Detached

"Oh what is this shit.  Jesus."

Gary scribbled out what he'd just wrote in pen, shifted in his easy chair, adjusted the notepad, and started again.

No, wait. They'd see what he just crossed out.  He tore the sheet off and started fresh.

Dewey was university director.

He paused, looked at what he wrote, sighed and continued.

"Stupid," Gray said, shaking his head.  "Stupid, stupid.  Shouldn't have let the Remans get close."

"Can't argue with that."  Ross stood next to the biobed, checking bioreadings.  Lily Ross: chief medical officer, first assigned two years ago, when April was captain.  "A second longer and that stun rod would have turned your brain cells into butter."

She tactfully didn't remind him that two other crew-members had died in the encounter.

Ever since Romulus was destroyed, that crippling blow to the Romulan states, the Remans had been getting more and more aggressive.  They were pushing out into surrounding sectors.

Except they weren't trying to kill Gray.  They were trying to capture him, and went overboard.

"I've survived worse," Gray said.

Ross focused on him.  "Do tell."

"You want to know if it's affected my memory," Gray said.  "Can't your instruments tell?"

"They tell some things.  I want to hear it from you."

"It's a long story.  I don't feel like sharing."

"Dominic—"

Gray's look warned her not to push.  No meant no, where he was concerned.  He never spoke of his past, not even to her, and she knew that.

"Well I'm just glad you're okay."  The Indian woman put a hand on his shoulder, lips quirked in an affectionate grin.  She never touched and smiled at anyone else like that.

Gray looked down at it.  He knew what she really meant.  "Bridge," he said, cuing the intercom as he looked away.  "Did you get the warbird?"

"Pursuit course and engage."

"And this time, be ready with that tractor."  He sat up and reached for his duty jacket, on a hook beside the bed.  "Are we through?"

Ross crossed her arms, studying him with dark eyes.  "I'd recommend rest."

"There's never a rest for the wicked."

She made a peculiar expression, perhaps wondering what he meant.  Gray started pulling his jacket on, had one arm into a sleeve, when she stopped him.

"Not yet."  Ross gently turned his forearm, baring the underside.  Scars from incisions lined his skin, from wrist to elbow, some recently fresh, others older.  "These weren't here when you had your last physical.  Instruments don't lie, Captain."  Uneasy concern filled her dark eyes.  "They're self-inflicted.  You did this to yourself."

Gray refused to meet her gaze.

Ross was dumbfounded.  She let go of his arm.  "Why?"

Another doctor was soothing him, telling him to relax.  He wore a white coat, over a red shirt, long black tie.  He was Asian, old, face wrinkled and leathery, with thin hair.  He introduced himself as Doctor Tai.  Tai, tie.

"Welcome back to the real world," he said, helping Gary off the bed.

"What... what is this?  How did I get here?"

"Gary, it's okay.  You're a little disoriented.  Shirley, if you'll help him..."

An obese black woman appeared, in a simple floral-patterned outfit (scrubs, his mind filled in); she took his arm.

"This way.  Follow me, please."

Gary looked down at his arm.  No cuts.  No scars.  He stumbled out the door, 'Shirley' leading, past others, equally dazed and confused.  The place seemed... vaguely familiar.

Hours passed.  As he rested and recuperated in another room, yet another bed, eating and drinking what they brought – you need to restore your energy, they said – a woman came and sat with him, asking and answering questions about his experience.  During the process, it all came back: The experiment, the simulation, the shared fantasy.

"What year are we in?" Carolyn Brown asked him.

"Uh, twenty-thirteen.  Today is October twenty-fifth."

She jotted on her notepad.  Either she didn't notice the calendar on the wall, or it didn't matter.  It could have been out of date, but she didn't correct him.

2013.  He remembered, before going in, ridiculous prognostications, predictions that the world would end in 2012... December 21st or around there.  Of course, that day and the year came and went, like any other, and the world didn't end.  Nothing different or overly special happened at all.

Yet a world did end – and he felt curiously detached... like that was another life, as if he was still in the 25th century frame of mind, but it all happened 400 years ago.

"What year was it, in the simulation?" asked Brown.

"Three-forty-six.  Uh, twenty-four-oh-nine, on this calendar.  Same day, I think, or close."

"You say you were in command."

"I was in command."  Gary grunted.  "'Captain'.  Don't quite know how that happened.  Never figured I'd command a starship."

"Why is that?"

Flashes.  Adigeon.  Federation space.  Genetic reconfiguration.  On the run.  Police drones in pursuit.

"I don't know.  I'm a follower, not a leader, I guess."

"It seemed real?"

