Legendary - 21104.01
By Douglas Hauser
Prologue: March 17th, 2411 New Orleans, Louisiana, Earth
"To the Irish!"
An ear-deafening roar of approval sounded from the Bourbon Street bar as those that still possessed the dexterity to do so lifted a shot glass of whiskey in honor of the Emerald Isle. A whoop sounded from the first person, apparently a female Tellarite by the sound, to finish their two fingers worth, which was followed by more whoops and a round of drunken laughter that faded into not quite coherent chatter.
By the bar, quite literally the center of the action, the toaster settled back on his stool with a self satisfied smile and a freshly poured glass. He was a tall, dusky blond Humanoid man that was handsome in a quirky sort of manner, but that was enough for the two female blonds that realigned themselves at his sides. The most interesting feature about him, though, was not his looks, not the mysterious woman's scarf that had tied itself around his forehead, nor the very extensive collection of green shamrock bead necklaces that dangled from his neck. It was his clothing; a Star Fleet issued uniform in a sort of powder blue.
The man smiled at his female companions and whispered something that was apparently giggle worthy, while his third almost completely ignored companion, a dark headed man with his elbow propped up on the bar and far fewer beads, sighed into his glass and muttered something not very complementary about the blond.
"Douglas..." Douglas either did not hear, or chose to ignore, his friend's mention of his name. "Douglas! We've got to go! I've got that client meeting at nine tomorrow!"
It was Hauser's turn to roll his eyes. He leaned across the woman to his right's lap and raised his voice to be heard over the den of noise, "Ted, Ted, Ted! I told you... Forget work and obligations for one night and live a little!" He moved back to a more secure spot on his seat. "Besides, we haven't even gotten to the good part yet!"
The woman on the left sloppily nodded in agreement and placed a clumsy hand on Douglas' chest to regain his attention. "Sugah, you promised t' tell us how you got t' be a big fancy doctor in that star trek stuff 'fore you left..."
"It's Star Fleet, my sweet," Hauser corrected with an indulgent smile. "That I did promise to tell you, and as a man of my word..." He puffed up his chest heroically as he began speaking. "It all started ten years ago. I was but a lowly college junior studying in Boston..."
December 9th, 2401 Near Harvard University campus, Boston, Massachusetts, Earth
I shrugged the jacket and scarf up higher around my neck as I stood to leave the tiny burger joint some of my friends with ambitions of being doctors and I frequented. I was still undecided then on the whole matter of whether or not I wanted to follow suit after my first four years and earn my medical degree, too. Star Fleet wasn't even on my radar back then. It had been an idea to become a doctor since I was a kid, sure, but... Y'know how those dreams are.. They come and go and come and change and--
Right. Back to the real story. From my point of view there was practically a blizzard in the city that day, I remember, and not the pleasant winter wonderland kind. There was no such thing as the evil white stuff people here called 'snow' back home, and I was missing the freedom of not living in layers for day to day life. Now I knew how ancient mental patients felt about being confined in something called a straight jacket...
The guys I was lunching with were almost begging me not to leave so early in the afternoon. One even claimed he had a Bolian smuggling a full keg of Andorian ale onto campus in a foodstuffs truck, and as tempting as that was I had other obligations to attend to. Like not flunking out of Klingon Literature for Beginners.
...Don't look at me like that, Ted. I studied during college... Sometimes...
Anyway, I managed to pull myself away from the table and started out the door when our waitress snagged me by the thickly padded arm. Bemused but not entirely in the dark about what she wanted, I stood there and let her bat her eyelashes in what she must've thought was a coy manner while she giggled and bubbled compliments and slipped a diner napkin into my coat pocket with her contact information.
I simply smiled to be polite and patted the same pocket for good measure, making a silent promise to keep it near. I might have even told her I'd call later, something I never intended to do and never did, but it was the polite, gentlemanly thing to say in that situation. Believe it or not, I was kind of in a rush to get back to my apartment and get started on that night's work...
...Stop snickering, Ted. Yes, I chose college work over a woman for once in my life, okay? This is why we only get together a few times a year...
And, actually, it turned out to be some sort of lucky break that she did stop me on my way out, because if she didn't...
Well, we probably wouldn't be having this conversation, now would we?
Just as I touched the door lever to go, a resounding crash, like a huge mythical clap of thunder, smashed just outside of the diner's front windows. Something huge and heavy scraped and screeched across the asphalt at an ear-splitting volume until it collided with a street lamp and snapped the metal in half like a twig. The clang of it hitting the ground only added to the chaos and mad scattering of people outside.
Everyone inside the diner seemed to fall into a dumbfounded stupor as they watched things happen, myself included. None of them likely had ever heard a personal shuttlecraft fall from the sky, let alone be there in person to witness it. It was like watching a holoprogram playing out, and for a few precious moments you could almost convince yourself that's exactly what it was...
