Protocols Unknown: A Decision of The Stars

The End

Then.

The doors opened, quietly.

He stepped inside.

Kashyk.

The memory shimmered once, then paused. Astrea sat cross-legged in the present now, a little taller, curls longer, still as the light of the holodeck washed over her face. Her second birthday. It had been time locked by Q, tuned to awaken on the day her memory of joy outgrew the absence.

She watched herself, smaller and wide-eyed, blow out a single candle beside her mother. Watched the moment Kashyk stepped quietly into the scene, into their lives again.

From the shadows near the back of the holodeck, Kashyk stood, arms folded. He said nothing for a long while, only watched her watching.

The scene continued to play. Naomi reached over and brushed frosting from Astrea's cheek. Kathryn laughed, a soft sound, the kind she rarely allowed herself outside this space. Kashyk's jaw tightened. He remembered that laugh.

Then quietly, more to the room than anyone in it, he spoke.

"This was your first birthday, and also the day I came back to your mama. I am sorry that I crashed your party, Little Star. One day I will tell you why your mama gave you that nickname."

Astrea did not answer. She was still staring at the candlelight flickering on her mother's face. But her hand drifted to her chest, just above where her own tiny fingers once rested on a Starfleet insignia. She smiled. Then, almost unconsciously, she whispered, "Mama."

Kashyk closed his eyes. Just for a moment. He let the memory press into his chest. The flicker of Kathryn's eyes. The curve of her smile. The baby in her arms.

And the girl who still remembered.

Astrea was two and a half now, and Kashyk had learned the power of coffee while looking after a toddler and a farm. They didn't have animals, but the garden had become a fascination for both of them.

She no longer stumbled. She ran, down hallways, through the fields beyond the farmhouse, barefoot and wild, her curls bouncing behind her like a comet's tail. Kashyk pretended to be exasperated by it, but in truth, he loved it. The way she laughed when the wind caught her. The way she bolted into his arms full-speed, without hesitation or fear.

One afternoon, Q appeared. As casually as one might knock on a neighbour's door, he stepped into the kitchen with a snap of his fingers and a too-wide grin.

"You need a better system," he announced. "One worthy of her."

Before Kashyk could protest, the corner console blinked, shimmered, and was replaced by a new system. It was quiet, adaptive, made to log not just actions but nuance. Q had built it with Kathryn in mind.

"If she ever finds her way back," he said simply.

Kashyk hesitated. "How is she?"

Q raised a brow. "Kathryn?"

Kashyk didn't move.

Q's grin faltered, just slightly. "She's... returning to life on Earth."

"Does she remember her?"

Q tilted his head, eyes distant now. "You know she won't. She feels something is missing."

A breath passed between them so short you couldn't call it silence.

"You will need this, so remember it. 53929.0." And then he vanished.

Astrea started talking to the holograms now as if they were real. Kashyk let her. Why shouldn't he? She deserved that connection.