.

He’d loved K’ehlyr and after they’d mated for the first time, wanted to do the honorable thing and bond with her for life, but she wasn’t having any of that “Klingon nonsense” as she’d called it. As much as she cared for him, she simply wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. Her half-human background had made her far too independent in Worf’s opinion. And yet even with her, he’d never experienced this almost physically painful yearning. It had been wild, animal passion with K’ehlyr. The sex had been intense and incredibly satisfying, but there had been little tenderness; that was not the Klingon way. And there had been other women, of course. Women of his own kind whose appetite for sexual gratification had occasionally made him question his heritage and wonder about the gentler relationship his adoptive human parents enjoyed. Klingon women were naturally aggressive, taking what they wanted from their men without giving a thought to giving …sharing.

What he felt for Deanna; what he now admitted privately he’d been feeling for some time, was infinitely different. When she looked at him with those huge, brown eyes, it stirred something not merely below the waist, but above…in his heart.

Of course, he knew what she wanted him to say, and he heard Vincent’s words again in his head…you have another chance of happiness now. Don’t waste it, or you might be sorry for the rest of your life. Breathing deeply and feeling a nervousness he’d never known when going into battle against even the most deadly foes, Worf touched Deanna’s cheek.

“I love you, Deanna.”

“Oh, and I love you too!” she breathed, standing on tiptoe to receive his kiss. As he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, it occurred to him that he’d never experienced quite such a moment of complete intimacy in just a kiss. He took her in his arms and held her closely, protectively, happy to feel her hands slide over his shoulders to clasp him tightly to her. He felt as if he’d come home.

He’d never reject his heritage; never abandon the best of Klingon ideals and traditions; but now, thanks to Vincent and Deanna, he’d try not to suppress the emotions he often felt but had been too embarrassed until now to show.

If you can hear me, wherever you are, Vincent…thank you, my friend.

***

Vincent opened his eyes. Everything was fuzzy and he blinked, looking around him. He felt strange…disorientated. Where was he? Suddenly there was the sound of voices and running feet.

“Vincent! Father, he’s here…quickly!”

“All right, I’m coming. Take care not to lose your footing!”

He knew that voice. He also knew he couldn’t be hearing it now. Vincent raised his head and shook it, hoping to clear the blurred image of the woman who had fallen to her knees beside him and now had her arms around his shoulders helping him to sit up.

“Vincent, can you hear me? What happened, are you all right?”

He stared up into her face, his vision slowly clearing to reveal the impossible reality of her. Catherine!

With difficulty, Father eased himself down at Vincent’s other side, turning his head towards him and feeling his forehead. “Vincent, can you hear me?”

“Yes. Father, am I dreaming?”

“No, not now.” The old man held Vincent’s eyes open while he studied them, then took his pulse. “I warned you not to walk too far from your chamber, Vincent; you’re not up to it yet. What happened? Did you fall?”

“I think I did, but…”

“Perhaps he fainted, Father.” Vincent turned back to look into the face he saw but knew must be a hallucination.

“No, that’s not what happened. Catherine, why are you here…how are you here?”

She stroked his face, and her voice shook a little when she replied. “Well, where else would I be? Vincent, you must remember how ill you’ve been? We’ve all been so worried, but you seemed to be getting better. Something must have happened… do you remember coming down here, and why you wanted to?”

Vincent closed his eyes for a moment, needing to collect his thoughts and memories. Despite Catherine and Father’s apparent presence and concern, he wasn’t sure any of it was real, and felt a sudden unreasonable wave of panic sweep through him, causing his heart to pound furiously.

“I think we should get him back to his chamber, Catherine. Will you help me?”

“Of course. Vincent, can you stand?”

Vincent rubbed his hands over his face, willing himself to calm down. “Yes, I’m fine.” He honestly thought he was, but once on his feet, found he felt terribly dizzy and was grateful for their support while he took some deep breaths of cold air. The swaying of the bridge didn’t help, but after a moment or two he felt better and, at his insistence, the three began the long trek back to Vincent’s chamber.

They didn’t talk much on the way. Vincent needed the time to think and he found it a little off-putting that Catherine and Father kept alternately scrutinizing him and glancing at each other in some private conspiracy which obviously concerned their doubts about his health.

They eventually reached Vincent’s chamber and Father made him sit down on the bed while he checked his heart, temperature, and blood pressure again. He grunted a couple of times, but Vincent assumed he must be reasonably satisfied with the results, since he didn’t receive a lecture, merely a suggestion that he rest and not attempt any more long walks for a few days.

Vincent realised he had to be very careful. If he told anyone, even Catherine or Father, what had happened to him, they’d think he’d lost his mind. And he felt he’d come so close to that already in the past that he needed to be on his guard.

When Father left, patting Vincent’s shoulder and promising to return later, Catherine moved quietly about the chamber making tea. He watched her, hardly daring to believe she was real…wondering, in fact, just what was real and what he might be imagining even now. He had no wish to worry her, and when she handed him his tea, sitting down beside him, he tried to act as she expected of him.

“How are you feeling now?” she asked gently, taking his hand.

