Boldly Going
Chapter 1: Where No Mishima Has Gone
Before
***
This had to be déjà vu. There was no way it could be happening
once again.
There was nothing but utter blackness, a void of nothingness. He
knew this feeling; it had happened before. It was too familiar – this feeling
of oblivion – and he didn’t like it. In the distance there were voices,
unfamiliar voices...he couldn’t understand them, let alone recognise them.
Where was he?
This time, instead of the blatant confusion and inherent
disorientation of being completely unconscious for hell knows how long, Kazuya
Mishima knew exactly who he was, and what he was. His only question was, where?
When? He had no way of knowing how long he’d been out for...but it felt to him
like forever.
The voices grew louder and louder, until he finally realised –
they were speaking English. They were also speaking about him. Well no wonder.
The first accent he heard made him think he’d been woken up in some hospital in
Unfortunately, however long he’d been kept unconscious,
it had taken its toll on his system. He felt incredibly groggy; his eyes were
held down by immense paperweights, and he felt as if he were in a hundred times
Earth’s gravity...none of his limbs would respond to command. Unable to move
anything else, he scowled.
“Careful, he’s coming to...” There went that female voice again.
Odd-sounding blips from machinery hastened their pace, and finally, energy
flowed through his veins with their increasing pulse. He knew, from experience
in these situations, that finally whatever kept him under – coma, anaesthesia,
severe injury – had finally relented in its grasp of his mobility; he attempted
to part his heavy lids. The light that glared down at him was fluorescent and
incredibly bright...inhumanely bright. He winced, turning his head away from
it, and closed his eyes again.
As he groaned softly in discomfort, he felt a cool, small hand on
his forehead, and that soothing voice once again.
“Don’t worry, stay calm...you’re alright. Just take it easy...stay calm...”
Again, he slowly eased his eyes open, facing away from the glare
of the brilliant white. He squinted; it was still bright, and his head had
begun to pound like a piston with ache, but he was alright. His right hand
automatically balled into a fist in an effort to ensure his mobility...it
obeyed, stiffly and weakly...but he could move, period. Drawing and releasing a
deep breath, he tried to sit up...two hands pushed his chest back down; he was
too weak to resist, and found himself being shoved right back down again. He
gave a disgruntled groan; he did not like being manhandled.
A moment passed before he looked up at his would-be captors. He
saw no one above him that he recognised...even in the glaring, blaring light.
Their attire was bizarre too; many wore outfits with greenish-blue torso
sections, black shoulders...others with gold or red – all were black beneath
the coloured torso, and all had a single gold and silver badge with some
futuristic insignia or design on the left side of their chest. What sort of
outlandish or otherworldly organisation had he fallen into the hands of this
time? As if the G-Corporation hadn’t been bad enough.
Strength returned to him by the second, and before long, something
nearing a portion of his old energy levels surged through his muscles...again,
he forced himself up, but this time the hands that pushed him down didn’t have
any effect on the powerful abdominal muscles as they dragged his tall, slender
body into a sitting position.
He glanced down at himself. His body was garbed, barefoot, in
unfamiliar pyjama-like clothes; unusually soft and comfortable, and a medium
cool blue in colour. His senses drank in the surroundings – overly futuristic
and sterile; the air was obscenely clean and cool, the people milling about
were all dressed in the one and the same uniform, the pieces of technology
sprawled out in uncanny order around the large room, what would seem now to be
a hospital ward, seemed to be from almost another time and place entirely. But
now, as the time from his groggy awakening passed, he
became more and more aware of himself, and more and more confused.
The woman’s voice snapped him back to reality; when he looked up
at her, she smiled in an almost sickeningly comforting way. Though she looked
just a little terrifying at first, what with the sharp brows and mass of orange
hair, something about her made him relax slightly – enough for him to listen to
her.
“I’m Dr Crusher. I’m the chief Medical Officer around here. Don’t
worry, you’re in good hands. You’ll feel groggy and disoriented for a while,
but that’ll ease.”
At this point, he decided once again to take hold of the
situation. “To Hell I will. Where am I?”
She glanced nervously at an aging man standing alongside her; for
his age, Kazuya thought to himself, he ought not to be quite as bald as he was.
He sighed, glaring at a rather pale apparition standing at the end of the bed, then turned back to the ‘patient’. “That, I’m afraid...is
quite a long story.” The British accent from before was from him, he concluded.
