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a continuation of an AU where Julian escaped the institute at 14, and met a good, union man.
@boophisburnhamae brought up a really, really good point about Julian interacting with Lore being more interesting than his interactions with Data. I agree. Have a little doodle from a hyper specific au.
an AU where Julian escaped the institute at 14, and met a good, union man.
“What was this place called?” Miles has to ask, nudging over another busted up piece of machinery.
“Unknown.” An officer says, one of the ops guys who helps run engineering. He’s leading the petty officer engineer team for their little-to-late rescue mission. “The distress signal didn’t say.”
The USS Rutledge hovers above a federation planet, a recent attack has left the small colony in total shambles. No survivors so far-
The colony looked to be a small sort of community focused entirely around this one hospital building.
There were senior officers talking to Star Fleet about how this might have been some kind of freak attack by Cardassians, about how this might have been just plan bad luck, the message wasn’t clear, but the lowly peons of petty officers like O’Brien don’t have to be involved in the higher philosophical discussions of command.
They’re on the ground, looking for survivors, trying to make heads or tails of the technology that’s been half melted, and looking busy whenever a red shirt passes by.
Miles doesn’t think he’s going to find anything interesting from these destroyed PADDs. Only a bunch of half baked communications about some institute sending over a group of kids to visit the hospital.
Miles works his way through the room, wincing at the charred corpses of two people who were too small to be true human adults. He marks their location and says a prayer before moving onto the next area.
Burnt out computers. Destroyed walls. Nothing left here besides death.
Hours of this, of shifting through the remains of a colony. The team long since dispersed to cover as much ground as they could.
Miles has never been more appreciative of the heavy weight of the communicator on his chest.
It’s the only thing that makes sure he’s not out here in a destroyed shell of a whole civilization.
Beep!
Miles looks down, sharply, at the noise from his tricorder.
An active source of power, not far from him.
Weak, barely registering, but there.
It’s not worth trying to make his uniform presentable, all sweaty and covered in soot as it is from hours of manual labor, so Miles focuses on pure speed to get to the blip on his tricorder. Uncaring of walking right over large piles of debris, taking shortcuts, climbing over a husk of a railing.
It was some kind of bathroom, or closet at one point, when the building was standing. Tucked away in a spot that happened to have a lot of bracing above it.
“Hello?” Miles has to ask, seeing the facsimile of a structure still standing while reading a power source. “Hello?”
A weak cough, “He-Hello?”
Federation Standard.
“Are you hurt?” Miles immediately asks. He’s already hitting his communicator, already shifting into problem solving mode. “O’Brien here. Send a medical team to my location I’ve got a survivor.”
“Help me.” The voice says, soft, weak, childlike.
A small, tanned hand worms it’s way through the cracked door. Dirty fingernails muddy with dirt, soot, and blood. “Help me.”
“You’re gonna be alright!” Miles is desperately looking for a way to safely get this kid out of here. “The medical team is on their way-“
The kid lets out a sob. The hand flexing wildly. “Please-“
The sound of a transporter beam flares behind them.
Miles reaches out and grabs that little hand, holding it. “Hey. Hey what’s your name, kiddo?”
The medical team has arrived. They’re moving in, three of them all dressed in science blues. Medical Tricorders going crazy at biological readings that Miles own tools weren’t equipped to recognize.
“Anyway to move the structure?” A nurse asks, looking at Miles-
With four people there’s a lot more Miles is able to do, and it’s no time at all for them to pry the blocked door open-
From the crack, the darkness behind the closed door, that little hand turns into a thin arm that squeezes out a desperate, frantic, bleeding teenager.
The kid can’t be older than fifteen, a deep cut across his head, bleeding into his eye.
The poor kid looks terrified, brown eyes blown wide, his white clothes wrecked with soot, blood, and dust. He’s gripping hard against a small bag that must be his personal belongings.
He grabs onto Miles’s hands, hyperventilating.
“You’re okay.” Miles promises, helping take the beanpole’s weight as the medical team dives in to do their jobs. Frantic tricorders beeping all kinds of things to them. “What’s your name, kiddo?”
“Julian-“ the kid answers this time, stuttering, sucking in breaths of disgusting air at a frantic pace. He’s crying, sweaty, and gross. The kid probably needs a good meal and a long nap. “Julian Bashir- I was with my group. My teacher-“
“Something came down and attacked your planet.” Miles tries to explain as gently as he can. He’s not one of this fancy officers with all the right words. He just knows how to fix a thing or two in engineering and shoot a phaser well enough. “I’m sorry. Your colony didn’t survive.”
A look of confusion flashes across the kids features, of disbelief, of something disbelieving- but that’s what shock will do to you. “My colony? No-“
A hypospray for the pain gets injected into Julian’s right arm, and the poor kid jumps almost a foot into the air.
Miles immediately begins to placate again, wrapping the kid in an embrace. “It’s alright!” Miles promises, “We’re gonna get you someplace safe, okay? I’m sorry about your colony, kiddo, I really am, but we’ll be safer on the Rutledge, yeah?”
Julian looks across a desolate, bombed our wasteland that’s viable through the holes in the building they stand in. The smoking remains of what was probably once his entire life. His family. His home.
Terrible thing for a kid to be ripped away from his family. Terrible thing for a kid to grow up alone.
“My colony.” Julian says, as if tasting the words for the first time, brown eyes wide, wide, wide, unblinking at the ash grey snow that rains down the remains of his home. “My colony. I’m a colonist. This was my home.”
Well. Kids a little weird- but Miles can blame that on the head wound.
A medic taps their communicator. “Nurse Stevens to Rutledge. Five to beam up.”
Julian grabs tighter, fingers digging desperately into Miles’s jumpsuit. “Thank you.” He whispers into Miles’s uniform, “Thank you for saving me.”
With that, all five beam aboard, back safe in Starfleets hands.
vaporwave
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