Day of the Dead {Star Trek Enterprise Fan Fiction}

Everyday is Halloween

"All our times have come
Here but now they're gone
Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain. We can be like they are
Come on baby...don't fear the reaper
Baby take my hand...don't fear the reaper
We'll be able to fly...don't fear the reaper
Baby I'm your man..."

Blue Oyster Cult – Don't Fear the Reaper

=/\=

The Traveler heard, and saw, what was happening in both places and both time periods, for it was he who was responsible for all of it. "All three of you have learned something," he mused quietly, "And for that, I am only grateful that I was the catalyst. Your species has much to learn about pain and conflict. You must never forget its horrors. You must never escape into pretend horrors as if they were thrills for your own amusement. You must, sometimes, rise up from your comfortable lives and bring suffering to the forefront. You must remember it so that you do not commit it. You must not forget its true costs."

=/\=

Sergeant McCoy came over to the five of them and looked grim. "Sarge, what the hell happened?" asked Martinelli.

"Justice, I guess," replied the sergeant. There was a sound of rumbling. "Sounds like the trucks are back. Let's get those survivors outta here, and get ourselves outta here, too. This place gives me the willies."

"Just like that?" Tucker asked. "You're gonna just dismiss what happened here, just like that?"

"I don't recall asking for your opinion, Private McBride."

"Well you're getting' it anyway," Tripp's voice began to rise, "That was a war crime in case you've forgotten! Those men – forget that they were monsters! They were sentient beings! They deserved trials! Ain't that what you been fightin' for all along?"

"And all of those people here, all these bodies?" McCoy asked. "You did see all those bodies, right? And you know why it smells like burning skin here? Do you know why, Private?" Tucker stood his ground and glared at the sergeant. Somehow, that detail had been forgotten, and he silently cursed himself for forgetting it. He swallowed a little. "McBride," Sergeant McCoy said wearily, "we found crematoria. I guess they threw the bodies in there but it wouldn't shock me if living people were sometimes tossed in as well. I, I don't know what justice is, I guess. And maybe I never will. But I dare anybody who wasn't here to say that this didn't happen. It did. And I was here. And I will knock the block offa anyone who ever says differently. Call me what you like, but if we were here tomorrow and not today, you know what woulda happened? Do ya?"

"N-no, sir," Tripp mumbled.

"They had a daily quota, I bet we'll find out," said Sergeant McCoy, "and that means that they woulda filled it. The only thing I'm sorry 'bout is that we weren't here yesterday, or the day before, to make 'em miss those quotas. 'Cause those people didn't deserve to die now, did they? Did they?"

"'Course not, sir."

"Then don't tell me about what happened to them guards. You go get on the next truck, and you sit with those survivors, and you help 'em get to the Red Cross hospital or the displaced persons camp. You help those guys onto the truck and you carry anyone off it when you get to your destination if they can't walk. You do that, and you tell me – hell, ask 'em – you find out from them whether those guards were interested in justice or, or mercy. And I think you'll find that they weren't, McBride."

Tucker looked down. "I was never a religious guy. But I think I've seen hell today, sir."

McCoy punched him lightly in the shoulder. "We all have. Now get on that truck."