Title: Equilibration
Disclaimer: The characters of Willow Rosenberg and Tara Maclay,or the reasonable facsimiles that I employ in this story, are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy productions. The setting for the story is within the universe of Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount Pictures, Inc. No infringement of copyright is intended. The other characters are the creation of either myself or several colleagues who don't care what I do with them. In any case, I'm a firm believer in Kasden's Law ("If you steal from one source, it's plagiarism; if you steal from ten sources, it's research.")
Pairing: W/T (not precisely the Willow and Tara that we all know and love -- but close enough for government work.)
Spoilers: None (as this does not take place in the Buffyverse at all, we're all safe as far as that goes. As to Trek, this takes place mid- Deep Space Nine (call it third or fourth season).
Rating: PG-13.
Summary (The Story So Far): A young 23rd-century Starfleet officer named Willow Rosenberg is lost to a temporal anomaly. Ninety years later, a young lieutenant named Tara Maclay assumes her new post as assistant counselor aboard the starship Hannibal. Now that Willow has been recovered, Tara takes an interest in this lost girl...
Warning: this story takes a while to get really going, so please be patient. For you non-Trekkers out there, I do ask that you give this story a chance. No, it does not involve anybody from TOS, TNG, DS9, Voyager or Enterprise, it just takes place in the Trek universe. These characters have (I think) interesting stories of their own; I tend to drop tantalizing hints of the captain's past from time to time.
Feedback: Email me at
captmurdock@mac.com. Especially if you have questions about things like "the Revisionists."
Distribution: For God's sake, don't put this on a Trek board without asking me first! I'll lose all my street cred. :-)
Chapter Two
"Her name is Willow Rosenberg," Kolrami intoned, her thick but dexterous fingers dancing over the pads on the conference room table, calling forth the information from the computer. "Lieutenant, junior grade. Class of 2276. Born Sunnydale, Centaurus," referring to the fourth planet out from Alpha Centauri A, "She was a Starfleet officer who disappeared about ninety years ago."
"And she apparently hasn't aged a day since then? Now that's what I call a vacation," Dr. Devereux said offhandedly.
"Ah, that's what passes for humor amongst humans," Kolrami muttered, then looked over at Murdock and Faraday, "no offense, sir, madam." The captain and first officer, used to the Zakdorn's air of superiority, waved the slur off. "Anyway, this Rosenberg, in what I can only classify as a startling example of cosmic symmetry, was assigned to the original
U.S.S. Hannibal, NCC-512." She brought up the service record on the large viewscreen in the conference room where the senior officers sat. It had been nearly a full day since they had managed to beam the young woman off the shuttlepod before it had imploded under the intense gravitational distortions of the anomaly, which had itself apparently collapse and disappeared shortly afterward.
"Really?" DaKar asked. "I don't remember her, but there were over two hundred on the
Hannibal then. When was she assigned?"
"She was assigned there straight from the Academy on stardate 7406, and stayed there until stardate 7845."
DaKar converted the old stardates into standard years. "About four years then. That was after my time…well, after Kiera's time on the old
Hannibal." DaKar's previous incarnation, Kiera DaKar, was a renowned Starfleet captain, who had once been a helmsman on the famous vessel.
"So this temporal anomaly," Faraday ventured, "basically swept her ninety years—
"Ninety-one years, eight months, eleven days, if you want to be more precise," Kolrami interjected. "Since I do not know when the anomaly re-phased back into our time continuum, I cannot be any more precise. The margin for error in figuring out the hours and minutes passes the threshold of—"
"Okay, I get that," Murdock said, waving her off.
DaKar asked, "What day of the week was it when she left?"
Kolrami answered without batting an eyelash. "Tuesday."
"Typical. Those are always bad."
"What the hell was she doing out in the middle of a temporal anomaly in a dinky shuttlepod in the first place?" Devereux cried in exasperation, desperate to change the subject.
In answer, Kolrami called up some more records. These looked different than the standard readouts, cruder and somehow more colorful, the iconography of twenty-third-century LCARS software. "Initially, the disturbance appeared to be nothing more than a low-grade ion storm. However, it looks like the ionization was merely 'noise' caused by the chronoton surge."
"It's unlikely that the sensors the old
Hannibal had at the time would have even picked up the chronotons," Faraday opined.
"Especially as the existence of chronotons wasn't conclusively proved until 2354," DaKar added.
Kolrami nodded. "So when the event horizon of the anomaly phased into normal space, Rosenberg's shuttlepod was already inside of it. Lucky for her, as the graviton waves from the dark matter," she indicated several irregular shapes near the outer ring on the viewscreen, "would have crushed the pod fairly quickly. That is, if the massive temporal surge didn't age her into dust in a blink of a eye."
"Like being in the eye of a hurricane," Murdock observed. He turned slightly in his seat to address Doctor Govarr. "What is her current condition?"
