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Mar. 16th, 2007 10:59 amThe alien probe had left. The storms abated, the seas calmed, and the power grid reactivated. The Earth was saved. And James T. Kirk was a hero.
------
Within three hours of the probe's departure, at least eight divisions of Starfleet had named the event the Whalesong Incident. That name spread fast through the fleet, and to the media and the public. It would be under that name it would be known to future generations. And it would be that name that would appear on countless memos and reports over the next year.
Earth had taken a serious blow. In terms of the human toll, it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. Thousands were injured or killed by the storms or by power failures in life support systems and aircar engines. But the engineering trend of building tech with redundant features and back-up power sources bore itself out, and situations that could have been fatal were merely hazardous. Still, many hospitals were overwhelmed, and United Earth Medical and Starfleet Medical spend days moving personnel and equipment around the globe.
In terms of the infrastructure, things were not as good. Unlike the Xindi Incursion, which killed millions but only impacted the Florida Peninsula, the effects were felt everywhere. Storm damage kept repair crews occupied for months, most notably at the Thames and Everglades Seawalls. Efforts made in the 21st century to mitigate global warming needed to be recreated in some regions, though the upgrade that this required was perceived by some as a major benefit. Millions had to be evacuated short-term, thousands for most of the next year. Under-utilized space stations became filled to capacity, and a few younger colonies on Luna and Mars had population booms.
Earth's technological infrastructure was more easily repaired, but at a cost of several million credits devoted to restoring any data lost during the incident. Back-up systems and servers functioned as they were supposed to, but unforeseen compatibility issues and internal miscommunication between UE, UFP and Starfleet officials and private information services complicated things.
The greatest damage, though, was in space. While Luna was outside the scope of the probe's energies, thousands of ships in its wake were affected. Many ships - mainly those of the fleet and of Terran and Martian defense and law enforcement - were able to find some way to maintain life support but a few lost many or all crew. Older freighters and passenger vessels fared worse, and the grim task of towing derelict ships home fell to Terran defense. At least one freighter relied too much on its force fields for shielding, and was left vulnerable to the meteor that destroyed it, and one small passenger ship lost altitude and burned up on reentry over the Pacific.
Despite all this, despite the challenges that would keep a world busy, Earth was in a functional state in two weeks. The memorials for those lost were held, the plans for rebuilding were made, help poured from across the Federation, and life moved on.
------
It didn't hurt that Earth had a hero. It was true that many were scared of a probe that came and left and that could easily return again. And that some mourned for all that mankind let be lost during the extinctions of the past. "We brought this on ourselves," a few would say.
But most fixated on the sudden arrival of a Klingon warship piloted by the crew of the most successful of all starships. Was it true, they asked, that Kirk had traveled back in time? Where did he get that ship? Was he really a traitor, or was that all a cover? Where was Kirk, anyway?
From the minute he arrived to a standing ovation at Starfleet headquarters, Jim wanted to run back to Vulcan. After the first five year mission, he had dodged his moderate amount of fame by letting them promote him and then shield him from the public. Admirals were never as acclaimed as captains. (Was that why he took the promotion? He hoped not.) After he faced V'ger, he ran away from any acclaim by taking his ship as far away as he could go, and convincing Starfleet to let him have another five year mission. That was long enough for everyone to forget him. But this time, there was little hope of avoiding it.
So naturally, after a lengthy debriefing, followed by a curt request that he not leave the planet again, Jim fled to Yosemite. "Jim, you can't just go," Bones declared as though Jim were out of his mind to escape the media and the officials and the extra scrutiny. (Jim thought that Bones secretly liked being in the spotlight so he could tell everyone off.) "Why not? Everyone is too busy cleaning up to care right now. I'm sure when they're ready to throw the book at us, they'll let me know. Till then, I am going to get some rest. And maybe after that I'll call the PIO." Jim knew very well that the Public Information Officer was going to hate being left to her own devices. He didn't care.
And so he left San Francisco behind, as well as his crew. He told them to all go home, to slide off the viewscreen and let Starfleet pick a time to call the hearing. Till then, they'd all earned a break. They'd all earned the adulation he was getting, in fact, but he was aware that it would never happen. There are captains and they is everyone else, and never mind that he was not a captain in rank. The people knew the truth.
He arrived at Yosemite in a rented aircar, as the sun was setting. Just seeing the place made him feel better, calmer. Temporal anomalies disguised as bars and as Scottish woods could be useful, but this was the only place he could relax. All he needed to do was get inside, place an order for some food, and call Antonia. It had been such a whirlwind that he still hadn't found a moment to call her. That would change now, he told himself.
But he never made that call. For standing at the door was a tall, somewhat stocky woman in early middle age with curly blonde hair, shiny brown eyes, and a smile as wide as the Grand Canyon. "Welcome home, hero," she said as she threw her arms around Jim and kissed him.
