Dark Days

The underground base had few rooms, few consoles, few sources of heat: Necessary, to reduce detection.  In the main room, on the single monitor – not a viewscreen, especially not holographic, hooked up to arrays of perimeter markers over their heads – scattered blips indicated people.  Human, non-human... unknown.

"They're close," said George Moussakis.

It was over ninety below zero, one of Antarctica's coldest temperatures on record.  Underground, the chill wasn't so bad, yet not unfelt.  It penetrated muscles; made them ache.  It was easy to find someone, even here, with satellite imaging and biosensors, if one knew where to look.  When those hiding didn't want to be found, and took steps to prevent it... that made the task more difficult.  Living beneath the icy desert kept authorities off their backs for a while.  But there they were: Biosignals, on the plain, closing in, despite the dark, despite the cold, in the middle of the frigid waste, where population was sparse.

"It had to happen, eventually," Brenda said... then, almost by rote, unsure where it came from, "The key to success is to be prepared."

Alongside, her daughter looked at her.  It was a comment he would have made... the man missing from their lives.

Stephanie asked, "Should we try getting a look at them?  See who they are?"

Brenda shook her head, no.

"I hope our getaway's on time," George said.

Time.  It was a thing in motion.  It was stars, it was planets... it was the sun rising and setting, the clouds in the sky.  Bugs, and birds, and animals, and people.  Continents, rivers, the vehicles people made.  It was everything.  Everything in motion, never resting.  All if it, moving together, apart, connected, separate, a great cosmic dance.  It was all moving towards something.  It moved towards the future.

The Earth turned.  At the cold bottom of the world, where the sun never set for months, then did, for months, they were all too aware: Months of sunlight, followed by months of night.... currently the latter.

It was January.  There should have been sunlight up above.  Summer in Antarctica was winter... a long, cold winter.  A harsh, dark time.

Twenty-two years ago, the 322nd year of the Common Era, the path of Brenda's life turned, with the arrival of the Cirean Covenant... affecting many lives such as hers.  It was 345 ce, and she still felt the effects.  Nature exacted a cost for tampering with its delicate balance – the most recent in 322, when the Cireans sent Earth to a parallel universe.  Earth's axis tilted.  Returning it took the toll.  The United Earth Congress put all available resources into a solution, proposed by Fyodor Negatev, chief of the Subspace Research Institute (Earth branch), called the Negatev Solution, utilizing subspace confluence in gravity well conditions in the inner solar system.  It later became known as the Negative Solution.  In 336, nine years ago, the axis tilted again.  The oceans, the climate, everything was affected.  The very air seemed harder... darker.  As much as they knew about subspace, or about anything, there were still things not understood.

She didn't entirely understand what happened to her.  Entirely?  She didn't understand it at all.  Did something happen? – Sitting in the main command hall at Starfleet Headquarters, six months ago; still an admiral.  A black hole appeared in the ceiling, which it promptly ripped away, then sucked up the Earth.  Someone was talking to her... Then... Then she died.  Didn't she?

Bizarre.  A dream?  A nightmare?  She couldn't recall clearly.  Obviously, nothing of the sort transpired.  Earth was still here, and so was she.  According to records, she resigned from Starfleet after the Lavir fiasco... after discovering that they made it up; the threat wasn't real, but of course the records didn't say that.  Just a hoax – more secrecy, to cover underhanded dealings.  She must have been in a daze.  It felt more like a dream, with each passing day... some half-wild imagining, which only a dream's craziness could concoct, after a long, sleep-deprived spell.

Hovering in the twilight, she thought she had a reprieve... a time-out.  For a while, maybe, she did.  But it didn't stop for her.  This was it.  She was back, part of it again, locked in step, a partner in the dance.

Had she ever left?

It still felt like a dream... like pushing the boundaries of sleep, pushing and pushing, unable to find rest.  She knew what it was like to go without sleep.  She had done it, at Academy; she had done it, during intense missions.  Every captain had those moments.  Lots of coffee, lots of unhealthy caffeine, until her heart threatened to explode... It was all that kept her going, sometimes.  She wasn't captain or admiral anymore, but she still found something to keep her going.  That, and one other thing.

Stephanie found her return difficult, though not for reasons Brenda initially believed.  Stephanie had been more than a little freaked, believing her mother was dead... or so Brenda thought.  But, then, something happened.  When Brenda tried to discuss it with her, Stephanie didn't know what she was talking about.  Dead?  You never died, mom.  She had looked at her mother like she was going senile.  Brenda was only sixty-five... a long way from senility.  Maybe it struck early, in her bloodline.

