Title: Remember…
Universe: TOS
Author: T'Sia
Rating: G
Summary: Use the following phrase "...a system that works..."
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek - but I own a bicycle.


<<<<<>>>>><<<<<>>>>><<<<<>>>>><<<<<>>>>><<<<<>>>>><<<<<>>>>>

"…Scientists from three different worlds came together to pick up the work of the deceased…" An old, worn hand reached for the touch sensor and shut off the radio transmission. Blue eyes that had seen one of the greatest wonders of the galaxy, but that also had shed many tears about the same, looked out of the window of the small craft. The glider was still quite high in the sky, but a soft chime already announced the descent in preparation for landing at the programmed place.

The small pebbles on the path she walked on crunched under her boots as she made her way through the sorted row of stones, steps careful, minding Earth’s different gravity that felt like no more than a gentle tug to her after all the years.

Her eyes searched the stones, seeking a specific name and a small sad smile played at her lips as she found it. To the average visitor the grave would not appear fresh, yet she knew that it was. There was no body left to mourn though and she took a deep breath as the all too familiar pain ripped through her. She closed her eyes for a second and concentrated on breathing evenly.

He was alive, he was well.

She sank to one knee and picked up a small potted plant that had been tipped over by the wind, wondering briefly who had left it. His mother perhaps? Her hand trembled lightly as she had to push back the memories of the dreadful last weeks and she felt a wave of sympathy for the woman who was now in a place she never wanted to be again. Reaching into her bag she produced a small silver cylinder and activated the opening mechanism. With a barely audible sizzle the stasis field disintegrated and she took out the delicate flower, taken from her own garden, carefully protected during the long voyage. It would waste quickly, she knew and her gesture seemed to be small and illogical. But what else could she pay this deceased person but her respect and one of the things dear to her? She placed the rose into the small holder beside the picture of the person remembered here.

She touched the picture, her feelings conflicted. His work had been the reason for the loss of her son's life - but it had also given it back. Her mind reached out. He may not have built a system that works, but without him, her son would be dead forever, his life taken by a madman.

"Thank you," she whispered.

As she rose and followed the way back she had come, a gust of wind rustled through the trees above the grave, making the sun’s rays glint off the name written on the tombstone.

"David Marcus"

The End