Star Trek
A Redshirt's Lament
by Rob Roberts
(rroberts@cityofhornell.com)

A Redshirt's Lament

HE HAD TUMBLED so long down the bottomless pit that Perry Mathews experienced the queer sensation of now being thrust upward.

That was impossible, he knew. Exo III may have immense underground abysses, but it could not violate Class-M planetary gravity laws. What had happened, Mathews supposed, was that his semi-circular canals were ruined by the descent and he could no longer discern direction. Mathews had suffered both nausea and unconsciousness during the plunge. Now, in a clear moment, he could not estimate how much time he had spent falling. Ten minutes? An hour? One felt like the other.

I wonder when I will hit, Perry Mathews thought. Will I be awake?

This could not last much longer. Starfleet had taught Mathews enough planetary geology to know that there was no such thing as a "bottomless pit." Eventually, the cavern would narrow and Mathews would be scraped along its sharp, rocky sides - assuming a submerged plateau was not reached first.

A thought came to Perry Mathews and he felt sad. It was unreasonable to expect Starfleet, or even Captain Kirk, to launch a mission to recover his body from this depth, but Mathews always expected that at his burial he finally could be acknowledged for what he was. Maybe his secret would be revealed after his parents were notified of his death - assuming Captain Kirk, Nurse Chapel, and Rayburn made it back to the Enterprise to share the news. Mathews could imagine his crewmates' shock when they learned the truth about him. He had been unable to share the secret with anyone. He came close, of course, with Arlene Galway. Could have, would have, should have. None of it mattered now because he would die as he lived: a cipher.

* * * * *

PERRY MATHEWS POINTED at a constellation glittering in the crisp October night and chirped, "How far away is that one, Daddy?"

His father sighed and his breath came out in a wispy trail. Perry was tireless when it came to the question-and-answer game, because his six-year-old mind had recognized it was far easier to pepper queries than to produce thoughtful replies. Still, Herb Mathews loved Perry very much and he hoped, exhausting routine aside, that the boy was learning something useful.

"It's many years away, son," Herb Mathews said. "Remember a few days ago, when I told you about light years?"

The boy nodded.

"It's the same deal. The light we see right now from that star is actually a thousand years old or so. It's taken a thousand years to get here. That's how far away that star is. In fact, that star may not even be around right now. It might have blown up hundreds of years ago and we won't even notice it for hundreds of years from now."

"Wow." The boy seemed suitably awestruck at the notion.

They sat atop a hillock in one of the fields that comprised Mathews' Deer Ranch. Herb Mathews operated the ranch - located on eighty sprawling acres in the Allegany foothills of New York State - and he specialized in precise crossbreeding that produced dazzling variations in the native whitetail population. There were deer of startling colors, deer with eyes of blue, green and purple, deer no bigger than a golden retriever, and - most famously - the "singing" deer whose harmonic bleats had garnered worldwide notice for Mathews' Deer Ranch. Obviously, none of the deer were used for food in an age where animals were not hunted; instead, the tame deer drew tourists who were delighted to walk amongst the colorful creatures.

"Someday I'm gonna fly to those stars and see if they blew up or not," Perry announced.

It was all Perry talked about these days: space travel. The boy showed no interest in one day taking over the Deer Ranch. Herb Mathews did not dissuade Perry; he had two other boys, one younger and one older than Perry, and Herb was optimistic that one of them would grow up to carry on the family business despite their generation's fascination with friendly Vulcans and gruesome tales of the long-ago Xindi attack and the Romulan War.

"Whatever you do, Perry, you make sure you keep our secret."

Perry turned his head to his father. His brown eyes looked doe-like in the moonlight as he looked up and said solemnly, "I promise, Dad."

"Thanks."

A pause, then Perry asked, "Dad?"

"What?"

"Why do we have to have a secret?"

Herb sighed again: This was another topic he long ago assumed had been answered to the boy's satisfaction.

"The people you meet in space travel, your officers and your scientists and so forth, look down on us. Actually, most of the world feels that way about us, but especially that Starfleet crowd."

The realization was pinned to Perry's mind: We're different.