Kazuya glanced around the place again, noticing to his discomfort
that all eyes were on him. With a sigh, he looked back at the bald man, running
a hand through his own thinning black hair.
Odd. Last time he did that,
his hair wasn’t nearly half as thick as it was now. That,
and his hairline hadn’t been so far forward in ages. Decades.
His widow’s peak had apparently disappeared too.
Ignoring the sudden vitality of his hair, he continued. “Well it
appears I have more time on my hands than I’d like. I’d say there’s plenty of
time for a good tale.”
The older man dismissed most of the people with a wave of his
hand, and turned back to Kazuya. “Well I suppose I can neglect my duties for a
while. You do have the right to know, even if it does defy the Temporal and
Prime directives entirely...”
He didn’t even bother asking, he merely
sat back and prepared for an interesting story. “Please, go ahead...”
“Well, for a start, you’re not in the same century you died in...”
Kazuya gave him a disbelieving look. “I was dead?!” The last thing
he could remember came to him...he was in his office in
The man sighed, and nodded. “In a sense.
Or at least, you’d been left for dead. Your body was frozen in an archaic
cryogenic stasis unit for years and years...a pod was ejected into space along
with the bodies of three others, all in stasis units. All four of you had
apparently ‘died’ of different causes.”
He shifted on the hospital bed slightly, feeling terribly
uncomfortable all of a sudden. His would-be host continued in his story
nevertheless. “You were a victim of the Gaidoku virus...the pandemic that took
at least three million lives after it was created and released from an
underground organisation. A genetics company took you body in a comatose state
after you collapsed, and tried various techniques in what was cutting-edge
technology back then. Unfortunately they were unable to cure the virus, and
when they thought your body was dead, they put you into a stasis chamber in an
effort to preserve you, lest a cure be found in the future.
“Of course, a cure was found many years ago, and the virus has been
completely controlled. You and one other were victims of the virus when we
discovered the pod containing your bodies, so the both of you were saved –
since, unlike the beliefs of the time, you weren’t actually dead...you were in
a comatose state.”
Kazuya smirked slightly, staring ahead. “Funny how I have this
innate ability to evade death...”
The older man smiled somewhat, nodding. So far, he seemed quite
kind and friendly, receptive if a little hesitant. “It would seem that way. You
and one other were the only survivors aboard the craft you were launched into
space in.”
Arching a brow, Kazuya signalled an explanation would do well at
present; his host responded. “In all truth, you’ve been kept in stasis a lot
longer than you’re probably thinking. You were frozen in year 2026, according
to records aboard the craft. In that same calendar, it’s currently 2369. Two of
the stasis units failed; the ones the both of you were in were about to fail
just as we reached you.”
“...I’ve been frozen for nearly three hundred and fifty years?!”
Disbelief was more than evident on the Mishima’s face; in fact, he was
downright thunderstruck. He drew a deep breath; he could feel panic rising
within him. What would be left of his previous life now? The
Zaibatsu? His son?!
“Please, stay calm...we’re doing our best to make your transition
into this century as easy and smooth as possible. It has happened before,
believe it or not, and this time, we’re somewhat prepared and know what to
expect, to a degree...”
He swallowed, and forced himself to stay calm...just like he was
told.
“The first fact you might find surprising is that there is no
longer currency in use...”
“No currency? So people don’t get paid...then how...”
He smirked somewhat, almost in pride. “We’re paid by the
satisfaction of our achievements, by promotion...and privileges granted by our
achievements...that is, if you’re concerned about pay. Nowadays most people are
satisfied with existing, and being part of the Federation.
“This Federation, the United Federation of Planets, is a
collection of peoples of many different races, spanning over one hundred and
fifty individual planets, all adhering to the same Prime Directive. We all work
in peaceful co-existence and cooperation, striving to explore and make new
allies, new discoveries...”
“It all sounds incredibly idyllic...”
“You’d be amazed at what the human race has achieved over the
centuries once racial boundaries were abolished after the third world war...”
He smiled again somewhat. “First contact with an alien race had been made in
the early 2160’s, and along with the human race, this alien race, the Vulcans,
were the founders of the Federation we now all work together within.”
