#at this point the plot bunnies upgraded to artillery

[jedwashere]

A Billion Years Away - Chapter Six

Living With My Despair

***

I hail from the darker side

For all my life I’ve been besieged.

You’d be scared living with my despair,

And if you could feel the things I am able to feel.

***

Jallistra.

Jallistra approached the guest quarters: happily, she saw a gold-jacketed Andorian zhen security officer standing outside his quarters, clearly not threatened in any way.

“Captain!” she said, standing to attention. 

“At ease, Ensign,” Jallistra said, smiling. “I came to speak with our guest.” She paused, looking at the door. “Any trouble?” 

“No, no trouble, ma’am,” the Ensign said, frowning slightly in confusion. “Not a peep.”

“Good to know,” Jallistra said, nodding. She took a breath. “I’m going to speak with him.”

“Of course, ma’am,” the Ensign said, tapping the door control. The door opened with a soft swish, and Jallistra stepped through.

Lorca was sat on the bed, reading a multi-purpose PADD with a frown. He looked up briefly as Jallistra entered, but didn’t say anything, instead returning his attention to his PADD.

“Mr Lorca,” she said, inclining her head. 

“Still running with that one, are we?” Lorca said, smirking without looking up. “Nice to know.” 

Jallistra rolled her eyes. “Well, until you want me to start calling you ‘Emperor’… ” 

His smirk faded. “No.” He sighed. “Well, I’d invite you to sit down, but it’s your ship, so I figure you can do whatever you want.” 

“Nice to know,” Jallistra said blandly, taking a seat on one of the armchairs. “So: how are you liking the 26th century?”

Lorca chuckled, finally looking up to meet her gaze. “Well, the drinks are terrible, everyone I cared about is dead, I’m gonna be in prison soon, and I have nothing whatsoever left to live for.” He put the PADD down. “So under the circumstances, I like it just fine. Can’t wait to see what fancy stuff you’ve done to the prisons. Are the beds as comfy?”

Jallistra let out a breath. “Well. That’s…”

She trailed off awkwardly, uncertain what to say. In lieu of her speaking, Lorca stood, walking over to the replicator.

“Something alcoholic,” he said.

“Please specify,” the computer said dryly. 

“I dunno, whiskey,” Lorca said. “Single malt.”

A moment later, there was a whirring as the whiskey came into existence. Jallistra watched Lorca pick the glass up and drain it, wincing as he did so.

“Terrible,” he said, putting the glass back. “Please tell me there’s something better than this out there, still.”

“There’s plenty of places to get drunk, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jallistra replied, keeping her tone neutral.

Lorca just laughed at that. “Well, thank God for small mercies.”

Jallistra didn’t reply to that, and after a moment he just sighed.

“Want a coffee?” he asked. 

She shook her head, and he smiled, before turning back to the radiator.

“Coffee,” he said, “strong, black, cooled enough to drink straight away.”

A moment later, he took a cup of coffee from the replicator and took a sip, before letting out a contented sigh. 

“That’s good,” he said after a moment. “At least something is round here.”

He sat down opposite her, and took another sip from his coffee, his expression somewhere between melancholy and morbid humour. Jallistra nodded slowly, not looking at him.

“So, I have to ask,” she began after a moment. “Your  ‘Terran Empire’ was supposed to be racist, xenophobic…”

“All that and more,” Lorca said, his tone and expression both perfectly neutral. 

How can he be so… nonchalant about it? Jallistra thought, taking a breath to calm herself. 

“You look shocked,” he cut in, smirking again. “You have read up on us, haven’t you?”

“Reading and encountering are two different things,” she said quietly.

He laughed again, but this time there was a tone of derision to it that made Jallistra feel… uneasy. 

“That much is definitely true,” he said. “I read all about the Federation from the few Defiant files I’d been allowed to see. But it was really difficult to make the adjustment when I was actually here.”

“I can imagine,” Jallistra said stiffly. She leaned forward. “So: you hate me, right? An alien in a ‘fleet uniform.”

He snorted at that. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Jallistra blinked. “Excuse me?”

“If I were some anti-alien bastard you could just toss in a pigeonhole as a ‘bad guy’,” he clarified, smiling coldly. “Make it nice and easy, then, wouldn’t it? I’d just be some bad person, not worth your time.”

