FOREWORD (NOT FORWARD): Star Trek and Earth's Children? A futuristic space fantasy and a story set in the remote past about cavemen? Your scepticism is understandable... But this isn't some silly wish-fulfilment fic: Star Trek and Earth's Children are, fundamentally, both explorations of what it means to be human. Leaving aside the technological differences, Picard and Ayla are both travellers, both seeking answers about humanity, both driven to learn and discover, to boldly go beyond the known into the unknown.

Background for Non-EC Fans: This was originally written for an EC (Earth's Children) fandom. Just in case there are any Trek fans interested in reading this who don't know EC, it's a book series set in the Palaeolithic, circa 29,000 years ago, and follows the story of Ayla, a Cro-Magnon woman who is raised by Neanderthals, then lives briefly on her own before meeting other modern humans, in particular her lover, Jondalar.

The Neanderthals, known in EC as the Clan, are not able to talk, but use signs to communicate. This means lying is impossible, and Ayla is very adept at reading body language to see if someone is lying or not. The mog-urs, the shamans, have the drug-enhanced ability to project their minds back into the remote past in vague glimpses. Ayla made the mistake of taking this drug, the Root, at one of their sacred ceremonies, and it gave her a vision not jut into the past but into the far future, to the present day and even beyond. This story takes that to examine just what she was seeing, and why. The first two paragraphs of the story in italics are taken from the original, in order to set the scene.

Note for Non-Trek Fans: in an effort to get the Trek bit as realistic as possible, I have made several references to at times rather obscure topics. Some I had to look up actually. Don't worry about them if you don't get them: they're not intrinsic to the plot, save one, which will be fully explained later on.

This Trekfic is set a few months after the series finale of TNG, just so I can reference basically anything I like, but mainly so I can not worry about it taking place in the middle of a canon adventure. The first TNG film, Generations, is set in very early 2371. This is autumn (in France) 2370.

Note for EC Purists: I have taken a few minor liberties with the spiritual beliefs of the Zels to make them less monotheistic (which I consider unrealistic) and more animistic like normal hunter-gatherer societies. The Mother is still there, and still prime, but no longer alone. That is, I have expanded the few references to 'spirits' as required.

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1. The White Globe

Tall rectangular shapes stabbing out of the ground, studded with a myriad glowing fires along their sides, great black mountains full of tiny hearths. Far, far below, the ground ablaze with rivers of fire, white and red, cascading between the darkened cliffs. They whirled and spun, surrounding her in a sudden cacophony of noise, and then she was floating among the stars in ethereal silence, great coloured columns of cloud rising up before her, and strange streaks of light flashing in front of her, smooth oval objects that came and went so fast she could barely glimpse them.

Then the great pillars of dust resolved themselves, stars wheeled and collected, and out of the void appeared a craggy, deeply scarred face, the face of a man with but one eye, shining in the darkness under a massive brow ridge. My child, the man said to her. Ayla, where you go, I cannot follow. All children must grow up one day. All children must leave their hearth….

"Creb!" Ayla's eyes flew open. She breathed deeply, seeing the familiar walls of her room under the great abri. Her heart still pounding, she lay back and looked up at the smoke-darkened rock that was the ceiling of all the members of the Ninth Cave. She shivered slightly. Winter was approaching, and the shallow shelter of stone was not as heat-efficient as a real cave or a Mamutoi earthlodge. The sleeping baby next to her stirred, and Ayla smiled. Pushing the dark visions out of her mind, she gently stroked the young girl's soft skin. Even in her moments of greatest fear and doubt, her child was always a source of strength and joy.

"I'm so blessed to have you, my darling Jonayla," she whispered. "You're a strong girl, like your mother. You'll survive the winter easily."

A brief frown crossed her face as she thought of the dangers of winter, the worst season for infant mortality. It was not uncommon for food supplies to run dangerously low towards the end of winter, and the weak often were not able to survive. But not here, not among the Zelandonii. This was not just one cave of a few dozen people: there were hundreds here, pooling resources and abilities. There was nothing to fear here. So why was she shaking?

