USS Galaxy: The Next Generation Sim Log
Stardate: 60902.15 - 60902.21 |
Logs |
| "War Games" Part One Commandant For'kel Arvelion Confederacy of Allied Worlds =================================== Earth, once the shining utopian capitol world of the mighty United Federation of Planets. Earth, the planet of seven oceans, welcoming home to all of the galaxy. "Earth..." His wife stuttered out, tears welling up in her eyes and threatening to overrun the perimeter of Yes, in the late stages of its life, Earth was nothing more than a wasteland. It's die-hard population marooned on a toxic planet infested by plague, starvation, drought... essentially the worst parts of the Bible. But somehow, to a great many people, it remained the iconic symbol of 'home'. For Leah Owen, despite the years that had passed since she last saw the depressing orb, it would always be home. Fork cupped her cheeks in his hands and pressed a light, quick, urgent kiss to her lips. He had to go... an emergency meeting was a rare thing, and of the utmost importance. That said, Leah was trembling, and he knew damn well that strong emotional bouts tended to lead to panic, which in turn tended to trigger all the symptoms endemic to post-traumatic stress disorder, as well as those damned neurolytic seizures she'd been so prone to following the hunt for Moset. "Breathe deep andjele." He whispered, his fingers grazing across her hair line and through the golden, wavy locks in as soothing a caress as he could manage. "We don't know anything for sure. Explosions happen in the Federation Core all the time these days, it's quite possible this is just a mistake." Yeah, he was lying through his teeth. Planets didn't just 'explode'. Sensors didn't just register planet sized explosions randomly. She could tell he was lying, or at least normally she could have, but he was hoping that maybe she needed to believe it enough that he could pull this one off. "I'll find out when I get there... are you going to be okay?" Whether she fell for the lie outright, something that was highly unlikely, or at least was willing to suspend disbelief momentarily, she seemed to accept it. The rapid, shallow, labored breathing dissipated little by little into a more sustainable rhythm. Her eyes stared into his, much like they once had a decade and a half ago, before she gave a slow nod of confirmation. "Tell me everything... when you get home. Promise me." Everything never really meant 'everything'. Certain aspects were always classified, but Fork knew what she was asking for. "Absolutely, I promise." He pressed one more light kiss to her cheek. "I'll ask Cassara to keep you company. Just stay calm, remember your medication... I promise to tell you everything." "You already promised that." Leah gave a small smile, and squeezed his hands. "Are you sure 'you' are okay?" 'I did?' He thought to himself, mentally shaking his head when he decided the answer didn't really matter. Just a simple slip. On the outside he gave that ever confident, reassuring smile. "Yes ma'am Command Sergeant Major Starfleet Marine Corps, ma'am." He followed the exaggerated use of her last ceremonial rank with a wink as he got off his knee and grabbed the midnight blue and gold uniform jacket sitting on a post of their bed. "I'll hurry back." ======================================= The old Federation Embassy was alive with activity. General news of Earth's demise hadn't broken yet, but if the sensor telemetry was accurate, than it would only be another two or three hours before the various media outlets received word from the dozens of civilian and private agencies out there with observatories powerful enough to detect that kind of explosion over that distance and had pieced all the necessary data together to draw the conclusion. And when that news finally did hit the proverbial air waves... well there was going to be a whole lot of very mad refugees demanding revenge in the streets. So the governing agencies on Al'Klei'sh kicked everything into over-drive immediately. The call went out, without any specific detail as to why, to all of the reservists and full-time military and security personnel on the planet to bring all hands on deck. So quick acting was the call that a platoon of Combat Engineers were already at work installing temporary security barricades and checkpoints around his building when Fork's hover GP pulled up. "Good morning, Commandant." Eris, his staff aide smiled. Sentient Artificial Lifeform Identifier (SALI) #06115, Eris was a fully interactive and 'living' holographic entity. She had chosen her name, her physical appearance, her 'life' from the point of relative conception. As a Beta generation entity, Eris did actually have 'parents', or at least two holographic programs, Alphas, routines from which comprised her base programming and code. It was really creepy to some extent what happened when you merged Stagnorian technology and Federation holographic knowledge. Today the fair skinned 'woman' wore her dark, raven hair just a bit shorter than shoulder length, framing her face like curtains at a stage production. Her hazel eyes were mysteriously bright and lively for a hologram, filled with mirth and what could be almost described as emotion. "The Governor has requested you transport to the hub ten minutes from now. I have taken the liberty of accumulating all relevant materials for you and providing a synopsis. Source documents include..." "Thank you, Eris." For'kel cut her off, knowing she would ramble on about every little detail without some guidance... much like a child trying to explain things to a parent. "Please activate emergency procedures, priority one. I want the entire SPF activated and ready to assist if necessary. Route all executive level requests for assistance to my EAD." The SPF, Special Purpose Force, had been a military unit created specifically to deal with Civil Affairs among the hundreds of millions of refugees flooding onto the planet. It was Fork's own brain child, a fairly elite force designed to fill a specific niche, straddling the fence between emergency response, law enforcement, and military defense needs. Crowd control was a specialty, one hard won following the Refugee Riots years ago, and one that Fork feared would be needed again if this kept up. "Alert has been given." Eris replied succinctly. "We are receiving coordinates from the hub. Transport is available upon your request." Fork tapped a few buttons to transfer her keynotes to his EAD for the upcoming briefing. "I'm on my way." ================================================================ (Bird of Paradise 'E'thikos'- Call sign Epsilon 8: 27 days out of port, somewhere near New Australia) Everything was deafly quiet aboard the small vessel, its crew efficiently and professionally operating in absolute silence. Full discipline was observed... it had been observed for the last two weeks as the stealthy vessel had crossed enemy front lines. It was an eerily daunting task... although the crew of 35 knew others were around them, they'd been unable to socialize. Life became a routine of sleeping, bathing with sterile 'wipes' to cut off any sound created by sonic showers or running water, eating rations to save power, and working... lots and lots of working. They were professionals though, so they could handle the stress of complete loneliness amidst friends and family. All eyes were glued on the main viewer, the grainy image a computer enhanced composite of telemetry received from a number of sources, passively assembled to paint an accurate, if not precisely clear, depiction of the targets before them. On the screen, the somewhat hazy image of a Hydran Fleet Carrier and a Breen Super-Dreadnought, complete with at least a dozen escort craft each.. cruisers, destroyers, and picket frigates. They weren't firing on each other, nobody's shields were up, and the power indicators they were getting from the old network of listening posts formerly controlled by Starfleet proved they weren't powering weapons. Their positions were tactically neutral. To Junior Commandant Rosella Tior, it was an indication that they were peacefully assembled. Proof positive of what intelligence gathered by the Strategic Services Agency suggested... that the Hydrans and Breen were attempting to resurrect an alliance after their falling out. It made perfect sense. What was left of the war-fighting capacity of Starfleet and 'not' engaged in the Civil War had proven to be an extreme nuisance to both the Breen and Hydran occupation forces, extracting horrible tolls to maintain their newly created empires. Likewise, the lack of any overtures from the T'Kith'kin suggested they may be worried about being betrayed by their former allies, and thus each had obvious reason to seek peace with the other, and neutralize a possible hostile force along their borders. It would be very bad news for the remains of Starfleet however, which had diligently pressed the enemy near to the breaking point. Whether the Starfleet guerillas knew it or not, they had their enemy on the ropes. Everyone was suffering from the long-term consequences of the war, albeit in different ways. "Is this real time?" "Yes Commandant." The Qusani Operations chief reported, his multi-colored eyes focusing intently on the readouts before him. "Thetas are maintaining course and heading. Neither appear to be battle ready." She nodded, her brown, doe like eyes glancing over to the tactical situation display on the command center's right side. They were behind the sun... hidden completely from anything in front of them in relation to the solar plane. "Other contacts?" "Screen negative." The stern voice of the tactical officer replied in a murmur. "Targets acquired?" "And locked." This was it then. Their top-secret orders had been given, having come down from the President of the Confederacy himself after advice and concurrence from the Governor and his advisors. "Load the test weapons." "Loaded." "Fire!" Both forward torpedo launchers of the Bird of Paradise warship fired, bright, aquatic blue-green orbs disappearing mere kilometers from the launching vessel completely in white flashes. The 5 officers on duty watched the main viewer intently, staring at it in anticipation of a great, climactic conclusion. Real life drama displayed before them as if for entertainment... though Billions would object to that kind of analogy. Great seats, however. Seconds ticked by like hours until bright white flashes appeared again, followed in fractions of a nano-second by great plumes indicating impacts. One had struck the Breen Dreadnought, its tandem high-yield warheads blowing through the heavily armored outer-hull, then it's equally heavily armored inner-hull, burying itself deep into the bowels of the ship. The last warhead had gone off near its warp core, virtually evaporating the ship and two of it's closest escorts immediately. The second torpedo had cut straight through the heavily armored fighter-bay doors, crashing through internal bulkheads, before finally detonating near the ship's armory and fighter craft anti-matter stores. The bridge of the E'thikos lit up with a roar of success as dozens of internal explosions began rocking the Hydran carrier. The wounded beast succumbed to its mortality in two or three minutes, taking out a cruiser that had tried moving in to evacuate the royal representative aboard. It was a success no doubt, but the destruction of two ships, even incredibly powerful capitol ships, was not that uncommon a sight that it would've raised eyebrows. There simply wasn't anything overly special about the loss of two warships taken completely by surprise. What was remarkable was how they were taken by surprise. They never saw the torpedoes coming... even though the weapons had been launched from over 25 light years away. Sub-space cavitating torpedoes. Designed after the near disaster of the Borg incident thwarted by the Miranda back in the 2380's, the cavitating torpedoes were finally given the go ahead for field deployment, despite having completed all tests in 2385. It was their first combat deployment... and they worked flawlessly, just as intended. A lot of people would be sighing in collective relief after report of the mission made it's way across the quadrants. There was an additional layer of icing on the cake which became apparent soon after the attack. Not only had two very dangerous combatants been destroyed, but then their escorts, each suspecting the other had betrayed their agreement for the meeting, began firing on each other. The torpedoes, complete with total self annihilation devices (TSAD), guaranteed there was nothing left of the weapons, or of their trajectory signatures. Lacking any other proof, logic dictated that the attack had to be the result of the other side... and each sect responded logically to that threat. "Helm, evasive course back to port." Rosella sat a little further back in her seat. She was on orders to return with news, successful or not, to be delivered in person. You didn't want potential adversaries knowing what you had. (TBC) "jIH dok"
Staring: Chandrakala Eshe
*** [2402] Location: Qo'noS***
The words "jIH dok" (my blood) are spoken to one's mate and the mate replies…
Truth was he saved me from a life of regrets, from a life of pure pain, from a life of resentment. So when I found him, lying in the rubble, burnt and bleeding, trying desperately not to cry out with the pain, cradling our child in his bleeding arms, I couldn't leave him, no matter how his wounds made me vomit, how the smell of charred flesh and burnt hair suffocated me, or how his skin had fused to the babe he protected with his life, I couldn't walk away, couldn't let him go.
I refused to let either of them go. And somewhere, someone heard my scream, my plea, my bleeding heart's cry.
If I'd known then what I knew now, if I'd known then that I was giving him the life he had saved me from, I would have let him go, I would have… I wouldn't have been so selfish; I wouldn't have given up my soul for theirs.
I would have mourned their loss for year's maybe. Fallen into an abyss of sorrow forever probably. Hated the living for flaunting their life with every breath. But through it all I would have survived, the experience would make me stronger… more bitter perhaps, but I would have carried on.
Life always does you see. Even when it shouldn't, even when the earth should stop spinning, the sun should no longer rise and everyone around you should stop moving, stop talking, stop breathing just STOP! But they don't. They empathise with your pain, they pat your shoulder, tell you how wonderful the deceased was, and how much they will miss him, or how much they will enjoy seeing her in Sto-Vo-Kor. But they continue, with their hearts in their chest instead of smushed all over the floor. They move on, pass you by while you feel trapped, stuck in a pit of quick sand, where every movement is a struggle, every morning is a fight with the treacle that surrounds you, cradling you, choking you.
But I saved him. Because he saved me and I still needed him to save me, to hold me, to tell me that everything was going to be alright, I needed him to be the light in my life.
But it wasn't to be.
The table had turned.
I had to be the shining light, the endless pit of strength; I had to be his drive, his want to succeed. But I should have been the dagger in his heart. I should have known better. I should have had the courage to make that plunge.
I told myself that it wasn't right, that this death wasn't honourable and that was my justification for being a coward, for being unable to face death with the zeal of a true warrior.
While all around me the death cries echoed, rubble fell, dust settled and stirred, fires raged, I risked my Klingon heart to save his life, their life, my life.
I pulled his battered and bleeding body from the rubble, I cut my son from his arms with my d'k tahg and I screamed to heavens.
The rest was a blur, a frenzy as I breathed for them both, beat their hearts for them both, screamed for their lives and called for a medic, ordered him with a disruptor to help my boys.
It's true what they say about mothers, I lifted the weight of a Starship that day; I would have lifted twenty if I had to.
I'd do anything to save my boys.