Regardless, she was here, now, and not holding onto the past.  She couldn't prove it.  The only thing she could do was ignore it.  So she let it go.  There was too much to do for the future.

Deep in the bowels of their Antarctic base, she and Stephanie had dinner; their last here.  Not much of a dinner – tea, and salad.  But it was enough.  They had learned to live hardy, with bare essentials... without replicators, which gave off an energy signature that might alert the authorities.  Using computers, any kind of energy device, was risky enough.  It was risky just being here: Their biosigns could be detected by orbital satellites, if they let their disguise slip.

Brenda had a hard time getting to know her daughter, but one thing she did know: Stephanie was too much like her father.  Put the weight of the world on her shoulders, and she would bear it like a holy crusader.  That was her strength... his strength.  The strength she brought to the cause.  His curse, now hers.

It looked to Brenda like she already carried such a weight.  She was definitely Stephen April's daughter, not so much in looks, but in outlook; in will, determination, temperament, poise... and an unhealthy propensity for self-torment.  The effect seemed intensified, as if she was more of him than he was.  If time had decided to be unkind to Brenda, it was passing itself on to her daughter.  Only twenty, and Stephanie had hollows under her eyes.  She looked older.  Too old, for someone so young... older than a mother, who, despite her age, appeared mid-forties.  Being a resistance fighter... a mass murderer, a terrorist, Stephanie called it... didn't sit well with the young woman.  Brenda didn't hold it against her.  It was a lot of responsibility, for one so young.  It was, literally, a matter of life and death: Her life... others' deaths.  But it was also war... and in this war, it was anything goes.

They didn't talk much.  It was a tiny room, Stephanie's makeshift workshop, where she churned out weapons for the resistance.  Dark and cold, like the rest of the world.  They would lose the tactical advantage of its proximity, after today, but it was only a temporary setup to begin with.  Their main objective had been carried out.

As they shared the little time left in silence, Stephanie said, "Do you miss him?"

Brenda glanced at her between bites.  Only one 'him' would she ask about.  "Is this because of what I said earlier?"

"That did sound like something he would say."

"You've asked that before, Steph."

"I know."  Stephanie rolled her eyes, sighing with the recollection.  "Too many times."

Brenda contemplated, sipping her tea.  "I made my peace with his disappearance a long time ago."

It occurred to her, as soon as she said it, how selfish it sounded.  Stephanie was not asking if her mother missed him.  She did.

Did Stephanie... could Stephanie ever make peace with the loss of a father she had never known?  She'd had father-figures in her life, but never a father.  Thanks to Brenda, and Brenda's selfishness, her daughter had grown up without her own biological parents as central figures.  Brenda's selfishness had robbed her of that, something every child should be entitled to.

Brenda tried to blame him, and for a long time, she did... for taking off like he did, disappearing, while something was happening to him, not trusting or being able to trust her enough to let her help.  But maybe he couldn't.  Of so many things that defied understanding, of the things she didn't understand, what he was going through was one of them.  In the end, she blamed herself.  She had only herself to blame.

"I'm sorry, Steph."  After a pause, she added, "For everything."

Stephanie said nothing; merely ate.  No apology, no matter how sincere, could make up for what had been done.

Brenda thought of the word she used, afterwards: Disappearance.  Not 'his loss', or 'his death'.  Maybe it was intuition... wishful thinking, or maybe just fooling herself... but she couldn't help feeling that he was still alive out there, somewhere... across the universe, across time... wherever Stephen April disappeared to.

It had been over twenty years since his disappearance.  But even physically non-present, he was still in their lives.

It wasn't the first time Steph asked about her father, or Brenda's feelings for him.  By now she knew what kinds of answers she would get – the same as she'd just gotten – so the girl didn't pursue it any further... this time.

Brenda was glad.  It was irrational, she knew.  She had always been somewhat irrational.  Rational people rarely became starship captains, as she once was... at least, those who made the kinds of decisions she did... or took charge of Humanist resistance cells.  Being younger and rational required an energy she did not have, or had less of.  Being rational got easier for her as she got older.  Not everyone could make that claim.  But the line between rational and irrational blurred, almost nonexistent, when it came to her daughter, and discussions of Stephen, and his daughter's activism.  It was the most major point where they differed.  Stephen would have been abhorred by what they were doing.  Stephanie professed to have qualms with it, but never let it stop her from doing what needed to be done... what her mother said needed to be done.

