Heresy

By justTrip'n

Rating: PG-13

Genres: romance humour family drama au angst adventure

Keywords: Xindi sickbay pon farr marriage Lorien kidnap E2 character death

This story has been read by 693 people.
This story has been read 1405 times.

This story is number 2 in the series (E2) Squared


Chapter 1

 

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: No infringement intended. Writing for myself and other fans. I respect the Star Trek writers who gave us these compelling characters! I thank without implicating my beta, Distracted.

Genre: Drama, Romance, Angst, AU, little humor. (You decide)

Summary: In the E-Squared universe, an encounter with the ultrareligious Triannons leads to disaster. After Trip's death, T'Pol tries to move on with her life. Just as she is making some progress, she discovers that Trip may still be alive in a parallel universe. Meanwhile Lorian negotiates the transition to young adulthood, while T'Pol learns the joys of parenting a growing teen.

In chapter 1, we say goodbye to Trip. :(

Warnings: Major character death. Although I am a Trip and T'Pol shipper (and I consider this a Trip and T'Pol story), this story includes a T'Pol/Reed pairing.

Notes: This story is consistent with Forwards or Backwards, a mystery/drama which explains how Trip and T'Pol get together in MY E-Squared universe. You do not have to read that story to follow this one. (But please do, anyway! :)

If you don't first read "Forwards or Backwards" it will help to know that: Trip once suffered depression; there are certain limitations on Human/Vulcan sex; Phlox is married to both Amanda and Liz Cutler; and many military formalities have gone by the wayside--the captain is usually addressed as "Jon" by the other adults. OK, that's it!


 

Chapter 1

Prelude:

Lorian and his twin were both "mixed," a combination of two species. Lorian was the son of Charles Tucker III and T'Pol. Destiny was the daughter of Dr. Phlox and Amanda Cole. Their conception had been bioengineered by the doctor and, to avoid delays, the fetuses had grown to babyhood in the same biocylinder. Lorian had floated toward the top of the cylinder and Destiny at the bottom. For a time Lorian's superior position in the tank allowed him to kick his poor twin in the head and stomach. Luckily Lorian turned and floated upside down through the last month of their gestation.

Lorian and Destiny had been born on the same day. As a toddler, Lorian was blond, skinny, and wiry. Destiny was rounder, brown haired, and her features were accented by subtle ridges. At first the label of "twins" had been a joke, but somewhere along the line it had became a reality. Lorian and Destiny became as close as twins, and their parents were drawn together as well.

Chapter 1

Years later:

Enterprise had not been built for a 120 year mission. If it had, the kids might have gotten a full basketball court. As it was, the crew had to push the exercise equipment to the sides of the gym and roll up the mats just to have room to play half-court basketball.

Today was the Big Game, the 3 v 3 under-15 basketball championship. The Blue team was facing the Green team. The anxious parents sat on the spectator's bench, cheering wildly. The Red players, already resigned to their losing status, were across the gym from their parents on the players' benches, shouting directions to their friends on Blue and Green.

With a tie score and fifteen seconds to go, Trip watched his son, a Green point guard, walk the ball towards the 3-point line. Lorian was cool and composed. With a sideways glance and a twitch of his left hand, he sent Paris Mayweather tearing off to the left, then threw the ball to empty space at the other end of the court. Paris materialized under the basket, intercepted the ball, dribbled once, and laid it in. It dropped through the net. Destiny, of the Blue team, looked on in despair. She was supposed to have been guarding Paris. Destiny grabbed the ball and threw it back to Glenn, her Blue teammate. Lorian was on Glenn instantly, terrorizing him, swiping the ball loose, but Glenn dove to the floor, scrambled, retrieved the ball and tossed it up to his teammate Carlos, standing under the basket. Carlos took a shot.

The ball rolled lazily around the rim, once, twice, three times, dipped inside the rim . . . then out and onto the floor. The buzzer went off. End of game.

"Hey, spatial anomaly!" A Blue parent protested.

They all laughed, Trip turned to Travis, who was flashing that wide smile. Trip flashed one back and they clasped hands, performing one of those secret, guy-handshakes whose rules have evolved through the ages.

"Hey, your son played a great game," Travis congratulated.

"Paris was awesome," Trip returned.

Trip looked around the gym. Destiny was in tears, deep in a discussion with her mother, Amanda. No surprise there. His "niece" could be a little babyish.