TBC… "Stowaway" Victor Krieghoff
**** As usual Aunt Angie and Uncle Vic had told her nothing about what was going on. But Katherine was not a child anymore, she was sixteen. Her sister Rowena was only a year older and already serving on mum's ship as an ensign. Of course Katherine always forgot that even hybrid Hydrans aged differently. And here she was stowed away with aunt and uncle as if she was still a baby. There were rumors flying around, the kind you could not even hide from kid's ears. Talk of a big battle and the destruction of Earth. It made Kate blink. She knew she had a lot of family there that she had never met, and it would make mum sad. It was good to know that neither of her parents or aunt Shanna were on earth when it happened. And yet Kate did not want to be left out of the loop any longer. It was about time she acted like an adult and drum some sense into her parents heads. She was old enough to remember when they loved each other. Why would a silly little thing like politics drive them apart? Talking some sense into them ought to work. So when aunt and uncle announced they were going on a little trip and there was nothing to worry about and they would be back soon, Kate smiled and nodded like the rest of the kids and promised to be good. Of course she had no intention what so ever to honor that promise. And it was surprisingly easy to sneak onto the ISV Faith just before it left. The loading crew didn't pay attention at all. Afterwards she would have to tell uncle Vic to pay better attention, this was abysmal. But for now Katherine Maivia was very happy. She was on her way! The only part of the plan that was not thought out too well were supplies and pretty soon Kate ran out. When she went on a raid to the kitchens she found security there a lot tighter and she was apprehended on the first try. The youngster knew she was in big trouble now and she could only pray that too much time would be lost to turn around and bring her back home. **** Victor stared at the nervous girl standing just inside the doors to the Bridge of the Faith and tried to remember what it had been like when he was young and both knew everything and didn't need to consider the ramifications of his actions. He failed. Not because he hadn't been young, but more because his youth had just been a proving ground for his adulthood insofar as how people reacted to him. Since he patently *hadn't* known everything - if he had, he'd have been able to get them to stop acting that way - and *did* have to consider the ramifications of his actions - even if he ultimately decided not to care about those ramifications.. or lie to himself about not caring - he was having trouble with the whole idea. Chulak though, Chulak remembered, and it was the part of him that was Chulak that spoke to Katherine, drawing on the experience of raising children on the Talvalen lifetimes ago. "I fail to see where yelling at you is going to produce a positive result, so why don't we just say that I've already done that and move on. All right?" She swallowed and nodded. Katherine liked it that uncle Vic always stayed calm and really listened to you. Mum would have yelled at her for sure. "Yes sir." "So, then, why don't you explain the reasoning that led you to this point in time to me?" he continued. "Take your time, but try to stay on point - we can always go back to the yelling thing if it seems to be taking too long." "I heard about the battle and about Earth. But nobody will talk to me directly, I am NOT little, Ro is only a year older. And I am half Capellan, and we are fierce warriors. I am not too young to fight." It all came rushing out. "And I am worried about mum and dad, they are on opposite sides. What if they meet? I have to try to bring them back together. They still love each other, I know it. I can't sit back and do nothing any more. Please uncle Vic, don't make me go back." She looked at him with pleading puppy eyes. "I will be no bother. And I can work." Well, Victor decided, he had asked for that with the 'stay on point' part. and she was right about one thing, it was going to take too long to turn around and send her back to Xellos IV. "Okay," he decided, leaning on Chulak's memories as he normally did when dealing with the children in his care. "You stay - but on three conditions. You violate any of those, and I will personally load you into a photon torpedo casing, strap you to a fighter, and have someone fly you back home." "Anything, uncle Victor." The girl was grinning from ear to ear. Of course she knew she had given him no chance, but uncle Vic was a pushover anyway. She had seen aunt Angie angry often enough but never her uncle. She was about ready to hug him when he continued. "First lesson for the day," he interrupted with a shake of his head and a smile. "When someone tells you that there are conditions to your being allowed to perform an action, it's always a good idea to find out what those conditions are before agreeing to them. You never know what horrible thing you're agreeing to do if you just blindly assent - understand?" "Yes sir!' Kate tried for a military position of attention. "I trust you, sir!" "One, you stay busy. I'm assigning you to Mother - if she says 'frog' then you jump." He paused and sighed at the expression on her face. "Yes, I know that you don't know what a frog is. They're amphibians, originally from Terra, whose primary locomotive method was jumping. In any case," he continued, "whatever it is that Mother needs done, you do. Washing dishes, cleaning, maintenance on fighters, anything. It isn't going to be glamorous, but then you *did* stow away, so you can't be too choosy about the work you get. Are we clear on that one?" "Aye, aye sir. I will do whatever needs doing, and I will not complain." In fact she really did not mind hard work. It was way better than sitting around and worrying about her family. "Two, I'll be calling your mother to let her know that you are not where you're supposed to be. Once she stops yelling, if she wants any additional punishment, then you'll grit your teeth, nod, and bear up under it like a Capellan: no whining, no complaining. Understand?" "AH Uncle Vic!" For the first time her face fell. "You know SHE is going to whine and curse at me in Welsh and be unreasonable." Kate looked at his face and grumbled. "Alright then. I will be grownup about it." "Good. Last one, and it's important. In the event that we get into a situation where there is a fight - ship-to-ship, man-to-man, whatever - then you do exactly what you're ordered to do. No interpreting orders, no running off on your own. If I order you to hide in a closet, then you hide in a closet. You may not be little, but you're not ready to do a lot of things - of face a lot of things - that you think you are. And since I promised your mother that I'd protect you, until she releases me from that promise, I'm bound by it. All right?" "Aye aye sir. I will." The teenager agreed. "Are you going to teach me how to shoot, just in case?" "Yes," he sighed, shaking his head. "I suppose that we'll have to do something about that, too. After your mother finishes yelling at the two of us, that is." "You are the best." Now she really did hug him. Kate knew that her mum would be lightyears away and could do very little to her in person right now. She would just have to grin and bear it and after that her grand adventure could begin. "Hugging your commanding officer isn't normally a part of bridge protocol," Victor observed with a smile. "Why not?" Angelienia spoke up from the doorway. "*I* do it all the time." "Yes, but we're married," he pointed out. "That's different." Then, as more figures filled the doorway after her, he continued, "Good Morning, Elrin, Mother. Thanks for coming up. We've got a bit of a problem, and you need to know about it since you're part of the solution." Mother M was her usual cranky morning self having been up early to make breakfast for the Ebon Hawks and all the...additional folks on board. And in an unfamilar kitchen to boot. She looked up at Vic with an odd look on her face, "You aint talking about that poor excuse for a stove that you had installed in the kitchen of this rock I take it? Wouldn't have burned your eggs this morning if it would heat evenly." "Simmer down Mother", Elrin responded as he brushed one last bit of fur off his dark leather flight jacket. "I doubt Victor would ask us to come up here for bad eggs. Besides, mine were fine." "Figures. Only the boss' got messed up." Mother grumbled. "So what's the problem boss?" Elrin asked looking him right in the eye with his 'lets get down to business' look. "The immediate one is right here," Victor pointed to Kate as she continued hugging Angelienia. "Unplanned supercargo. No blame to anyone, *I* never considered it, and security is what I'm supposed to be good at it, but we need to brainstorm a better set of security arrangements for the ships in orbit so this sort of thing doesn't happen again. Additionally, we're going to need to house her, give her some basic training so she's not in the way if things get difficult, and put her to work, since we're too far out to turn around." He sighed. "At the moment, I'm thinking of assigning her Mother as an assistant, but that's contingent on Mother being willing, and no one else having a better idea. Training, I'm open to suggestions on." He glanced at Mother. "And, for the record, Mother, my eggs were fine. No one expects food made by hand to come out exactly the same each time - that's part of the magic of home cooking." Kate held her breath watching the newcomers. She realised that now was not the moment to speak up. She had kind of thought she would be staying with her aunt and uncle, apparantly it was that obvious. Mother M looked the girl over as did Elrin. The vulpinoid was about to speak when Mother interrupted, "Well, I could almost certainly find a use for her as Peppy is shedding and is making a gigantic mess. And I think its best she work with me since it appears Fox here would try and get her in the fighter bay and she's a bit too young to be in there." "She is not." Elrin replied. "She looks like she'd be good with a spanner. And it would be good training. As for her housing, we could throw a bunk in my room. I don't snore like Falco does and Slippy...no." "Can't I stay with my aunt and uncle?" Kate said in a small voice. "For work, I will do anything that is needed ma'am, sir. I don't mind to work hard." She was glad they were not turning her down. "That would be up to them young lady. Though I can tell ya Fox here wouldn't be a bad babysitter.", Mother M replied smiling. "I so don't need a babysitter, ma'am. I am sixteen and grown-up. I can take care of myself! " She huffed. Age was a tender point for Katherine and she hated to be treated like a kid. Victor glanced over at his wife and raised an eyebrow. "Dear?" In turn, Angelienia wrinkled her nose at him and smiled. "At least until we get her a cabin of her own set up, yes," she agreed. "But not forever." Victor turned back to Kate. "The you can stay with us for right now. But if you want to be treated like a grownup, then you'll need to act like one - and that means having your own space and proving that you can take care of it." He smiled, "Besides, you probably don't want to spend all your free time with the two of us, anyway. We're old and boring." Angelienia snorted as she suppressed a laugh. "Yes uncle Victor." She said seriously. Part of her liked the thought of her own quarters but another part was afraid. "I will make you proud of me." She turned to mother. "I am ready to work, ma'am." "Good young lady. We'll be keeping you busy for awhile. First we have the common room that needs cleaning. Lets get goin!" Mother smiled as she gave out instructions. "Yes ma'am." Kate grinned. "My name is Katherine or kate. What do I call you, ma'am?" "Even Vic calls me Mother, now shall we go, I'm sure the boys have some business to discuss. "Victor, you have anything else to talk about?" , Elrin looked at him expecting a positive response. "A few things, yes," Victor agreed. "If you can stick around for a minute?" "No problem boss." Elrin answered looking around for a moment "This something we can discuss out here?" "Probably not," Victor conceded. "Perhaps we oought to take a walk and find someplace more private?" "Indeed, lead on then ." Elrin made a gesture out the door towards no place in particular. “Minutiae” “Cure”
Doctor Clemente Sentara, CMO, USS Trafalgar (NPC by Betred)
(simultaneous with “Minutiae”) ---------------------------------------
<Sickbay, USS Trafalgar>
Pathogen 547-A had been developed by the Terran cosmetic industry in a failed attempt to manufacture a scent that would produce the attractive effects of the so-called Orion slave-girls without any of the unseemly consequences. Clinical trials on animal simulations had shown promise, but actual human experiments resulted in addictive properties. While the company’s bean counters actually considered this a positive side effect as long as they were the sole supplier, the company board of directors was convinced the risk was too high.
Thank the gods for Starfleet Intelligence. SFI stepped in and offered to take over the project, resolving the involved corporation’s expenses for the entire project. The techno-weenies at SFI were in short order able to develop an aerosolized version of Pathogen 547-A, which in due course received the usual asinine nomenclature of “Chemical Inducement, Sexual, Aerosol Based, Formula 547-A, Enhancement 12, for Covert Operations Only.”
The techno-weenies simply called it “Nocoxaflopin.”
While experiments using Rowena London’s half-Hydran blood had proven to be a failure in producing an antiviral medication to combat Nocoxaflopin, Dr. Sentara had been able to ascertain some vital clues by observing which enzymes and proteins the sexy pathogen preferred. One anti-viral strategy is to interfere with the ability of a virus to infiltrate a target cell. The virus must go through a sequence of steps to do this, beginning with binding to a specific receptor molecule on the surface of the host cell and ending with the virus "uncoating" inside the cell and releasing its contents. Clemente experimented with several entry-blockers based on pleconaril, derivatives of which Federation scientists had used to wipe out the common cold in humans so many years ago. One promising compound had the completely opposite effect in computer simulations, increasing the sex drive of the subjects, particularly the males, in way the makers of Cialis – X would have never thought possible. Sentara saved the formula for this combination to his private files; even with a war on, some guys would need a little help when on R&R. The good doctor kept experimenting until at last an almost chance mixing of the correct protese inhibitors showed promise. In 98.3% of the computer simulations, this combination did eliminate pheromone production in infected subjects to manageable levels – the men and women of the Trafalgar who had been exposed to Nocoxaflopin would be forever popular in the single’s bars and clubs of what was left of civilized space, but their urge to copulate would be under control. Unfortunately, there was an unpleasant side effect that occurred in the remaining 1.7% of test cases – they quite frankly stank. Roll in the poo of pigs stink. The kind of stink that would require at least three through scrubbings a day and liberal dustings of foo-foo juice. Well, you can’t cure them all. "This is Only a Test" K'aa **********
Qasar'Mereth J'oolak'k, Galvanis II Station "Warp signature, Qasar. "Klingon?" "With certainty. it is not." "Federation?" "With certainty. it is not." Qasar'Mereth J'oolak'k hovered over her underling, one eye boring into The yec, flushing a pale purple while calibrating the long-range "But? "She's. ah, fired an energy weapon Qasar. Much like an ion cannon, Qasar'Mereth J'oolak'k squealed in mirth, a high-pitched whine only a "But. Qasar. she's still firing. the same volley!" True to the yec's words, the tactical display showed a pale blue beam "Unable to calculate. Diameter of the beam is the slightly less than "Are we the target?" "No. it's. the shipyards." The keystone of the Hydran Armada's success was its ability to produce "Will the beam penetrate the shipyard's shields?" "Like they didn't exist, Qasar." "Hail the Shield of Resolution." The IHV Shield of Resolution, Qasar'Mereth J'oolak'k's old ship, was [I decline, Qasar], he chirped belligerently. "You don't know the question!!" [I will not intercept the ion beam with the Shield of Resolution. Our "YOU DO NOT COMMAND HAU'KEJ! YOU WILL OBEY MY ORDERS!!" [Futile suicide is not something you can order, Qasar. If we are to Flushing a deep shade of purple, the Hydran Qasar chreeched past her [The enemy ship has fired again... and your starbase orbiting Galvanis True to the Shield of Resolution's masters' words, another pale blue "Inconveivable...", J'oolak'k whispered. "Signal the shipyard... and The stations Ops center's emergency klaxon flooded the room with a "Open a channel to the Royalty", J'oolak'k commanded shakily. "The ============ Bridge, GDF Slessh "I'tssss... cold", Slessh hissed while producing a thick cloud of "An unfortunate ssside-effect of the weapon'sss firing, yess...", K'aa K'aa had been kind enough to let Janeen Jaxom mind the operations The Gorn warlord nodded, and let a large gust of warm vapor stream =========== "God in heaven!" Le'on exclaimed when he saw the shots fire out. "Great Catmother..." Salem breathed at the same time. "Sirs," the tactical officer called out from the tier above them. "I "Looks like the Hydrans want to take a shot back Comrades." Le'on said On Le'on's tactical scanner the lone Hydran carrier was launching “Keep Your Friends Close, And Your Enemies Closer” Part #1
Colonel Nathan ‘Outlaw’ Everett – CO 181st Fighter Wing (USS Akagi) Lieutenant Commander Rafael Dávila – Fleet Intelligence Miranda Burton – Civilian (Slave) Aurora – KittyKat AI
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Comm Relay 1138 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Piloting the KittyKat carefully Rafael manoeuvred the shuttle into the crevasse on the asteroid with a slow precision. Ever since things had gone to the fire caves in a hand basket finding places to hide, places to meet and places to loot had become harder and harder. Like many people he’d made a few arrangements, and this was one.
Tucked away in the kefnium rich rock was an old comm relay station. Over the last few years many of these had been stripped, looted, destroyed, and he’d done his share of that as well, a few he’d tucked away though for the future. There were a couple that were places where he could quietly meet Doves, a couple where he’d meet Hawks, and one that was simply a bolt hole.
None were comm relays anymore, and he’d already stripped much of the useful kit from most of them, though a couple were still able to listen to local communication traffic. Though with the rapidly changing codes and the increasing complexity of said codes it didn’t help much. Auroras’ cipher cracking capability was fairly limited.
Hard docking to the relays airlock Rafael looked at the small hologram beside him. “Okay Aurora, link to the relay and check its data, and fire up the life support systems aboard, only to fifty percent though.”
“Check Raf. The fusion generator can only give you thirty percent, max. If I fire up life support I’ll have to kill the array.”
“Figures!” He muttered. “Shut down the array then, we’ll strip it while we’re here. We don’t have the parts to fix it anyway.”
“Done. Life support coming online.”
“Miranda!” Rafael called loudly, turning to look aft, “I need you.”
“What is it Dad?” She asked as she approached. Like him she was dressed warmly, several layers to combat the chill that filled the small ship.
“We’re here,” he announced unnecessarily, staring again at the short lavender hairdo she’d suddenly done to herself. Ignoring the urge to say something about it, she was probably waiting for it, but it would only start a debate they didn’t have time for. “Grab a kit and go outside. Start stripping the antenna array, we can use the duranium to patch the hull.”
“Got it, when’s this Hawk arriving?” She asked, already heading to the suit locker.
“No idea, but once they’re gone so are we. If anyone follows them I don’t want to be around to be seen. I’d guess we’ve a couple of hours though.” It was a guess, but based on the fight he’d left raging in sector 001 days ago, and the reports that were filtering across subspace, things had gotten manic there and in many other sectors. And insane! Who in their right mind destroyed an entire planet!
“I’ll be inside stripping the internal systems.” He said as he stood, “Two hours kid, dump it in the bay for now, we’ll do repairs later. Aurora, let me know when anyone arrives.”
“Check Raf.” Aurora acknowledged.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Nathan dropped Calypso out of warp and took a brief moment to engage her stealth systems as he ran a sensor sweep of the immediate area. After a few moments, his sensors picked up some small energy readings coming from a small asteroid, and Nathan double-checked to confirm that they were indeed the coordinates he was given. He nodded to himself and took his yacht in, though he kept the stealth systems activated. Better safe than sorry.
He easily flew Calypso through the asteroid field in which the relay was located and guided her down the crevasse hosting the relay. Another shuttle, presumably belonging to Nathan’s contact, was docked at the primary airlock, and it took him a second to manoeuvre Calypso toward the relay’s secondary airlock.
Once the docking process was complete, Nathan powered his shuttle down, making sure to keep her on standby in case he needed to make a quick getaway. That task done, he then made sure to check his phaser’s power levels, and grabbed his trusted d’k tahg, a gift from an old friend. He sheathed the blade in its familiar location at the small of his back, concealed by his worn, battered Starfleet flight jacket, then finally made his way onto the relay.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
<= Raf. There’s a shuttle docking. => Aurora warned him. They’d been stripping the relay for a few hours now, grateful for the little extra time they’d made the most of it. Time was up it appeared though.
“Get Miranda inside and keep all systems on standby.” He snapped, “Why didn’t you warn me sooner?” He asked irritably, throwing his tools and parts into his bag.
<= It isn’t cloaked, but it’s running some sort of sensor block or something. I could analyse it but I didn’t see it until it was inside the ‘roid. =>
“Great,” he muttered, “something else to worry about.” Mug yourself a Klingon or a Romulan and you could steal a cloak if you were really lucky, but this was just another cheerful piece of news in a bad week. Running back to the KittyKat he dumped his bag inside and grabbed a PADD. “Show time people.” He shouted as he felt the shudder of contact.
Stepping back into the relay he looked down the dimly lit and completely empty hab module to the upper airlock and watched as it cycled. Hand on his disruptor he waited nervously, if anything he didn’t like climbed down the ladder this could get messy.
Studying the figure as it descended Rafael waited, so far so good, only one person and no overt signs of hostilities. As the man turned to face him though he felt a pang of resentment at the universe.
“Cowboy?” He asked with some disbelief.
Nathan hopped down to the deck and turned around, making sure to keep his hand near his phaser as he did. It took him a moment to recognize the man addressing him, but when he did, Nathan couldn’t keep himself from grinning like a madman.
“Rafy!” he exclaimed, taking a step toward Dávila. “How the hell are ya, buddy?”
“Alive.” Rafael admitted simply, taking his hand off his disruptor he extended it slowly. No matter what had happened in the past, right now he needed Cowboy and that rankled somewhat. “I thought you were dead.” He added. ~Wishful thinking I guess! ~ He muttered silently.
“Understandable,” Nathan replied with a casual shrug. “People’ve been doin’ that a lot these days.”
He grasped Rafael’s hand in his own and shook, squeezing a bit tighter than would normally be considered polite. The fact that he could crush every bone in Dávila’s hand didn’t escape him, but he had no cause to permanently injure Rafael just yet. “So what’s this all about?” he wondered. “Felt lahk catchin’ up on old times?” He grinned again, somewhat tauntingly.
“Hardly,” Rafael muttered sourly as he pulled his hand back. Flexing it to let the blood return he bitched silently. This was not what he’d had in mind when he’d asked for a meeting with the Hawks, catching up on old times with the guy who’d constantly flirted with and made passes at his wife was about as pleasant as having all his teeth extracted at the same time.
“I’m looking for some information,” he admitted, getting straight to business. “And I have information for Fleet Command. So I asked for a meet to exchange data.”
“Well, sorry to burst yer bubble, Davs, but Command’s kinda busy fightin’ a war, so they sent me instead,” Nathan informed the other man as he took a cursory glance around the room. “You got anything to drink ‘round here?” “Keep Your Friends Close, And Your Enemies Closer” Part #2
Colonel Nathan ‘Outlaw’ Everett – CO 181st Fighter Wing (USS Akagi) Lieutenant Commander Rafael Dávila – Fleet Intelligence Miranda Burton – Civilian (Slave) Aurora – KittyKat AI
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Comm Relay 1138 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Well, sorry to burst yer bubble, Davs, but Command’s kinda busy fightin’ a war, so they sent me instead,” Nathan informed the other man as he took a cursory glance around the room. “You got anything to drink ‘round here?”
“I kinda noticed the war.” Rafael deadpanned. Indicating some nearby seats Rafael raised his voice and called over his shoulder into the KittyKat. “Do we have any beer in there?”
Nathan nodded as Rafael led him into what was left of the relay’s crew lounge. He slid into a seat at one of the tables and raised an eyebrow up at Dávila. “So, old friend, what can the Hawks do fer you?”
Holding out the small PADD he’d been gripping during their pleasantries Rafael sat as he flipped it over to Nathan, “First thing, I got my hands on some ciphers for a couple of Dove codes. They’re a little out of date, a month or two, but it should help crack some old communiqués,” shrugging as he sat back, “may help to read some of the old stuff, never know what you’ll root out.” Turning at the sound of footsteps he nodded to Miranda as she stuck her head cautiously out the airlock, “you’re good kid.” Smiling at his daughter he caught the beer she tossed to him. “Thanks.”
“Nathan?” Miranda asked, dredging the name out of the recesses of her memory as she aimed the second beer at him. She’d been, what, eight when she’d left the Galaxy. He looked older of course, but that irreverent grin was hard to forget.
Nathan lifted his beer to his lips and took a drink as he looked over at the new arrival. His eyebrows drew in close together as he searched through his memory. Finally it clicked, and he smiled as he set his beer down on the table. “Miranda! Good to see you again, darlin’.” He looked the young woman over, his smile morphing into a grin that wasn’t exactly irreverent. “Well, look at you. All grown up.”
“Yeah, all grown up.” Miranda repeated, not exactly sure how to take the compliment. Turning to face her father she nodded to the airlock, “I’ll be aboard.” She decided, leaving the two of them to talk shop. “Nathan, good to see you again.” She added politely as she left.
Turning his attention away from his daughter Rafael focused on Nathan, “Where were we?” He prompted, watching Nathan watch his daughter leave.