“That’s not an answer,” she pointed out.

“My first officer in your universe was a Kelpien,” Lorca retorted, scowling. “We eat those. Well, we did in my time.” At Jallistra’s stricken expression, he held up both hands placatingly. “I never did - couldn’t stand the smell.”

Jallistra felt her gorge rise. “I… hadn’t read that.”

“Your reports must have left that bit out,” Lorca said, not hastily. “Can’t say I blame ‘em.” He paused. “My point is, despite that… cultural difference, I got on just fine with Saru. He was a good XO.” He leant back and looked at the ceiling. “When you've gotta work with the equivalent of a farm animal without arousing suspicions, you learn to let go of your prejudices.”

“Do you?” Jallistra countered, narrowing her eyes. “There’s a very big difference between not acting on those prejudices and not having them.”

Lorca rolled his head back down, meeting her gaze. “You want me to tell you that your alien-ness disgusts me? Is that it? Would that be what I’m meant to be to you?”

Jallistra’s nostrils flared. “It would be in keeping.”

“In keeping with the Empire, maybe,” Lorca said, scowling at her, “but not with me. Sure, I was a bit anti-alien - everyone in my universe was, at the time. But I saw the benefits of keeping them around, too.” His expression softened. “When you get your life saved by them, when you have to force yourself to trust ‘em… well, then they’re just people. Weird-looking people, but I reckon humans look pretty weird to them, too.”

Jallistra let out a breath. “I suppose you do. To some.”

“Well, I know the smell of humans seriously pisses Vulcans off,” Lorca said with a laugh. “I had a Vulcan prisoner once. Rather than stick him in the agoniser, we just pumped a room full of concentrated sweat odour. Made him puke his guts out after eighteen hours of it.”

Jallistra swallowed. “Lovely, I’m sure.”

Lorca’s smile faded. “Well. It was… it was funny. At the time.”

Jallistra crowned at the hesitation in his voice. Was that shame she heard in his voice? Was that even possible for him?

Nothing is as simple as it seems, she reminded herself again.

“I was wondering,” she said after a moment. “About how you were able to fit in.”

He gave her a scornful look. “‘Fit in’?”

“To Starfleet,” Jallistra clarified, clasping her hands in front of her and staring studiously at them. “To our Starfleet.”

“Ah.” He nodded, smiling again. “Must be surprising to you.”

“A little,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “Starfleet back then was a different beast: much more militant and varied. But it was still Starfleet. How did you… I mean…”

She trailed off, feeling oddly self-conscious about the unflattering way that sounded. She almost laughed at the irony: she was worried about offending a man who was, by any logical and sane standard, clearly neither. 

“How did a man from a place like the Terran Empire manage to fit into your perfect ‘Fleet?” Lorca finished for her. She nodded, and he chuckled. “Hell if I know. Maybe I’m lucky. Maybe I was the kind of man your universe needed. Or maybe people were more willing to let my ‘bad behaviour’ slide when lives were on the line.” He sighed. “God knows. All I know is, it worked. For a while.”

“For a while?” Jallistra repeated. 

“There were slips,” Lorca admitted. “Your crews… they run on loyalty. Not fear. For a while… the first few days on Discovery, maybe more… I didn’t twig that.”

“And?” Jallistra asked.

“And, then I did,” Lorca continued. “Sort of.” He paused. “It was a skill I’d… I’d never quite had to use. Inspiring loyalty, not fear.” He laughed aloud, a desperate, almost deranged sound. “Believe it or not, I actually did inspire it where I’m from. Accidentally. Maybe because I didn’t use the agoniser for every misdemeanour, didn’t kill for every failure. Maybe that was enough, where I’m from.”

“But not here,” Jallistra guessed.

“No, not here,” he confirmed, smiling sadly. “Here, I got fear, apathy, contempt. I got loyalty, in the end, did my best to… I guess, be there for my crew…”

Jallistra’s mind recalled the report from Michael Burnham about the mission to rescue Ambassador Sarek. Her writing had been dry - very Vulcan - but in between the lines had been a respect, even admiration, for Lorca and his willingnes to help. A sharp contrast to the cold, almost angry tone that had been in the later reports.

