Mariner

She was beautiful, he thought, placing his hand against the wall, feeling the thrum of the engines resonate up from deep below. Close to her heart, he thought sadly. She was beautiful; she deserved better.

In the vastness of space, she waited amongst the bitter light of distant stars, and, with his hand against her side, the glow of screens illuminating his features, he thought then that Enterprise felt like a house with all the children gone.

Calmly, he closed his eyes, drinking in the ambient hum of her whispers, the soft whistles and chimes of the bridge, the lonely absence that surrounded him, clung to him, held him close in these waking hours as she waited to be drawn into silence forever, a name inscribed in history books, and then what—forgotten? Abandoned? Spoken of no more?

She had been the dream of other men, the dream of his father in haunted, remembered Montana, where the first Warp 5 engines had been developed; the dream of Emory Erickson, who had fashioned her temperamental transporter; the dream of everyone on Earth as they had held their breath and lifted their eyes to the sky, the Xindi weapon hanging above their heads, promising silence to the entirety of human history.

He took a deep breath, drawing in the dry air, the quiet, pulling it inside of himself, and burying it down deep with all the other feelings of conflict and regret, sadness and joy, pride and loss.

All that they had been through on this ship, all that he had been forced to become, and now there was nothing but deconstruction ahead of her. Never again would her corridors ring with the sound of voices, never again would he sit in that chair as she gracefully cut the skies with the shimmer of her swimmer's elegance. There would be other ships, there would even be other ships who bore her name, but there would never be another Enterprise.

She deserved better, he thought again, sadly, slowly drawing his hand back from the wall, looking over the bridge once more, seeing the shape of Earth on the view-screen below, calm oceans, rich deserts, beauteous woodlands, teeming cities.

He felt a yearning in his chest, a sorrow at parting, and, at the last, he recalled his words to T'Pol:

Time heals all wounds, but absence makes the heart grow fonder.

He smiled sadly, patting his hand against the wall once more, and turned, at last, and said his last goodbyes.