Basking in the euphoria, Trip sat back on the bench and contacted T'Pol through the bond. Sensing Trip's state of mind, she instantly knew the outcome of the game.

<< Hey, you shoulda seen it. It was so close. >>

<< You are proud of Lorian. >>

<< He's the shortest kid on either team, but he's so sure of himself. Looked like a MACO lead'n an assault force. >>


T'Pol basked in Trip's euphoria and pondered the craziness of it all . . . the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat, with nothing material at stake. She preferred "watching" these games from the Bridge, where it didn't smell like sweat and the adults held their emotions in check. Still.

<< I am pleased we won, >> she found herself saying to her husband.

It was irrational. Maybe she'd address the issue at her next meditation. Yet, she lingered in the shared exhilaration a moment longer before breaking the spell. << When you're finished there, meet me on the bridge. And bring Travis. We've arrived at the sphere. >>


 The commotion in the gym was settling down. Lorian walked over to where Trip was sitting. Paris trailed Lorian and caught up to him.

"You guys were great," Trip told them both. "That last Green play . . .!" He waved a hand, at a loss for words.

"Thanks," Paris answered and turned to Lorian. "We're champions! Will I see you at the Sports Banquet tonight?" The tall, athletic beauty gazed down at Trip's scrawny son with a look of undisguised adoration.

"I'm going so . . . probably," Lorian answered, as if the girl had just asked a really dumb question.

Could it be that his son was oblivious to the opportunity presented? Paris had suddenly blossomed into a young woman. Though it shouldn't matter, Trip was a tiny bit concerned about his kid's sexual orientation . . . like whether he would ever have one. T'Pol had warned Trip that their child might turn out to be Vulcan in this respect.

As soon as the girl was out of earshot, Trip pulled Lorian aside. "I think she likes you. If you like her, you shouldn't brush her off. When I was your age, I liked this girl . . ."

Lorian cut him off, "You told me like ten times. You wimped out and didn't ask her to dance . . ."

Trip stopped, surprised by the comment.

"Get over it already," Lorian added.

Before Trip could formulate an appropriate response, the boy cracked a shy smile, heading off a confrontation. Trip grabbed him by the head and wrestled him into a hug, before shoving him off.

"O.K., Champ," The phrase conveyed both praise and a warning. "I've got to meet your mother on the Bridge. I'll tell her how well you played."

"Thanks, Dad," Lorian said.

"I hope I can make it to the spaghetti banquet tonight. Now, go talk to Destiny. See if you can cheer her up. Her team got second place, after all. She'll still get a trophy."

"Yeah. Besides, she really likes spaghetti." Spaghetti was special on Enterprise. The ingredients were stored in a cargo bay in sealed containers. 17 years into their accidentally extended mission, the fruits and pies from Earth were long gone. Aside from some vegetables from hydroponics, spaghetti was the only Earth food they had left.

Trip hurried off. It was a great last game.


 "You both must think we've lost our minds," Hoshi commented to T'Pol and Malcolm, referring to the general hysteria that had overtaken the basketball parents. Malcolm, a confirmed bachelor, tilted his head noncommittally. He wasn't going to be the one to say it, but he could probably count on T'Pol.

"In fact, I believe the enthusiasm to be beneficial to mental health," T'Pol responded, "Research has shown that identification with a team can foster community. Physical competition, even when experienced vicariously, can improve mood in humans by raising levels of adrenaline . . ."

Travis and Trip strode onto the bridge. "Green beats Blue 36 to 34!" Travis announced triumphantly.

Trip raised a hand, accepting the imaginary applause.

"You see." T'Pol concluded.

"How'd your team do?" Travis asked Hoshi.

"I'm afraid U-13 Yellow crushed U-13 Purple. It was rather embarrassing." Hoshi admitted.

Archer stepped onto the bridge. "Are we there yet?" He asked.

As they were hanging in space, staring at a stationary star field, T'Pol felt it unnecessary to answer that particular question. Instead she launched into her briefing. "This sphere appears to have the same configuration as the others, but its function may be different. From our analysis of graviton emissions across the network of spheres, we have concluded that this particular sphere may regulate the others."

Jon gave the orders. "Travis and Trip, I want you to go down and check it out. Take Pod One and scan the surface. We need to find a way to disable this system."

"A hundred years from now," Travis added, ironically.

"It'll be ninety-nine if we keep dragging our feet," Archer corrected. "Move along. Time's a-wasting." He seemed in a good mood.

