NEW VOY: The Quest (1/1) PG (Nasir)

Title: The Quest
Author: Dave Rogers
Email Address: daverogers@geocities.com
Series: VOY
Rating: PG
Codes: Nasir
Part: 1/1
Date Posted: 20 August 1999
                     
Summary: Lost in the Delta Quadrant, a familiar face is the 
beginning of hope.

Disclaimer: Paramount owns the entire Delta Quadrant, but they 
might be able to spare a bit for me.

Author's note: This is the beginning of a new series, based on 
characters from the "Virtues" AU series, which can be found on my 
website; see .sig for address.



The Quest



The tall, dark-skinned Terran fought, as usual, to control the 
trembling of his scarred and twisted hand as he reached out for the 
drink in front of him. "I am a trader, mostly," he continued to the 
barman. "After I escaped, I picked up some plants for food. I did not 
even realise they had medicinal properties on the next planet." The 
shaking under control again, he took a sip of the drink. "I spent the 
next six months shuttling back and forth, harvesting and selling. By 
the time some rival traders tracked me there, I had enough capital to 
move on, and we came to an amicable agreement." The few tense hours 
when things hadn't been quite so amicable were nobody's business but 
his own; and after a while, both sides had realised the 
unprofitability of trading explosive bullets for phaser bolts. He 
hoped those two Kazon were rich now, not so much from any fellow 
feeling as from respect for their sheer common sense, a rare commodity 
in that suspicious, long-abused race. "So here I am, looking for 
business. I do not break any laws, so do not ask me to. Apart from 
that, I will gladly take on whatever I can turn my hand to." His 
voice, though at times as shaky as his hands, had a deep, resonant 
ring to it, reminiscent of, rather than arising from, a deep self-
confidence, and the Benari barman found himself wondering how this 
wreck of a man must have looked and sounded before - before whatever 
had brought him this low.

"Where are you from originally, Mr..."

"Nasir. And I still flatter myself with the title of Lieutenant, 
though it means little now. I am from Earth, a planet on the far side 
of the galaxy. And I very much doubt," he added with ironic humour, 
looking up at the barman with dull, lifeless eyes, "whether I shall 
see it again."

"Earth. Sounds familiar," mused the barman. "Where have I heard that 
before? And that title - Lieutenant -" Suddenly it struck him. "The 
Federation. Are you something to do with the Federation?"

"I was." The words seemed to struggle out of a deep pit, and the 
Terran's head bowed slightly, as if in deep and secret sorrow.

"Stay here, Lieutenant Nasir." The barman was suddenly overcome with a 
rush of sympathy, something that he'd always found to be an 
occupational hazard; but perhaps there was something he could do, if 
not to help this lost soul, perhaps to give him a little hope. "I'll 
be back in a minute or two."

There was an information terminal in the back room - the barman had 
found it useful to settle bar arguments with less violence than the 
usual approach. A few minutes searching the planetary news archives 
produced the cuttings he was looking for, and he rapidly downloaded 
them to a data tablet.

The Terran hadn't moved when the barman returned, and indeed he seemed 
to have no better place to go. Maybe this would give him, at least, a 
suggestion.

"I found it, Lieutenant." It seemed to help calling him that; each 
time he used the word, the stranger's back seemed to straighten a 
little, his head to rise. "There was a big scandal three, four years 
ago, a murder mystery. This man was convicted of murdering Tolen Ren, 
the Head of Military Science. I think he got off on appeal; it was 
just before the Battle of Haranben, so the appeal probably didn't 
make the national news. He was a Lieutenant, though, from the 
Federation, like you." He realised that he seemed to be keeping up 
both ends of the conversation here. "Four years ago. He was from a 
ship, called Voyager. They were heading for home. I think it might 
have been Earth." The words seemed to be washing over the Terran, who 
seemed transfixed by something on the tablet. "This is all I could 
find on the main database. I think it even mentions which way they 
were headed." Still no response. "Does this mean anything to you?"

Suddenly the Terran looked up, his face bearing the slightest hint of 
a smile, and, for the first time, there was some suggestion of life 
behind his eyes. His head tilted slightly in a suggestion of a nod, 
then he reached for his drink, his hand steady now, and threw it down 
his throat in a single motion. "I must thank you, sir. Your house 
dispenses more than hospitality." He stood up, straight and tall, and 
the barman realised for the first time that this man towered over 
everyone else in the room; why hadn't he seen that when he came in? 
There was a clink of a credit slip on the bar, and then the Terran 
concluded, "I must leave now. I hope that this covers the price of my 
meal, and conveys my thanks as well." He turned, and strode towards 
the exit, a sense of purpose driving his unsteady steps.

