In the Shadow of Death

[Cmdr JFarrington 0]

. . is Life

Jami Farrington's Log

Future Earth 04.03.21

 

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.

~Psalm 23:4

 

Two years. It had been two years since Claire's death, and yet it was still fresh in Jami's memory: Claire's insistence that the child be born planetside, the difficult delivery, that last glimpse of Claire's face, radiant as it gazed upon her firstborn, then sightless as she passed on to . . . .

 

That's where the memory always stopped: when Claire passed on to . . . what? It certainly wasn't the first time Jami had lost a patient or a friend, but this was the first time she had the opportunity to really think about it. Here, in this place, where all time seemed to move at a snail's pace, she wondered what exactly a person *did* pass on to. She had always believed in an afterlife, but she never took time to pin down exactly what *kind* of afterlife. Eventually, Jami had returned to her childhood faith, the Christianity she embraced as a youth just blossoming into womanhood. So, lately, when visiting Claire's grave, she knelt and recited the one Psalm she had learned by heart over 5,000 years ago:

 

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures,

He leads me beside the still waters,

He restores my soul . . . .

 

Afterwards, having received a certain peace, Jami would rise and wander down the path toward their homes, to be greeted by the bubbly antics of a not-quite-Vulcanized two-year-old. And . . . was that pride she sensed in the child's father? Since Claire's passing, Sovak had become a little more . . . Jami couldn't find a word that adequately described it, but somewhere behind that stoic countenance she could see a definite fatherly satisfaction occasionally tinged with a heartfelt longing, and perhaps a little hope.

 

Most of the crew had expressed hope in some form or another. Some hoped they would not be forced back to Manticore's stealthy existence of 5,000 years past, hoping for a new life here on Future Earth. Others hoped that Manticore would return, and at the precise place in time to rectify a horrific wrong -- the destruction of all life on Earth. Then there were those who hoped that in returning, everything wrong that had happened here on Future Earth would be righted, that separations and misunderstandings would be erased, and most of all, that loved ones who had died would be alive again, that none of this would ever have happened.

 

But to Jami, that seemed too much to hope for, much less even think about. She could hope for a life restored, but how could she hope for a child not born? Sovak and Claire's daughter was beautiful by both Human and Vulcan standards, and a delight to all who saw her. She and other children born here had become the very symbol of hope for new life that many longed for.

 

And what about her own child -- their child? With that thought, Jami's hand reflexively moved to her belly, barely swollen, hardly noticeable in its early first trimester. Five thousand years ago, Jami and Atragon had decided that black OPS was no place to raise a family and had dismissed all thought of starting one. On Future Earth, however, it had just "happened," leaving Jami experiencing an entire range of emotions she had hitherto forced herself to ignore. Motherhood was a beautiful thing, and she wasn't sure she wanted to give it up.

 

And yet . . . . She looked around at the landscape, still barren, bereft of life except for the tiny patch occupied by Manticore's crew. Here was a terrible wrong for which they were responsible, and her morality would not -- could not -- leave it unrectified. Jami felt herself caught between two worlds: motherhood and duty to humanity. She wished -- yes, even hoped -- that she could have both, but knew in reality that only one was possible. Which one remained to be seen.