"She's still unconscious, seventeen hours now," Govarr reported. "She had some minor lacerations and burns from an explosion in the pod, which required some minor surgery and dermal regeneration. She came through the procedure fine; she's in very good health, not surprising. She also received a moderate neural shock, which probably accounts for her still being unconscious. No doubt she'll come out of it when she's ready."
Murdock nodded, then looked over at his security chief. Although his Andorian features were typically unexpressive, the captain knew him well enough to tell that something was bothering Thelvran.
"Mr. Thelvran…your thoughts on this?"
Clearing his throat, Thelvran turned to the others. "I do not suppose that the rest of you have the…problem with the matter, that I have."
Faraday raised one dark eyebrow. "What would that be?"
Thelvran hated being the center of attention, especially as Govarr had the gall to look faintly amused. "You do not see the incredible coincidence here? A Starfleet officer from the original
U.S.S. Hannibal disappears ninety years ago, only to suddenly appear almost literally on our doorstop!"
"Doorstep," Murdock, Faraday and Devereux all at the same time, then each giving a quick take at the unexpected unison.
DaKar turned towards Thelvran. "What exactly are you saying, Thel?" Of all of the senior officers, DaKar was the only one who could get away with a nickname like that for the proud Andorian.
"I'm saying," he said, his antenna stretching almost painfully erect, "that she could be an agent of the Revisionists."
All trace of humor evaporated from the conference table. All of them still had unpleasant memories of their last encounter with their time-twisting foes. Appearing perfectly human, recruited by aliens millennia ago to guide humanity's progress, only to splinter off to pursue their own agenda, the Revisionists in some ways were more deadly than the Borg.
Typically, Devereux saw the flaw in this idea. "So you're saying our old time-traveling enemies, who are perfectly capable of quietly inserting one of their agents onto any Starfleet vessel they choose, instead decided to stage this massive temporal disturbance that we could not help but notice? Maybe you call that 'subtlety,' but I don't."
"Good point, Charlie," Murdock said, nodding. "I mean, Rosenberg's disappearance is a matter of record, so if they were going to try to convince us that this is the same woman…" He trailed off as the complexities of the problem took over his thoughts.
"I ran a metallurgical analysis of the few shuttlepod fragments we could recover before the anomaly collapsed," DaKar said. "The materials and construction techniques match those in use at that time."
"I also did a thorough examination of the patient," Govarr said, shooting a challenging look at Thelvran. "Her DNA is baseline human, although her blood chemistry shows trace levels of r-levosulaphane." The blank looks he got around the table prompted him to clarify, "It is a chemical common on Centaurus, found in…
"Goobajacks!" DaKar piped up.
Murdock added. "A fruit native only to Centaurus." The stares he got from his officers piqued him. "What? I read lots of books, y'know?"
DaKar added sheepishly, "My third host was a physician."
Govarr continued, his gravelly voice even rougher with irritation. "Common enough when humans live in alien environments and ingest the food there. Also, she has a slight iron deficiency, as well as a minor neurochemical tendency towards Irumodic Syndrome in her late senescence. Given that the Revisionists tend to breed their agents for generations to remove any genetic abnormalities…"
"…they could hardly have made a duplicate of the real Willow Rosenberg who wasn't practically perfect in every way," Murdock finished. He saw Thelvran's antennae droop, as they did whenever the captain shot down some of his more outlandish ideas. For all his quiet demeanor and perfect manners, Thelvran could be more gung-ho than a squad of old-style Marines.
"Unless, of course," Kolrami piping up, "we are
supposed to think that. They may have—"
"Oh,
please let's not play the home version of Second Guess Ourselves," Murdock said with gritted teeth. He took a deep, calming breath. "Until we have some solid evidence to the contrary, let's treat this woman as if she is what she appears to be: a missing Starfleet officer in need of our help."
"Agreed," Faraday added, effectively ending that particular subject.
However, Thelvran couldn't resist one last entreat. "Do I have permission to pursue additional investigations…discreetly?" he added in a hopeful tone.
Murdock considered the matter a moment, then decided that caution wouldn't hurt. "Knock yourself out." The captain noticed out of the corner of his eye that Dr. Devereux was about to make a sarcastic comment on the phrase, and caught his eye with a ostentatious clearing of throat. The counselor wisely decided that discretion was the better part of humor. "Jodell, damage report?"
"Nothing a hammer and paintbrush can't take of."
"Fabulous. Charlie," the captain continued, "our new arrival may need some help, uh, readjusting…" He broke off as Govarr made a sound suspiciously reminiscent of a derisive snort. "You have something to contribute, Doctor?"
The Tellarite turned to Dr. Devereux. "You may have to stand in line before you can counsel your new patient. Your young protégé seems to have established a claim on her!"
"Tara? What are you talking about?" Devereux asked, eyes narrowing.
"I practically had to beam her out of sickbay last night, and as soon as her duty shift was over today, she showed up again. She's been keeping a vigil on Rosenberg ever since."
Murdock raised a set of eyebrows at that. "Has she been getting in the way of your staff?" He sensed Devereux about to protest on his junior's behalf, and held up a hand to forestall the inevitable retort.