The barman looked down at the slip, and only a lifetime of practice 
prevented him from shouting after the departing Terran. This was more 
than he made in the average year; but if the man was too drunk to 
count properly, that wasn't his problem.



Nasir clutched the data tablet like a holy book as he walked back to 
the spaceport dock. He could have afforded a transporter, but the 
exercise was good for his mind, and his thoughts needed a little 
calming, and his head a little clearing, right now. He looked down 
again at the familiar face, a face he'd last seen in another world, 
seventy thousand light years away, in the Federation penal settlement 
in New Zealand. Tom Paris had been here, and somehow he'd insinuated 
his way back into Starfleet. But, more importantly, he'd had a ship, 
and a crew, and a purpose; three things Nasir had lost since that day, 
years ago, when the Caretaker had dragged him and the ship he was 
visiting into hell. And Paris was going home. Maybe, he thought, Nasir 
can go home as well.

His shuttlecraft was there in the dock, battered and worn from years 
in hiding and more years of hard work, but still recognisably - to 
someone from the far side of the galaxy, at least - a Starfleet Class 
Two shuttlecraft, capable of interstellar flight provided the crew 
were prepared to tolerate a little discomfort. Compared to his first
three years in the Delta Quadrant, of course, it was the height of 
luxury, and as the rear hatch closed behind him he relaxed in the 
safety of the only place, in the last four years, he had thought of 
as home.

A familiar voice aroused him, some time later, as he slept in the 
pilot's chair. "Did you find what you were looking for, Lieutenant?"

"You should have come with me, Crewman," he replied, half asleep 
still.

"I needed to sleep too, you know."

"No, I do not know," he replied with a trace of amusement. "I am 
still surprised to know that you need to. But you should have come 
with me anyway."

"Why?"

"To tell me what I was looking for."

"That's simple, Lieutenant. You were looking for hope. I've told you 
before, a bar isn't the place to look."

"Ah, that is where you are wrong, Crewman Andri. This bar sold hope as 
well as alcohol. And I bought myself some while I was there."

The Betazoid's voice took on a tone of interest. "What kind of hope, 
Nasir?"

"A name, Janell. One you may remember. Thomas Eugene Paris."

She giggled. "Better than you realise, Nasir."

"Ah. I had not realised." He smiled now, a full, deep, rich smile, 
and felt the muscles of his face protest as they stretched themselves 
into an expression that had been absent for years. "You were 
remarkably discreet. You know that sort of thing is against 
regulations."

"You'd better throw me in the brig then, Lieutenant."

"Not easy, Crewman, even if we had one." He looked around, for the 
first time since the conversation had begun, and saw the empty 
interior of the shuttlecraft all around him. "I will find him, 
Janell. He has been here. He is in the Delta Quadrant, and he has a 
ship. I will find him," he repeated, taking strength from the words. 
Strength. He remembered being strong, a long time ago; being young, 
ambitious and idealistic, knowing that his life had purpose. Maybe he 
might find a way to be strong again.

"You won't need me any more, then," replied Andri sadly.

"Stay with me, Janell!" Nasir's voice was urgent, pleading. "You must 
stay with me." He calmed down, and spoke more softly. "You are all I 
have, since you died. I lost the others, and I lost you. Stay with me, 
please."

"I'll stay," replied Andri, happier now. "Where else would I go?"

Nasir looked round again. She was always here, in the shuttlecraft, 
though she hadn't yet accompanied him outside it, when anyone else 
might be listening. He wasn't sure whether her spirit stayed with him 
or the shuttle; he'd heard tales of hauntings both of people and of 
objects, and he'd be quite interested to know which this was.

Nasir knew he was not, in the strictest sense of the word, sane. After 
all he'd been through, it was hardly surprising. Having lost his home, 
his career, his ship, his friends, his hope and his strength of will, 
a little thing like sanity seemed such a minor detail. He hoped the 
madness would not progress, though. So far it had been entirely 
benign, giving him companionship and counsel when there was none to be 
found in reality. His grip on reality would be tested, though, if he 
was to achieve his quest. Somehow, some day, he would find his old 
friend, and they would travel home together.

He repeated the words again, knowing that this faint hope must take 
the place of genuine resolve. "I will find him."


THE END