They might be some benefits to being a legend, he thought as he closed the door...
------
Within three hours of the probe's departure, at least eight divisions of Starfleet had named the event the Whalesong Incident. That name spread fast through the fleet, and to the media and the public. It would be under that name it would be known to future generations. And it would be that name that would appear on countless memos and reports over the next year.
Earth had taken a serious blow. In terms of the human toll, it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. Thousands were injured or killed by the storms or by power failures in life support systems and aircar engines. But the engineering trend of building tech with redundant features and back-up power sources bore itself out, and situations that could have been fatal were merely hazardous. Still, many hospitals were overwhelmed, and United Earth Medical and Starfleet Medical spend days moving personnel and equipment around the globe.
In terms of the infrastructure, things were not as good. Unlike the Xindi Incursion, which killed millions but only impacted the Florida Peninsula, the effects were felt everywhere. Storm damage kept repair crews occupied for months, most notably at the Thames and Everglades Seawalls. Efforts made in the 21st century to mitigate global warming needed to be recreated in some regions, though the upgrade that this required was perceived by some as a major benefit. Millions had to be evacuated short-term, thousands for most of the next year. Under-utilized space stations became filled to capacity, and a few younger colonies on Luna and Mars had population booms.
Earth's technological infrastructure was more easily repaired, but at a cost of several million credits devoted to restoring any data lost during the incident. Back-up systems and servers functioned as they were supposed to, but unforeseen compatibility issues and internal miscommunication between UE, UFP and Starfleet officials and private information services complicated things.
The greatest damage, though, was in space. While Luna was outside the scope of the probe's energies, thousands of ships in its wake were affected. Many ships - mainly those of the fleet and of Terran and Martian defense and law enforcement - were able to find some way to maintain life support but a few lost many or all crew. Older freighters and passenger vessels fared worse, and the grim task of towing derelict ships home fell to Terran defense. At least one freighter relied too much on its force fields for shielding, and was left vulnerable to the meteor that destroyed it, and one small passenger ship lost altitude and burned up on reentry over the Pacific.
Despite all this, despite the challenges that would keep a world busy, Earth was in a functional state in two weeks. The memorials for those lost were held, the plans for rebuilding were made, help poured from across the Federation, and life moved on.
------
It didn't hurt that Earth had a hero. It was true that many were scared of a probe that came and left and that could easily return again. And that some mourned for all that mankind let be lost during the extinctions of the past. "We brought this on ourselves," a few would say.
But most fixated on the sudden arrival of a Klingon warship piloted by the crew of the most successful of all starships. Was it true, they asked, that Kirk had traveled back in time? Where did he get that ship? Was he really a traitor, or was that all a cover? Where was Kirk, anyway?
From the minute he arrived to a standing ovation at Starfleet headquarters, Jim wanted to run back to Vulcan. After the first five year mission, he had dodged his moderate amount of fame by letting them promote him and then shield him from the public. Admirals were never as acclaimed as captains. (Was that why he took the promotion? He hoped not.) After he faced V'ger, he ran away from any acclaim by taking his ship as far away as he could go, and convincing Starfleet to let him have another five year mission. That was long enough for everyone to forget him. But this time, there was little hope of avoiding it.
So naturally, after a lengthy debriefing, followed by a curt request that he not leave the planet again, Jim fled to Yosemite. "Jim, you can't just go," Bones declared as though Jim were out of his mind to escape the media and the officials and the extra scrutiny. (Jim thought that Bones secretly liked being in the spotlight so he could tell everyone off.) "Why not? Everyone is too busy cleaning up to care right now. I'm sure when they're ready to throw the book at us, they'll let me know. Till then, I am going to get some rest. And maybe after that I'll call the PIO." Jim knew very well that the Public Information Officer was going to hate being left to her own devices. He didn't care.
And so he left San Francisco behind, as well as his crew. He told them to all go home, to slide off the viewscreen and let Starfleet pick a time to call the hearing. Till then, they'd all earned a break. They'd all earned the adulation he was getting, in fact, but he was aware that it would never happen. There are captains and they is everyone else, and never mind that he was not a captain in rank. The people knew the truth.
He arrived at Yosemite in a rented aircar, as the sun was setting. Just seeing the place made him feel better, calmer. Temporal anomalies disguised as bars and as Scottish woods could be useful, but this was the only place he could relax. All he needed to do was get inside, place an order for some food, and call Antonia. It had been such a whirlwind that he still hadn't found a moment to call her. That would change now, he told himself.
But he never made that call. For standing at the door was a tall, somewhat stocky woman in early middle age with curly blonde hair, shiny brown eyes, and a smile as wide as the Grand Canyon. "Welcome home, hero," she said as she threw her arms around Jim and kissed him.
They might be some benefits to being a legend, he thought as he closed the door...