“…but obviously,” Lorca continued as Jallistra thought, “it wasn’t enough. Not enough for them to trust me.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time, and Jallistra wondered whether he was was thinking of the circumstances regarding his ‘death’. Reading the reports from Owosekun, Detmer, Burnham, she remembered the tone of betrayal. Only now did she realise that it might have been a betrayal both ways. How might he have felt?

The same kind of betrayal, she thought, frowning. How strange, that someone who lived in a world of no loyalty came to expect it.

“People betray each other in your Empire,” she said, trying to be gentle. Judging by the sudden furious glare he threw her, she hadn’t been gentle enough. “It’s a documented fact.” 

“That’s the Empire,” Lorca said harshly. “You betray your superiors and they betray you. You expect it. But I… here…” He sighed, the anger draining from his face. “I gave something, here. I tried. I really did.”

“You were always planning to go back,” Jallistra said, frowning. “Weren’t you?” 

Lorca laughed. “If I’d always planned to go back… well, no, that’s a lie. I planned to. Not quite when I did. I would have preferred to give the Klingons a bloody nose properly before I left.” His smile faded. “But events forced my hand.” 

He said nothing more, instead looking oddly contemplative. After a moment, Jallistra took a deep breath.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do in our time?” she asked.

Lorca laughed at that. “What I’m going to do in your time? Seriously?”

Jallistra frowned. “You haven’t thought about it?” 

“You mean apart from serving time in a penal facility?” Lorca asked, his smile fading.

Jallistra winced at that, her thoughts briefly travelling to facility 4028 and its ilk, wondering whether Lorca might really end up somewhere like that unforgiving place. Jallistra herself had only been once, to deliver a dangerous Android prisoner. 

“Yes,” she said quietly.

Lorca chuckled. “Then no.” He grimaced. “Even before you showed up and figured me out immediately - on which, I suppose I should congratulate you -”

Jallistra said nothing.

“- I was stuck,” he admitted, a frown settling onto his face. “What is there? My Empire’s gone or changed or whatever. The Federation won’t have me, not after two and a half centuries and, y’know, the whole treason thing…”

“There are always possibilities,” Jallistra said, smiling tiredly.

Lorca just snorted. “Now that sounds like a fortune cookie.”

That rang a bell. Jallistra’s smile widened incrementally.

“A fortune cookie, huh?” she said. She stood, walking over to the replicator. “Computer: Two fortune cookies. Random fortune, any database.”

“Working,” the computer said. A moment later, two fortune cookies materialised. 

“Sounds just like it did back in my day,” Lorca said idly as Jallistra passed him one of the cookies.

“Some things never change,” Jallistra told him.

“And some things,” Lorca retorted, “do.” 

He broke open the cookie, before removing the fortune and looking at it. Jallistra opened hers, and smirked.

“Tell you mine if you tell me yours,” she said, looking up at Lorca, who was staring at his with a neutral expression.

He held it up. “‘A cynic is only a frustrated optimist’.” 

Even as he said it, he sounded cynical, and Jallistra chuckled. She held up her own.

“Prospects cloudy,” she said, her tone deadpan. “Check back later.”

There was a momentary silence, and then the pair of them started to laugh, long and hard laughs that carried more weight than mere amusement. After a couple of minutes, it died down, and Jallistra sighed.

“I don’t know what to make of you, Captain,” she said, deliberately using the rank. He met her gaze, a small smile on his face as she continued. “But it’s not my job to try. Tell you what.” She motioned to the door. “Promise not to try and escape, and I’ll give you a tour of the Enterprise.”

Lorca finished his coffee and grinned. “I always wanted a look at one of the Connies, back in the day. I guess this isn’t quite that class though.”

Thinking over the specs of an old Constitution-class versus her own Enterprise, Jallistra couldn’t help but grin. “Not quite. We’re a lot bigger, for a start.”

“I’ll be happy to hear more about it,” Lorca said, smiling back at her. 

Jallistra paused, thinking for a moment, before looking at the discarded uniform jacket on one of the chairs. “You might want to put that on.” 

He looked back at it. “I don’t think so. It’s not my uniform.”

A funny thought occurred to Jallistra, and she smiled, before walking over to the replicator.