Ayla slipped out of the warm sleeping furs, and dressed quickly. Pulling on a long pair of leather leggings, she followed that with a light leather tunic, and a parka of hides stitched together in a pleasing pattern over the top. Then she put on her boots, wrapping long cords around them and up her legs. She then gathered together her tea herbs, and in a few moments had two steaming cups ready.
The large bundle of fur on the other sleeping platform stirred, and moaned. A tousled blond head appeared, and sniffed the air, followed by a long torso. Jondalar smiled, and sat up.

"How do you do it, Ayla," he said wonderingly. "How do you know just when I will wake up?"

"Experience," Ayla said happily, pleased as always by his simple wonder. "I can tell by the sound of your breathing, by the little noises you make, by the way you shift under the furs."

"You are amazing, you know that," Jondalar said as he blew on the tea. He didn't really need to, as Ayla was always able to time it so that it was ready to drink by the time he awoke.

"Winter is coming," Ayla said seriously.

"I noticed," Jondalar agreed, pulling the furs over his bare shoulders. "It's definitely colder this morning."

"I was thinking of going out later with Whinney to try for some birds," Ayla said. "The longer we can put off using our stores, the better."

"Should be all right," the tall man grunted, putting down the empty bowl. While they had been talking, Ayla had been heating up a stew with hot rocks, and she now poured it out into two bowls. Using their fingers, they began to eat.

"I want to get some more work done on that spear point I'm making," Jondalar said casually. "Might be able to trade it for some good quality hides. Some deer perhaps."

"That's fine for us, but I want to use rabbit fur for some winter clothes for the baby," Ayla said. "They're just the right size, and with their winter coat they're nice and warm."

"Sounds good. Maybe we can get a few extras to trade with as well. Your tanning is among the best in the entire Zelandonii, and everyone knows it. Those fl – Clan people – sure knew a thing or two about working leather."

Ayla blushed. Compared to the wondrously soft hides made by the people who had raised her, her own were stiff and uncomfortable. She was surprised that Jondalar's people were not as advanced in tanning as the Clan were, since they were so far ahead in other things, especially flint knapping. But the people known as the Clan had been living at the fringes of the ice for tens of millennia, whereas as her own ancestors were relatively new to the deadly cold of an Ice Age winter, and their experience with fur and leather was correspondingly less.

"Is Jonayla awake?" Jondalar asked, setting aside his empty bowl.

"Sound asleep," Ayla said, smiling. "She was a bit fractious last night, but eventually dropped off."

"Oh? I didn't notice."

"No, you didn't," Ayla said pointedly. Jondalar was about to object, but then he caught sight of her grinning face, and laughed.

"I suppose I had a bit much barma last night," he admitted. "But you have to admit, getting news of Joplaya's successful birth was a cause for celebration."

"I know," Ayla said. "I was worried about her, about the birth. It was a relief when the runner from the Lazandonii arrived. I couldn't go myself, not with Jonayla just born."

"Have you given any more thought to Zelandoni's offer?" Jondalar asked, suddenly serious.

A frown crossed Ayla's face. "I don't know," she said sadly. "I feel like I have an obligation, but all I want is to be with you and our child, to be the woman of your hearth, to watch my children grow up and have children of their own."

"But you can still do that even as One Who Serves," Jondalar gently pointed out.

"Not in the same way," Ayla replied. "I would have too many responsibilities, too many worries."

"Too little freedom," Jondalar added darkly, his brow furrowed. His mate had always lived her life the way she felt she needed to. Even among the Clan, she had been unable to fully conform. He had hoped that here, among his kith and kin, and the extended Zelandonii community, she wouldn't have to worry about that, that they would accept her and let her be. But it did not look as if that were the case. Already there were factions developing, between those that saw her as tainted with the filth of the flatheads, and those that saw her as a magnificent healer and spiritual leader. People like Marona and Ladroman, not to mention Zelandoni the Fourteenth, felt threatened by her, but even his own family was not as completely accepting as he had hoped. He passed a hand over his brow, feeling the corrugations. Why was Zelandoni the First so eager for Ayla to become One Who Serves? Why couldn't she just let his mate live the life of peace she had always craved? He was afraid that if pushed too hard, Ayla would want to leave – to go back to the Mamutoi perhaps. She didn't have the connections here that he did – all places were alike to her.

