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“Michael!”
“I know, Ash.”
She smiled as she closed her communicator. Grateful she had had a chance to make her peace with Ash before … this. His voice, just one word, told her everything she needed to know. She closed her communicator as she walked to the restraint chair, her brother Spock close behind her in his EV suit. The chair was perched on a circular platform built into the abandoned Section 31 facility on Eessoff 4. The platform was surrounded by powerful emitters designed to trap the Red Angel when she arrived.
That platform was the trap. And Michael was the bait.
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Eessoff 4’s inhospitable climate had made it the perfect hiding place for the ultra clandestine weapons development and experiments conducted there by Section 31. A perfect deterrent. The intense temperatures, coupled with the carbon monoxide atmosphere laced with perchlorate dust, meant extraordinary life support measures had to be taken at all times just to survive the conditions. Even inside the bunker-like structures on the planetoid’s surface, crew wore EV suits, just in case.
They had specifically chosen this wing of the abandoned facility for its system of gigantic metal flue-like apertures and retractable concrete roof, that opened out directly onto the planet's toxic atmosphere. They could be opened to release contaminants from a failed weapons experiment, and completely resealed to engage decontamination procedures and restore life support.
Those flues made this wing of the old facility the precise tool they needed for the first stage of this … mission.
It was no oversight that only Spock wore an EV suit … while Michael was clad only in her navy blue standard issue Starfleet uniform.
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Michael was beginning to disassociate. Spock’s presence helped ground her. She had just gotten her baby brother back. She had carried the remorse for her childhood folly, a desperate act of cruelty against him, for so long. And finally her brother had released her, set her free. Forgiven her. A long awaited resolution that she deeply cherished, however briefly, as she drew closer step by step to a moment that could be her last.
Michael found herself counting her steps. Spock’s Vulcan control helped anchor her resolve. They had both thought this plan through. This was the logical course of action. Logic dictated she would survive. The time paradox would require the Red Angel, who was also Michael, to come save – herself. Michael must therefore put herself in grave peril in order to threaten the Red Angel’s timeline for this to succeed. Michael must die. To live. Therefore, logic dictates Michael will live. Rehearsing the logic helped occupy her mind.
Michael took the seat, gazing blankly at Spock’s chest, as he began to fasten her restraints.
Spock reached down to the lower clasps to secure her ankles. Michael’s life started to flash before her eyes. Moments she cherished. People she cared for. Some part of her could not see forward anymore, and sought solace anchoring in the past. Ash Tyler flashed before the screen of her mind. Their first meeting in Discovery’s mess hall, shaking hands. Their first dance. Helping him recalibrate weapons in the armory. The physical closeness they found in each other aboard Mirror Discovery, seeking solace in one another, fueling their will to survive. His lips. His hands closing around her neck, as Voke emerged, conquering Ash’s will completely. Ash gambling with Klingons on Kronos, laughing and shouting in Klingon. His final kiss goodbye. His arms enfolding her gently minutes ago, reassuring her, “This … will work.”
Spock straightened and secured the clamp to her left wrist. The flashes of memory came faster now. She saw her parents making dinner as she watched the supernova from her telescope as a child. Laughter. Safety. Then shouting. Terror. Huddled in the closet for what seemed like days until Vulcan officers found and rescued her. The screams in her mind until a Vulcan woman sent telepathic comfort through her touch.
Amanda’s gentle kindness. “I bless you, Michael.”
Spock gently grasped her right hand to secure the final clamp around the wrist of her dominant hand, still holding her communicator. The flashes of memory accelerated, became more random. Her time on the Shenjo. Captain Georgiou. Emperor Phillipa. Childhood bedtime stories. Killing Lt. Connor on the bridge of the ISS Discovery. Fighting Airiam. The bridge crew. Jogging with Tilly. Rescuing Captain Pike. Saru. Running away from her Vulcan home as a child, narrowly escaping attack from a fearsome creature. Egg white vegetable omelets with tomato salsa. Plomeek broth. Her father’s face, smiling, as he told her the story of the girl who made the stars. Arguing with Sarek. Her brother Spock teaching her the Vulcan salute as a little boy.
“Take me with you!” …
“Diftor heh smusma...”
The memories whirled chaotically in her mind.
Feeling the last restraint clank shut snugly around her dominant hand snapped Michael back to the present. She blinked and focused her eyes on her brother’s face. Spock gave a final nod which she returned, then she watched her brother walk away.
Michael faltered. “What if it doesn’t work?”
Spock slowly turned around. “Were you to perish, I would be charged with killing a Starfleet officer. Again. It would therefore be ideal… if you survived.”
Humor. When did Spock learn humor? And gallows humor at that?
It worked. Michael took a shaky breath, smiling.
“Such a way with words, Spock.”
Spock turned away for the last time, headed for the control room where the away team observed her from inside the airlock.
Michael was alone.
She could hear the background chatter of the open comm link. Everyone was watching, waiting. Monitoring. Scanning.
A strange calm slowed her mind. Through all the horrors she had lived through, life had found a way to carry her through.
She was here, in this moment.
The entire crew was behind her. Ash was here. Spock was here. Even Phillipa-who-was-not-her-Phillipa was here. For her.
Michael was not alone.
Logic dictates she will survive. But it is not logic that reassures her now. It is knowing she has lived a life of purpose. It is gratitude for the support and grace they have all shown her.
It is love.
She hears the massive vault-like door of the airlock boom then rattle as it shuts behind Spock, sealing him and the away team inside the control center, flush with life support, protecting everyone within from the toxic atmosphere that would soon engulf her.
She is suddenly intensely grateful her friends are safe behind the airlock. Her friends.
She is vaguely aware Spock has confirmed her readiness to the bridge.
Captain Pike’s voice breaks through her reverie.
“On your mark, Commander.”
Michael hears the silence engulf her. The comm chatter has ceased. Michael never noticed before how loud silence can be. “The deafening silence.” She gets that phrase now. But that random thought does not distract her.
She is alone and immobilized.
Michael slows her breath, calming her heart beat. Her body relaxes.
Michael’s mind offers her a new anchor: the image of Michael facing herself after they capture the Red Angel. Just a little while longer. She holds onto that vision as she gazes into the middle distance. She can see the future again.
It is time. She gives her final command:
“Ready.”
THE END