“Computer,” she said, “one Starfleet Captain’s duty uniform, circa 2256, standard fleet, UESPA registry. Authorisation Jallistra, Three Six Beta Upsilon.”

A moment passed, and then a blue jumpsuit appeared in the replicator, neatly folded. Jallistra retrieved it and placed it on the table in front of Lorca, who was staring at it with wide eyes. 

“That,” Jallistra said, “was your uniform, Captain Lorca. And until someone in authority tells me otherwise, it still is.”

Lorca picked the jacket up, holding it in his hands. The golden metallic decorations glimmered in the soft light of the room, and the blue was a rich, deep one. 

“Looks different in this light,” he said quietly. 

“You’re different,” Jallistra pointed out.

He smiled at her. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just the light.” 

He slipped the jacket on over his black undershirt: the effect of the blue jacket over the black trousers was at once jarring and yet strangely fitting. He zipped the jacket up (and for a moment, Jallistra marvelled at the old-fashioned zip, possibly the last time one had been used in a Federation Starfleet uniform), and smiled.

“Ready when you are,” he said. 

Jallistra motioned to the door. “After you.”

***

Lorca.

The first stop was the bridge: the nerve centre of a starship. Lorca had to admit to a certain curiosity about just how much bridge design would have changed in two and a half centuries (not to mention interface design, tech design…). 

When the door to the turbolift opened, the first thing he noted was how spacious it was. Discovery’s bridge had been large, but it had a certain sparse functionality to the bare plating and dark lighting. This room, by contrast, was big, bright, carpeted and comfortable.

Like walking into a flying hotel, Lorca thought, resisting the urge to snort. 

“Captain Lorca,” a voice said. 

An Andorian officer stood: he wore the same red uniform Jallistra did, minus the white detailing (which Lorca presumed to be the same ‘Captain’s only’ detailing as was on his gold-shouldered blue jacket). 

Lorca nodded. “Hello there, Commander…?”

“Hy’ron Thenn,” the Andorian said, holding out a hand. “First Officer of the Enterprise.”

“It’s a good ship,” Lorca said, looking around. He winced slightly at the brightness. “Very smartly presented.”

“A smart presentation is the first step to a well-run ship,” Thenn said, nodding once. He gave Lorca a smile. “And I insist, as XO, on the ship being well-run.”

“Mr Thenn is probably the most disciplined officer on this ship,” Jallistra put in from behind Lorca. “Which is helpful, because I’m not so much.” 

Thenn drew himself up. “You are a perfectly disciplined Captain, Captain.”

“Not as much as you,” Jallistra said, winking at him. Thenn sniffed. 

Lorca chuckled. “You two should go into comedy.”

“Oh yes, that’d be a wonderful retirement,” Jallistra laughed, as Thenn gave a mock-scowl that was too exaggerated even for an Andorian.

Jallistra looked around, smiling.

“What do you think?” she asked Lorca. 

“Like I said,” he replied, smiling. “Well presented.” He looked around at the configuration of the bridge itself. “Unusual configuration. For my time, anyway.”

“Ah, yes,” Jallistra said, moving to her chair and sitting down. “I guess I like feeling like my officers can turn and look at me, voice their opinions.” She looked up at Lorca and smirked. “Let me guess. Not your preferred style?” 

It wasn’t, but Lorca didn’t see any need to say that. Jallistra had been kinder to him than he had expected (or expected from the rest of Starfleet, when they finally got to the starbase she’d mentioned). Insulting her style seemed the wrong kind of petty.

“Everyone Captains their ship their own way,” he said, smiling. 

“You go your way and I’ll go mine,” Jallistra nodded. “That seems more than fair to me.”

Lorca nodded, smiling as Jallistra stood.

“Well, Captain,” she said, “I think we should go visit the -”

“Captain Jallistra,” the Officer at the Ops station - a woman in a gold operations jacket - said, tapping away at her console. “We have detected an anomaly on our current flight path.”

Jallistra frowned. With an apologetic glance at Lorca, she went over to the Ops station, leaning over her officer’s shoulder.

“Anything similar on record, Maria?” she asked.

“A few things, Captain,” the Ops officer - Maria? - said. “It closely matches -”

She didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence. With a sound like thunder and a rush of flame and sparks, the bridge exploded. 

***