Travis and Trip got up to leave.

"Go Green!" Hoshi teased and they smiled back.


 T'Pol was waiting for her "Green team" to return from the sphere. No communications were possible until they broke through the cloaking barrier. It was always an anxious wait, staring at the stars, waiting for movement. Finally, a sparkle, and the pod appeared against the dark background.

"Tucker to Enterprise. We got the scans. Visually, it looks the same as the others. Can't wait to run it through the programs."

"T'Pol to Shuttlepod One. There is an object behind you, 160 degrees starboard. It appears to be orbiting the sphere, just outside the cloaking barrier. Can you get a reading?"

"Mayweather to Enterprise. The object is small, less than a meter in diameter. It has broken orbit. It seems to be FOLLOWING us! . . . Enterprise can you get a lock?"

Malcolm fiddled with his controls. "It's too small and moving fast. . . Evasive maneuvers!"


 T'Pol watched as the objected honed in on the pod. The vehicle shot out towards open space, but had not gotten far when the object collided with it. For a moment nothing else happened. The impact itself caused no damage . . . the impactor seemed to be low-mass . . . but it attached itself to the pod and began leaking some sort of exhaust. In effect, the pod suddenly had an extra impulse jet, shooting out at a random angle. The pod tumbled helplessly end over end.

A trained pilot could still keep his head, and his lunch, under these circumstances. Exercise equipment in the gym allowed Enterprise's pilots to simulate such an event. Hopefully Travis and Trip were both in practice. Worse case scenario: the pod could tumble back through the cloaking barrier and crash onto the sphere. The bridge crew collectively held their breath. There was no sense in contacting the pod at this point. It would be impossible for the pilot to focus with an additional distraction.

"Malcolm! Stand ready to deploy the tractor cable if they fall towards the cloaking barrier," Archer ordered.

Five minutes later the tumbling slowed as Travis madly worked the pod's own impulse jets. Finally the vessel was under control. No intervention has been required from the bridge.

"Enterprise to Pod One. How're you doing over there?" Archer asked.

"That was no fun, but yeah, we're fine," Trip answered.

"Head back. T'Pol will meet you in the shuttlebay. Archer out."


 When T'Pol caught up to Trip and Travis, they had already exited the vehicle and Trip was poking at the object attached to the side of the pod. It was leaking some kind of oil. He rubbed his fingers and sniffed.

"Odd. We're guessing the spheres are powered by orbiting transdimensional black holes, but this satellite seems to be fueled by a hydrocarbon."

T'Pol pointed out the obvious, for all the good it ever did: "It would make sense to scan an unknown object before putting your fingers on it."

Travis looked over Trip's shoulder. "Seems awfully low-tech. I was expecting something a little more mysterious from the Sphere Builders."

Now T'Pol began the scan herself. "I am detecting a biological organism in this fluid." She looked up abruptly. "Trip! Wipe your hands and get to Decon." Her husband grabbed a towel.

"Shit! You're right," he said, scrubbing at his fingers. His skin was already reacting to something in the fluid. He dropped the towel and, being careful not to touch his hands to his face, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "T'Pol, meet me outside of Decon with some fresh clothes."


 "I'm afraid this bioorganism has moved into your subdural layer. There is nothing more we can do for you in Decon," Phlox told Trip, a little too matter-of-factly. "Please come out and wait on the biobed while I run some tests. If the rash keeps spreading, we may have to put you in stasis."

If there were anything more encouraging to say, presumably the doctor would have said it.

T'Pol met Trip at the door of the Decon chamber and presented him with the clean clothes. Ominously, she didn't even bother to scold him. Instead she searched his face with terrified, watery eyes, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't. It reminded him of the early years in the Expanse, before she'd learned to mask the damage from her substance abuse.

"So what'd you find out?" he asked her anxiously.

"The mine that attached itself to your pod has Triannon markings. You will recall that the Triannons we met in 2156 were religious fanatics . . . terrorists . . . who worship and protect the spheres. We can assume they planted this mechanical/biological mine to punish those who venture close to the spheres. We found a Triannon ship nearby and are about to make contact. We need to persuade the Triannons to give us the antidote to the biotoxin."

"No! Those people are fricking lunatics. Don't get them involved. I'd rather take my chances with Phlox."

"The decision's been made. We have no choice. You will be diplomatic in the coming negotiations." Now she was giving him orders.