"I can't believe how real it seemed.  It was incredible."  He thought back to the bridge, the atmosphere on board... crew-members, instrumentation, wide-open space.  Star Trek, of all things... the TV phenomenon and entertainment franchise – That was his spin.  He couldn't help it.  He grew up on Star Trek.  They were still making movies of it, and had another series in the works.

"Would you want to go back?  Resume your virtual life?"

"I don't know.  Probably not.  I mean, it's not real.  We proved what we set out to prove, right?  We can create shared virtual environments.  Complete immersion.  I don't have an unhealthy desire to live in a dream world, Ms. Brown, if that's why you're asking."

"No.  Okay.  Well, that's all the questions for today.  I'll let you get some rest.  Thank you.  Do you need anything before I go?"

"Um... I don't think so.  Do you know if I still have my apartment?"

"According to your file, you signed off on the lease.  Remember?"

"Oh."  Gary nodded slowly.  He had a vision, maybe a memory, but it seemed like imagination, of being in an office, signing papers, a lot of forms and disclaimers and agreements.  That was among them.

"Because you were in so long.  But it looks like..."  Brown checked the manila folder she carried.  "We have another set up for you.  If Doctor Tai clears it, you might be able to move in... this afternoon?"

"Okay.  Thanks."

"Have a good weekend."  Brown smiled and left.

They had a nice apartment waiting for him, in some townhouses.  It was a relatively quiet area in Vicksburg, Tennessee.  He walked up the pathway, studying the concrete, the neatly kept islands of green grass with little trees on them, glancing into the windows of other occupants.  Most had curtains drawn; others were too dark to see in.  He stopped, looking back to the parking lot.  Cars of various shapes, sizes and colors lined the pavement.  He had forgotten what they were like, until riding here in one, just now; a brown Lincoln Continental, with beige interior.  It seemed strange to ride in a car again, yet not too strange.  Different... yet familiar.  He wanted to drive, but they didn't offer, so he just went with the flow.  Once they released him, that seemed to be it, pretty much.  The experiment was over, at least for him, for now.  Maybe they weren't being rude, but they had cut him loose, too soon, it seemed to him, now that his part in it, his usefulness, was finished.  That was how it went, these days.  Everyone in a hurry.

He hefted the plastic sack they gave him for the materials he had brought to the university, six months ago, and walked up to the green metal door, between brown brick walls, reaching into his pocket for the keys.  Inside were the few possessions he owned and had forgotten: Table, chairs, couch, recliner, television set, entertainment center, stereo.  A small bookcase sat along one wall, filled with DVDs in their cases, only a few books.  He pulled a paperback from the collection, looking it over.  Paperback.  Not a PADD.  Not a holoprogram.  Most of the books he used to own he had owned for years; they just sat around, collecting dust.  He had read most or didn't bother reading the ones he didn't care about, and gave them away or sold them at the flea market.  The movies, he practically never watched.  He thought about flipping on the TV, but it was quiet, relaxed, and he didn't want to break the mood.  He stepped into the tiny kitchen, checked the cupboards.  The few dishes he owned were stacked and arranged neatly.  Someone had been here, keeping the place clean.  Well, that was part of the deal, and only right, he thought.  He turned on the faucet over the sink.  Water came out.  He dabbed a finger under it, then turned to the fridge, hoping maybe they had stocked him with food.  No such luck.  Only a tray of ice cubes in the freezer, that looked like it had been there too long.  But there was power.  He still had money in the bank; someone had paid bills for him, plus the university footed any special expenses.

He went into the bedroom.  Bed, neatly made.  Night-lamp on a tiny stand next to it.  The alarm clock was plugged in.  The time was 3:29.  The curtain was drawn over the window; he pulled it back, looked out at the grounds, decided to leave it open, and walked back to the living room, stopping to poke his head in a closet, then the bathroom.  He flicked light switches, flicked them back off.  Everything looked normal.

There was a coffee pot.  He found coffee and started a brew.  He went into the living room, sat in the middle of the couch, changed his mind and moved to the easy chair.  Comfy – he forgot how comfortable it was.  With a sigh, he sank back, relaxed, and stared out the sliding glass door, at the walkway, in the overcast afternoon.

He wondered what to do now.

 

The Reman ship was monstrous... its name, rendered via universal translator: Nephilim.

Watching the viewscreen, Gray noted the translation with interest.  Linguistic persistence: More evidence of humanity's ancient seeding through the universe.  On Earth, Nephilim, Hebrew, meant 'those who fall' or 'fallen ones'.  Jude described Nephilim as angels, having left their estate in heaven... fallen angels, demons, who came to Earth for their own purposes, to interfere in human civilization.

The monster ship slipped into range, a Goliath to Arcadia's David.  Remans were certainly the fallen ones of Romulan culture.

Dealing with the devil.  Everything boiled down to that one hard fact, in the Federation.