“Hm?” Nathan grunted distractedly, tipping back another sip of his beer as he watched the young woman depart. He shook his head and focused his gaze on Rafael again.
“Sorry ‘bout that, partner. Ah was just struck by how closely yer little girl there resembles her mother.” He sat back in his seat and smirked across the table at Dávila.
Frowning at the look on Nathans face as he compared mother to daughter Rafael took a slow deep breath before replying, “Yeah, she’s a lot like Kimberly.” He agreed tactfully, “and also only fifteen,” he added with a stern fatherly tone.
Nathan shrugged and finally addressed the PADD in his hand, scrolling briefly through the short list of ciphers. “Y’know, this could’ve been a lot more useful to us a few days ago,” he remarked.
“Hey, I get what I can when I can,” Rafael protested gently, “it’s hard enough getting old ciphers that are that recent.” Draining half his beer he grimaced at the taste, “and it’s not getting any easier with von Ernst dropping a STAM and frakking a whole planet.” Adding the last in a bitter tone he crushed the can and tossed the beer aside, “that woman’s worse than a Hydran hellbore pal, can’t the Hawks reign her in a bit.”
“Yeah, that was wild, huh?” Nathan responded with a laugh. “You should’ve seen it. You know what it’s lahk to watch a world die, Rafael? And not just any world, either; *the* world--the only one that ever seemed to matter to those Dove sons-of-bitches.” He shook his head, smiling ruefully, and downed the rest of his beer, slamming the empty container down on the table. “Ah’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”
“Beautiful!” Rafael muttered, his tone taking on a steely edge, “There were people down there ‘pal’! I was born on that rock! It meant something to ‘some’ of us! I had friends on that rock!”
Nathan shrugged again. “Fuck it. Ah wasn’t born there.”
He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a PADD of his own. “Here,” he said as he slid it across the table to Dávila. “Ah didn’t peek, Ah promise. Command ordered me to deliver it ‘unsealed,’ if you take mah meanin’. Ah dunno what it is yer after, but it must be somethin’ important fer you to go to all this trouble.”
“Information Pal,” Rafael muttered as he snatched the PADD up, biting back his anger and retorts he reminded himself that Nathan had a bit of a temper, and the strength to turn him into a human pretzel if he so desired, “the only thing of value any more.” Stifling the desire to read the files here and now he tucked it in his jacket. “By the way, I hear you were looking for a good Doctor?” He asked as he stood.
Nathan looked up at Rafael in surprise. At that moment, whether by chance or coincidence, Nathan’s right arm began to tremble. He gritted his teeth and balled his hand into a fist, trying to will his arm into submission. “Where’d you hear that?” he demanded.
“As I said,” Rafael reminded Nathan as he stepped into the KittyKat quickly, “information’s the only thing of value,” holding a large ovoid object in his hands as he returned he smiled, though the smiled travelled no further than his mouth, “and I’m fairly wealthy.” Holding the object with one hand Rafael opened a panel with the other. “Its frakked,” he explained simply, “main power supply is shot and the emitters are temperamental. I don’t have the resources to fix it any more, but I’m sure you do. If you can fix her, keep her for a while and then let me know when I can pick her up.”
Nathan stood up and looked down at the small holoemitter contained within. “Who’s ‘her’?”
“It’s an old friend of Kim’s.” Rafael explained, “I found her in a wreck off Orion’s shoulder a couple of years back. Mobile sentient holo doc, you may remember her, she was on the Galaxy apparently for a while. Not much good to me in her current condition, but if you can fix her?” Offering Nathan the device Rafael prayed silently that Nathan would accept. Getting Gabrielle had cost him, but rumour said Nathan needed a good Doctor, and getting Watson onto his ship could be invaluable.
The pilot frowned and gave Rafael a sceptical look. “Why’re you offerin’ this to me, Dávila?” he wondered. “We’re not exactly friends. What do you care what happens to me?”
“Personally, I don’t.” Rafael admitted bluntly, “there’s only one person in this Prophets forsaken quadrant I care about, and she’s in there.” Aiming a thumb over his shoulder he indicated in the direction of the KittyKat. “I need a Doctor as well, not right now, but I will. I can’t fix this emitter though, but if you can she can help you, then you send her back, then I ‘do’ have a Doctor, just in case my little girl ever needs one.”
Nathan looked up from the holoemitter he cradled in his palm and looked down the corridor Miranda had gone down. “Dammit, now you made me feel all guilty,” he muttered. He hated guilt. It was an emotion that his ancestors never suffered from; why should he have to?
“Alright, Rafael, Ah’ll see what Ah can do,” he said as he stood up. “We done here, or was there anything else you needed from the Hawks?”
“No, we’re done.” Rafael said with undisguised relief, “So as soon as you’re gone, so are we.” He added, firmly intending to get the frak away from here as quickly as possible.
“Good,” Nathan turned and started back the way he came, just as anxious to get away from there as Rafael was. He stopped at the doorway, and hesitated for a brief second before looking back to Dávila again. “You take care of that kid, alright?”
“That goes without saying Cowboy.” Some people really did have a habit of stating the obvious, like her well being wasn’t the most important thing in the ‘verse!
Nathan turned and continued on his way, hurrying out of the relay station and back up to Calypso. A few minutes later, he was gone, leaving Rafael, Miranda, and Aurora alone again.
“Squirt!” Rafael hollered as Nathan departed, “we are leaving!” Gathering the remnants he had left scattered about he literally threw everything into the KittyKat and cycled the airlock shut. Reaching the cockpit in close to record time he scanned the flight board.
“Did he take it?” Miranda asked as she packed her suit away.
“Yup, thank the Gods. Now we wait and see what she picks up.” Releasing the docking clamps he switched the ship to Aurora’s control, “Get us out of here Aurora, nice and easy. Once we’re clear warp out, don’t care where right now but get us ten light years away from here, and fast!”
“Check Raf.” Handling the little ship with her usual grace Aurora manoeuvred them out of the rock, “What if he has someone strip the holodoc before fixing it.” She asked as she worked.
~ Why oh why does everyone repeat old arguments! ~ Rafael wondered, “Hence Aurora why we are leaving here somewhat hastily. Our warp trail should have dissipated nicely if he does come back.” Risky, yes. Infiltrating the holodoc onto a Hawk ship was a big risk. If she could access their net though, the information was worth the risk.
Frell, just living was a risk right now! "Ship of the Damned: Part 2"
Time (Immediately before the destruction of Earth and before Von Ernst takes the Shiva out of the system - yes, I know that makes this a back post.)
Location: The space above Earth, where a heated battle between 'HAWK' and 'DOVE' forces rage on.
Previously: Amidst the largest civil offensive ever seen above planet Earth, the long vanished ghost ship USS GALAXY – C suddenly reappeared and while everyone else is busy engaging one another in space combat and dog fights, the GALAXY - C begins to concentrate their fire….upon the moon?!?!?!
“Nurse Jones!!! Nurse Jones!!!” the thin, bald chief psychiatrist cried out, racing through the hallways of the asylum, twisting and turning through the debris.
Emergency lights flickered overhead, swinging from their moorings as the centuries old construct shook and quaked, bathing the labyrinth like honeycomb of hallways in a deep blue, ever moving light that lent to the appearance that one was walking under water.
His panicked footsteps and labored breathing echoed across the stark, industrial tiling and down the empty hallways.
Before the fall of Federation, the Lunar facility nicknamed “Tranquility Bay” had been used by Star Fleet to house some of the most politically dangerous and unstable enemies of the United Federation of Planets. For decades, Tranquility Bay silently and secretly foiled countless terrorist attacks and plots by enemy combatants wishing to do grievous harm to the unwitting citizens of the UFP.
The often controversial prison had been scaled back throughout the years to accommodate only a fraction of the detainees that it once held and when the Triad war was lost and Star Fleet was splintered into factions quarreling for survival, the facility was lost and forgotten to all but the handful of residents and support staff who kept Tranquility Bay operational under the calm, steadying hand of Dr. David Thomas – the very same man now screaming at the top of his longs, dodging falling debris as the prison collapsed upon itself under the attack of an unknown enemy.
"Nurse Jones!" he yelled skidding around the abandoned nurse's station where he found the woman laying in a crumpled heap amidst a pile of pads and paperwork.
“Oh no…” he moaned as his eyes were drawn to the angry phaser burn across her torso.
“I got to get out of here! I got to get out of here!” he began to scream, flailing about aimlessly before he recalled that there was a shuttle bay in the facility.
His next step was to arm himself and he gazed quickly around the strewn items behind the nurses station before he found one of the stun baton the staff had used to incapacitate prisoners who grew unruly.
Taking comfort in its familiar weight, the doctor turned the on switch and the weapon hummed to life. Satisfied that he was now safer, he headed down to the turbo lift and pressed the door actuator.
Seconds seemed like an eternity.
When the doors finally ground open with an high pitched squeak, Dr. Thomas was taken aback seeing a black clad, masked hulk inside leveling a phaser rifle at him.
“Wait...I...” he gasped before a short blast disintegrated his forehead.
The psychologist's corpse slumped to the ground and the assassin dropped to a knee and grabbed the fallen man's identification badge - snapping it off the thin retaining chain with a quick jerk of a gloved hand.
He double timed it down the hall, covering himself by sweeping the phaser rifle methodically left to right and swiped the stolen ID card accessing the holding area.
Most of the cells were empty, their doors wide open.
Three of the doors were closed. The first a screaming, raving Chris Thomas was trying to shove his arm through a food slot.
In the second cell, a graying Cardassian sat calmly in the middle of his bunk - looking not the least bit surprised to see an ebon clad, armed intruder walking amidst the ruins of the facility.
A quick glance in the last cell revealed the assassin’s target.
He disengaged the lock with the stolen id card and let the door swing wide open.
The woman inside was strapped to a bed and seemed barely coherent, her red hair hanging across her face nearly covering her glassed over eyes.
The assassin slung his phaser rifle over his shoulders and pulled the IV from the woman's arm and then the sensor patches attached to her temples.
He unbuckled the first restraint, freeing her left arm.
As if suddenly charged with supernatural energy, she began to scream pounding at the intruder with her free arm.
With practiced ease, he captured the flailing limb with one hand.
He removed his mask with the other.
"Captain....Captain..." Raven Darkstar said before adding a little more forcefully " Captain Kira Nerys!"
Hearing her name, the Bajoran stopped struggling and tried to focus through her sedated haze on the Indian before her.
"I have been sent to get you out of here." Darkstar rumbled.
"Get.....me....out?" Kira asked.
Raven removed the last of her restraints.
"Are you ready?" he asked. Kira nodded once sharply and the Indian activated his transponder.
Seconds later both were transported off of Tranquility Bay and onto the main bridge of the ghost ship GALAXY - C. “The Wheel Turns” Captain Daren M’Kantu – USS Kilimanjaro (Wambundu-Class Cruiser) ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Deep Space ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ “Remind me again why we’re here?” Miranda asked, breaking the silence that had permeated the dark and cold little ship now for several hours. Ever since she’d found out who they were meeting she hadn’t been in the best of moods, though she had grown up on the old Galaxy, for some reason the thought of the ship’s CO had sent her into a bad mood that had caused Rafael to actually avoid her for most of the trip. She’d crashed around the cargo bay, complaining loudly to no-one about things she couldn’t find, snapped at Aurora and her Father then sulked in her room for hours, until finally emerging silently to sit and watch the stars go by as they got closer to the agreed rendezvous, “We’re here because as Aurora kindly pointed out, there are times you can’t sit on the fence.” Rafael reminded her. “We need to know what is going on, at the very least so we can be somewhere else if the dren clogs up the ventilation system.” “Why ‘him’!” Miranda asked, making it painfully evident with her tone she did not approve of the upcoming meet. “Because he knew your mother fairly well, and whatever you may think of him he’s still a decent guy. And probably one of the few out here I’d trust if I had to.” That last he added in a softer tone, there were damn few people he’d trust in this day and age. “I still don’t like him.” Miranda complained. “Fine,” Rafael replied with a shrug, “just keep your opinions to yourself when we meet him, I’d rather not piss him ‘or’ his crew off. Okay!” Directing the last word to her in a stern tone he looked directly at her. “Okay!” He repeated louder after a prolonged silence from beside him. “Fine, whatever.” Huddling up in her jacket she shoved her hands deeper into her pockets and began muttering to herself. “Incoming warp signature,” Aurora reported suddenly, thankfully saving Rafael from replying to his irate daughter. “ID?” Scanning, Raf watched as a ship of a class he’d not seen in at least eight years, maybe more, dropped out of warp nearby, decelerating rapidly. The Wambundu Class were traditional twin-nacelle heavy cruisers, part of a fleet build-up back in 2328, when the mainstays of Starfleet were her heavy cruisers, before the larger and more heavily-armed Galaxy and Sovereign classes were more than designer’s dreams. Although only forty meters shorter than a Galaxy’s length, the Wambundus were seventy meters smaller in height and two hundred and forty meters shorter at the beam, making them a more nimble ship than their larger descendants, if less able to take a pounding. “It’s him. Though he’s on the Kilimanjaro, not the Galaxy.” Aurora confirmed. “Hail them.” Rafael ordered curtly, wondering idly what happened to the Galaxy. It took only a few minutes for the screen to clear and display the face of the man they’d come to talk to. He was older, his hair now a stark white, and seemed as if the weight of those years was heavier on him than they should be... but his eyes were the eyes of a younger man, and they met Rafael’s openly from across the hundreds of kilometres that separated them as the Kilimanjaro slipped to a stop. “Commander,” Daren nodded. “You’ll pardon my frankness, but we seem to be in a day and age where that’s a virtue again, so? What was it you wanted to speak about?” “Captain,” Rafael greeted him simply, glad to be able to get straight to business, “two things, one is this Allison von Ernst, hence why I didn’t want this chat over subspace. I’ve been inundated with queries from people about this, my guess is because of the notice the big bitch sent out for her rescue. My interest though isn’t because of that.” Tapping his console he sent a fragment of Kimberly’s logs to M’Kantu and looked back to the ageing Captain with a note of confusion in his voice, “you were the CO of the Galaxy back when Kimberly was the CMO, I was hoping you’d be able to shed a little light on this. The Allison von Ernst everyone’s now chasing seems to have been on the USS Galaxy over sixteen years ago, under the name Allison Jimsdottir, at least that’s what I’m getting from her logs.” Okay, the chain of evidence was fairly circumstantial, but M’Kantu didn’t need to know that, all Rafael wanted was confirmation really, and this guy was in a position to do just that. M’Kantu looked at the logs for a moment, and then nodded. “I’ve seen these logs before, yes. I’ve seen Rebecca’s announcement as well. But you’d hardly expect otherwise in either case. Is there a specific admission that you’d like me to make for the record, or were you hoping for something… dramatic… with finger pointing and third-person narration?” “Hardly,” Rafael admitted with a shrug. “But the question is there Sir, this girl everyone is chasing, is she the same girl mentioned in Kim’s logs?” “To the best of my knowledge, yes,” Daren nodded. “She is. And now I get to ask a question. Why is this of interest to you?” “Honestly, I’m not one hundred percent sure.” Sitting back Rafael frowned as he looked out at the Kilimanjaro, “I’ve been looking for someone for a long while now Captain, and I’ve learnt along the way that no information is useless. If she was there, then, when she shouldn’t have been, then it begs the question how, and can it be done again?” “Travel through time?” Daren asked, as if the idea had never occurred to him. “I would suppose so – it’s certainly been done enough times historically speaking. James T. Kirk alone did it ten, possibly twelve times if I recall correctly.” He smiled. “Of course he also died three times and returned from all of those deaths, fathered an entire planet’s worth of children, married most of their mothers, and performed six other impossible acts every day before breakfast. I think there’s a religion that worships him somewhere corewards.” Unable to contain his mirth at that last Rafael laughed for a moment at the thought, “I’ve no idea, but if there is let’s find them. If their God is James T. Kirk they’ll be a fairly resourceful bunch to have on our side.” Still chuckling at the thought he settled down, shaking his head once more at the humorous idea. “Seriously though, as you said it’s been done enough, even Kim had her experiences with time travel.” Sobering up somewhat at the mention of his wife Rafael frowned, “and speaking of Kim, that brings me to the other thing I needed to know. How much do you remember about a carrier, the USS Templar. Say four or five years ago?” “The Templar?” Daren thought for a moment. “Hawk ship. Commanded by an Admiral – not that the rank carries as much weight as it did back in the day – named Russo, I believe. Competent enough, but heavy-handed and prone to violent solutions to problems. I think the ship is currently…” a feminine voice spoke up off-screen, a hint of a Jamaican lilt and some other accent merged together in the indistinct words, “…Ah. I’m told that as of our last update she’s believed to be in the vicinity of Regulus. Why?” Thinking for a moment Rafael ran over Kim’s logs in his mind quickly, wishing yet again he had her gift of recall. ‘Well frak me!’ He muttered after a moment as the proverbial drop of latinum fell, the illuminator went off overhead and several years of data accumulation suddenly coalesced in his brain, had a party and screamed for his attention. “That name’s familiar...” Shaking his head he returned to the here and now. Accessing his store of data Rafael started a download to M’Kantu. “Thank you Captain,” Rafael said gratefully, ignoring the ‘why’ for now, “I’m sending over a data dump, hopefully something of use there to you and the Doves, various bits and pieces I’ve collected last few weeks for you.” Daren nodded. “I appreciate it – I’ll make sure to pass it on to the right people. Now, is there anything else you’d like to discuss? Another question you’d like to dodge?” Smiling Rafael shook his head, “I appreciate your time Captain, and your help, and I hope the information is of some use to you. As for dodging questions, well, when I have answers ask me again.” He offered sincerely, M’Kantu after all had been one of the few to stand up for Kimberly when Starfleet had dishonourably discharged her and one of the few she had spoken about with any respect afterwards. “Fair enough,” Daren nodded. “If you’re certain that there’s nothing else?” He glanced off-screen for a moment as the same indistinct voice said something. “Some supplies, perhaps? I’m told your data appears useful enough to warrant that at least.” “Again, my thanks Captain. If you could spare a little anti-matter, fuel is running a little low here.” There was actually a ‘massive’ list of things he needed, but over the years he’d realised easily that being greedy never paid off. Better to ask for a little and probably get it than ask for the moons of Nibia and be refused. Daren looked off-screen again, listened to that not-quite audible voice once more, and nodded. “We can do that, Captain,” he told Rafael with a nod. “And maybe a little bit more. If you’ll stand by for a few minutes we can have it beamed aboard your ship.” True to his word, three minutes later, a set of shielded storage canisters holding the promised fuel, and a pair of crates containing general supplies and a selection of commonly-needed spare parts beamed into the smaller ship’s cargo bay. “Clear skies Captain,” Rafael said with a smile, giving M’Kantu the old spacers farewell, “and thanks. If I get anything else I’ll be in touch.” “Thank you,” Daren nodded. “Fly safe, Commander.” Watching the Kilimanjaro as it turned and went to warp Rafael banked the KittyKat in a different direction and likewise left the area. It was never a good idea to linger for too long in one area. Once they were cruising he looked at his daughter, who, for once, had managed to keep her mouth shut. “Still think he’s a menace to society?” he asked. “I still don’t like him!” She announced firmly, sticking her tongue out at him childishly. “Fine, whatever.” Starting a database search for any references to this Russo as he spoke, he hadn’t been lying to M’Kantu when he said the name rang bells. “Look in your mothers logs squirt, see what you can find on Russo.” Silently complying Miranda opened her mothers archive and started reading and for a while blissful silence filled the shuttle as the two of them culled whatever data sources they had accumulated. “Well, we have some background info on this guy,” Rafael started to explain as he sat up, stretching he looked to Miranda, and then froze as he saw the look on her face. “What is it kid?” She was staring at her screen, mouth open in an ‘O’ of horror, her hands were hovering over her mouth, trembling. The look on her face was not one he’d expected to see on her face, ever. Terror... Fear... Abject panic! “It’s him!” she whispered. "Clearing the Air"
Victor Krieghoff Angelienia Krieghoff James Corgan T'lan Corgan
****
"Dora?" James opened a comm channel to the computer core, "Is the array online?"