They stood inches away from each other. The proximity, with the emotional confrontation, triggered the switch to telepathic communication. His wife dropped into a brief trance-like state, imposing calm on them both. << You're important to me. Be logical and focus. We can do this.>> It was a feeling more than words. Then she turned and hurried out the door.

Trip sighed heavily. Then he checked out the care package. T'Pol had brought his tattered old uniform, the only one of his left from Earth. The crew had gradually replaced their uniforms with foreign clothing from the Expanse. Trip hated the Expanse, so he loved this uniform.

In the old days he'd have waited for the doctor's verdict wearing only his undies, but the pair he'd put on today were as tattered as the uniform. Sickbay could be a very public place, especially during a crisis, so he put on the uniform for decency. He left the top half unzipped, tying the arms of the uniform around his waist as a belt so Phlox would be able to examine the rash crawling slowly from his hand towards his elbow.

Charles "Trip" Tucker III was fifty years old, and already he'd been in this spot half-a-dozen times . . . holed up in sickbay, awaiting word from Phlox on a potentially life-threatening condition. Each previous instance, he'd dodged the particle beam, so to speak. This time will be no different, he told himself. He looked down his right arm at the strange, spreading burn. On his bicep was a tattoo T'Pol had applied herself . . . a bold declaration of love penned in an archaic Vulcan script. Things she'd never say out loud. It was permanent. But if the rash kept progressing . . .


 "Good news!" Jon declared with a strained smile, ushering a dignified-looking Triannan into sickbay.

Good news from a Triannon? Trip sincerely doubted it. The last group they'd met had held the ship hostage, killed a crew member, erased crucial data files, and executed the captain . . . at least they thought they had. Trip took a breath and smiled back. Here we go again. One more time with the play acting.

"So what's the good news?" Trip asked gamely.

"You have contracted a deadly illness by venturing near the Sphere," the Triannon began, with a sympathetic look which Trip guessed to be just as fake as Jon's smile. "Though we don't have the antidote, we know how to get it. You must throw yourself on the mercy of the Sphere Makers and ask their forgiveness."

Trip's expression twisted. "I'm die'n and maybe you can save me?" He shouted, "That sounds like really bad news to me!"

Jon shot his friend a look, begging him to play along. Trip rolled his eyes at the ceiling and back to Jon. Do I have to?

"Aren't you grateful, Trip?" Jon prompted. "We accidentally stumbled onto Sacred Ground, while admiring the Sphere. The Triannons could have been angry about that. Instead, they are willing to help."

"Captain," The Triannon lectured, "You realize that your ship may not follow us to the Holy Realm. We will sacrifice your crewman before revealing the identity of the Healer."

"Phlox? Where's Phlox?" Trip whined, giving up hope on a Triannon solution. "Can't you do something?"

Phlox appeared from around the corner. He shook his head, then directed everyone's attention to the bioscan readings on the screen above their heads. "I've never seen anything like this. I believe this pathogen is a product of the Sphere Builders. It seems to be transdimensional. Nothing I do to it in this dimension affects it. Trip, if this gentlemen thinks he has a cure, I suggest you try it."

"But, Phlox, you work miracles. You bioengineered my kid . . . . "


 Outside the sickbay door another Triannon entertained a growing crowd of curious children. Visitors were rare. It was even rarer that a visitor came who would chat with the children. This one wasn't only chatting. He was handing out toys.

"Hey, great graphics," Asatoshi Sato exclaimed, exploring his new gamepadd.

"Thanks," the friendly Triannon answered. "Look, you get points for each sphere you visit. When the Chosen Realm . . . the Expanse . . . turns into a paradise, you get points for every believer caught inside."

"Cool!" Asatoshi enthused. "Hey, Lorian. Do you think we could reprogram these to make the spheres blow up?"

Lorian shot his younger friend a warning glance, but pushed a few buttons on the gamepadd, scrolling through the impressive scenery. "Shouldn't be that hard. We'll talk about it later."

"Why would you want to blow up the spheres?" the Triannon asked, concerned.

"Yeah," Destiny chimed in, "Why's it always about have to be about explosions? The game's good the way it is."

"If you like, I could fix YOUR game to have pretty pink Denobulan ponies," Lorian ripped back.

"Hey, that was fourth grade!" She protested.

The Triannon seemed to relax.

Then nine-year-old Stan Rostov had to ruin it for them all: "Our ship's in the Expanse to save people too, but we need to blow up the spheres to do it."