Ayla's voice broke in on his mediation.

"Can you look after Jonayla while I'm gone? I need to have a bath as well – it's the first sunny weather in days, and I want to wash my clothes."

"What if she wakes up though?"

"She shouldn't wake up for a few hours yet – that's why I want to leave now. It won't take long to get some rabbits and ptarmigan, and I should be back before the shadows are their shortest."

"Good hunting then, my most perfect mate," Jondalar said, his deep blue eyes gazing at her. "Our evening meal will be a good, one, I know."

Ayla smiled, drawn by their warmth and depth.

"We should make tonight special, in honour of Joplaya's new baby," she said, moving her hips in a way that made it quite clear what she meant.

"Woman, you are amazing," Jondalar said sincerely, feeling a sudden ache in his loins for her. That she could still do that to him with nothing more than a suggestive glance and sensual wriggle was amazing – he knew every inch of her body, more intimately even than she knew herself, and yet he never tired of it. But above all else, it was her smile that drove him mad with desire – her smile transformed her from a beautiful woman to a goddess. Mother, let me never lose her, he prayed as he watched her walk down the well-worn path to the river.

Ayla finished rinsing the last of the soaproot out of the leather tunic, and laid it over the rocks to dry beside her leggings. She had walked upriver a little way, not for privacy, but to avoid the fish traps set in the current. Easing herself in, she dipped her head under the water, experience having taught her that the best way to stand cold water was to get the head wet. The river was cold, but not as cold as many she had bathed in, and nothing like the nightmarish crossing of the Sister she and Jondalar had made on their Journey here. She still could barely believe they had made it across alive.

Ayla worked some soaproot saponin into her hair and scrubbed with her fingertips. She was still meaning to try to make the ash and lye cleaning cake that the Losadunii had, but she simply had not had time to experiment. Zelandoni was teaching her the traditions and histories of her new people, and there was a lot to learn – and to fit into raising a baby and taking care of a hearth. She rinsed her hair out, and started on her body. She had lost the small amount of fat she had gained when pregnant, but stretch marks were still faintly visible on her tanned skin. She realised with a start that she had also lost muscle tone – she had not been getting as much exercise as usual when carrying the baby. But even then, the work she was required to do with the Zelandonii was nowhere near as physically taxing as it had been when she was living with the Clan, or when she was on her own and hauling chunks of butchered animal carcass around.

Humming a Mamutoi hunting song, rather off-key, Ayla finished washing herself, and sat out on the rocks to air dry, after pushing as much water off with her hands as possible. She was lying back in the warm morning sun looking up at the sky when she became aware of a shadow over her.

"Oh, hello Marthona," she said, looking up at the older woman.

"Jondalar said you'd gone to bathe," Marthona said. She squatted down on the ground next to the young blonde woman. Ayla's nudity didn't bother either of them – living in such close quarters, with so little privacy, there was no embarrassment about being seen naked, and Ayla didn't even think of covering herself. To Earth's Children, a body was just something that was there, to be covered when cold and uncovered when hot, no more offensive than their hands or faces.

"He said you're still not happy about being One Who Serves…" the older woman added.

Ayla sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. "It's not really that," she began after a short pause. "I know I must become one – I know I cannot cheat destiny. In fact, I really do want to become one, if for nothing more than to honour Creb and Mamut. I know the calling is a noble one. I do not object to that at all. It's just…." She trailed off awkwardly, and looked over at the river, seeing it sparkle.

"Do you doubt your abilities?" Marthona asked gently.

"No, I know I have the talent," Ayla said. "It's not that."

Marthona smiled. Ayla's bluntness was a refreshing change after the at times too elaborate formalities of Zelandonii communication. Growing up in a culture where it was literally impossible to lie meant that she was still uncomfortable with distorting the truth, even when she knew there were times it was required by Zelandonii etiquette.

"What is it then?" she probed.

"it's…a feeling, a – what is the word? When you know something will happen?"

"A premonition?" Marthona asked.