Dora, formerly The Mika Machine, answered from the computer room, patched in to most major systems, she was integrated, her cute mousy voice had a touch of the uncertain and a twinge of artificial distortion, doing away with the old Nurse General Chapel LCARS standardvoice, =/\="Onlinnnne. Scanning for temporaaaaal frequencies."=/\= "You're not scanning for temporal frequencies. You're not a time machineanymore. You're a starship computer core. Patch me into subspacefrequency 27 alpha, authorization Corgan Zulu Hotel India Yellow."
=/\="Frequency accessssssssed. Communications route onlllllline. Scanning for alternate theorrrrrry threads."=/\=
"Dorable, you're not a time machine anymore. Address, Victor Krieghoff. Hail."
=/\="Hailing. Scanning fiiiiiiiiles marked 'Victor Krieghoff' and co-relating to main temporal timeline maaaarked... Szzzad Maaan?"=/\= Mika interrupted, uncertain and mournfully, =/\="Where.... are tetetethetemporal.... and allllternate strings?"=/\=
James held his hand to his head, "Dora, for the last time... you're not a time machine. You're a starship. Just call Victor please."
She said with a whimper, =/\="Hailing Victooooor Krieghoff under quantumencryption/decryption proootoooocols."=/\=
James sighed, "You can take the girl out of the time machine but you can't take the time machine out of the girl."
=/\="Did I... act in errorrrrrrr?"=/\= Dora electronically wimpered, picking up on James displeasure quickly.
James defended himself apologetically. He'd forgotten his new 'computer core' was temperamental in a way most computers weren't. This one's emotional. This one had feelings to hurt. It had also spent most of its time in a box with barely any stimuli, and this one was still, mental development wise, a child. A child that was undead synthesis of flesh and machine. He had to relax his foundling and quick. "No no, no no. You did well. You just need to adjust. You're a good girl, Dorable. Carry on."
Though he couldn't see it, he could imagine Dora beaming with pride, =/\="Thank you. Szzad Man."=/\=
"Please... call me James."
=/\="Jamesssss... over and oooout. Communication in thirrrty seconds. Prrrrivacy protocols engaged."=/\=
Dora evoked the first social norm she learned in her infancy. As the computer, she could see and hear almost everything on the ship. Sometimes it meant she saw and heard things she wasn't privy to, such as the night Dora asked about T'lan and James' elevated heart rates, increased body temperature and close proximity to each other one night when they were making love. It was one of many things he had to teach. And it was amazing how fast the electronic/biological hybrid could learn.
Was that what it was like to raise a child? James had to wonder. His two daughters totally missed out on having him around, but he thought instead that it was he that lost out. Raising children was a lesson he didn't learn, choosing instead to stomp out galactic threats. What did he know about raising a cyborg run starship?
T'lan noted, "You seem happy today, dear James."
James replied, "That's because I don't get to miss out on this special little girl. Well... stand up. Let's put on a good face for Victor."
"Any bets he will display another ballroom?"
"I'd bet my savings on it."
While not technically a ballroom, the diplomatic reception chamber of the Supreme Potentate of the Grand Extrastellar Empire of Naravheen (a small, two-planet social unit on the border of Orion territories whose structures and celebrations were well-known throughout the galaxy primarily due to the planet's ban on clothing of any sort) was close enough that James wasn't losing any money on the bet. Victor, fully dressed, was waving off a serving girl with a tray full of drinks as the image cleared, while Angelienia - also fully clothed - was leaning on his shoulder and whispering something into his ear with a smirk.
"James," Victor nodded, holding up a hand for a moment to forestall reply as he turned to Angelienia and told her "You, love, are a very wicked woman."
"Well, yes," she returned. "But I'm your wicked woman." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek and turned his head back to face the screen. "Talk to James and T'lan, love." She waved. "Hello!
T'lan bowed formally, "Live long and prosper, Angelienia."
James waved less than formally, "Howdy ho. I'm afraid my background's a little less formal, but I can say with good authority that it can be danced in."
"We tried. At our wedding." T'lan smiled.
"I got tripped up by the helmsman's chair." James grimaced, shrugging, "Thank God she didn't marry me for my dance steps."
"I think," Victor offered, "that our wives both married us for better qualities than that... whatever they may be. "
Angelienia poked him in the ribs and gave T'lan a long-suffering look.
"Well... I have some news for you." James began his list matter-of-factly, stressing on details carefully, his channel flickering from nebula interference, "Looks like the earth is truly fucked. I even saw the Tokyo Tower outside my viewscreen. Not good. Refugees are fleeing like rats on a sinking ship, and those that can't flee are stuck on one ruined and very unstable Mars colony. I'll send a data packet with known refugee movements."
"I'd appreciate it," Victor nodded. "There are some groups I can forward it to that might be able to take some of the excess population off Mars' hands if they're getting overloaded, and provide some assistance either way."
"Sure, we had trouble." James grinned impishly, "There's still a lot of activity in Sector 001, but for the most part the Shiva is long gone. I couldn't find a trail... lost in all the Earth debris. What's left are patrols, mostly Hawks. In fact, we had to run from it. Seven Hawk Raiders. Took them all down, but the miserable fuckers scragged my computer core. But that was an easy repair. We were able to fix it in transit or else we wouldn't be talking to you."
"Good to hear," Victor nodded. "That's a tough repair at any point - you must've had a spare core handy."
"Well... funny thing. It also has to do with a certain... project we tried to smuggle. You know, the one I thought was destroyed with Earth? We found her. We found The Mika Machine."
Victor blinked. "Intact? After all that? I certainly didn't expect that." He glanced at Angelienia who tensed slightly and then added, "My offer to store the Machine for you is still open, if you want to take advantage of it."
"Ummmmmm..." James and T'lan looked at each other unevenly, "About that. You know how I offhandedly hinted that it related to my ship's computer control problem? Well... the funny thing is Dora... that's her name now, declaring it was kinda the first sign of independent thought she's demonstrated... well, to cut to the quick she became our new computer core. Just so you know. So I'm afraid we won't be able to make delivery. Sorry."
Victor and Angelienia both visibly relaxed. "Oh thank God," Victor sighed.
"Eh?" Corgan and T'lan looked troubled.
"You're a friend, James," he explained, "and I'll go a long way to help my friends. I'll keep their secrets, I'll house and raise their children, I'll defend their families, and I'll support them when and where I can. But the Machine..." He shook his head. "I made the offer because you're my friend... but I wasn't looking forward to following through on it. Word would get out sooner or later, and people would come looking for it. Temporal technology is too powerful, too seductive... Sooner or later I'd have a fleet parked outside the system demanding I surrender it, and then things would just go straight to hell, because they'd never believe that I'd destroy it - which I would do to save everyone else here - and they'd come in with guns blazing to get it." Victor smiled in relief. "No offense, but it's better that it's not here."
James didn't betray any emotion. T'lan beat him to it, laughing out loud. The sight of a Vulcan in mirth was one of the universe's rarest sights.
"Oh..." James smiled, breaking out a snicker, "Well, that answers that. Sorry I ever doubted you."
Victor and Angelienia looked at each other and then back at James and T'lan. "Doubted us?" Angelienia asked.
T'lan ceased her laughter, "James was worried that was the exact reason why you wanted her. It was YOUR idea, after all. We were worried that you would use her for that exact purpose, recreating the entire machine. It was a war winner. We thought even you were tempted."
"It kept me up all night." James shrugged, "We kept the damn thing out of the Doves and Hawks hands all those years. Old habits, what can I say?"
T'lan faked a sad face, taking on some of Corgan's casual expression, "I won't let Mika be used again. What am I going to say to Vic? What if he doesn't take the news well?"
James burst out, distorting his face, "I'VE KNOWN HIM FOR YEARS! THIS MIGHT... RUIN OUR FRIENDSHIP! BWAAAHAHAHAHA!!!!!"
T'lan and James enjoyed their moment of humour, oblivious to Victor and Angelienia's reaction.
Victor, in turn, snickered a few times, and then joined in the laughter, followed a few moments later by his wife.
Their laughter died down, and with it came James' more serious side, "You must think I'm a prick for laughing like that. Sorry. It's been a tense week. Sometimes a little black humour helps."
"No, no worries, James," Victor assured him. "I was laughing too."
"But seriously, I am sorry. I know I sound like a dickhead for thinking you'd use Mika, but I can't take that chance with anybody. All people have done was try to use her, and you hit the nail on the head as to why. I also don't like putting my friends through any inconvenience, so now I don't have to come up with an excuse to keep Mika. I agree that this is the best arrangement."
T'lan added, "But also note that we might attract unwanted attention."
James said, "That's also why I'm not stopping at your planet for a bit. I'd like to visit, but its best that we wait until this mess blows over. Besides which... I have to follow a lead."
"We'll be sorry not to see you in person," Victor replied, as Angie nodded next to him. "But that's probably not a bad idea." He paused, and then added, 'Lead? Lead to what?"
James split the viewscreen, showing a map projection of the galaxy. The map zoomed in, until it showed a multi sector wide display, with wispy trails mapping warp signatures and one trail in dark blue."Mika's no longer a time machine, but she's still got a bit of the time machine in her. She's detected a huge temporal distortion signature. It's coinciding with these long distance warp signature scans. I think I know why. It might be Allison."
T'lan explained the science, "You see, every time traveler has, after every temporal incursion, a residual cronoton signature, a 'time stink'as described in The Mika Machine's manual. Mika... Dora I meant to say, recognized the cronoton signature and identified it as 'the traveler'.
"The fact is... Dora is obsessed with 'the traveler'. It was part of her basic programming. Monitor the user of her former temporal apparatus as he or she transits through time and alternate dimensions. Since there was only one chrononaut to date, it can only be Allison." James paced his bridge, crossing his hands, "My friend, whoever took her off Earth has an assload of hurt coming his way. If it isn't the pursuing spacecraft, it's going to be ME if they ever hurt her."
"Ah," Victor nodded. "In that case, I can ease your mind a bit. After we spoke last, I was contacted by one of the Doves, and told that she was on the Miranda, with Jii and Daren M'Kantu. Even with the road we're all going down these days, I can't see either of them - M'Kantu especially - letting anyone hurt her. It's not in them. They've talked to her, and there's some... confusion... about the way things are supposed to be, but she was alive and well when we spoke a few days ago."
"What kind of confusion?"
"The confusion," Victor explained, waving off a nude green Orion waitress absently as Angelienia glared at her from over his shoulder, "has to do with the fact that Allison remembers a... different... future than this one."
"Shit! From bad to worse...." James crossed his arms, his agitation creasing his wrinkling brow, "The only reason I didn't yank Allison back to begin with was because of these wars. Hell, the timeline was projected to be nudged, diverging from ours. I was counting on it to make sure she didn't go through the hell that was the last couple of decades. What I didn't count on was her temporally shifting as well. Not good. It looks like the timeline was changed too much. I have to see her right away to find out."
"I haven't talked to her myself, James," Victor cautioned, "so all of this is second-hand at best. From what I understand, all of this stupidity," he waved a hand at the universe in general, "never happened in the past she remembers. No civil war, no collapse, none of it. Which, I suppose, means something went wrong somewhere." He shrugged. "A temporal technician I'm not. And before you ask, no, I don't know where Miranda is - they don't hand information out like that often... at least not to me. If and when I find out, I'll tell you, though."
"My temporal mechanic is dead." James cursed again, "But don't worry. I can find and track Allison. Tell M'Kantu not to fire on my ship. I may not take their side, but I do have a right to find out what they want from her, and I certainly have a right to see my daughter. I failed her for most of her young life. Not... this... time." He added, "Don't think for a second I like the idea of the Doves having her either. They'll use her if they understand her importance, even if they have to coerce her. The stakes of the time line and this Civil War demand nothing less. Before that happens I have to speak to her."
"I'll pass the message along," Victor promised. "But don't let your - admittedly deserved in some cases - paranoia get the best of you. If Jii and Daren were the sort of people that would force young girls to do things against their wills, then I would have let them die years ago, James."
"I know. I have to see for myself." James said, admitting, "But listen; Rebecca's looking for her too. I know. She contacted me herself. And don't ask where she is, she's easy enough to find in that big starship of hers, and even if did have a chance to spike her location, she came to me in whatever good will she had left. I will warn you and the Doves when I meet them. She hasn't reverted to the Ice Queen. She's turned into something worse. Also, regaining custody of Alli is the first time she's actually had an emotionally invested goal. That means she'll try a lot harder to win. Be careful."
Victor smiled. "It's not like the old days anymore, James. I'm always careful these days; I have too many people that depend on me now not to be. But you take care too."
"And now... I gotta go back to work Victor. Be seeing you. And tell your whacky death cult I said hi."
That drew an honest laugh. "I don't think they qualify as a cult, James - they certainly aren't worshipping me, that's for sure. I don't think that I need that much of a swelled head. As for the death part?" He shrugged. "I am what I am. And remember, no dying."
"Like I said," James sighed, "If I die, it'll be on my own terms. I have to ask... I know you have a supernatural hold on people's lives. Please allow me to determine my own fate. Corgan out."
Victor regarded the blank screen for a moment, and then said quietly, "Of course, James. You always have a choice. Always. That's the way it works." "Definitives" Daren M'Kantu **** USS Miranda Arel entered the conference room and sat in the chair beside the old "She was a good ship," he agreed, eyes on the starfield out the window. She shook her head. "I heard something about a new mission on the "Yes," he leaned back. "Yes. Tell me... do you remember Allison "Vaguely. Weird girl in Security that said 'zorky' or something." Daren nodded. "'Zarky' I believe it was, yes." He glanced back at the "How did that come about?" "The temporal displacement?" Daren's eyes were sad as he met hers. Arel nodded. "And she succeeded, I take it." "To a point. She found him... but James Corgan - the James Corgan of She couldn't quite picture the Corgan she had known anyone's father. "Yes. What it should have been. What it was supposed to be." Daren's "It must have been difficult for her to end up here," Arel said in a Daren smiled, the sadness gone and his eyes bright. "Am I that She shrugged. "It's the next logical step, Sir. But you're not the first "She didn't use the Guardian," Daren conceded, "and no one's seen or "Probably just getting your hopes up. And Von Ernst isn't going to just "No, no she isn't. We'll have to have people working on that, too," "Bad," she replied honestly. "but still functioning. Ready for my next "None of us are doing good," he agreed. "Do you want to talk about it? She shrugged again. "There's not much to talk about. I'm just ... " The "Not that I'm advocating the taking of your own life - because I'm not - "Klingons don't commit suicide if they are still able to lift their He nodded. "And you can still fight." He considered her for a moment. "That and a mek'leth. What's your point?" "I was just trying to envision how someone so lethal that they could "You shouldn't waste your sense of humor on me," She said. "What do you "Who better than someone who's forgotten how to laugh?" Daren asked "How can *I* help, Sir?" "That depends on what you want to do," he returned. "Would you prefer a "The second," Arel said without hesitation. "I thought that you would," Daren nodded. "While we're doing what we "You mean Rebecca." "Yes," he confirmed. "We have to do something about her now, or at least "How do you want it done?" Arel asked. "Cleanly. Fairly. Above-board," Daren answered without losing eye "Certainly," She replied. "You'll likely need some help," Daren offered. "Getting to her is no "She'll be dead as soon as I can arrange it." "Give yourself enough time to make the plan work," Daren suggested. "You're welcome."