A dark expression came over the Triannon's face. He looked through the crowd for his one ally. She seemed unhappy.

"What's the matter?" the Triannon asked Destiny.

"The Blue team lost the Championship," a little tattletale offered. "She thinks it's because of a spatial anomaly. "

"The ball didn't go it. It should have gone in," Destiny complained.

"There are multiple physical realities, but only one spiritual reality," the Triannon assured her in a soothing tone. "Maybe you won your game in an alternative timeline. In any case, you are lucky to have experienced an anomaly. We seek them out. Our ship is unshielded for that very reason. Who would like to see our ship?"

"Me, me! I would," Destiny answered eagerly.


 The doors to sickbay flew open as Travis entered to check on his copilot. He looked back over his shoulder into the hallway and signaled Trip with a frown. Trip had already tuned out the fruitless discussion between Jon and the Triannon.

"Hey, Cap'n?" Trip interrupted "Should that guy really be talk'n with our kids?"

"Excuse me," Jon said to his guest as he stepped out the door. But the alien followed Jon into the hallway, trailed by Trip and Travis.

"Lorian, what are you doing with that thing?" Trip hollered,."You know not to take gifts from strangers!"

Lorian looked up surprised. In fact, they had never covered that rule.

Jon was still desperately working the diplomacy angle. "Children, thank the man for your games and run along to the banquet. Some of us will be late." He turned to the second Triannon in the hall. "I'm sorry they were bothering you."

"It's no bother at all," the first Triannon exclaimed. "Our mission is to bring the Good News of the Makers to people of all ages and species." He gave the captain a perfunctory smile before pulling his superior aside. "Prenom, may I have a word with you?" The two Triannons exchanged some furtive whispers. Negotiations with the humans had just taken a turn for the worse.

"Captain, I believe we have been misled as to the nature of this 'accident'," the higher-ranking Triannon began. "Your people are not ignorant of the truth. You have REJECTED the truth. The offer of help is rescinded. Your crewman WILL die. Dorlok, ready the shuttle. We're heading back."

His flunky hurried down the hall, while Jon tried to delay the inevitable by arguing with the Prenom.

Lorian was still lingering, looking worried. "Dad, are you coming?" he asked.

"Nah, I can't make it," Trip answered miserably. "You go on."

Lorian took a step back towards him, noticing the rash.

"No! Don't touch," Trip warned, lifting his right hand up out of reach. "Now go on. Get outta here!"

"Yes sir," Lorian mumbled, finally complying. As soon as Lorian turned his back, Trip wiped an eye with the T-shirt sleeve on his shoulder, careful not to use his hand.

Then the leader of the two Triannons stalked off.

"Jon," Trip said, watching his son disappear around the corner, "I've changed my mind. I want to go."

The friends shared a look, solidifying the decision.

"O.K. then," Jon confirmed, "I'll tell T'Pol. See if she can hold them."

Jon ran back into sickbay and pushed the com button. Trip and Travis followed.

"Captain," T'Pol informed them from the bridge, "the Triannon shuttle is on its way back and the ship is powering up for warp." In the background, the Prenom's rant was resounding through the bridge:

"Woe to those who forsake the truth and conspire to delay the coming Paradise. Throw yourselves on the mercy of the Maker or you will all die together."

"Cap'n," Trip said, "This religion sounds familiar. I'm guess'n it's the final altar call. There's no time. Can you beam me over?"

"Good idea." Jon answered, "Trip, Travis, you two go! I'm heading to the bridge."


 T'Pol addressed the Triannons from the bridge. "Commander Tucker now considers that his actions may have been in error. He wishes further instruction in your religion."

The rant from the other ship abruptly subsided.


Somewhere in the network of spheres, power was dropping below the acceptable threshold. A mysterious negative feedback loop gradually increased the output of Sphere 42 by .0001 percent, sending ripples and eddies through the graviton field. Anomalies only a few meters in diameter bubbled up around the sphere and burst within seconds.


 Trip jumped into the transporter alcove. "Explain all this to Lorian," he shouted, barely catching his breath.

"I will," Travis answered, pushing the lever forward

"Tell T'Pol . . . ." But Trip had turned to sparkly spinning sand and was gone.


"Transport in progress," T'Pol announced. On the viewscreen, the Triannon ship hung in space. An invisible bubble drifted across the viewscreen, revealing itself only as a distortion in the scene. Suddenly the bubble lit up, momentarily outlined against the Triannon ship. T'Pol heard her crewmates gasp and, then, Trip's voice through the bond.