And while it was true, Brenda made peace with Stephen's declared-missing status long ago, she wondered sometimes what it would be like if he were to return.  She imagined him coming through the door, alive and fine, catching her by surprise as only Stephen April could.  He would crack that heart-melting, disarming Stephen April smile; maybe give her a gift.  He used to send her gifts – one of the differences, she realized, looking back, between him and his clone: The clone didn't do that.  They would embrace, make love, tell each other everything was all right.  Life might feel the way it used to feel, when she thought everything made sense.

But it wouldn't be all right.  It wasn't all right, even then.  The world didn't make sense, like in some storybook.  It was all wrong.  And the sobering truth was, Stephen was as responsible as anybody for helping to bring it about.  He believed in the United Federation of Planets.  He stood for its ideals... the libertarian poison which corrupted Earth.  He would have died defending them.  He didn't see humans, aliens, organic or artificial life – like that Cadie lifeform, who infected his ship.  He saw only individuals.  People.  Everyone deserved respect in his eyes, and was entitled to equal opportunity.  A few people he didn't like, but he loved everyone.  He loved life... not to mention women, as long as they were humanoid.  He even fathered a half-alien daughter.

When Stephanie found out about her half-sister, she asked about her, naturally curious.  Brenda didn't keep it a secret, but didn't talk about her either.  When Steph got off on that kick, Brenda did what she could to discourage it.  That other girl died.  No good would come of placing too much value on a life cut short.  She was part of the past, a past best left behind, and certainly no saint.  But Stephen... he had obsessed about her.  He carried a perpetual torch for his dead, half-breed daughter.  Could he have known about his fully human daughter, right here, alive?  Would it have affected his own outlook?

Stubborn as Steph was, like her parents, Brenda fought battles with her own stubbornness, an urge to exert pressure, trying to stave her daughter's interest, which might have had an effect opposite of the goal.  She had to work subtly.  She didn't want Steph turning out like Stephen, doing the things he did... birthing some half-alien offspring.  It seemed to have worked: Stephanie had no children that Brenda knew of, and Brenda felt she would have sensed it if she did, through that bond mothers and daughters shared, albeit tenuous in their case.  She used to have nightmares of Stephanie coming home with a Klingon boyfriend, or calling to tell her she was getting married... to a Vulcan.  Once she even dreamed Stephanie was in love with a Ferengi.

Back when she captained the Liberty, three years before her accident, Brenda met her mirror universe counterpart... another Brenda, in a parallel universe far more savage than this one.  Klingons raped her.  She became a vicious assassin as a result.  She opened Brenda's eyes.  Picturing what she had endured to survive started Brenda thinking, then questioning.  If she could be that tough, in that kind of world... and this world seemed to be heading in the same direction... couldn't she, Brenda Shoemaker, be as tough?

It woke her to the reality of what was going on.  She started looking at Klingons differently, in a way she had never thought possible; then, all species.  From there, it was inevitable to see the threat they collectively represented.  Like every human, she had two choices: Submit to their influx, and selfishly doom the future of the human race... or fight for that future, by fighting them.

Brenda had never been one to submit to alien invasion.  She was a fighter.  Her choice was easy, after it became clear.

Stephen would never be happy in the current political climate.  He stood for the things he had stood for, because he believed they were the right things.  But for all of his accomplishments, his intelligence, he was one of the blind... defending the wrong side, the wrong ideals.  If he came back, he might take the opposite side of that line in the sand, facing his wife and daughter on the other.

Brenda feared having to fight him, if he came back.  She might have to kill him.  It was better that he stayed gone.  It wasn't Stephen April's world anymore.

Thoughts going back to Stephanie, Brenda asked, "So have you had any boyfriends?"

Stephanie stopped eating, and stared at the table.

Brenda eyed her, waiting.  After a few seconds, unease took over.  "Steph... is there something you're not telling me?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

The unease began to grow.  "Why not?"

A sigh escaped her daughter, about to give up... probably knowing her mother wouldn't.  Before she could answer, George appeared in the doorway.  "Our ship's coming in."

Ahead of schedule.  Brenda hesitated – she wanted her daughter to come first, for once – but hesitation could have fatal repercussions.  She didn't mad at George for interrupting.  She was the leader here; it went with the job.  She got up from the table, grabbed her parka off the back of the chair, sliding into it.  "Everything's ready?"

George nodded.  "The explosives are set.  By the time they learn what happened, we'll be halfway across the quadrant."

They had already packed.  Stephanie was out of her chair, fastening her own parka.  "Where will we go?"