Feeling a little overwhelmed by information, Kazuya swung his legs
around so his feet hung off the side of the bed, and stretched himself out, his
arms behind his head, his back cracking with sickening volume as the
long-neglected joints clicked back into place. He chuckled when he saw the look
of mild unnerved expression on the older man’s face.
Finally, he noticed something. “You have no windows in here...”
“Well, there is a very good reason for that...we’re in space.”
Slowly, Kazuya turned back to the man, one eyebrow rising slightly
on his forehead. “...we are?”
“Indeed. On a Starship, as a matter of fact.”
“Uh...” Suddenly, he felt even more uncomfortable than before. “Do
you have any more nasty surprises? If you do, then I think I might lie down...”
The light-hearted chuckle he heard surprisingly didn’t make him
feel worse...if anything, he felt a little more assured of his safety. “I think
I might leave the explaining to my first officer, Commander Riker. He and the
other survivor are in a guest room a few decks up from here; I’m sure they’d be
happy for you to join them. By the way, I apologise for not introducing myself
earlier. My name is Jean-luc Picard; I’m the captain of this vessel.”
Kazuya grasped the hand in his own, making sure not to crush it
with his formidable strength...but thankfully the other hand wasn’t
particularly weak for a man that seemed rather...wise, one could say. He most
definitely wasn’t frail by any means. “A pleasure meeting you, Captain. I am
Mishima Kazuya.”
***
The lounge suites in the guest room were particularly comfortable, and the
gold-hued atmosphere was remarkably pleasant for a space-faring crate. The
luminosity within the room was almost exactly like that of a sunbathed lounge
room on a warm day, and it seemed almost like the lobby of a five-star hotel in
its tidiness and organisation, its décor and its furnishings.
The tall, bearded man in red had explained a lot over the last
hour, and Kazuya could tell he was feeling a little flustered. For that very
reason, he hadn’t let anyone notice his anxiety over the whole situation.
Though, it seemed, his companion hadn’t bothered with the same etiquette. The
middle-aged American man was pacing back and forth furiously, as he’d been
doing for the last hour or so, with his third glass of synthehol in one hand.
“
“I don’t answer to you, Mishima.” He turned, snarling right back
at the tall Japanese. “If it weren’t for you, my company would have been the
biggest in the world!”
Kazuya rolled his eyes and sat back, setting his glass of water
down on the table. “You know none of that matters any
more.”
“My company was all I had! My assets...my money...!” With that, he
flopped down onto one of the sofas behind him, swallowing his synthehol in one
go.
“Well you’re one hell of a hollow human being, aren’t you?” Kazuya
honestly didn’t know why they’d bothered saving this creature. He was
overweight – beer belly, of course, from a ‘luxurious’ lifestyle – was rather
unhealthy along with it to say the least, and did nothing but bitch and moan
about his lost possessions. With his words, the man sighed, and slapped a hand
over his eyes. Kazuya’s brows rose, and he looked up
at the Commander, who was leaning exasperatedly next to the replicator unit. In
response, he just shrugged and sighed.
Finally, Kazuya decided to begin investigating what was left of
his past. “Commander, would it be possible for me to explore any form of
records from over the last three hundred years?”
Riker glanced over at him, thinking. “What sort of records?”
“I would like to see what happened to a few relatives of mine.”
Finally, the crimson-adorned man came and sat down on the other
end of the couch. Finally, some easy explaining.
“Well, when you’re assigned guest quarters, there’ll be a computer console on
one of the desks. You’ll be granted low-security access to our files. With any
luck, your family tree will have been plotted...influential members of family
trees, from the past, are often given a short biography as well.”
Kazuya smiled for the first time that day – an actual smile.
“Well, that certainly takes a great weight off my mind.”
Riker chuckled, and leaned his elbows against his knees. “So, the
both of you were powerful businessmen in the past...”
“You could say that. But I’m more of a fighter; business was just
a side-effect of my true profession.”
A muffled groan of internal agony came from the other side of the
room; Kazuya snickered almost sadistically. “Unlike some, money and possession
never meant much to me at all. I have my body, my mind, my soul...they are the
only things important to me.”
“That’s a very modern attitude. You know, I have a feeling you’ll
blend into this century admirably.”
***
So far, so good. Kazuya had managed to begin understanding the super-modern
computer console with ages of trial and error. He’d also come to like the
replicator unit he’d been supplied with; he’d been able to replicate more
comfortable clothes – a pair of basic black pants similar to those he’d wear to
work, and a short-sleeved button-down shirt.