"Auld Lang Sine, Cosine, and Tangent" OOC - occurs before "This Is Only A Test" Red Crest Shipyards, S'sgarnon Prime Janeen turned back to K'aa. "Can your comm array put us in touch with "Urrchaad saii'coou 'Miranda' ecoooul 'Elaithin'", the Gorn barked in "Indeed it should," Janeen answered reminiscing about her posting K'aa nodded affirmative and Janeen started up the protocols for It took a few minutes -- flecks of static sparked across the view "Come in Gorn vessel, this is USS Miranda on Starfleet security "We're reading you fine Miranda," Janeen replied, "This is Lieutenant "I'm Ensign Cadence Merriweather, assistant communications officer. "We need to speak to Admiral Elaithin. It's urgent," Janeen replied "'Commander Jaxom. Please send identity-verification codes. I will "Transmitting now," Janeen tapped the codes into the console. They Merriweather nodded, then blinked out leaving the classic and now long "Janeen, it's been some time," he said. "Good to see you." He then "There's that," Janeen agreed, "But there's also another matter we The Admiral's smirk was a painful attempt to conceal the multiple "You're going to have to be more specific." "The Vee Eee front," Janeen clarified. "You may know Jaal sent me to "Now that you mention it, I did hear something about that," Jii Static passed momentarily through the Admiral's figure on the view Janeen cleared her throat, "K'aa has done some extensive research on "It'sss a matter of following the numbersss," K'aa drawled in his "What would have precipitated it? This... quantum deviation?" Jii "The model sssuggesssted that the Hawk obssession for Dove flesh "We're pretty sure it's because she didn't get what she wanted while "We did," Jii affirmed with a nod, though declined to go into further "I have her filessss.... but for a precissse extrapolation, I'll need Jii drummed his fingers on the desk. "We all just got a little egg on "Hmmmm... we will be in your sssector sssssooner than you may inagine, "I think Jaal has some plans cooking right now as well," Janeen added. Jii nodded. "Thanks for the heads-up. We'll keep the lights on." He "Difficult Choices" Admiral Elaithin Jii Captain Daren M'Kantu Director Jordan Elaithin --- Admiral Elaithin Jii had numerous capable people surrounding him; his officers were loyal and dedicated, intelligent, and consistently gave it their all right down to their last full measure. Most of them had been with him for decades, several had known him most of his career, especially the members of his senior staff. But over the years of war and chaos, even Jii -- who, of them all, best managed to keep his faith in people in tact -- whittled down the size of his innermost circle. His eldest daughter, Aria, arguably the Admiral's most trusted, was nearly always at his side. She vetted anyone who came near him, was always prepared for anything that might come up, and she trusted maybe six people in her life: all of whom were related to her. It used to be an even seven. She stood outside the conference room, waiting for them, her long and lithe body clad in the trademark matte black she'd learned from her mother, her dark hair French braided away from her sculpted face, the tail reaching almost to her waist. Her blue-grey eyes had probably been warm at one point, maybe even still managed it on occasion, but likely never outside of her immediate family. It was easy to forget she was barely 22 years old; she possessed the presence and attention of a grizzled veteran. Aria looked upon him coolly, her eyes almost like those of a bird of prey: neutral, peaceful on the surface, but forever sucking in the details no matter how tiny. They flickered over to Shiarrael, set just behind her father. The Elaithin daughter didn't know the other woman. Yes, they'd been passing by each other for almost half a decade now, like ships in the night, sometimes drifting far enough to quietly get in the other's way. But they'd never sat down for coffee or small talk. Aria knew little more about M'Kantu's half-Romulan progeny than a service jacket and the small pieces Jordan had once put together. She knew Shiarrael was about twelve years older, and that she was a devoted to her father as Aria was to Jii. "Captain," she said, "please come in. The others aren't yet here." "Thank you." Daren paused at the door. "You remember my daughter, Shiarrael, I believe?" The half-Romulan woman nodded to Aria neutrally, her eyes pausing in their sweep of the area for threats to her father only for an instant to meet the younger woman's. "Lieutenant," she offered, her accent an odd mixture of her Romulan upbringing and her late stepmother's Jamaican lilt. "A pleasure to see you for once, instead of your hidden hand's presence." "Mm," Aria stated, her eyebrow rising slightly for a flicker of a moment. She felt a slight tinge of regret, as she thought about it -- a desire to have friends, the regret that she didn't, and couldn't, let the shield fall long enough to make any kind of non-familial connection. But friends were just more people who could hurt you, through betrayal or through their death, and she'd lost enough as it was. Aria didn't believe that classic Terran adage -- it was far better not to set oneself up for that kind of pain. "Of course," she said, suddenly remembering her manners as she led them into the room, the lights coming up upon their entrance. "Lieutenant. I'm not sure we've ever been formally introduced, but no doubt we know enough about the other to fill in the blanks." She cleared her throat, mentally kicking herself for the ice queen attitude. Was this really necessary, Aria? "Can I replicate either of you anything?" Aria asked. "I know rations have been tight, lately, across the fleet, but I have some saved up if you would like..." "Coffee would fine, thank you," Daren returned, ignoring his daughter's disapproving look. "But just the one cup, I'm under orders not to start drinking it like I did in the old days." The door opened. Both the women looked toward it, their bodies reflexively tightening with the mild surprise. "Daren," Jii said, nodding toward the other man, extending his hand. Jordan followed behind him, looking a little more worn than when she and M'Kantu had seen one another several days earlier. "Good to see you." They exchanged pleasantries between the three of them, then settled in chairs around the conference table. "Sorry to just jump into things," Jordan said, "but by now I'm sure we're all on the same page. So the question is... where do we start in our recruit? Who do we trust beyond our little Fleet?" "A good question," Daren nodded. "There are people I think I can call on safely, mostly old shipmates from the Galaxy. People you know too. Branwen London, Jaal Jaxom, Alexandra Lee, some others. Who do you have on your list?" "I don't know much about Lee, but Jaal'd be on my list," Jii agreed with a nod. "He's trustworthy, or used to be. And I can't see that havin' changed too much." Despite the two decades that had passed, Jii and Jaal still had yet to resolve their falling out. Once they'd been pretty close -- Jaal had been his XO, after all. But their friendship fizzled when Jii placed his family -- placed Jordan -- above the ship and crew. "His sister, too -- Janeen. Last I heard he has a solid force gathered with him too." He glanced at his wife. "I'm dubious on London." "Her record definitely leaves something to be desired," Jordan murmured, brushing deep auburn bangs from her face as an index finger absently traced along the table's smooth top. "If we did bring her on, which I don't know if we should, it would have to be on a need-to-know basis. She couldn't be on the inner circle; her presence alone would alienate many of our people." "Having her under closer supervision wouldn't be a bad thing, in any case," Daren observed. "I'd say calling her in is worth a try. If we start to get resistance and opposition to her presence, then we make the call as to what to do then. We've all lost some of the shine from our younger days, and if she's lost more than some of us, maybe we can convince her to polish back up." He smiled sadly. "And if not, well, she'll be right here instead of on the other side of the galaxy where we can't do something about it, won't she?" "That is one way to look at it," Jii said. "Guess it can't hurt to extend the invitation." He looked at his wife, who said nothing more on the subject. "Chris Daniels and the Hercules might be useful, if we could get in contact with them," Jordan said. "He's a bit gray-scaled himself these days, but he's capable." Jii sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Capable, sure. But have you read your own intelligence reports?" "From all the data, he was not the cause of what happened on Vulcan," Jordan said. "He might even have been trying to prevent it, though I can't be conclusive. The Hercules rendered what aid they could... you can't put it past their side to demolish one of their own settlements if they think it'll cause division in our ranks." She glanced at M'Kantu. "If I'm not mistaken, tactics like that are part of what this little civil war of ours is about in the first place." "Is it?" Jii muttered. "I'd half forgotten..." "They're certainly a part of why it started," Daren agreed quietly. "I sometimes think that inertia and madness are what's keeping it going nowadays, though." "The question we need to answer here is: do people like London and, to a lesser extent, Daniels, who blur the lines like this, still have a place in the conflict as we know it?" Jordan said. "I think the question is: is the conflict still what it started out being?" Jii stated. "I'm pretty sure there are people who consider themselves to be on our side who've taken on strategy more fitting the other." "Haven't we all to one degree to another?" Daren sighed. "The answer to your question is: of course it isn't. We've stared too long into the abyss and it's changed us all... which is why we're sitting here talking about how to go back and make sure this never happened." "Daren's right," Jii agreed. "In the great scheme of things, it doesn't anymore. And if we pull this off..." "Right." Jordan sighed, rubbing away the tension building at her brow. "Anyway. I'm honestly not the one to ask about trustworthy people. You know my position on the whole thing." "Who else do we got then?" "I... actually have a suggestion," Aria said, her voice low; she'd sat silently for the good five or ten minutes that elapsed. "And you're not going to like it, but I think... he could be invaluable." Jordan set her jaw, but it was Jii who answered. "Who is it, Ari?" "Victor Krieghoff." "Krieghoff." Daren reached up and rubbed the side of his neck as memories of the day it had been broken and half-remembered hallucinatory conversations with... something... that had claimed to be the lieutenant returned to mind. "There's a name I haven't heard in a long time." He dropped his hand. "Why?" he asked openly. "The last I heard of him he'd just... vanished. He and his..." Daren looked uncomfortable, but he finished, "...wife." "He and his *wraith*," Jordan murmured, shaking her head as she pushed herself up from the table, eyes downcast. She went to the replicator and initialized a cup of tea. "He's definitely out there," Jii said, ignoring Jordan's all but silent comment. "We hear tales of him every now and then... and apparently our daughter's tracked him down." Aria felt her face burn under her father's gaze. "We were in contact after the incident in Sol," she said, and directed her attention toward M'Kantu. "He didn't say for sure that he'd join this... endeavor, but he said he'd think about it." She looked at her father. "You've worked with him before; you know what he can do. I don't see how it could hurt to approach him." "I don't see why we would want that on the ship," her mother's soft voice said. She stood at the windows now, staring out at the void as she sipped the tea. The hair pricked on the back of Aria's neck as she recognized the very subtle shift in voice, so light no one but those who knew what the listen for would be able to tell. She said a silent prayer that Oracle behaved... She rarely surfaced in mixed company, and so long as She remained away from the table, staring out the window, it would be fine. Aria exchanged a mute glance with her father; she saw no worry in Jii's eyes, and that made her feel a little better. "Is that a question, a statement, or a pronouncement?" Daren asked mildly, sipping at his coffee as he ignored the looks several people -- his own daughter among them -- in the room gave him. "More a curiosity," came the reply. "There are many things with which you want to tamper, here; should death really be another?" Jii looked a little uncomfortable, or maybe there was more annoyance in his features, as he focused on the table in front of him, drumming the fingers of his artificial hand on its surface. "With what we've found out? We can't just sit here and let this bastardization of the timeline continue. We have to do something, it's our obligation." "Do we really have the right to say one timeline is right over another?" Aria asked. "Or-- Mom is right. Is it really our place to make this decision?" "Aria, this is our course of action, it's the only option we have," Jii said. "No! It's not. We do what we've been doing, we keep fighting." "The decision is made," Jii said. "And unless Daren is opposed, I think we should contact Krieghoff. Are you able to do that?" He focused on his daughter. "Or should I?" Aria's jaw tensed, and her eyes flittered toward her mother, who remained near the window. "I can," she said. "For the record," Daren added from his seat quietly, "I'm not opposed. And to answer you," he nodded to Jordan, "death doesn't really hold any fear for me, not any more. I've watched my youth, my wife, my friends, my home, and my planet die now." He rubbed the side of his neck again. "I've even died myself, after a fashion, although that was a long time ago. There's not much left to fear after all that." There was a soft scoff and the intelligence director's head shook slightly. "You misunderstand Us," she stated. Aria winced, was barely able to contain the quiet groan that crept up into her throat as she closed her eyes. Her cheeks burned and her pulse quickened. Sure, people outside the family knew her mother's so-called defeat of death -- most were led to believe it was less resurrection and more a fake-out, but several knew the real story. But they tried to keep the Oracle a secret, and as far as Aria knew, not even M'Kantu was made aware of it. "We are not saying there is any fear to be had," Oracle continued, though She seemed to be attempting to keep the Jordan mask as she remained angled away. "Death is natural; it is as it should be. The curiosity We posed is whether, when there is a plot to interfere with linear time and the very structure of fate, we should extend an invitation to one who tampers so intentionally with death. It seems somehow unwise, as though it is a tempting of the Greater Universe." "And planning on altering the Great Design of the universe isn't tempting it already?" Daren inquired, setting his coffee down and folding his hands in his lap. "Such is Our point." "Allah teaches us that those who need help must go out and seek it, or make it for themselves. If we are on the right path, then His hand will guide us past the pitfalls that await us. And if not, then we will, assuredly, find them. All of them." "Tell Us, then -- what happens when you neglect to follow the helping hand that has been sent?" "You either find those pitfalls -- or you don't," Daren offered. "Just because Allah offers you a helping hand doesn't mean you can't get where you're going another way. It might be easier with his help, but nothing says it's impossible without it." "CAN and SHOULD are very different arguments indeed," she stated solidly, shaking her head, her body language displaying her irritation with his argument. "Victor Krieghoff may be... whatever it is that he is," Daren continued with the original thread. "But that doesn't mean that he likes this universe the way it is." He leaned back, eyes on Jordan. "I haven't seen him in years, not since his court martial, but I doubt that he's changed much. And whatever he may have done then or since, the fact remains that if we're going to change the universe, going to try and literally rewrite its history and unmake it, sooner or later someone will object to our plans... and there'll be hell to pay over it. I've never met anyone that had a talent for destruction that equaled Krieghoff's -- or anyone that seemed to have a greater talent for writing checks to the infernal regions. I'd like that talent on our side if possible." "Hm," she said. "For us. Against us. Perhaps one is preferable to the other. But once more. The issue is not with the personality or tendencies of the one in question, naturally destructive or otherwise. Nor is it with his affection for this universe, which is not as it was intended to be, perhaps, or perhaps the intention to change it is as was intended to pass, or perhaps any number of scenarios concocted by corporeal beings attempting to ascribe meaning to the meaningless and interpret the meaningful." Jordan's figure turned and looked at them then, the blue flame of her eyes somewhat duller than Aria expected, muted, as was the Eye in its place under the gauzy fabric of her black shirt. "The rightness or wrongness of the universe is not for the understanding of those gathered here. The issue, among those in this room, is whether that one -- with its human, corporeal, self and its attached supernatural element of unnatural destructive force, should be part of this endeavor. We do not believe it should be." She glanced at Jii. "We shall yield to your choice as always, but We must express our opposition." Daren turned and looked at Jii, one snow-white eyebrow raised questioningly, as if to ask not only for a decision, but for an explanation as well. "Daren, Oracle -- Oracle, Daren," Jii deadpanned, shifting his hands one direction and then the other in the introduction. "Oracle?" Daren repeated, glancing at the woman he knew as Jordan. "That's a long story, Daren," Jii said with a sigh. "From when I got Jordan... back... She's meant to serve as an advisor. A road map. Sometimes a Jiminy Cricket." "And is a constant pain in the ass," Aria said, glaring toward the being in her mother's body. "It hasn't been long enough -- I thought You'd finally left us alone." "Oh," 'Oracle' breathed almost wistfully, "were that true..." "I don't know about Allah," Jii said, "but the Prophets teach us that every action has its cost." He shifted his eyes from his wife's form to his older colleague, the Bajoran man's expression carrying the weight of his double meaning. "It's our job to decide if the action is important enough to be worth it."He cleared his throat. "It was. It is. Aria, make the call." “The Machine in the Ghost” Location: I.S.S. Stolen Heart, Somewhere in Federation Space... Time: Takes place before “Old Flames” and "Clearing the Air" OOC: And it's about time I wrote it too. Sorry it took awhile! A transporter beam brought the massive metal and plastisteel coffin containing the only Federation made biological processing unit (BPU) into the computer core room. A hovering gurney brought the container next to the computer core's hard connections, the limited computer specialists compliment looked inside with a mixture of revulsion and wonder. For some of them it was their first peek at The Mika Machine, and it was unnerving.. For some it was a reminder of the Borg, a species still etched in Federation memories as the stuff of nightmares. For others, it was a frail, emaciated woman, not quite dead but certainly not alive in the conventional sense, snarled in cybernetic bondage, a creature in permanent discomfort as she twitched and moaned. There were those, like T'lan, who saw a friend who's eternal rest was violated, and was sickened by the very thought. And there was James, who'd seen failure in himself when he looked into her dead, unfocused, milky white eyes. What was on everyone's mind was that this unproven and frankly scary melding of technology and biological processes was the only hope of keeping the ship alive. Their conventional duotronics computer core was down due to a firefight, and The Mika Machine was the closest thing to a computer within a dozen parsecs. The question was, would The Mika Machine agree to it? James hinged their hopes on a machine barely developed mentally, taking on a responsibility that was not her own. What could he do? Appeal to her compassion? James wasn't sure The Mika Machine knew what that meant. Even now, as he flipped the switch to awaken The Mika Machine from her slumber, he didn't know if she was capable of making the choice. But he had to hope. He did not want to force Mika into linking with his ship. In fact, he would risk death to hold his principles. The ship's crew, however, would be less forgiving. Half would want to see the machine die, most likely. The other half would link her with as much thought of a farmer hitching a wagon on a draft animal. T'lan was definitely in the latter half, James thought. She was still Vulcan and kept a lot of their practical 'needs of the many' attitude. He knew no other side would put The Mika Machine's feelings into account. James was taking a big risk for her sake. “Please Meeks.” James flicked the final switch, “Its my ass on the line here.” The coffin's life support systems accelerated, giving her enough biological processes to stay awake and have limited mobility. Small electric currents pumped straight to her heart, her chest convulsed as her back arched and her lungs groaned for breath. She sat up, braced by the cables that connected to her spinal column, and on shaky gnarled arms she clawed at the coffin's edges, holding herself up, blind eyes seeming to lock onto James. “Sad maaaan?” The Mika Machine inquired. James smiled, “Yeah, babygirl. It's me. Call me James. I like that better.” “Jaaammeesssuuu.” The Mika Machine drawled through digital brackishness. “You watch meee. You prrrootect me. Arreee you my caaarrrtaker?” James answered, “I suppose I am.” “Gooood.” Mika Machine responded, “I looost a caretaaaker. Nuhhhiiirr Tekri. Lostttt. I worried abooout my mainteeennance. Shhheee fix me. Shhheee talk to me. Sheee... helped me with mmmyy pain. Head hurts from seeing the threadssss... body hhuuurrtss from the metal pppaaarrrtttsss. Shhee help me. I miiisss her.” James helped The Mika Machine brace herself. Hearing about Nuhir brought a twinge of to his heart. “I miss her too. She was my daughter.” “Daaauugghter. Biological relation.” “You could say that.” “Miiiissss carettaaker. Saaad man ok, but ssaaad man not know about my needs.” James saw the parallels between The Mika Machine and a child. Her thoughts were geared towards her needs, her relationship formed by those needs. It was like a child, and though it had its selfish roots it also had an understanding of relationships and co-operation. She was thankful for the people that provided for her needs. It was a start. James said, “That will take time, Meeks. I'm just learning about you myself. All you have to do is ask.” “Thaaannnk you, sad man. What I need is a newwww T.A.R.T. Module. I neeeeed aaa body. I must find The Travellerrrr Allison Corgan Federation Identification Number 732962620319487268309245. She mayyy want to go baack. She will beee lost witthout me.” James soothed, “I wish I could get that, but there are no more time machines. It got destroyed with Earth.” Mika started to panic, “I