* * * * *

HE SHOULD HAVE applied to Starfleet Academy. His marks were good enough, and a recommendation was feasible, but Perry Mathews did not relish the scrutiny. His secret would withstand the less-intrusive background search required of crew; it certainly would not bear up to the rigid probe underwent by Academy candidates.

"Are you sure this is what you want, son?" Herb Mathews said when Perry told him he was joining Starfleet as a crewman.

"Yeah," Perry replied. "I'm not sure I'm cut out to be an officer, anyway."

"That's not what I meant. The whole Starfleet business - you sure you want to surround yourself with those people?"

Perry hid his disappointment. Joining Starfleet was a dream nurtured since childhood, and while his father never actively discouraged it, it was frustrating to know Herb Mathews was less than encouraging about it finally occurring. Perry could understand his mother's ambivalence; she did not want any of her children away from the ranch. His father was another matter entirely. As tied to the ranch and the family as Herb Mathews was, Perry always considered his father worldly enough to accept the departure of an offspring. Herb Mathews's last comment hinted otherwise.

"Starfleet's fine, Dad," Perry murmured. "You'll see."

He and his father stood outside a small barn that held food and supplies for the deer, along with genealogical and health records. A handful of deer frolicked nearby. One of them - a silver-and-black striped yearling that was one of the ranch's newest varieties - lifted its head and returned Perry's gaze. The deer trotted over gracefully. It nuzzled its head against Perry's hip. Perry stroked its head at the point where antlers would sprout one day, exactly as he had a hundred times before.

"I will miss the deer, though. Won't I, Joshua?" Perry said. He was surprised by the emotion that bubbled up.

Herb Mathews nodded in the direction of the deer. "Joshua doesn't want you to go, either."

"I'll be back to see all of you soon. I promise," Perry said.

Herb reached out to clutch Perry's shoulder. "I know. You're the prodigal son."

* * * * *

MEMORIES CAME QUICKLY as the plunge continued. Mathews knew science claimed the flash of reminiscences was merely a phenomenon of imminent death. Science also decreed that death was followed by nothingness. This was the word according to science and science was the established mainstream.

Of course, it would have helped immensely if those know-it-all scientists had predicted a big, ugly android would shove Starfleet personnel into bottomless pits as a way of protecting Roger Korby. But no - the scientists missed that one.

Mathews, of course, initially was horrified to realize he would die. But when the fear and shock and numbness subsided, Mathews knew he could not condemn his murderer. Despite his desperate plight, he retained enough of his upbringing to forgive.

On into the gloom he fell.

* * * * *

PERRY MATHEWS WAS elated to learn that after a decade of guarding Starfleet stations, his first interstellar assignment would be aboard the Enterprise. Captain Kirk, about to embark on a five-year mission, was considered by some officers and crew in Starfleet to be overly prone to risk-taking - certainly when compared to April and Pike - but no one on the Enterprise thought that way. If you wanted adventure beyond the safe, mundane existence of Federation territory, Kirk was your man and the Enterprise was your vessel.

Mathews relished the prospect of action. It was why he enlisted in the Security wing in the first place. He respected and appreciated those who worked in Engineering, in Science, in Medical and in Command, but Mathews wanted to awake each morning knowing only that this day could be his last. Nothing offered that thrill like being a Security officer aboard a starship that patrolled a little-known quadrant of the universe.

Ten years of uneventful space-station duty had added a few pounds to Mathews' solid frame, and his hair was graying like one of Dad's genetically altered deer, but Perry felt as fresh as a newly graduated recruit. He was among the stars, at last. He finally would have real exploits to share with the family on periodic trips back to the deer ranch. Even though he was not an officer, his Security red shirt was close enough in appearance to an ensign's uniform to impress most of the folks back home.

The duty turned out to be as hazardous as expected. Nine crewmen perished that first year under Kirk, as well as Doctor Dehner, Lieutenant Commander Mitchell and Lieutenant Kelso. Three more crewmen died this year. Strange new worlds and mysterious beings apparently did not value human life as much as humans did. Still, Mathews eagerly responded when - along with Rayburn - he was charged with protecting the captain and Nurse Chapel while they searched for Korby on Exo III.

Some protection, Mathews thought as he fell. I hope Rayburn can finish the job for me.

