Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: 29 Apr 2004 17:50:38 GMT In: alt.startrek.creative From: sisko2374@aol.com (Sisko2374) Part 2 "Third Way Out" The Chaffe II came in low from the East approaching New York just above the lifeless slate grey Atlantic. Bashir felt slightly nauseous as the shuttle skimmed the rising whitecaps. "Alvarez, why do you have to fly so low?" The engineer shrugged and smiled. "Sorry, sir. Force of habit from First Contact pilot training at the academy. They tell you to stay low to avoid primitive EM ground detection systems on alien worlds." Julian nodded. "Well there's nothing like that here. The place has been deserted for the past eighty years or so. If we're detected it will be by Alliance ships out in space and the Defiant should pick them up first. So bring it up a little bit would you? I'd like to keep my scones down this morning." Jordan came forward and leaned against the top of Bashir's chair, peering out the forward view shield. "Look, the Statue of Liberty," she pointed ahead as if conducting a bus tour. Smiley appeared behind Alvarez's seat. "Have you ever been to Earth before, Miles?" Julian asked. "No, this is my first ‘vacation' from fighting the Alliance. Besides, it doesn't mean anything to me. It's just a graveyard." Bashir stared at the corroded statue as the shuttle slowed. The arm thrusting skyward ended in a jagged tear. There was no hand carrying a torch. How eerily appropriate for this world, Julian mused. He glanced at Smiley. If the rebel did have any feelings for the home planet of humanity, he was carefully hiding them. As they approached Manhattan Julian noticed something odd about the skyline. It wasn't really the New York that he knew. Four hundred some odd years of diverging history had forged a different skyline. Buildings were there that shouldn't be. While others that should have been there weren't. The shuttle came up the Hudson River past Battery Park, then turned and followed West Street to the landing site. Emerging from the shuttle behind the others, he surveyed a scene of widespread decay. Low grey clouds formed a ceiling pierced only by the tallest buildings. It was as if they were inside a vast ancient cathedral, the buildings mere support pillars. Rubble was strewn across the streets, punctuated by craters, detritus of the final Alliance assault. Cynthia's voice broke the somber silence on the comm system. "This is the site of one of the major quantum divergence points in the Mirror universe; the destruction of the old World Trade Center in 2001 C.E. After this attack, we first see the public discussion on the merits of empire and the legitimation of torture, which later became a standard instrument of rule. We also see the extensive erosion of sentient rights, specifically the beginning of the elimination of trial by jury, suspects being held incommunicado without their families' or lawyer's knowledge, and most importantly, summary execution without trial. The political roots of the Terran Empire began here." Smiley walked over to Julian. "Lovely day isn't it?" The archaeologist's voice turned slightly icy at the interruption. "Did you have something to add or point out Captain O'Brien?" Smiley turned in her direction. "Not really. Just that nearly 300 years later this was also the city from where the Alliance began rounding up Terran survivors for off-world slave labor. So I guess this place is doubly important for me ...and all the other Terrans. Our holocaust begins here. Maybe we can put up a memorial someday ...if we manage to acquire the technological edge to beat the Alliance and take back Earth." Jordan's response was worthy of a Federation diplomat. "Thank you Captain O'Brien for pointing out the dual historical significance of this site for you and all Terrans. I'm sure that the Federation would be glad to render you assistance for terra forming the planet so as to render it humanly habitable once more....after your final victory." Without missing a beat she resumed the orientation. "We will briefly visit the World Trade Center memorial, then divide up into teams of twos using tri-corders to scan for artifacts. In particular we want to keep an eye out for any underground facilities where Terrans might have managed to store books, documents or art before the final Alliance assault. While the Alliance extensively looted and destroyed libraries, museums and government offices, they might have overlooked personal habitations. It's a big planet after all. Questions?" Inside the underground memorial Julian stared past the corroded plaque of hundreds of names and up through the hole in the ceiling. Acid rain dripped into the room. He could make out part of the glass and steel structure that had replaced the slightly more ancient twin towers. Back home the old World Trade Center was still standing. For the past hundred years or so it had been the headquarters of the Earth Port Authority. It was a busy place: the extension of "credits" allowing other planets to "purchase" Earth goods, free assistance to impoverished and disaster stricken worlds, the screening of off world