<< I'm fine. Don't worry. >>

She felt his relief. She indulged in it. She thanked Surak for the logic that had finally convinced Trip to accept this course of action. On the bridge, everyone was totally silent. Perhaps they were meditating as well, or thanking gods they no longer believed in . . . a human idiosyncrasy she now considered harmless.

<< Jeeze, that was close, >> Trip sent back. She almost smiled. A second later, the Triannon ship had jumped to warp. The couples' connection was severed.

She looked around trying to make sense of the stricken faces. It reminded her of the time when they all thought they'd ignited a planet's atmosphere, killing thousands. Or when Archer had told them about Florida, or . . ."

"What?" She demanded, getting anxious.

"I'm sorry," Hoshi stammered, angry and defensive. "An anomaly. It just appeared out of nowhere. It scattered the transporter beam."

"But I heard him. He said he was safe."

She looked back and forth from Malcolm to Jon. Both offered only wordless apologies.

"I can prove he's there! Jump to warp," She ordered, "Follow that ship!"

Malcolm glanced up at Jon who shook his head "no."

Malcolm looked up and held her gaze. "If we move, we disturb the . . . debris field," He was choosing his words carefully. "There is still some . . . dust."

"I don't want dust!" She shot back. "I want my husband!"


Lorian was at the banquet, sitting with Asatoshi, Carlos, Glenn, and Evan. There were hardly any parents there. His twin was nowhere to be seen. Could she still be off moping? He had his First Place trophy sitting on the table in front of him, but everything was all wrong. Malcolm appeared at the back of the room and waved him over. "When you're done here, I'm supposed to bring you back home. Your mother needs to talk to you."

The Tuckers' quarters were overflowing with people. Aunt Amanda was in the hallway crying. Uncle Phlox was there, not in sickbay. As Lorian and Malcolm arrived they both glanced at the boy with masked faces.

Inside, people were talking in low voices. His mom was sitting at the back of the room with Captain Archer. Their heads were bowed together in an urgent discussion. She was hugging herself and rocking. "No," she was saying, "it was so clear."

She looked up with a tear-stained face, saw Lorian, and seemed to pull herself together. His parents almost never cried. T'Pol held out her hand. Preparing himself for the worst, he took it. "You father died today in a transporter accident," she said. Lorian sat down by his mother, stunned, and she held him.

"But I just saw him," he objected.

"I know," his mom agreed, "But, it doesn't matter. He's gone."


 Behind them Amanda was talking to Malcolm. "Destiny should be here."

"I didn't see her at the banquet."

"I'm going to look for her."

"Let me contact security for you. It'll be faster."


Trip's rash was gone. He had seen an amazing facility, where he had been taken to be healed . . . a totally different kind of sphere. He'd tried to memorize the details. It might be the missing puzzle piece crucial for their mission. He'd been transferred to a new ship, and no one seemed concerned about getting him back to Enterprise. Seems they expected him to spend some time in religious studies in return for receiving medical treatment.

Trip appealed to Triannon welcoming committee. "I appreciate you sav'n my life 'n all, but now I'd like to go home."

"We have saved your physical life. Now we want to save you spiritually. When you entered the Chosen Realm you were wrapped in the arms of the Makers."

"No offense, but I'd rather be wrapped in my family's arms, not some thermobaric cloud layer."

"Thermobaric cloud layer!" The lead Triannon shook his head, amused. "You take a miracle, give it a scientific name, and feel you have tamed it. You admit you haven't been able explain this phenomenon. You will discover that the ways of the Makers are beyond our understanding."

"It may be beyond our understanding, but my wife almost has this thing figured out. Her religion is based on logic." Trip was becoming more animated. "How'd you people even get into space? I'd love to talk with your engineers."

"This may be difficult to accept, but we are keeping you on this ship." Another of them answered with a tone of finality. "We have your best interests at heart. We want you and Destiny to be among those who survive when the Makers return."

"What are you talking about? Destiny? You took a little girl? You sonofa . . ."

He stopped as a girl entered the room.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Trip," she pleaded for understanding. "I thought it was just a visit."


 

 


Comments:

Tony Not-of-this-realm

It is an interesting plot, but I have some quibbles about the narrative voice. I'll talk to you about them. Very good story, though.

Tony N.

Honeybee

I really love this story - especially the young generation. It really has the feel of a generational ship. And the plot is very engaging!

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