* * * * *

MATHEWS THOUGHT WARM air gushed around him in the darkness. Mathews wondered if he had dropped past the upper mantle of Exo III's crust and now the convection currents of the hot inner mantle were wafting upward. Maybe he would be incinerated, instead of being splattered. Or perhaps the convection currents were strong enough to keep him aloft, so that he would die of dehydration and starvation while suspended in mid-air in an endless subterranean shaft, his corpse forever bobbing like a cork on the ocean.

* * * * *

SHE WAS YOUNG and adorable, and Perry Mathews was attracted to Arlene Galway the first time he spotted her outside the Deck Three rec room. She was petite, with close-cropped red hair and piercing eyes of the same hue as her blue Science tunic. He smiled at her as he walked into the rec room and she returned the smile. A few minutes later, as Perry enjoyed a beverage on a bifurcated divan, Arlene Galway walked back in - supposedly trying to locate a friend. Perry and Arlene quickly fell into a conversation. Then they fell into his bed.

They spent much time together over the next two months. Perry had known a number of women during his pre-Enterprise duty, and thought he loved several of them, but none were as passionate as Arlene Galway. He never discussed past relationships with Arlene, and she likewise exposed few details of her own life. Perry certainly did not share his secret with her because he feared she might find him repugnant; during the apogee of their relationship, however, he fantasized about revealing to her and receiving only complete acceptance.

The shipboard romance ended swiftly. There was a stupid fight over something small and both of them stalked off. Neither lover apologized in the hours and days that followed. Two weeks of separation passed - fourteen days of growing discomfort for Mathews - until Perry next saw her walking past the ship's unused chapel with Engineering Tech John B. Watkins. Arlene and Watkins held hands and looked very comfortable together. Mathews was stunned and until he subdued his pain, he entertained foul notions about harming both of them. Perry's mood of betrayal eventually surrendered to deliberate indifference, as Mathews found solace in work and in the belief that things would turn out for the better, with or without Arlene Galway.

As he plummeted toward whatever awaited, Mathews told himself he forgave Arlene Galway, too.

* * * * *

THE HISTORY BOOKS glibly described the waning influence and eventual extinction of organized religion during the past three hundred years. Scholars depicted the world gradually being awash in a sea of enlightenment. The first to disappear were Christianity and Judaism, which had been in negative growth anyway in terms of adherents. Inward-looking religions like Buddhism, Shinto, and Taoism easily withdrew from worldview. Animism followed. Finally, even stubborn Hinduism and tenacious Islam succumbed to reason.

What the history books did not acknowledge was that while organized religion was gone, devotion survived. Tiny clusters of believers were scattered across Earth, from the shores of sparkling Lake Sahara to the tree-choked Cascades of North America. The faithful kept to themselves, gathering for prayer and study in secluded places. Lip service was given to freedom of belief - such as including a chapel on Constitution-class starships - but the reality was that people of religion were widely viewed as unintelligent relics from a superstitious past.

The history books said the conversion to humanism was accomplished with remarkably little upheaval. The believers knew otherwise, and in their clusters, they reminded one another of the suppression, if not outright oppression, that their forbearers endured. Those who professed faith found themselves passed over for the best jobs and for regular promotions, topped off with almost certain ridicule from nonbelievers. As a result, most believers took their existence underground.

Perry Mathews kept faith in the shadows of the Enterprise. He prayed in privacy, studied his holy book in solitude, and shared his beliefs with no one. "Don't be a martyr," his father warned him as he left for Starfleet training. He obeyed. With death looming, however, he regretted his silent, hidden faith. It would have been better to have confessed his beliefs and stood up to the resulting disdain, than to survive as a poseur. He had failed to demonstrate the kind of courage his faith compelled, and in his final moments Perry Mathews asked for mercy.

* * * * *

UP, DOWN. WARM, cold. Consciousness, insensibility. Nauseous, less nauseous. All just fleeting perceptions as he tumbled into eternity. There would be no death-delaying gust of convection; it was another trick of the mind.

Perry Mathews spread his arms out wide - he still could not touch the sides of the canyon - and he locked his legs together. Mathews spun end-over-end and around like a top, and he could feel unconsciousness returning. Truly, the end was near. Perry Mathews closed his eyes and fell willingly into the hands of God.