have nooooo purpose? No maacchine, no puuurrrpose! I muuust watch the threads! I mussst see the stars! Witttthhhout the maaachine, I am a cooorre of ffflllessh and wwwiiress! I am aaaa dead thinggg...” Mika's frail body thrashed in the coffin, gangly limbs contorted as she clearly voiced her distress, “No purpose! No purpose wiiithout machine!” This was bringing a sense of panic to the room. A few of the engineers were reaching for their phasers. Even T'lan brandished a duotronic re calibrator like a crude club. Those that approached to help or protect were waved off by James, who held The Mika Machine's hand and sholders, settling the body down. “Calm down.” James reassured the machine person, “You don't have to just have THAT purpose. Meeks... we can find Alli... The Traveller. She is my daughter. I have to protect her too, make sure she isn't lost. For that I need your help.” Mika's thrashing decreased, but it was still within her limited range to show skepticism in her face, “Please. I can help you fulfill some of your purpose, but you must know that your purpose isn't just the time machine. You can determine your own purpose, and if you want I can give you one.” Mika halted, her body was once again in control. “My ownnnownnnownnn... purpose?” “Yeah.” James nodded, “Your own purpose. You don't have to be a time machine if you don't want to. You can do whatever you want.” “Bbbuuut I don't know what I wwaaannnt.” “Well... you didn't once mention that you wanted to be a time machine again. All you said was that you wanted to find The Traveller. I can help, but I need your help.” Mika tilted her head awkwardly, antennae tried to twitch but were held firm by cabling, her face was inches away from Corgan's. “Ttiiiime machine huuurrrtssss. People who use me huuurrrt, except The Traveller anddd The Caretaker aaannnddd The Sad Man. Heeelllp you, heeelllp The Sad Man? Heeelllp me. Helppp them... without the Temporal and Alternate Reality Transporter?” “Here's the situation.” James laid it all out, “The ship's computer core is down. We have minutes until the backup systems overheat and we drop out of warp and all vital systems will be down. If we are not sought, we will certainly be isolated and die. You and your coffin module are the closest thing to a computer core that we have. We need to plug you in to save the ship. Can you handle starship functions?” Mika closed her eyes, set herself to deep concentration mode, and came up with an answer two seconds later, “Warp geometry, tactical analysis, power management, sensor information distribution and interpretation.... tthhhaaat does not use aaalll my processssing power. Thaaat will not hurt. It is easy! I'll have a booody that moves in warp, that seeeees in subssspaace. I wwiiilllll fly.” “Then here's the deal, Meeks. If you plug yourself in and act as my ship's computer core, you'll have the means to find Allison. After then, I can take you somewhere safe. You can decide to stay as the ship's computer... or you can disengage and do what you want. But the fact remains that I need you plugged in right now.” “Iiii... can choose? Noooo Lady of Chaaains... no Aaaarrogant Prince Hawksley to tie meee to time?” “None of that.” James smiled, “You get to choose your path later, but right now I need you to run my ship. Please... we are at your mercy.” She locked herself into deep concentration mode for three seconds, a computer's eternity, before giving an answer. “I neeeed a network connneection to download instructions. I wwwiilll give T'lan verbal guidance. I will neeeed you to stay here.” James asked, “Why?” The Mika Machine replied earnestly, “Beeecccaaause the first part will huuurt.” ***** “Ops, all clear on sensors?” The bridge crackled, =/\=”All clear. No ships detected on long range sensors.”=/\= “Alright then Ops. Helm, drop out of war and drift us at one quarter impulse.” =/\=”Aye sir. Dropping out of warp. Sublight speed adjusted.”=/\= James felt the shudder of the ship drop out of warp. Chief Engineer Johan Shultz ordered, “Engineering, prepare to shut down the warp core and activate backup fusion generators.” =/\=”Aye sir!”=/\= The power went down, emergency lighting turned on. =/\=”Switched to emergency power.”=/\= “Alright boys!” T'lan grasped her remodulator like a knife, “Disconnect those hardlines and disengage the computer core!” The engineers scrambled, pulling apart wires, circuits, and jabbing away at consoles. The computer's cooling units disengaged with a strong hiss and an exhalation of nitrogen gas. Couplings loosened and popped off the chassis, pooling on the floor in copper and plastic coils. T'lan borrowed a magnetic decoupler from the toolbox, disengaging the main line from the old computer core, dragging the heavy cable and plug over to The Mika Machine. “Ready?” T'lan yelled. The Chief Engineer replied, “You can plug her in anytime.” “Are you too ready?” T'lan addressed Mika and James with some concern. James looked over to The Mika Machine. She gave a tired, barely there nod of approval. “Do it. Brace yourself, Meeks.” “Noooott... Meeks. Notttt Mika. She was the shell. I borrowwww her shellll.” James was taken aback, and he apologized profusely, “Sorry. Old habits. Then what should we call you?” The Mika Machine replied, “Engaging primarry accessss plu...AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!” The main plug sunk into The Mika Machine's back with a *whir-click*. The body convulsed, frothing at the corner of her lips, the wires that connected her to her life support machinery were rising up, dangling her like a cadaverous marionette. Shots of electricity tittered her as the main cord took a deeper hold of her systems. She clearly cried out and whimpered in pain, yelled when it came too unbearable as her body arched like her back was broken. “Jesus!” James hissed, her hand in his was like a crushing vice grip, “What's going on!?” T'lan provided the answer, “James, her lifesigns are jumping all over the place. Her neural pathways are being overloaded! We have to cut the cord now or she'll burn out!!!” James was seeing enough. Mika cried out as her body was wracked by unnatural contortions, her voicebox screaming unnatural horrors. “Christ! She'll be dead again!” James bellowed, “Johan! CUT THE GODDAMN LINE!” “Aye sir!” Johan grabbed a fireaxe from the emergency case, and ran up to the hard connection. “NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!” James felt The Mika Machine's bony backhand like a sledgehammer of the gods. It picked him up and tossed him to the other end of the room, the emaciated girl's knee jerk reaction had left James' back feeling like it was on fire, his head dizzy and his body feeling sick from the effort to just stand up. The Mika Machine, however, didn't have the same problems. It stopped convulsing as it slapped James aside, the wires turned stiff and acted together like a knotted tree trunk, keeping the body hanging twenty feet above everyone else. The lost child facial expressions were gone, covered with insectoid malice. LCARS systems were flickering on and off to life, the readouts using what's left of the backup system's anti-hacking defenses to fight off an vicious cyber attack. Entire sectors of memory, whole systems were being taken over at a blinding rate, once top of the line Federation encryption cut like a digital blade through binary paper. “Jesus! She's malicious! Take her down!” Chief Engineer Johan Schultz reached the main connection. He raised his axe in the air and prepared to bring the blade down, severing the connection. The Mika Machine saw his actions from her perch, speaking clearly like a computer, “Warning! Compromising the hard connection will result in corrupted programming. Neutralizing threat!” His axe was grasped by a metal and cord defensive tendril, snaking out of the trunk. Another one slapped Johan into the wall, firmly holding him in place. T'lan ran to his rescue, superior Vulcan strength tried to untwist the tendrils from his torso. As another tendril attacked, she caught the offending limb and tried to wrestle it away. The tendril whirred and snapped, but won out, whipping T'lan onto the floor and shoving her into equipment crates. “Phasers! Phasers!” One of the engineers screamed out, as deckhands and technicians alike were fending off The Mika Machine's defenses. One man managed to reach a phaser rifle. “Danger! Danger! Threat assessed. Type 3 phaser rifle with novice operator. Neutralizing!” The rifleman was picked up on each limb, the rifle firing wildly, destroying one of the lights and raining the darkened, flickering atmosphere with sparks. James wobbled to his feet. He screamed, “Hold your fire! All of you! HOLD YOUR GODDAMN FIRE!” T'lan groaned, “Are you insane?” “JUST DO IT! Don't you dare touch her! Everyone stand down!!!!” Proving there was some discipline on his vessel, James people stopped taking hostile actions. They dropped their weapons and emerged from their hiding places. They'd look up to see The Mika Machine, still propped up on her 'trunk', look down on them as her body was wracked by final twitches. She was lowered back into her coffin. The ship's lights came on, the computer screens returned to normal and James even felt the shudder of the warp engines return online. “Link established. All systems are functioning within normal parameters.” The Mika Machine's vacant eyes rolled, her body collapsed into the coffin. James and T'lan ran fast to The Mika Machine, checking her pulse and reading the diagnostics machinery. “She's right.” T'lan said, interpreting the readouts. “She's the new computer core. She even rewrote some of its programming language. Facinating!” James was concerned about one thing. “Are you alright Mika?” The Mika Machine's eyes fluttered open. She said in a raspy, digitized voice, “Noootttt... Miiika. She isss... a dooonorr. I haaavveeee... name?” James thought of the perfect one. “There was a machine that became a girl once. Her name was Dora. You're the girl that became a machine, but you're both Starships. What do you say? Does Dora sound nice?” The Mika Machine spent five seconds in deep thought before answering. “Doraaa is... a good deeeesignation.” James smiled, “Take it easy, Dora. Rest.” Dora smiled back, “I have a body. I can moooove. I can see the stars and fly amongst theeeem. Not seeeeeee... move! Seeeeeing.. I see stars! I seeeee threads! I seeee The Traaaveler!” The LCARS screens all showed a starchart. Materializing on the starchart was a trajectory, and on it were the movements of warp trails. “The Travellerrrr... she move. Seeeett courrrse?” James grinned further, “Only if the Helmsman lets you. Helm... as soon as you have your systems up set course for the following downloaded coordinates. By god... we're getting my daughter back.” "Playing the Met – A Rocumentary in Six Short Parts" Commander Paul McAllister, SFI-USS Pegasus (follows shortly after "Soundcheck") <Crew Lounge, USS Pegasus> Paul McAllister sat at his desk in the back corner of the crew lounge taken over by the band. The room was silent now; Jazz and Laura had gone out for a drink and to talk over old times, Boom-Boom was on the holodeck experimenting with new ways to blow things up, Pick and Doc were in their quarters, and it was none of his damn business what they were up to. McAllister was pondering several things, drawing thought blocks with a stylus on his computer screen. One block was Alex and his recent re-marriage to her. That was something to smile about, so he grinned. The grin faded as he drew a connecting line to the box labeled Clayton – the murdering priest-Messenger who had performed the ceremony. Clayton had evidently made it his mission to bare McAllister's soul – it was the sort of thing Bonnie used to do. Thinking on Bonnie led him to draw a large question mark next to the box labeled Laura Harper. Paul could not get over the nagging feeling that he had met the sultry lounge singer somewhere before, but her voice failed to trigger his audiographic memory. His computer signaled an incoming transmission. McAllister's eyes narrowed at seeing the message header was tagged with 70637. Someone who had known him on the Galaxy was calling – and in real time. He activated the requested encryption protocols and opened the channel. "This is Conductor," he began, using his call sign. "I haven't heard from you in a long time." An instant passed with a pregnant pause before the proverbial neatly plucked eyebrow shot up in mock defiance at his comment. "I was not aware I was required to check in daily." Her hand shot out and up, grasping a crystal mug's handle before lifting it to her lips. The silence between them was heavy, signaling experience that connected both of them on more than an acquaintance level. Ayanna placed the mug gently down on her desk located in her home study. "I'm itchy....what do you have to cure a rash?" McAllister smiled. "That depends on the type of itch, and where the rash may be located. I certainly hope it's not contagious?" "Still the pervert," she muttered. Straightening her posture just slightly, she offered a no business trance to her features. "This would better be in person." "Then you're not contagious. Good." McAllister had lost his smile. Being called a pervert by someone who actually married Leo Streely was the pot calling the kettle black as far as he was concerned. "How fast can you get to these coordinates?" he asked, punching in a set <Runabout Unicorn, enroute to Metro Theta> Traveling in a runabout with a crew of keyed up musicians excited about their first gig – and first mission – in way too many years was not conducive to private thought or quiet conversation. It wasn't until after a dinner programmed by the old man himself that the band members paired off to prepare for what may be ahead. Since this mission wasn't supposed to call for a sniper, Alicia had been designated 'Control,' and was in the support module with Greg researching Metro Theta – their destination. Metro Theta used to be a Fleet scientific research station. With the war draining resources from all programs not involving weapons development, Starfleet had withdrawn the teams stationed there. As the conflict escalated, the Fleet completely abandoned the station, and squatters moved in. Metro Theta was now a little known refuge in space, and neutral in its outlook. McAllister had made the arrangements with Metro Theta's leadership for HDE to do a concert – and private arrangements to meet with an informant from his past, Ayanna Hinanat, now Ayanna Streely, whose information was so important it required a personal meeting – maybe even an extraction. Personal meet and greets with confidential informants made Jazz nervous; he wasn't sure Paul was up to it yet. The old man still needed his cane when upright for any length of time, and he wasn't as focused as he used to be when an op was laid on. Jazz and Dumach discussed this as they checked and rechecked equipment in the main cabin of the Unicorn. The "old man" himself, Paul David McAllister, was seated in the cockpit of the runabout, observing the newest member of his team as she flew the little ship towards their destination. They had sat in silence for the better part of an hour. McAllister finally caved in the little war of 'I'm not talking to you till you talk to me' by again thanking Laura for working on his earplants. Laura waved it off. "I don't like people making pained faces when I sing." Paul chuckled. "I can see where that can be distracting. You were pretty fast with that temporary fix. Where you a med-tech in a past life or something?" She smirked. "Everyone has secrets, Boss. And if you want to hear some of mine you're going to have to pay me a lot more money." "Actually, I could probably do that -- but I'm not even sure what we're paying you now." "Minimum wage." McAllister put on his serous face. "Laura, you're a puzzle, and I like puzzles, so that's cool. I know folks have secrets they need to keep to make it through the day; hell, I don't know if I could make it through a day telling the truth about myself to everyone. But it any of those secrets of yours could bite us in the ass -- well, I need to know. I don't need to share, but I need to know. We've got to be able to rely on you -- you're part of the family now, ta'Soh?" She sighed. "There's nothing in my past that should cause any problems, Paul. You can rely on me." "I hope so, Laura. Jazz is a friend, and I don't have many of those. I'd really hate to see something happen to him, or any of the others for that matter, but I think Jazz like's you a little more than he should." Laura glared out at space. "I spent a few years in a Triad camp. After that, I didn't really care to return to my former life so I started over. I've been singing in whatever crappy little bar I could, trying to stay under the radar. Not that anyone's looking for me or has any reason to. I made a promise to Jazz and I mean to keep it, despite how annoying his employer is. Now if you'll excuse me, as it's not the best idea to anger the pilot - scram." McAllister smiled. "Good! There are chinks in the armor. There's hope for you yet, Laura. I'll just go scram now." ---------------- <Metro Theta> Five hundred people got woken up Wednesday night in the Metro Theta Center. With the help of lasers, pyrotechnics and big, bold retro rock and jazz arrangements, The Hiram Davis Experience knocked the audience on its ass. There is nothing understated about this group. They don't just go over the top; they leave it a mile behind. And if you like light shows, move over Starfleet, because HDE has likely got you beat. When they cranked up the pyro at the end of the show, you could feel the heat and smell the sulfur at the back of the arena. Forget pithy anthems in glory of war and sacrifice. If you want to jump start your protest season, you need HDE's rockin remake of Aaron Copland/Emerson Lake and Palmer's "Fanfare For the Common Man." HDE's lead man Paul McAllister promised the revamped Experience would present old favorites from their heyday, as well as new tunes to take advantage of replacement lead singer Laura Harper's sultry vocals and expansive range. He certainly delivered. Whether it was snippets of 'Feelin' Good' or 'Proud Mary' aided by a group of Metro Theta string musicians, HDE kicked these traditional tunes up a notch or two. And they sent their signature hit 'Gimme Shelter' into the stratosphere. ------------------------ By all accounts, the gig was a success. Paul had not left the stage once for respite from his implant's feedback whine, Jazz hadn't run out of reeds, Alicia only broke one guitar string, and Boom-Boom had tossed his last drumstick to the crowd on the third encore. McAllister had been especially impressed with Laura's performance. No vocal stress, no cracked highs, no fubbed lows. And she seemed to feed off the crowd, just like they all did, but with a difference, like the music and the audience's reaction took her to a place no one else could go. He still couldn't shake the feeling he had met this woman somewhere before, but was beginning to wonder if that idea was just wishful thinking on his part. The afterglow of a successful performance is sometimes more enticing than sex. Everyone is happy, minor annoyances are momentarily forgotten, and the body experiences the most pleasant sense of wonder and exhaustion. Add to this the voices of fans screaming in adoration outside your door, and there's nothing left to do but celebrate. McAllister popped the top on the bottle Champaign he had left to chill while they were onstage, and poured everyone a bubbly glass. "That was indescribable. To Hiram Davis," he toasted, raising his glass. "Hiram Davis," the band echoed. Laura shrieked as Jazz picked her up and spun her around a few times. McAllister sipped at his glass and grinned as his team congratulated themselves on their initial success. It would soon be time to confront the real reason the group was on Metro Theta. Paul raised his hands, asking for quiet. "Alright, alright, the first part of this road trip had gone well --but in an hour I'll need you all at your stations, just like we rehearsed. Ready to let the raging hoards in?" Getting affirmative nod from his team, McAllister -- Conductor -- gestured to Boom-Boom who opened the door to Hiram Davis' fans. ---------------------------------------------