“I’m fine. I just…I don’t know, but I feel quite well now. You must not worry, Catherine.”

“Oh, Vincent…” She leaned her head against his and released a long, shaky breath. “I’ll never stop worrying about you. I was so frightened in that cave.”

Vincent wracked his brain to remember what could have made her so afraid. She put one arm around his shoulders and slipped the other inside his tunic to press over his heart. “The life in you now is so strong, Vincent…but you died for a while that night. You honestly, truly died.”

“So did you.” He hadn’t meant even to whisper the words.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said hurriedly, taking her hand from his chest and kissing it. “Where’s Jacob?”

“Well, he said he was going back to his study. Why, do you want him?”

“No, I mean…” Vincent suddenly realised they were talking about different people. And if Catherine truly was here with him, then…

Captain Picard’s words floated back to Vincent in a haze of bewilderment and confusion:

…things might not go exactly as we would wish…you could arrive on Earth in a different city, Vincent…even a different country.  Or even…was it actually possible?

Vincent’s hand began to shake and he put his mug down on the nightstand before he spilled his tea. “Catherine…” Vincent spoke slowly as he absorbed the implication of what appeared to have happened. “What date is it?”

“The twenty first… of April.”

He stared at her, hardly daring to ask the next question, understanding that it would worry her, but knowing that he had to know the truth. “What…year, is it?”

“1989. Vincent?”

He closed his eyes and sat quite still, his head spinning with what had transpired; its implications and the tragic repercussions that would take Catherine from him and break his heart all over again unless he could do something to change it. His chest tightened with a plethora of emotions: sorrow…fear…and hope.

Catherine stood up quickly, her face full of anxiety. She squeezed Vincent’s hands as he grabbed them to stop her leaving. “I’m going to get Father, Vincent.”

“No, please! I’m quite all right, I promise. Catherine…”

He placed both hands reverently against her stomach and leaned his forehead against it. He felt like crying, and when she stroked his hair, he knew she must have felt the trembling that rippled through his whole body. After a moment, he drew back and looked up into her face. “We need to talk about…something more important than you could possibly imagine. Sit down, please, Catherine.”

Slowly, she complied, feeling his brow for signs of fever. He took her hand and, finding the other, held them captive between his own.

“Do you love me, Catherine? I mean really, truly love me?”

“Vincent, you know I do. I’d give up my life for you if I had to, but why are you asking this now…and so urgently?”

“Because…” He didn’t want to frighten her. Didn’t want to say something that would confirm her suspicions that he wasn’t yet anywhere near well enough yet to be totally rational. Yet he couldn’t risk her going Above…not now…perhaps not ever again, but certainly not until after their son was born.

“Catherine, have I ever asked you to do something that was wrong?”

“No, never.”

“Do you trust me implicitly to love and take care of you?”

“Of course, I do, but…”

“Then if I asked you…begged you to do something for me now, would you do it without question?”

“Well, I – I suppose if it was that important to you…”

“It is.”

“Then yes, Vincent, of course I would. Anything.”

He shut his eyes for a second, exhaling deeply, the overwhelming relief making him feel weak. With difficulty he pulled himself together to continue. “Then…l am asking you, officially, to marry me. I don’t want you to return Above, not for any reason. Whatever needs to be done, whoever you need to inform, someone down here will do it for you.”

“But Vincent…”

He gripped her shoulders, almost shaking her in his desperation for her compliance. “Trust me, Catherine. I cannot tell you why I am asking this because you would not believe me if I did. All I can tell you is that your life… and someone else’s… depend on your remaining here, with me.  Believe me, my love, I know this is very difficult for you to understand. Maybe you even think I’ve lost my mind.”

She took his face in her hands and kissed him on the lips. “Of course, I don’t. But you sound so stern, so desperate, Vincent. I can’t help but be concerned.”

“Forgive me.” Vincent softened his tone, aware that fear she might not listen to him, had hardened his voice. Again, he took her hands in his and kissed each palm in turn. Then, pressing them to his heart he reinforced his request with a declaration of love.

“I swear to you, Catherine, I’d never ask this of you if it were not a matter of life and death. You know I sense things…feel things in others and in certain situations. I am asking you to trust me now. I love you more than you could ever know, and I will take care of you for the rest of our lives.”

Catherine’s eyes filled with tears and her voice was unsteady when she spoke. “I’ve been wanting this for a long time, Vincent…waiting to hear those words from your lips. You’re full of surprises, my love… I thought I might have to wait another three years before I could convince you to marry me. And if you don’t want me to leave you, even just to pack a bag, then it’s okay by me.”

“Thank you,” he breathed, too choked to say more. He felt shaky and emotional and couldn’t have stood up if his life depended on it. Tears ran freely down his velvet cheeks as Catherine took him in her arms, winding her fingers through the soft tangle of his hair and rubbing his back as she whispered, “Whatever you want, Sweetheart, whatever you say.  I love you with all my heart, Vincent.”

The kiss that followed was reminiscent of that which Worf and Deanna had shared; overflowing with intimacy and the promise of things to come…the course of three lives changed by a freak occurrence and allowing them a second chance to find the lifetime of love and happiness that was always meant to be.