Chapter Text
Hope.
It’s not exactly scientific.
It’s definitely not any sort of hypothesis.
Believing that something could happen, something he wants to happen? This isn't Paul.
Hugh is dead. Hugh isn’t gone.
He hasn’t been going to grief counseling like he’s been instructed to do. Not more than once, at least. It’s impossible for Paul to explain to someone how he feels right now, and he doesn’t see the point in trying.
Besides, it’s not as though he can tell anyone that it was Hugh himself who had informed Paul of his own passing while also possibly being the only reason he woke up from his coma, if that’s even what really happened.
(Paul tries not to dwell on the things he can’t explain, lest he fall deep into an existential crisis he’s not sure he could find his way out of, so he lets the memory of his spore-induced encounter exist just outside of reality. It’s safer there, really.)
~
The last Starfleet doctor Paul encountered on Earth was eager (maybe a little too eager) to remove his Spore Drive interfacing cybernetic enhancements, as if taking them out could somehow erase the damage that had already been done. Paul was, regardless of how it had benefited the war effort, an illegal eugenics experiment. Removing the evidence of his physical connection to his work wouldn’t change that, even if they also could somehow remove all traces of the tardigrade DNA that had made it all possible.
(Paul may have also been slightly too combative with said doctor over the status enhancements, especially for someone trying to be cleared for active duty, but fortunately for Paul, this doctor assumed he was simply living up to his reputation of being an asshole.)
Starfleet’s message to Paul was clear enough as is, what with preventing further use of Discovery ’s perfectly functional Spore Drive, so removing Hugh’s only physical contribution to Paul’s research seemed wholly unnecessary and not at all justifiable. Just because he isn’t allowed to use the drive doesn’t mean he should lose the ability to, especially with the possibility of encountering a life or death situation deep in the furthest reaches of space.
They gave Paul Hugh’s medal, so why shouldn’t he be attached to the last thing Hugh had given to him?
~
“Computer, play stored voice messages from Doctor Hugh Culber, starting with the oldest first,” Paul speaks to the room the second the door closes behind him in his quarters.
It’s unhealthy, Paul knows, playing these messages over and over, falling asleep to them. He doesn’t care.
(He avoids the video messages though. Something about them makes it easier to lose himself in them. It’s too close. Too familiar. Too alive.)
“First message. Received on stardate 10… “
Paul’s heard them so many times he has them memorized, closing his eyes to imagine how Hugh looked recording them. He lies down on his bed, letting himself drift off into a light sleep.
A jarring, scrambled sound snaps him awake. He sits up abruptly.
“Computer, stop playback.”
Silence falls as the sound is cut off.
“Computer, was that message corrupted?”
“Negative.”
“Right, but I listened to these messages this morning, and the playback was fine,” Paul says, feeling his chest tighten as he starts to panic. They cannot be corrupted.
“Negative.”
“Excuse me?”
“You did not listen to this message this morning.”
Paul squints. “How?”
“This message was delivered three hours ago.”
Paul’s heart stops, his eyes widening. “Computer, can you identify the source of this message?”
“Unknown.”
“But this message was delivered as being from Doctor Hugh Culber?”
“That is correct.”
“Computer, play back the message again from the beginning.”
Paul listens closer this time but still can’t make sense of it. Nothing even sounds close to a voice, let alone a tone he recognizes.
“Computer,” he shouts over the audio, “Can you isolate any part of the message?”
“Working,” the voice of the Computer chimes back, momentarily stopping the playback.
When the message starts to play again, Paul gasps. All around him plays a distorted, but recognizable aria from Hugh’s favorite Kasseelian opera.
Paul laughs deliriously as exalted tears stream down his face. He listens to the message three more times before his brain can catch up to his emotions. He knows what he has to do now.
“Computer, transfer this file to my work station in engineering, and encode to my voice print only. Lieutenant Commander Paul Stamets, security code Beta three five seven.”
I’ll find you, Hugh.
~
Hope.