...Until the rear hatch of the shuttle popped open. The sound of the pressure equalizing was oddly loud in the silence that had came over everyone in the restaurant now that the abused hunk of durasteel had stopped moving. I can remember the next few moments pretty clearly and very much in reality after that.
A hand, bloodied and just as abused as the craft, reached out from the wreak to pull its owner free. A man... No, a boy, shakily climbed out from the exit, clutching a limp arm tightly around his middle. He couldn't have been much younger than I was at the time. Maybe... seventeen? Never found out for sure... I was still inside the diner watching as the boy took about a dozen unsteady steps away from the shuttlecraft before he fell forward on his knees, unable to support himself upright anymore.
Something clicked in my mind at that moment. Before I even realized what I was doing the door was flying open and I was dashing through it towards the accident scene while others ran from it. A screech of metal chairs on linoleum told me that some of my friends were coming to the rescue, too, but it really didn't register at the moment. It was just me and the boy in the whole wide world... He was all I could see.
By the time I got there, which is wasn't too far, the boy was starting to teeter and lean towards the rough surface of the street. On instinct I fell to my knees and caught him just before he would have rattled his injuries anymore. The smell of booze hit me strong as he hit my arms, but it didn't matter right then. A groan hissed from his lips as his swollen, bruised eyes darted between awake and unconsciousness, but who could blame him? Blood was running freely from a gash just under his hairline and down his face, obscuring his features in a horrible red tint. I remember was how light he felt in my arms. The boy was tall, almost my height, but his body felt so small and broken in my arms...
I stared down at him for what seemed like forever as he struggled to breath and stay awake at the same time. For the first time I could recall in my life, I was at a loss for what to do. A complete and utter loss... And I hated it. I hated feeling helpless. I hated that there was nothing more I could do but hold the boy close until whatever was going to happen happened.
The boy's eyes cracked open, just slightly, just enough to see how bright green and bloodshot his eyes were. He looked up at me, seemed to register through the shock of the crash that someone was there with him even if he couldn't see clearly, and started to move his mouth. He was trying to speak, to tell me something even though no sound came out... And, dammit... I could not understand him. What was likely his last words, and I couldn't hear him...
I leaned closer to try and pick up even a single word of what he was trying to tell me when the effort became too much for him. The boy's chest heaved violently and a fine spray of blood coughed out of his mouth and nose. I flinched as it landed on my face and the front of my jacket, feeling boiling hot in the winter chill, but I didn't let go.
A hand started to pull on my shoulder and some distant voice was speaking at my side. Someone was trying to get me to move out of the way so the paramedics could come, I guess. I didn't want to let go... I didn't want to leave his broken boy alone after everything he'd went through.
Finally the same hands pried the tattered body from me and gently but firmly pushed me back. The jolt from falling on my backside startled me, and the next thing I knew the boy was swarmed upon by a sea of blue. I cried out for them to stop, to leave him alone, but not one of them paid any attention. Just as I was about to stand and force them away from the boy another pair of hands took me by the elbow and started to drag me away. I struggled at first until I realized it was my friends trying to get me out of the way of the real doctors. They were telling me the boy was going to be fine, the medics were going to take care of him, and everything would be fine in the end. I stopped listening after a moment.
All I cared about was watching as the paramedics loaded the boy onto a stretcher and carried him to the air ambulance.
Right there... Right there on that city street at the beginning of a cold December, I knew... I knew what I had to do...
Epilouge: March 18th, 2411 New Orleans, Louisiana, Earth
Last call had come and gone in the Bourbon Street bar. Where once there had been an Irish themed party there was now a deserted and darkened dive that no one outside paid mind to. Some low, depressing musical tune was playing over a com-unit as members of the wait staff swept up and stacked empty chairs on their lonely tables.
The only patron left at the bar was Hauser. He had slipped the barkeep an extra one hundred credits in order to stay and continue sipping on his scotch. The once life-of-the-party Douglas had grown silent and somber right along with the atmosphere of the bar as he continued to mull over the evening. He was vainly wondering where and when it had went off the tracks to a legendary evening out with a friend even as the answer stared him in the face...
A hand tapped him on the shoulder. Hauser jumped slightly, not expecting anyone to be bothering him, until he saw through slightly blurry eyes that it was Ted. Apparently concerned about his friend he had returned to retrieve him from the bar, early morning meeting be damned. It would have been heartwarming to Hauser, under other circumstances...
"So... How much of that story was crap?"
Douglas shook his head and turned back to the bar and his scotch. "None of it," he hoarsely answered after another sip of the strong drink. Times like this he really appreciated the burn running down his throat. It was painful and soothing at the same time. "It really happened like that. Every detail."
"Oh..." Ted nodded solemnly, almost absently, as he retook the same stool next to Hauser as before. A moment of silence stretched between the friends, until curiosity must have bubbled up and out of the dark headed man until it couldn't be left unanswered. "Then... what happened to the boy? Did he make it like they said he would?"
Hauser finished off his scotch and stared into the grimy mirror that hung behind the counter. He let the silence answer for him.