"Yes," Ayla said, annoyed with herself for not knowing the word. She repeated it mentally to herself a few times, fitting it in linguistic context with the thousands of other Zelandonii words she knew. "Has Jondalar or Zelandonii said anything to you about my dreams, about my visions using the Root?"

Marthona nodded. The knowledge of the root that the flatheads – that the Clan – used was kept as secret as possible. Only she and Zelandoni knew of it, and Zelandoni wanted it kept that way. It was an extremely powerful substance, and Zelandoni had made it clear how dangerous she felt it could be.

"I have these fears," Ayla continued. "These recurring visions, premonitions perhaps, that happen when I use the Root, and sometimes even when I do not. Sometimes they are shown to be true. Like the flash flood on our Journey here. So…I, I worry that they all will be."

"Like the one of your son?" Marthona asked gently. She briefly recalled her shock on hearing of Ayla's son, a child of mixed spirits, neither pure human nor animal. Since then she had been able to realise that the Clan were not in fact animals, and had even realised that she herself had always known that – that it was precisely because they were not animals that they were hated so much. She was curious about Ayla's son Durc, and saddened that they had been parted. It had been hard enough on her when Jondalar and Thonolan left on their Journey, and now that Thonolan walked with the spirits, she could feel Ayla's pain.

"That is one of the worst," Ayla admitted eventually. "I fear for the future of the Clan. But it is another that makes me fear for the future of us all – Clan, Mamutoi, Zelandonii, and all the others of Earth's children."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Ayla shook her head. "No," she whispered. "Not now, not yet. But I'm afraid that if I become One Who Serves then I will see it all – that I will given knowledge of our destruction…the Mother leaving us…and that somehow I will be its cause."

Marthona's eyes widened. She knew better than to take Ayla's words lightly. The tall blonde beauty was not one to exaggerate for dramatic effect. If she was worried about something, then there was something to worry about.

"Have you told Zelandoni?" Marthona eventually asked.

"No. Not yet. I need to sort this out on my own," Ayla said. She stood up, and felt her clothing. The leather was almost dry. She began to get dressed.

"We are always here for you, Ayla," Marthona said. "We are your family now. Do not forget that, please."

Ayla nodded, tying on her boots and picking up her spear-thrower and the leather quiver of short light spears it used. "Thank you, Marthona. It is good to talk."

"Good hunting, mate of my son."

The older woman watched as Ayla walked away, and sighed. Why did such a young woman have to bear such a burden? Why had the Mother singled her out with such gifts that only gave her pain? Marthona shook her head. Such things were best left to the Ones Who Serve to ponder, not the likes of her. The older woman sat down on the sun-warmed rock and watched the waters of the river flow down to their destiny.

Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 48421.05, the year AD 2370 by the Standard Revised Gregorian Calendar of Earth. The Enterprise is undergoing engine modifications at the Utopia Planitia shipyards orbiting Mars. Commander LaForge and Dr Leah Brahms are attempting to incorporate some of the Kozinsky Equations into the matter-antimatter reaction control matrices. At Dr Crusher's insistence, I am using the time for some long-delayed shore leave. Commander Data and I are headed towards Earth, he to present a paper at the Daystrom Institute on creating emotional resonance pathways in positronic nets based on the new emotion chip he received from his brother Lore, whilst I have accepted an invitation by Professor Auguste Tryphon of the Lascaux Institute to visit the hallowed halls of our distant ancestors, a rare honour.

"Tea. Earl Grey. Hot." Picard took the steaming cup from the replicator, and returned to his seat.

"I find it interesting, Captain, how humans can be so mechanical at times." Data commented, observing his captain dispassionately.

"How so, Commander?"

"I have observed you order tea from the replicators two hundred and twenty-three times over the last seven years, and each time you use precisely the same words, with the same intonation and timing. In fact there is less than six per cent difference between variables."

"Well, perhaps we're not so different, Data," Picard mused, sipping his tea. "The French architect LeCourbiser once called a house 'a machine for living'. Perhaps that better describes humans, however. After all, mechanics is all about efficiency, and so is evolution."

"But evolution is not as efficient as engineering, sir," Data countered.