imports, all of Earth's transactions with the rest of the Federation and the known galaxy were processed through the historic old complex. But here, it didn't even exist. Except as a forgotten memorial from an ancient war his world had never known. Despite the warmth of his environmental suit, Bashir felt a chill creeping up his spine. "Hey Julian." Bashir jumped slightly at the sound of Smiley's voice in his communicator. The rebel was standing right behind him and slightly to his side. "Oh, are we on a mutual first name basis now, Miles? Does this mean that we're ‘friends' once more?" Julian allowed just a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Maybe. I was just thinking that you and I ought to team up together, to check out the ruins." "Why?" The Terran replied with one of those hauntingly familiar grins of the "real" Miles, jokingly insincere. "Well that way you can keep a close eye on me, make sure I don't get into any trouble. And maybe working close to a real Terran will bring you luck. After all, archaeology is mostly luck." Bashir raised his eyebrows but nodded. "Really? I wasn't aware of that. All right, let's talk to Professor Jordan and see what sector of the city she assigns us after we get out of here." O'Brien leaned forward conspiratorially, nudging Julian's arm, simultaneously activating a private comm channel between them. "Why stand around for another briefing? Let's walk down West Street, see what the old tri-corders pick up. I've got a hunch." "A hunch? That's not very scientific." "I'm not a scientist, I'm a leprechaun," Miles quipped, putting on his most charming Irish airs. "And I have a feeling that right now we're very near the pot o'gold, even if there is no rainbow." Intrigued at the possibility that Smiley knew more about the expedition than he was supposed to, Bashir followed the Terran up the staircase, out of the memorial and into the street. In some respects West street wasn't too different than its namesake in Bashir's universe. In both New Yorks some of the smaller buildings from the 20th and 21st centuries had survived, perhaps because of the concerted efforts of high minded citizens who valued them as local historic "landmarks". They had been walking for six blocks or so, the tri-corders registering nothing unusual when Smiley suddenly stopped. "Well I'll be ... I'm picking up an underground chamber, about 30 meters down. Directly under that old brick structure." He pointed to the right side of the street ahead. Bashir scanned his tricorder. "Yes, I've got it. Appears to be a single room with some sort of large box. Encased in ... lead." O'Brien grinned. "Worth a look don't you think?" Bashir extended his arm graciously. "After you my dear Captain." The entrance on West street was collapsed, but O'Brien discovered an ancient security "side" door on Canal street that was hanging on its hinges. He pushed it slightly. The door shattered in to a thousand shards as it hit the ground. "Just don't make'em like that anymore." The Terran grinned. "And a good thing too." Julian rejoined. "Of course a century or more of acid rain didn't help." He flashed his palm beacon into the darkness of the corridor ahead. Miles' tricorder beeped. "I'm reading a shaft 20 meters ahead that connects to the level of the chamber. Got your utility line?" Julian checked. One hundred meters of Tholian filament hung lightly from his belt. "Yes I do. Would you like to use it?" The rebel chuckled. "I'm frightened of great heights. I might fall. Besides, you deserve some glory on this expedition. Don't worry, I'll keep a firm hold on you." There were no doors at the entrance to the shaft. Julian shined his light down the shaft then let it play across the floor he was standing on. Jagged shards of rusted metal lay before him and at the botton of the hole. He frowned. "Looks like someone's been here before us." Miles shrugged. "You mean because of the rust on the floor? Not necessarily. The doors could have just disintegrated on their own." "But why would these doors inside fall apart quicker than the one you kicked in outside? There's more protection from the elements in here." O'Brien had already removed the tethered end of the Tholian rope from Julian's belt and was busy anchoring it to the concrete floor. "Good point. Maybe the Alliance was mucking about here. Who knows?" He stood up. "Are you ready?" Bashir peered over the jagged precipice. "Just keep a good hold on that rope Miles. Let it out slowly." "Nothing to fear." The Terran sat down next to the shaft, his feet firmly planted on the adjacent wall. The descent seemed to take forever. Julian had only repelled once and that was in a holo suite. But there was no safety program here. Only that thin line anchored at the top and fed by the Mirror O'Brien. At last he reached the bottom. Casting his light about he saw no connecting corridor. But there was the outline of a tall heavy rusted door. Putting his shoulder against it he found it swung slowly inward with a loud long creak. Julian's palm beacon pierced the darkness. The room was small, three meters by four, without windows. Flaking faded