Damn these computers. They were nothing like the Windows-like
system he was so used to...but at least they responded to voice commands. Finally,
his searching was over...the Mishima family tree presented itself across the
screen in all its glory. He’d asked it to use himself as a root, and below it,
spread the names of people he’d never heard of before, branching out almost
like an old, dead tree might. Below his name was that of his son...‘Jin
Mishima’. So, he’d changed his name after Kazuya’s apparent death. He’d also
taken over the Mishima Zaibatsu, so it seemed, from reading the biography. He
had married a country woman, and had two children; Mio, a girl, and Taki a
little later on, a little boy. Both children had large families, and the
Zaibatsu was handed down to Taki, who handed it down to his eldest son, Kai.
Kazuya smiled to himself, glad that Jin had lived a decent life
after his passing. Apparently he’d dedicated a new portion of the company to
his late father...‘In memory of one of the greatest men to grace this Earth’.
If it were possible, Kazuya would have exploded with pride.
There was not much else of interest to him from the family
tree...apparently he had now gained over one hundred direct descendants, most
of which were still purebred Japanese. Very few had married out of the
community.
Out of interest, he began to explore the Federation’s database on
itself. He’d learned a little about Starfleet, the Earth’s combined military
that served as a navy, an army and an air force, all in one. Now, he was going
to learn more.
The next few hours were spent absorbing information like a sponge.
He felt as if his brain might overload, so he replicated coffee – a new novelty
– though, as he expected, it didn’t taste like coffee. It was like old decaf,
in fact, left on the bench and reheated once too often. Despite that fact, he
drank it...he needed the caffeine. It helped him stay awake – after learning
the basics of navigational and propulsion technology, the very basics he could
scrape from the ship’s database about itself, and the Federation itself –
morals, missions, history, and present. While it was all incredibly fascinating,
he quickly felt himself losing energy and motivation, and finally decided to
give it a rest.
Thank god he’d been told about the sonic showers, or he’d be one
heck of a mess trying to get it to work. Stripping himself of his new clothes,
Kazuya prepared to test out these waterless showers – which he didn’t trust in
the slightest – until he caught his reflection in the mirror. He stopped dead,
staring at the shocked face staring right back at him – a face which was not
his. He stepped up to the mirror, glaring at it in disbelief.
No wonder he’d felt so alive, so energetic...so young. He was
fifty eight when he left the 21st century; now, he barely looked over twenty
five. The scars on his body, he noticed, were gone; that is, except for that one
single tear down the centre of his chest (which seemed to have healed more than
he’d imagined possible; it was nothing but a discolouration at this point) and
a gash across his left cheek, which had been there since he was resurrected
from the volcano incident. Other than that, he looked exactly as he did before
he was thrust into the mouth of that smoking mountain.
Smirking, he returned to the task at hand: shower. Typical
G-Corporation...they’d done it again. He knew they would have used the
regeneration tanks on him, and samples of his DNA collected before the first
tournament; it was a perfectly legitimate way of reversing the damaging effects
of the hybridisation process of the virus as it progressed through his body. At
that point, he realised...how strange it was that he would contract that
virus...the one he was fighting against so valiantly with every resource he
had. Oh well...at least the pandemic had been solved. Though, he had to wonder,
did this ‘Starfleet’ know anything of who had released it, and who’d put the
biggest effort in trying to end the disaster? Anyway...back to the shower.
It was a bizarre sensation indeed...he could almost hear the
shower, though the frequency of the sonic waves was so high it was inaudible to
human ears. Then again, he had never been completely human, had he? Thinking of
which, he could no longer feel the presence within him. It was gone, and he was
alone. To a degree, it was a pity...but now, at least, he was his own man...and
apparently completely human. Obviously the demon within him wasn’t planning on
waiting around for his resurrection, and had gone to harass someone else.
He finished with his shower, and pulled on a pair of black satin
boxers, before retiring to bed. His first night in the 24th
century...fascinating. As he waited for sleep to come, he allowed
himself to become mesmerised by the stars racing past the large
floor-to-ceiling windows along the wall. It was a beautiful scene he’d never
seen before, and the tranquillity of the heavens passing by eventually lulled
him to a dreamless, nightmare-less, peaceful sleep – the first in nearly thirty
years.