"No, not in the short term perhaps," Picard agreed. "But over the millennia, through blind trial and error, it has succeeded in producing some remarkable machines." He looked at his hand, and flexed his fingers, studying how they moved. "There are some who say that the Earth is like a giant laboratory for DNA-based engineering, one that operates on a scale we cannot truly begin to comprehend."

"That is at best merely an analogy sir, since a laboratory presupposes an intellect guiding and directing the experiments."

"True enough, Mr Data," Picard murmured, looking out the window at the great blue globe ahead. "But still, remember Professor Galen's research – and those ancient humanoids that seeded the galaxy with their DNA. So in some respects there was an intelligence directing the experiments, or at least setting them up."

"Coming out of warp sir," Data interjected.

The starfield resolved itself into the familiar patterns of Earth's constellation, and as Data swung the shuttle around on its descent trajectory a great blue and white globe filled the screen. Picard saw it, and a faint smile briefly lit up his face. It was always good to return home, especially now that his nephew was growing old enough to take a real interest in Starfleet. He was down there, somewhere, under the cloud cover that obscured France. Picard put down his tea, and sighed contentedly.

"There it is, Data. Mother Earth. Just think: that fragile ball hanging there in space is where all of humanity's art and science and civilisation grew up. It is the womb and the cradle of the billions of humans across the Federation, even though many may never see it."

"I find it strange how humans refer to the Earth as their mother," Data commented after a short but precisely-calculated pause. "You evolved and grew up there, but beings do not refer to their residence as their mother, but rather the one that created them. And the Earth did not create you; your parents and ancestors did."

"The term comes from the idea that the Earth is the source from which all life sprang, Data, not just humans. It is a world-view that sees humans as just another one of the Earth's offspring, no more unique or privileged than whales or horses or trees. It used to be thought that the idea of an earth mother came from the early farming communities, but some of the very earliest known human art is of obviously pregnant and thus fertile human females, and it is hypothesized that they represent some sort of spiritual or religious ideas of the female divine."

"Fascinating," Data said. "And do these—"

He was cut off but a sudden loud warning from the alarm, and at the same time the shuttle lurched sideways faster than the inertial dampers could compensate, throwing the two Starfleet officers to the floor. There was a blinding flash, and a sharp internal wrench as reality seemed to flicker and then stabilize.

"Status, Mr Data!" Picard called as soon as he could sit up.

Data leapt to the control panel, and quickly scanned it. "It looks like we were caught in a chronowave eddy," he said.

"What? How could that happen?"

"Scanning." Data's hands skimmed over the touch-sensitive controls of the craft, accessing and correlating data. "An unshielded chronodrive was activated at this precise point in the local relativity matrix," he said. "We were caught in its wake and pulled off course."

"Off course? Where are we?" Picard said, looking out at the rapidly-growing globe still hanging in front of him. It looked the same, but there was something he couldn't quite put his finger on, something different.

"Not where, Captain. When. Analysis of stellar cartography puts us at…roughly thirty thousand years in the past."

"The Ice Age!" Picard suddenly knew what was wrong with the earth. The massive area of shining white he had thought was cloud was in fact the huge ice sheet that covered the top third of the northern hemisphere. They were too close to see the southern, but he knew that it too would have its own covering of ice and snow. "Is there any contact on subspace? Can you get any messages out?"

"Negative, sir."

"Merde," Picard swore softly. "Never mind. Find us a place to put down and we'll wait for someone to pick us up. Shouldn't be too hard for them to track us."

"No sir," Data added. "However we may not have much choice about the landing site."

"What do you mean?"

"The accident has damaged the impulse drive, sir. We are going to crash."

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NOTES:

TNG is not actually my favourite Trek (DS9 by a lightyear, no question) but Picard is the best choice for the Palaeolithic given his interest in archaeology. Kirk would end up trying to seduce Ayla, Sisko would probably get even more visions from the Mother (aka the Cave Aliens) than Ayla, and Janeway would immediately start walking back even if it took 30,000 years.

Extra note for non-EC fans (again, assuming any are reading): "Zelandonii" is the name of the tribe. "Zelandoni" is the title of the spiritual leaders of that tribe.

"Auguste Tryphon" is taken from Professor Calculus's orginal French name (Tryphon Tournesol) and his inspiration (Auguste Piccard).