** Scene Three – Reunion ** The crowd had just continued to grow, beginning with only a few people quietly talking amongst themselves, until finally a mob stood before the doorway, all of them clamoring to meet the band that had just put on what had quite possibly been one of the finest concerts in decades. And they were seriously starting to piss Nathan off. He'd been one of the first members of the crowd to make their way back here. Not out of any particular interest in the band or their music. He was only looking to meet one member in particular. She was the only reason he'd even taken the time to come here. If he hadn't seen her in that advertisement, he would have been back on the Akagi by now. Coming here because of a fleeting glance in a holographic ad seemed silly, but it was a chance coincidence that he simply could not ignore. Even if he turned out to be wrong, he had to find out for sure. So when the doors opened and the throng marched forward with glee, Nathan grimaced and did his best not to get trampled. He hung back for several minutes, watching as the band was ensconced in frivolous questions and the flashings of cameras, using his height to see over the majority of the crowd. He finally spotted her, and he realized that, from his position, he didn't have a good enough view of her to confirm his suspicions. Nathan began to make his way through the crowd, utilizing his superior reach and strength to muscle past anyone who refused to get out of his way, until finally he reached the front line surrounding the band in a rather chaotic semi-circle. He maneuvered himself until he was facing the singer, hoping that she would look his way and make eye contact. If he was right, he knew she would recognize him instantly. To his right, McAllister saw Laura suddenly stop, the smile slipping from her face. He followed her gaze to a man staring at her intently and then back to Laura who looked resigned more than anything. She crooked a finger at the man and then headed for the door the led to a lounge. Paul checked the room quickly, spotting Alicia by the buffet table signing autographs. Well, he had given them an hour and he had not thought anyone would make a move on Laura so soon. He began to follow the stranger who was following his lead singer into a small side lounge. Spying Jazz in the crowd of fans, he tapped his com, "Jazz, there's a target on Laura at your 10. Do not engage." Jazz's head snapped around and quickly identified the stranger following Laura. His gaze searched the room, and finding McAllister he nodded and began to move closer to the lounge door. They arrived at the door together, just after it had closed behind Laura and her companion. McAllister removed an earplant, adjusted a setting, and placed it against the door. He listened in fascination to the conversation from within. "Hey, Cowboy," The singer said. "Ah *knew* it was you," 'Cowboy' replied in a neutral tone. He was still trying to decide whether he should be happy or angry. "Laura" looked almost embarrassed. "Yeah. How are you?" "Don't worry 'bout me, what're you doin' here? Ah thought you were--" "I know," Ella Grey interrupted. "I'm sorry about that." “Unpathed Waters, Undreamed Shores” Lieutenant Commander Rafael Dávila – Fleet Intelligence ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ KittyKat ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Years of slowly accumulating data, slowly, inch by inch worming your way closer and closer to your goal, snippet by snippet gathering information like the pieces of a puzzle. In some ways it was like looking for an incredibly faint star while you were dirt-side, sometimes you had to turn your eye aside slightly to see the target from the corner of your eye. Then, all of a sudden you got that one vital piece of data, the break you’d been waiting for. Hard, duranium coated information with supporting evidence that opened your eyes. The question now though, what do you do with it? Fronk had given him a ship name, Everett and the Hawks had confirmed patrol routes and where the ship ‘hadn’t’ been where it was supposed to be way back when. M’Kantu had confirmed the who, who was in charge. Then Kim’s own logs had filled in a few more blanks, and the puzzle was nearly complete. ‘Why’ it had happened though was still the unknown factor, but now he knew ‘who’. Five years ago, the then Captain Russo hadn’t made a scheduled rendezvous on time, he’d been a day late, one day, just enough time for a side trip to the Théràn medical facility where Kimberly had been admitted to. Local sensor net logs recorded unknown traffic that was never properly analysed. Several other sensor records showed the Templar en-route to and from Thérà. The unknown DNA trace at the crime scene was now matched with the elusive Captain Russo, though why that hadn’t been picked up at the time was a mystery that was likely to remain one. Then there was the face. The face that haunted Miranda’s nightmares was the same as the one on Russo’s file. At that instant when she had seen it, bolted from it, Rafael had known he had him. All the data was inconsequential compared to the look of horror and loathing on Miranda’s face. That had been the winning argument, eye witness confirmation. But what to do? He was an Admiral, true, as M’Kantu had said the rank really didn’t carry the same weight it once did, but it meant he was a Hawk with power. His ship might be twenty years old, but it was still a Concorde class carrier, ready for war. The only advantages Rafael had were an ageing cloak that had seen better days, and the hope Russo didn’t know he was being hunted. Though what Rafael could do when he found Russo was the question... Moon him while the shuttle was cloaked, minutely satisfying maybe, but if the cloak chose that moment to fritz out again it would be a tad more than embarrassing. He’d put out feelers regarding Russo, raising a few eyebrows in the process, but so far no one had questioned him much regarding his sudden interest in this Admiral. He was a Hawk, and as M’Kantu had said, heavy handed and the violent type. Not someone to cross. At the back of his mind though there was still the thought of warning the past somehow, ignoring Russo in the here and now for the moment and actively doing something to change things. But again the ‘how’ reared its ugly head! He and Miranda had argued long and loudly about this, she was in favour of trying something, but didn’t want to commit to anything to waste what little they had in the way of resources. Rafael was all in favour of the long shot, throwing what they had at any attempt to alter what was. The initial idea of duplicating what someone on Voyager had succeeded in doing had been dropped unfortunately; they’d used some sort of tech that no amount of research had managed to even hint at. Lines of data scrolled slowly across the screen before him, information from contacts, archived Starfleet files, and stolen data, a wealth of information that told him little and frustrated him every time he looked at it. Before him was a list, a collection of ideas for altering what had been to change what was. Time travel. Once a whispered temptation, prevented by laws and regulations, guarded by an elite few. Now tantalisingly within his reach save for rare and long lost or destroyed equipment, or hampered by the physical laws, unbreakable save by beings like the Q. “Frell it! It shouldn’t be this hard!” He muttered to the darkness. There were more temporal transfers by accident in the files he had than deliberate attempts. Such artefacts as the Orb of Time were unavailable to him though, and any other temporal equipment was either well beyond his reach or classified so high he hadn’t been able to get a hint of it’s name, much less its location, the data long lost or guarded so jealously by the few who knew. Returning his attention to the ‘accidental’ list he scanned it again. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more...” He said softly as he read the list, slowly, line by line he scanned the data. ~ Something, anything! Please! ~ He asked the universe pleadingly in the silence of his mind. Pausing his reading, Rafael backed up to the start of a file. He’d glossed over the accidental transfers a while back, figuring that an accident by its very nature didn’t lead itself to be easily reproduced. This one though... Back in twenty three seventy one there’d been a transporter accident. An accumulation of chroniton particles threw some of the crew of the Defiant back in time. The ended up in the right location, but the wrong time. Three hundred and forty some years. The notes attributed the chroniton build up to the cloak equipped on the ship at the time, once the particles reached a certain density the transporter beam was routed through time. The crew had used the remaining particles on the hull to affect a rescue. “Raf,” Aurora’s voice broke through his concentration in the silent darkness, “our cloak can’t help us with that one, it’s designed for a fighter, and it barely covers us at low warp or impulse.” “Damn it Aurora, how many times have I asked you not to read over my shoulder!” Rafael bitched. ‘Every’ time he sat down to read she poked her nose in and commented. “Sorry, but I am the main computer, it’s hard not to read what you read.” Sounding less than contrite she appeared beside him on her emitter, “anyway, I thought you and Miranda had settled this?” “She may have,” Rafael shot back, “I’m not giving up just yet. I know our cloak is limited, but it gives me an idea?” “Oh dear.” Aurora muttered with a heavy sigh. “Raf, just because you’re an intelligence officer it doesn’t automatically mean you ‘have’ intelligence.” The sarcasm in her voice literally oozed from her vocoder, “you have a hard enough time just fixing the damn thing, let alone trying to get it to help you do something like this.” “Aurora, what did I do before I was an Intel officer?” Rafael asked her, unnecessarily of course, she knew only to well. “Engineering,” she replied with a shrug, “why?” “Well, remember what everyone used to say about Starfleet engineers, rocks into replicators and a miracle before breakfast every day. So put a field around it, okay! Gak, if you can’t say something helpful save some power please.” First Miranda now Aurora, wasn’t anyone interested in even ‘trying’ this! “Besides,” he added as he read some more, “I’m not looking to ‘beam’ back into the past, it’s too risky. The slightest miscalculation and the ACB could dump us anywhere. Just because a planet is ‘here’ now, doesn’t mean it’ll be ‘there’ ‘then’. Spatial drift’ll be a bitch to calculate, but there’s an easier way. If we could work on this to send a subspace signal instead of a transporter pattern that ‘has’ to be a little easier?” Sounding more hopeful at that prospect he continued his reading. Looking thoughtful for a moment Aurora shimmered as lines of code washed over her form, an affectation she’d picked up somewhere years ago, showing the data she was reading at an incomprehensible rate. “You know Raf,” she said after several moments, “you may be on to something there.” She admitted. ~ Finally, someone is siding with me! ~ “Okay, what have you got?” He asked. “It isn’t going to be easy,” she admitted, “and we’d likely need to cannibalise the cloak, the transporter, long range comms and a few other things, the hard part is going to be building up a massive chroniton density.” “Yeah, I was thinking the same,” Rafael said a little absently, his mind on schematics, “if we had a proper deflector dish it’d be easier, but these shuttles only have that micro array crud. The cloak could do it though, but we’d need complete schematics for the cloak, so we can tweak it properly.” “Who do we call?” Aurora offered, activating the comms. "Free to Fly" Lieutenant Elaithin Aria Victoria Elaithin --- Victoria was thirteen years old and looked almost exactly like their mother: absolutely beautiful with dark auburn brown tresses, hazel eyes ringed with a vibrant blue, and a wide infectious smile. And like their mother, Victoria -- named for Victor Murdock -- had a unique relationship to time, to the universe as a whole, and to the people who came in and out of her life. It was easy, sometimes, to be jealous of her; Aria had spent hours, days, weeks, months lamenting the fact that she was nowhere near as perfect as her youngest sibling, her little sister. She wasn't as intelligent, wasn't as all-knowing, wasn't as ethereal. For all her physical grace and strength, Aria's personality was nowhere near as delicate; she was certainly difficult to get along with on even her best days. She barreled through her life with the force of a stampeding bull. But Victoria drifted, carefully, politely, never missing a beat, always aware, but at the same time, always calmly disaffected by the chaos around her. Connor, when he was in the mood to share his insights, always told Aria she was crazy for this. Victoria, he pointed out, was a victim of her circumstance and lived in a completely different world than they did. She also had no inkling, not the barest memory of her mother before the Return, and she had never known a Federation at peace. And even if, despite all that, Aria was still jealous? She had to keep in mind that Victoria was pretty damn convinced that her older sister was the most fantastic creature in the universe and would gamely follow her anywhere. Sometimes, that was abso-fraking useful. "I still don't understand why Mom and Dad don't make better use of this," Aria said, shaking her head as she monitored the Hawk activity from within their asteroid hiding place. They'd run into a small fleet on their way from meeting Kreighoff, and had only narrowly escape detection because of Victoria's keen senses. Victoria was silent. She sat cross-legged in the copilot's chair, her thick curly hair pooling over her shoulders as she had her head slightly cocked, her eyes staring upward toward the ceiling, spacing-out or listening to Prophets knew what. Aria sighed and refocused on the controls. "You say as though they know," Victoria stated. "I don't tell them. Mostly." "Why's that?" "Because they're not supposed to know," she replied with a shrug, her eyes focusing on her sister. "It is not a big deal, Ari -- Oracle will surface for anything vital, there's nothing I'm supposed to give them." "Oh really," Aria said, flatly. "Then why do you help me, Phant?" "I don't like it when you call me that," Victoria replied, nose wrinkling, accenting the almost invisible ridges over her bridge. That was another thing Aria always envied -- how little Victoria looked like a Bajoran; Aria's ridges had always been prominent, and people who didn't know better always thought she was a full Bajoran. It wasn't a big deal, really, except that no one believed her mother was her mother -- until they opened their mouths, of course; Aria was her mother's daughter in personality if not in looks. "I'm not a Phantom." "The grey hair you've given me through your appearances from nowhere? It says otherwise." Victoria giggled. "You always do jump a kilometer! I thought you were supposed to be some sort of super-spy." "I am," Aria said, somewhat defensively. "But being as I'm *not* a psi-powered mutant, there's only so much I can be prepared for." "I'm not psychic," Victoria replied, somewhat irritated. "I'm... intuitive." "Yeah. Right." "That's what Momma says." "Mom shares her resurrected body with a trans-dimensional alien, Vicks. Mom's perspective is a little bit warped," Aria said. "So, honestly then -- why do you help *me*?" "Who says I'm helping you?" Victoria said. "Perhaps I'm only helping myself." Aria looked at her little sister. "Hm," she said. "Fair enough. Point taken." Victoria was silent, listening. "You do need a guardian angel, though, Ari," she said softly. "You're too dangerous." "Perhaps. But I do what I have to do." "No you don't," Victoria said. "You do what you want to and you tell yourself it's for the greater good. You used to do what you had to do. And you hated it. Now, every time you take someone's life, you're almost happy about it." "And shouldn't I be?" Aria asked. "He was my brother, too, and I bear them no more ill will." "He is more than my brother, Victoria," Aria said, her tone steely, tears suddenly stinging at the back of her eyes. She refused to let them fall; Victoria didn't mean it that way and she wouldn't allow her little sister to get the better of her like that. "You can't possibly understand." "I understand that you're losing sight of who you are," the child replied, brushing a thick curl away from her face. "It makes me sad. Momma and Dad too." "I don't particularly like it either. But it's life, what am I supposed to do?" She sighed and looked at her sister. "Maybe, the next life or the next timeline will be better. Maybe, we'll all get another go at this, to make different decisions, to be different people. Maybe, Dad's ridiculous idea here will be for the best. I can't know that. Perhaps you can, what with your intuition and all, but I can't. And I don't want to." Aria drew a deep breath and cleared her throat, trying to break the lump that had entrenched itself there. She focused on the starscape out the front window, visible within the rock-wall frame courtesy of the asteroid. "Right now, Vicks, all I want to do is feel something, and if I have to use all my training in taking lives from the other side? I'll do that as long as I can or until it doesn't make me useful anymore. And then... I don't know. I've lost a lot of people I loved, almost everyone, really. A lot of us have. But they killed me too, when they killed Connor. The only difference is that I'm still walking around." She brushed at a tear that traced its way down her cheek. "My only consolation is at least it wasn't the reverse, you know?" She looked at Victoria. "At least he doesn't have to feel like this." "I think he misses you just as much," Victoria replied. "But he's in a place where he can be with you. I think all he wants is for you to let him." "You can't possibly believe that, can you? A better place, the Celestial Temple, wherever?" Victoria shrugged slightly. "How can I not?" She cocked her head and angled her eyes upward again. Then, "Sky is clear now. We're free to fly."
"Transportation Resolved" Captain Daren M'Kantu **** [LNWV Resolved-Ready Room] "Captain," Daren M'Kantu said, a younger, shapely feminine figure visible from mid-chest down behind his chair on the screen. "Sorry it's taken so long to get back to you, but things have been a bit... busy... here." "Totally understandable. Has been a long couple days for me as well. After what happened back home I'd never thought I'd live to see another world perish. It's a dark time for all of us." Artim's tone was deathly serious which was something M'Kantu probably wasn't used to. The last few years could suck the youthful innocence out of anyone. "So, what can I do to help? Rumor has it you're up to something..." "I'm too old to be up to anything, Artim," Daren said with a tired, good-natured smile. "But I do have something that I'd like to talk over with you if you have some time – and some privacy?" "Don't brag about being too old to me young man. Last I checked I was still five times your age or so." Artim smiled as well as he keyed in some commands on his console. "All right, we shouldn't be listened in on. The Erdans write some nasty encryption protocols." Daren nodded. "I'll come right to the point, then. I'd like you and your ship to provide transport for myself and a group of others for a mission to try and fix this mess the universe has gotten into." Artim got an interested look on his face as he answered. "What did you have in mind? Did Miss I-Just-Blew-Up-Earth get all remorseful and decide now was a time for peace or something?" He knew it wasn't likely but it wasn't totally inconceivable. Shiarrael snorted once at that comment, then murmured an apology to her father. "No," Daren replied, waving off his daughter's apology as unnecessary. "Rebecca hasn't suddenly recovered her missing sanity. This is something else, something… drastic." Artim's left eyebrow cocked slightly a the word 'drastic' coming out of his one-time CO's lips. A number of possible drastic things came to Artim's mind and they were all intriguing. "Oh? What did you have in mind?" "Before the Last Battle of Earth," Daren didn't seem to notice the way he capitalized the words, making them a title, "we came into possession of information that leads us to believe that… this is not how things are supposed to be." "You mean to tell me someone mucked with the timeline?"Artim was shocked at the notion but then again, something hadn't felt right for a long time. "Essentially, yes. That the way the galaxy is now isn't the way it was supposed to be… that it was, somehow, changed, either accidentally… or on purpose." Artim nodded understandingly. "So what's your plan? You have some idea of what needs to be fixed I take it so I guess the trick is getting there...or rather getting then." Daren sighed. "Actually we're more-or-less having to work on both ends of that. We have an understanding of what things were supposed to have been like – a very broad, general one – but very little in the way of hard details beyond a few specific points that seem… strange… to say the least given the past that we all remember. What we need to change is a subject that we're just starting to grapple with, much less how to go about it… or what to change it *to.* And as far as the method of returning to make any corrections that we can decide upon goes, we're only agreed on the fact that using a slingshot method isn't going to be precise enough. We're trying to find a better way to work that so this is all possible." Artim nodded. Temporal physics were never his thing so he couldn't really help on that front. "Sounds like quite a pickle. I'd be happy to lend a hand and the Resolved. Our Erdan friends I hear have a bit of knowledge in the ways of temporal incursions. If you need another brain for Cutter to work with I'm sure they'd be willing to work with him." Artim figured the Frunalin brainiac was already working on some sort of calculations to get back in time. In almost twenty years of knowing him he'd never admitted that the avian was probably smarter than he was. But sometimes it wasn't deniable. "Good," Daren nodded. "I'm not envisioning a large group of added bodies to strain your resources – perhaps a dozen, no more than fifteen at the outside. And I'm trying to round up some escort ships for us so that we – and you – aren't just hanging out loose in the wind if someone decides that this is a bad idea and wants to stop us before we can get started." "Understood. I should be able to take that number. And the League is sending what ships they can spare but they're a bit...jittery as you might imagine. Wouldn't expect more than two or three ships that can be here in time. And the Glittergold is at my disposal as well." Hopefully Von Ernst wouldn't try something but Artim...wasn't convinced. "Good," Daren nodded. "I know where I can scare up at least one more ship without making too big a fuss, but after that I'm afraid that people will start to take notice and we'd like to avoid that." He reached for a cup of coffee and got it halfway to his mouth before Shiarrael's hand moved onscreen and took it away from him. "No more," she admonished. "I've let you have five cups more than the doctors say you should have in a day, and it's not even noon yet." Daren smiled. "Six, actually, but who's counting." Turning back to Artim, he continued, "Are there any supplies you need? Spare parts, munitions, anything?" "Thanks for the offer but I think we're good. We came stocked for a much longer mission. Might need some fresh foodstuffs if you can spare any, the Erdans like to cook...and other things. I'll explain later. Transport over whenever you're ready.", Artim smiled and then added "And I'm still a licensed doctor if you want a second opinion on the coffee." "Foodstuffs are no problem, Captain," Shiarrael spoke up directly to Artim for the first time. "I'll arrange for that before we beam over." "We should be ready to beam over in twenty minutes," Daren added. "I just need to say a few good-byes; everything's already packed, such as it is." "Let Lieutenant Kwan know when you're ready. Someone will assign you and your people quarters. I'll probably be tied down on the bridge or yelling at some Admiral back on Pacifica. And sir...I hope we can pull this thing off." "So do I, Artim, so do I," Daren agreed quietly. "Joining The Brigade" Captain Daneel Olivaw, USS Eldritch Commodore Artim Shivar, LNWV Resolved Admiral Elaithin, USS Miranda ==Bridge== The Elly was sputtering along. The ship was a little worse for the "Captain, we should be close enough now for communications." Daneel's dark Betazoid eyes focused on the main viewscreen. "Hail the Miranda." A few beeps later and the Eldritch's operations officer repled, "We Elaithin knew Daneel through Jaal Jaxom. Once or twice in the past The Bajoran appeared on the screen with a quizzical expression, Daneel took a moment to ascertain Jii's mood. It was what the Betazoid Jii's mood lightened slightly. He knew the code and had received a "Very good," Jii replied. "What I need now is for you to get in touch "I'll be there shortly," Daneel replied seriously. "Jaal sends his Jii nodded, "It's all right. Admittedly, I feel better with a back up Captain Olivaw faced his helm officer. "When we catch up, bring us The Eldritch's tactical officer was already at work. "She's a 'Interesting,' thought Daneel of the League. Captain Shivar's image now showed on the screen. "Captain Shivar I presume?" Daneel greeted his counterpart on the other ship. "Yes sir. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Artim asked in a voice that "If you haven't heard already from Admiral Elaithin, I'm to join the "I recall your name being on the guest list. A pity Jaxom couldn't ==About Ten Minutes Later== After leaving some instructions and orders for his first officer, "Hopefully, but from what I've heard time might be hard to come by. I assume Daneel shook his head slightly, "Unfortunately, Jaal has kept things "In a manner of speaking I suppose. I think its better if I let Daneel sensed Artim's anxiety but only figured it as normal, "Ms. Independent" Cdr. Paul McAllister "Mission Planning"
Captain Alexandra Lee-McAllister, commanding USS Pegasus Commander Paul McAllister, SFI Capt. (ret.) Alexander Clayton, AKA: The Messenger
(follows "Wedding of the Future") ----------------------------
<USS Pegasus, Captain's Quarters>
The newlyweds honeymoon, planned for only one night on the holodeck, and been rudely interrupted when a passing pirate decided to pit his pair of ships against Pegasus. Alexandra had gone to the bridge, and although the battle was short and resulted in almost no damage to her ship, the mood had been broken.