paint appeared to have been peeling off the walls for centuries. He could almost smell the must and mildew through his bio suit filter. Slowly he surveyed the cubicle. It was sparsely furnished. Against one wall was a broken chair next to a desk littered with the crumbled, blackened remains of what once must have been books. His light played across the floor to the opposite wall, illuminating a wooden bed with two human skeletons, the bones a dirty grey, their arms entwined in each other's rib cages in a final embrace. Suicide pact? Bashir speculated. At the foot of the bed was a metal trunk. Curiosity overwhelmed him. Kneeling, he lifted the rusty lid. Books and photographs, yellowed but preserved, filled the trunk. Pointing his light at the titles of the books he noticed dust particles swimming in the beam. Slamming the lid down he realized his mistake too late. The damage was done. He had exposed this treasure trove of artifacts, sealed for centuries, to the outside air. Oxidation and decay would accelerate rapidly now. A few seconds could destroy centuries of history. He had to move fast. "Bashir to Jordan. I've found an ancient trunk with books and photographs below ground on West street. The documents appear to be intact but..." Jordan cut in, her voiced sounding sick, "You opened it..." "Yes, I'm sorry..." "Beam it to the Defiant right away. I'll have them put it in a stasis field." Julian placed his comm badge on the trunk and hailed the Defiant. Seconds later he watched the trunk disappear in a swirl of sparkles. By the time Bashir and O'Brien made their way back out of the ruins, the archeological survey team was already reassembled at the shuttle. Jordan's greeting was blunt. "Well Doctor, you managed to discover what will probably be the biggest find of the entire expedition while nearly creating the greatest archaeological disaster since the Answan dam flooded the Valley of the Kings. And all in one day!" Julian decided to ignore Cynthia's hyperbole, replying with the tone of one doctor inquiring of another about a mutual patient whose prospects for recovery were very poor. "I'm sorry. How is the trunk?" As if slightly mollified by his concern and sympathy, Cynthia sighed and rendered her diagnosis. "They got it into stasis, so the oxidation process has been arrested. But we need to pump out all the air and seal it in argon as soon as possible. That way we can begin cataloguing and our historians can get to work." Julian nodded. "Of course. Might I offer the use of sickbay's isolation chamber for that purpose?" Jordan managed a pained smile. "Sounds perfect Doctor. Would you like to assist in the opening and cataloguing? After all, it was your discovery." Bashir smiled back. "I would be honored." An hour later, in the Defiant's sick bay, Julian once again opened the trunk. But this time the inert argon gas environment and force field gloves of the isolation chamber ensured there would be no further contamination of the fragile ancient paper within. The first thing he picked up was a yellowed photograph. Jordan recited a description of each artifact for the catalogue. "Item number one: Photograph, approximately 380 years old, showing a man and woman in winter clothing posing beneath a hand painted sign that reads ‘Republic, Not Empire'. Background appears to be late 20th or early 21st century Chicago. Picasso statue in background." Bashir gazed thoughtfully at the two sad but determined faces staring back at him from across four centuries and another universe. Were these the two who had ended their lives in that dreary basement so long ago? What was their story? Gingerly putting the photo to the side he picked up a small book with a black cover, faded red title and a photo of the Earth from orbit. As Julian opened it to the frontispiece, Jordan began her recital. "Item number two: book in the English language, titled ‘The New Rulers of the World', author is John Pilger. Copyright 2002 by Verso Press. Two hundred and forty-six pages with index. Printed in the UK." "Item number three: book in the English language, titled ‘The Sorrows of Empire: Militarism, Secrecy, and the End of the Republic', author is Chalmers Johnson. 2004 edition, three hundred and eighty nine pages indexed, Henry Holt and Company, New York. When Julian picked up another book, Cynthia's eyes lit up. Embossed on a cover of desiccated leather, five faded gold letters clearly spelt out the word ‘Diary'. Grinning, she turned to Julian. "Jackpot! Personal cross-reference material." END Part 2 "Third Way Out" -- Stephen Ratliff ASC Awards Tech Support http://www.trekiverse.us/ASCAwards/commenting/ No Tribbles were harmed in the running of these Awards ASCL is a stories-only list, no discussion. Comments and feedback should be directed to alt.startrek .creative or directly to the author. Yahoo! Groups Links To visit your group on the web, go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCL/ To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: ASCL-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com Your use of Yahoo! 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