Govarr hesitated a second. "No," he allowed. "She's just been sitting there, watching my patient."
"Has she neglected her other duties?" Murdock asked, turning to Devereux.
"Nope. She performed the first of the evaluations that I had assigned her this morning."
The captain shrugged. "Then what she does on her own time is her business. And it seems that she feels as if her skills might be needed in this case. I call that 'initiative,' or perhaps, 'enterprise,' but we're on the wrong ship for that." Several chuckles around the table greeted the long-standing running joke. "Anything else? Good, that's a wrap." A palm slammed down on the table in place of the non-existent gavel, and the meeting adjourned.
After the other officers filed out, Faraday lingered behind to speak to Murdock privately. "You're going to contact Starfleet Command…and by that, I mean the Judge Advocate General's office?"
Murdock nodded, standing up wearily. "You know I have to. And you know what they're going to say."
Olivia Faraday looked at her captain and her friend, wishing that she could take the unpleasant duty from him. He must have read her expression, as he then added, "Hey, Liv. That's why they pay me the big bucks."
**********
The words on the PADD started to betray her, dancing in unexpected patterns as Tara tried to focus on them. She had been sitting in the same chair in sickbay for the past six hours since coming offshift. Rubbing her eyes had ceased to be of any use, as had the coffee she kept drinking.
She set the PADD down and stood, a little too suddenly as a massive headrush hit her like phaser-stun. Concentrating, she let the world swim back into focus, then arched her back and stretched the cramped abdominal muscles. She then – carefully – bent forward to touch her toes, stretching her back and letting a little blood back into her brain.
Feeling considerably better, she exhaled and walked over to the biobed, where the young woman she saw transported to sickbay lay still unconscious. Her face, cleaned and surgically repaired, seemed to shine in the dim lighting from above the bed. Her red hair was slightly shorter than it had been, given that some of it had been seared in the explosion and cut off. She was like a pixie from the myths of Earth's past, made flesh and blood yet still sparkling with light.
Tara's empathic sense could not discern anything concrete due to her coma, although it told her that there was still a living mind present. Something told Tara that this was indeed a powerful mind, intelligent, passionate, as beautiful as the face that it hid behind.
All at once a fierce, almost prickly aura insinuated itself at the edge of her consciousness. Even on short acquaintance, Tara knew who had entered the room behind her. "Hello, Dr. Govarr." She caught the faint flash of surprise before Govarr was able to suppress it. One side of her mouth quirked up into a smile as she turned to him.
"Are you still here?" he rumbled at her. "Don't you have heads to shrink?" He chuckled at his own joke, sounding like a grizzly bear choking on a wild boar.
"My cauldron is still on requisition, Doctor," she replied evenly, feeling a somewhat petty satisfaction at the rejoinder. Govarr cut off his mirth and checked the readouts. Tara had previously done so herself, but lacked all but the most basic knowledge to interpret them. She watched as the doctor, now shrouded in professional concern, checking the readings and ran a quick examination of the sleeping woman.
"There are no postoperative complications," he finally said, half to himself but also including Tara as well. "Mostly she is still suffering from neural shock. She will no doubt awaken when she is ready. Now why don't you go get something to eat?" The doctor cut off her protest. "I don't need you skipping meals and sleep and ending up here yourself. I have enough to do without you people dropping of hunger and fatigue due to carelessness!" Govarr realized he was close to shouting, modified his tone. "Why don't you see if Calavicci's can fit you in tonight? They have magnificent, what do you call it, Italian food." His pronunciation of "Eye-talian" almost made her laugh.
"Thank you, Doctor, but I want to stay awhile longer," Tara replied. The physician visibly bristled (and with his bristles, it was quite visible) but he waved his assent and strode back to his office.
Before he turned past the wall, he looked back at the young assistant counselor. "In case you're interested, and I have a feeling you are, her name is Willow Rosenberg. She's a Starfleet officer who disappeared ninety years ago, from the previous starship called
Hannibal." He disappeared before Tara could thank him.
She walked back to the biobed where the young woman – where Willow lay. Leaning over the bed, she stared into the still face, watching the beautifully-sculpted nose distend slightly as it took in air.
Ninety years, Tara thought.
She's gotten so lost…"C'mon, Willow," she whispered. "You need to wake up. We found you." For some reason, the phrase
I found you tried to force its way out, but she held back. "We've been waiting a long time for you." She reached out to brush an imaginary stray hair from Willow's face…
…as the eyelids snapped open, showing intense emerald eyes filled with pain and fear and bewilderment.
TBC.
______________________
"I love you all. I love you more than life itself. You're all f***ing mad." -- Ozzy as "The Dad," THE OSBOURNES.
by MissQuirky » Sat Aug 17, 2002 8:28 pm 
Tara has finally seen Willow! Yay! And she thinks Willow is the most beautiful thing shes ever seen, of course!! Now all thats left is 4 them to actually meet which is comin up, right? Can't wait 4 more!! 
, that's beautiful she found her. 
