Disclaimer - "Sir, I must protest. I am NOT a Borg," Worf growled as he was assimilated by the Para-Borg.
Alright. You asked for it. This is the result of a challenge by various members of JetC14 - Sharese, Caroline, Irenee and no doubt others - to write a story about a 'Stoney Captain'. Well, I had to use a different title so for that I apologise. But I think once you read the story you'll know why 'Stone' is a better title.
Apologies in advance.
It stood, completed, next to a tree of unknown development. It was the culmination of weeks of work by dozens of individuals on this unnamed but recently discovered world that had no naturally occuring sentient life and was thirty thousand light years from the Alpha Quadrant.
The last worker brushed a small pile of dirt from it then climbed down to examine the finished piece of work.
Some visited it together. Friends, lovers, holding each other, still in shock. But mostly they arrived by themselves, one at a time. To observe. Contemplate. Regret. Forgive.
The one who stayed the longest was also the one who arrived last. He sat for many hours, looking up at the statue. Watching the sun moving over it, the shadows made, the creases in her face cast in light and then darkness as the day progressed.
No one contacted him.
Night arrived, the sounds of natural life changing. He stayed where he was, sitting, and if he squinted his eyes he could almost believe it was her standing in the darkness, the wry smile on her face, her eyes conveying her humour with something a certain helmsman had just said or something a certain cook had just created.
For the first time since arriving, he moved his head from the statue and looked up at the sky. His neck cricked in protest and he winced but he kept his neck bent backwards. Countless stars twinkled back at him, seeming to wink. Teasing. He smiled, remembering.
He would have to leave soon. They were waiting for him, and they had allowed him to indulge for too long as it was. Not that any of them would say anything. They would simply go about their lives, perhaps occasionally sending him a sympathetic glance or sad smile. He would endure. For her, he would endure anything.
Finding his way to his feet among groans of protest from his body, he straightened his back and walked over to the statue. Crouching down, he placed his hand on the grass next to the stone construct and rubbed at the ground, almost fondly. "I think I miss you," he said.
Standing, he looked up at the statue one more time before walking to the beam out site.
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