"Remans," Gray muttered.  "Foul creatures."

"God has a plan for every life," said Stephen April.  The former captain of the Arcadia sat in the guest chair to Gray's left, on the bridge, inside the command ring.

Gray looked at him.  "Have you seen the vile acts of which they're capable?"

April nodded.  "But are they different from the Romulans, or Klingons, or Cardassians?"

"Good examples," Gray quipped.  "Are any of them better by comparison?"

"You have a problem with every alien species, don't you, Gray.  Always some excuse; some reason why this one isn't good enough, or that one."

"You're right.  I have a problem.  The problem is them.  They're the problem.  None are good enough.  None are as good as humans.  None are human."

"And you hath He quickened, dead in trespasses and sins," April quoted, standing up.  He moved towards the screen.  "In times past ye walked the course of this world, according to the prince of the air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience."

Gray wondered if he was talking about the Remans, or him.

Game channels.  He highlighted one, a poker tour, and input a search for Beat the Masters.  No scheduled showings.  You'd think, he thought, talking in his head (he did this often, with no one else to talk to), by now they'd have a better system for finding what you want to watch.  Oh well.  Not that he really wanted to watch it, anyway.  His finger reached for the 'off' button on the remote and he paused, noticing a listing on the menu.  The description said:

Enterprise.  Shatner, Nimoy... Kirk.  Spock.  A few months ago, representatives from a culture of sentient holograms in the Heart and Soul nebulae traveled aboard Arcadia, escorting them to a meeting with their creators, a race of crystaline lifeforms.  The holograms were duplicates of the Enterprise crew, from the time period this movie covered, right down to the same uniforms and physical appearances.  The Enterprise paid them a visit a century prior, and helped them with something... details escaped him; it was sketchy, fuzzy, like a dream... and out of some form of gratitude or salutation, they duplicated their forms, even creating their own USS Enterprise, from that era – except, he remembered now, no one from Arcadia could get on board that vessel.  Its hull was crammed with machinery and circuits, from wall to wall, for powering their holographic existence.  No room for organics.*

He found himself grinning, at the thought.  Meeting the Enterprise crew.  Not just any Enterprise, but good ol' NCC-1701.  That was a dream of his, back in his college days.  Not NX-01, "not bloody -A, -B, -C, or -D", as Scotty put it (nor -E)... and certainly not that god-awful reboot, a few years ago.  The original crew.  They were still the best, as far as he cared.

Shifting the experimental basis to Star Trek, his idea, was not how they implemented it.  They wanted to simulate long-term effects of life in space, in preparation for planned missions to Mars and the outer solar system, and wanted it to seem as real as possible.  The new technology finally, after being promised for years, allowed a shared virtual reality among various participants.  But it was still new... untested.  Before anyone would accept it, let alone the government or space agencies, they wanted tests, trial runs.  The University of Chattanooga had an opportunity to become one of the test-centers and sought volunteers.  Through some bureaucratic mince-and-mingle, it went to the smaller University of Vicksburg instead, putting it on the map, along with similar testing facilities in Oregon, Utah, Texas, Louisiana.

Gary, once a contender for astronaut, had to leave the US for his native Scotland (never minding the fact that he hadn't lived there in years).  His visa expired.  (To hell with bureaucrats, anyway.)  By the time he got back, he had been passed over.  He trained for it, but never got a shot.  The experiment was his chance to finally see what it was like.

Somehow, it had gotten twisted out of scope, beyond the test parameters.  Imagination and childhood desires must have taken over and turned it into... Arcadia.

He sat there, sipping his coffee (overcooked, hot on the pad for hours).  Notions of sadness or regret or missing it didn't really occur to him; he wasn't nostalgic.  It was all just make-believe.  A fantasy.  He glanced around the apartment, spartan like his quarters, imagining a floating fish or that stuffy Axanarian coming out of the wall, out of nowhere.  Like he told Carolyn Brown, he had no real desire to return to that world.  In all honesty, it didn't seem all that thrilling, and he was more interested in real deep space, the space that awaited real-life astronauts, without any of the weird aliens or time-travel or alternate universes.  Real life was what everyone ultimately had to contend with, not all that crazy made-up stuff.

Still, it had seemed real, forcing him to put it in perspective.  Now that it was over, he had to put it behind, move on and prepare for the future, for whatever came next.

He drank his coffee and checked the clock, awaiting his pizza.  Tomorrow he'd have to get a rental car... go shopping for groceries and supplies.  He had a craving for beer.

Beer.  Pizza.  Groceries.  Rental cars.  Funny, how no one ever did those things in Starfleet.

He picked up the paperback left on the table earlier: All About Women, a collection of short stories with female protagonists, by Andrew M. Greeley.  A book he had barely touched, in his life before.