The Journey: A tale of Three Immortals: A Star Trek/L&O/Man from Earth Merge

Book One: Journey's Start

Note: Someone, somewhere, photo-shopped Jack McCoy into an Original Star Trek Series Uniform, and I got bitten by a rabid plot-bunny. So…caveat emptor…

1995

The world was going to hell in a handbasket. Everyone knew that; Jack McCoy no less than the rest.

The Asian Bloc, under the rule of charismatic war lord, Khan Noonian Singh, was snarling and sniping at the USSA: the United States of South America, the super state that had arisen from the ashes of decades-long civil wars in Argentina, Bolivia, and Peru.

The USSA, too, had its war lord, Estaban Bolivar, and he was no less charismatic than Singh.

The rest of the world eyed these two combatants nervously, aware that any miss-step could result in a major nuclear conflagration.

Jack McCoy was quite happy to leave such problems to wiser heads than his.

He already had enough on his plate anyway. Samuel Arden had killed his business partner. No one was quite sure why, just yet. Getting the answer to that particular question would have to wait, though…

Arden had immediately fled the jurisdiction, flying all the way to Las Vegas, of all things.

The DA's Office had sent an ADA, Claire Kincaid, out to Vegas. She had returned empty-handed. That was when the District DA, Adam Schiff, decided to break out the big guns.

So, here Jack McCoy was, in Sin City on an early afternoon. He'd been loaned a tiny little cubicle in the DA's office to work out of, was now on the phone, long-distance all the way to Manhattan.

Claire Kincaid was a little miffed about being left behind in Manhattan; and McCoy could understand.

The bed in the cheap motel was a double…

Oh, well…Missed opportunities, and all that crap…

"How's the case with Spivak going?" he asked Kincaid.

"Torrelli decided to plead out," McCoy could hear paper rustling as Kincaid leafed through her notes. Even with computers, ADAs generated a lot of paperwork that couldn't be left to computers alone.

"He Allocuted to Murder One, and he's doing the Max."

He heard her pause.

"How is it there?"

"Sunny and hot," McCoy complained.

"Hey…" he heard her laugh. "At least it's dry heat. Muggy heat is the worst."

"It's as dry as a bone here, Claire," McCoy sat back. "Did you send the files I asked for?"

No answer came over the line.

"Claire?"

Nothing.

A disconnect?

He hung the office phone up, dialed his Manhattan office number again.

Nothing.

Not even a dial tone.

Okay…

McCoy shrugged, put the phone down.

I'll try again after I've spoken to the Judge.

Everything sounded subdued as he walked the short distance to the Court House, which struck McCoy as odd.

Early afternoon…lots of diners and cafes on the way to the Court House. There should be more people about.

…..

200 s 3rd Street, Las Vegas

Court House

"Your Honor," Arden's Defense Attorney, Adam Wesley, spoke up. "I request that the State refuse Manhattan's extradition demand."

"On what grounds?" Jack McCoy stood.

"Counselor…" The Honorable Lydia Evans glared at Wesley, and if looks could kill…

Then, she sighed.

"Request accepted…" Evens spoke softly.

"I object, your Honor," McCoy snapped.

"So do I, Mr. McCoy…So do I…" Real sadness in Evans' voice now. "You don't know?"

There was the feeling of a yawning chasm opening under his feet.

"Know…what, Your Honor?"

Evans sighed again, turned to the Defense Attorney.

"You're dismissed, Mr. Wesley," she spoke disapprovingly. "Tell Mr. Arden he's free to go."

She stood, gestured to McCoy.

"Join me in Chambers, Mr. McCoy. I'll explain."

"I'll need to call Manhattan first," McCoy hadn't felt this uncertain in a very long time.

"In my Chambers…"

McCoy followed Lydia Evans into her Chambers.

Once there, she put off her Judge's Robe.

"I don't know how to explain this, Mr. McCoy. May I call you Jack?"

"You can call me anything you like," McCoy was seething with anger. "Provided you tell me why you refused Manhattan's extradition request."

"Dammit!" Evans snarled. "I refused the request because the District of Manhattan doesn't exist anymore!"

McCoy stood there, frozen.

"Manhattan…what..?"

"Sit, Jack."

McCoy felt Evans' hands on his shoulder, caressing, guiding him to a comfortable couch as she spoke.

"Someone…either the Asian Bloc, or the USSA, dropped a nuclear device over Manhattan, about thirty minutes ago."

For some reason, McCoy's brain wasn't working quite right at parsing the meaning of Evans' words.

"A…nuclear device. A…bomb?"

McCoy felt, rather than heard, his voice crack, shock paralyzing his limbs…his brain.

"I was talking to Claire…" he whispered. "On the phone…"

"I'm sorry, Jack…" he barely felt Evans' arms around him, he barely heard the office door opening, another person entering the office. And he certainly didn't hear Evans tell someone to call a doctor.

Adam…Claire…Anita…Lennie…Danielle and Sally..?

They were gone. Each and every one of them. Along with the rest of Manhattan…