Paul had rode out the battle in the Pegasus' CIC, without much to do. When it was over, he wasn't sure where to go, which is why he was leaning against the bulkhead across from his wife's cabin door when Alex came out of the turbolift.
With a soft chuckle, Paul explained, "I haven't been in there since before the Avalon mission – the door doesn't recognize me. Tossing me out so soon?"
Alex grinned at her new husband. "Its most likely a glitch with the internal security systems for the doors. We may be one of the most advanced ships in the fleet, but we still get the occasional minor glitch...or gremlins as my Chief Engineer likes to call them."
Paul returned her grin with a look of embarrassment. He produced a small device that looked suspiciously like an anti-grav unit attached to a small seat. "Um, I asked engineering to come up with this -- it's an anti-grav unit attached to a seat. It's just with the bum leg and arm, well --I wasn't sure I could carry you over the threshold without dumping you without help." He grinned sheepishly.
"Its alright, Paul. Anything to help you with that leg. You should see about setting up physical therapy sessions."
He gestured for Alex to sit in the improvised chair and when she was settled, activated the anti-grav unit. Alex's feet rose off the deck, and she wobbled a bit before her husband managed to steady the device. "If you'd be so kind as to key the door, Mrs. McAllister?"
Alex laughed. "My pleasure."
The door open and Paul staggered inside with his wife in his arms. Just as they made inside the door, the anti-grav unit slipped from Paul's hand and Alex was perched precariously on a small chair floating in the middle of her -- their -- living room.
"Well..." she began looking around at the floating chair she now sat on. "You've definitely swept me off my feet."
Paul was laughing. "That was the idea, but the execution is a little faulty." He grabbed the chair and floated her into the bedroom. "You know, dress uniforms take the longest time to put on properly. I wonder how fast they come off?"
He maneuvered the chair over their bed, and gently dumped Alex off her seat.
** Next Morning **
Paul found himself awake before his bride, who lay softly snoring by his side. Slipping out of the bed they now shared, he padded into the living room and ordered coffee, and preset the replicator for a breakfast in bed he would deliver to Alex once he heard her stirring.
While he waited, he checked his messages. There were several, all congratulatory, some a little of the risqué side – those from Alicia and Greg, and Jazz and Laura. And one from Alexander Clayton, ending in an enigmatic post-script: "We need to talk about the futures past – soon."
McAllister sighed. He didn't think he would ever be rid of this murdering-priest. Hoping to get Clayton off his back so he could enjoy the morning with Alex, Paul keyed the comm. When Clayton's visage appeared on the screen, McAllister simply asked, "What do you want now, Mr. Clayton?"
"Not over the comm. system. Come down to my office as soon as possible please." Clayton said, before cutting the channel.
McAllister stared at the screen. Every time he talked to that man he felt violated, and had a strong desire to blow something up. He gulped his coffee to rinse the taste of conversation with Clayton from his mouth, and then heard Alex stirring in the bedroom.
Alex woke, as she stretched and realizing she was nude. "I gotta get used to this again," she softly to herself. Since the divorce, she always wore shorts and a tank top to bed. She usually didn't wear any clothing while sleeping when she was married. She had never heard any complaints from Paul about it.
Paul instructed the replicator to finish with his planned breakfast, made sure the cabin door was set for do not disturb, and took the breakfast tray into his wife. Seeing her sitting up in the bed, nude, with her long hair draped causally down along her shoulders, caused Paul to rethink the breakfast menu.
"I fetched us some breakfast, but all of a sudden, I'm not all that hungry," he said.
"Why is that?"
Paul grinned. "It's hard to concentrate on food when your new wife smiles at you without any clothes on."
Alex chuckled. 'As if I have anything you haven't seen before,' she thought before grabbing a robe that had been tossed onto a nearby nightstand and wrapped it around her body. "Better?"
Paul sat the breakfast tray down on the same nightstand and gathered his wife in his arms. He unwrapped the robe and slid his hands inside. "Actually," he murmured, "I liked the unobstructed view better."
Alex grinned as she felt Paul's hand cup her breast and she leaned in to kiss him.
Paul held her close and returned her kiss. "You know, I could get used to this."
"Well, don't get used to it too soon. We have to get to duty."
He checked the wall chronometer. "For the next hour, this is my duty."
And as soon as possible would be when he was damn good and ready.
** Afternoon **
Clayton was in his office seated behind his desk reviewing a PADD of information when McAllister walked in with an all to familiar pissed-off-at-him look on his face. Clayton looked at him impassively as McAllister stormed in, unimpressed by the display. "So good of you to join me, Commander." He said evenly. "Please, have a seat." He said, offering the chair across from him. He'd actually taken the time to put on a Starfleet issue uniform rather than his usual clothes. He's leaving his usual guise of The Messenger behind for today's little talk. He had to if he were to get through to McAllister.
McAllister sat, massaging his leg. "Next time you get one of these urges, you can come to wherever I am. Oh, I've asked Alex to join us -- she should be here momentarily. What do you want now?"
"Pass, thank you." Clayton said. "I wouldn't want to come in between you two when you're enjoying each other's company." He tossed the PADD he was looking at over to McAllister. "Tell me, what do you know about time travel?" he asked.
Without looking at the files, McAllister answered, "Enough to know that it's dangerous, and not to be tried unless the circumstances are dire. Also, that the probabilities of our current situation may be the result of some mucking about in the continuum. I never worked with DTI unless I was forced to -- as a matter of fact, those assholes remind me a lot of you."
"Yeah, fuck you too…" Clayton muttered. He'd repent later for the swearing. "I'd say that the situation is dire enough McAllister." He snapped, finally at the end of his patience with this man. Another thing he'd atone for later. "Earth is has been destroyed by a woman who threw a hissy fit. I'm sure that in the grand scheme of things, this was never supposed to happen. Now I can sit here and cite religious reasons or whatever, but you really don't want to hear about this. So let me talk in a language that you understand, moron. Now you can sit there and judge me and hate me all you want. You have that right. But what I am proposing is dangerous and probably illegal in the terms of the Federation that no longer exists, but if successful we can undo our past 'failures', as you put it earlier, and maybe you can have your child back again and maybe we can save a few billion people in the process. So what do you say to that?"
McAllister shook his head sadly. "Yeah, definite DTI material -- everyone one of them needed an attitude adjustment. You know Clayton, you'd figure you folks that fuck with time would have a bit more patience -- you can always adjust for the pauses in thought. Ought to save a few centuries that way."
He tossed the PADD back to his nemesis. "The sling-shot maneuver is the easiest, but most prone to failure. Finding the Guardian would have the highest success rate -- but I've been looking for years and still don't have a clue where that hunk of fucking rock is. And what I say is that if I could find a way back, I wouldn't be talking to you right now -- you'd be dead. One other thing -- yeah, I think this reality is screwed hell and gone from what should be -- but if that's true, why hasn't DTI shown their ugly faces by now? Are they compromised? Or are we actually on the right track?"
"My guess is that the Department of Temporal Investigations doesn't exist either due to someone disbanding them outright, someone eliminating them, oh don't give me that look you bastard! I had nothing to do with it if that were the case, or they're just too freaking busy with this stupid war and trying to keep themselves alive to care." Clayton said. "I'd like to make it so that we never have to make this conversation Mr. McAllister. I'll put it simply: I want to go back in time and disband Third Echelon. That way a lot of the atrocities committed during the Federation-Triad War are wiped out of existence."
"You think that will keep you out of hell, Mr. Clayton? Does your God have no sense of temporal mechanics?"
Alex walked in, dressed in her standard duty uniform. "That's enough, you two," she ordered sternly. Sometimes she felt like an adult separating two children from a fight. "And Clayton is right, the DTI doesn't exist any longer. Now what's this about your time traveling?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips.
McAllister looked at his wife, then at Clayton, then back at his wife and decided to take the plunge. "It's a theory we've been discussing that may allow us to put the reality we're currently in back on track with the one we believe should have occurred." He looked back at Clayton, hoping the priest could explain it less dangerously. How quickly we become allies, thought McAllister.
"Simply put, I seriously doubt that Earth's destruction should have ever happened." Clayton said. "I'm thinking because there were simply too many people at Earth at one particular point of time to be a coincidence. Looking back in the Pegasus' sensor logs, I saw that there was a concentrated burst of chronotons in the San Francisco area right after both fleets showed up, which led me to believe that everyone was waiting for someone or something to come through a temporal portal. That said, looking at the results of the battle and the Shiva's response afterwards, I'd say that the Dove fleet succeeded in picking up whatever it was in San Francisco first and Von Ernst on the Shiva threw a fit because of that." He explained, pulling up his findings on the wall display behind his desk for the two newlyweds to look at.
Paul nodded in agreement. "I've been trying to figure out what it was that would both bring von Ernst to Earth and cause her to react so violently. The analysis points to only two items -- a family member or someone else very close to RVE or there was something on Earth that she needed to destroy to keep others from finding it. Or, perhaps both. I think the family member in question is her daughter, Allison. Remember that mercenary request the Shiva sent out just after Earth died?"
"Yeah, I saw it." Clayton admitted.
Alex studied the readouts thoroughly. 'Could this future not have occurred?' she asked herself. Temporal Mechanics was a tricky and complex bastard. It was the migraine of every Starfleet Cadet who was foolish enough to take the course, which were often engineering and science cadets. "I think that something may be up with the USS Miranda as we've been ordered to protect the ship at all costs. The reasons why weren't given to me."
"So it's possible that Miranda may have retrieved some sort of time device from Earth before von Ernst's elevator cables slipped?" asked McAllister.
"Something like that." Clayton said. He looked over at Alex. "I don't suppose that you're on friendly terms with Captain Elaithin? Maybe call him up and find out what exactly this is all about? I'm thinking that if we find out exactly what he picked up we might be able to find out exactly what temporal event occurred." He said. Clayton wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of messing around with time travel yet again. He'd survived temporal events before… not once, but twice now and both have taken a heavy toll on him. Traveling through time was painful both physically and emotionally.
"I know of Captain Elaithin only by reputation. I do not know him personally. However, I will attempt to contact him," Alex replied with crossed arms, still looking over the information on the monitor. For the first time, she began to question the events that led to this war and the downfall of the Federation. Was she even supposed to marry Paul? Was she supposed to have married someone else? Or even marry someone at all? Was she supposed to be dead? Retired from Starfleet with a family of her own? Damn temporal mechanics...damn it all.
McAllister studied the troubled look on his wife's face and guessed she was reevaluating her past decisions, wondering if any of them may have led to the grim reality they now lived in. He had done the same on many a sleepless night. "Alex? Before I lost use of the chip, I ran calculations on us -- I'm certain nothing prior to the Bismarck in our timeline had any great impact on this reality. He wanted to comfort her, but then remembered where -- and with who -- he was.
"We don't know how far the timeline corruption may be...if it was even corrupted," she said simply, keeping her eyes fixed on the information and not looking at neither Paul nor Clayton. Maybe this is supposed to be our future, but nobody knows for sure, do they?" Alex let out a slow, long sigh. "I'll be on the bridge, if you need me...and no fighting."
"Clayton, you've admitted to doing this kind of thing before -- any ideas on what can be done, or better yet, how it can be done? Because, yeah, you're right. I think we'd both like to have our son back."
With that, Alex stepped from the room and walked briskly towards the nearest turbolift. Once inside, she leaned against the wall and fought back tears. "Damn it!" she screamed in frustration, striking the wall with the palm of her hand.
Clayton watched her leave and then looked over at McAllister. "I've done 'this kind of thing' twice before, and neither was by choice." He admitted. "I was an Ensign on the USS Bozeman when she came forward in time through the Typhon Expanse. The second time I was thrown back in time to the 1600s while stationed aboard the USS Miranda as a newly demoted Lieutenant." He leaned back, closed his eyes, and let out a frustrated huff of breath. "I lost a lot both times I went through time and time travel is not something that I recommend lightly."
McAllister knew his wife's body language -- he learned how to tell when Alex was upset, or angry, or just being playful when they were married the first time. Paul knew she was upset -- and afraid? He barely heard Clayton's reply. Half-heartedly, he asked, "Both of those trips were unplanned, right? Can we reduce the losses you speak of if the objectives are clear and the trip planned?"
"My losses were personal." Clayton said flatly. "But yeah, you can typically reduce losses altogether with good planning before hand."
Paul was still staring at the door Alex had just passed through. Forgetting who he was talking to, he said without sarcasm, "I'm sorry."
Clayton studied him for a moment. McAllister had never been sincere to him before this. He decided to test it. "By the way, I plan on sleeping with her later because I think that she's one fine piece of ass and would be really hot in bed despite the fact that I took a vow of chastity ages ago..." He said, off the wall. When McAllister didn't respond he knew that McAllister's thoughts were elsewhere. Clayton reached over in front of McAllister's face and snapped his fingers a couple of times to get the man's attention.
"What?"
"Why are you still sitting here while your wife is distraught?" Clayton asked. "Go after her!" he said, motioning for the door.
McAllister stood and walked towards the door. Then, what Clayton had said replayed in his mind. "You asshole!" “Looking Back” Part 1. The Messenger/Captain Alexander Clayton, Ret. ********** 2402 - Counselor/Chaplain’s Office, USS Pegasus The Messenger/Captain Clayton stood in front of the window looking out among the stars shooting by while the Pegasus was at warp. He was deep in his own thoughts as to what he should do. It was clear to him that he was at another crossroad in his life and as he stood there it was almost a quite literal choice as to go left or right. He had the doors locked and was not expecting anyone until the morning hours. He stood in front of the window in nothing more than his boxer shorts as the debate raged through his mind. To his left was his Starfleet Uniform; he’d taken the time to procure one along with the appropriate rank insignia and commbadge. To his right was the clothes he wore as The Messenger; all set out and ready to be donned. Right in the middle is where he now stood; debating on just how far back in time he should go. One thought was for the greater good of all mankind; it was one that would benefit all but cause him to make more sacrifices. Another thought led him all the way back to a simpler time and a simpler place. It was a selfish though as he debated that why should everyone else but him be happy? It was those thoughts that claimed him now… ********** 2382 – USS Miranda. Assistant Chief Communications Officer’s Office. Lieutenant Alexander Clayton poured over the information on the PADD that Commander Harris had given him. It was more encrypted Triad communications that she needed decoded as soon as possible. So he’d been spending most of his waking moments looking over them and trying to make sense of them. Finally he tossed the PADD down onto his desk with a snarl of frustration. He was getting nowhere fast. He then rubbed his eyes and ran a hand over his face as he checked the chronometer on the wall. It was still middle of the day and he was getting hungry. So he signed out and headed out of his office. With a late thought, he grabbed up the PADD so that he could look over it as he walked. Clayton headed for the mess hall on the deck. Usually he’d go to some of the trendier places, such as The Cantina, or something. But this time he wanted some quiet time as he ate. Suddenly, the alarm klaxons wailed as the ship went to Red Alert. Clayton looked up, startled, before breaking into a run. His place was on the bridge right next to Commander Harris in an alert and he had lots of area to cover in a short amount of time. Without even looking, he rounded a corner in the corridors and instantly disappeared from sight… ********** 1660 – British Brigantine Huntsman “Run out the main guns and secure the sails!” the Captain of the Huntsman yelled out to his crew. “Look lively now! Captain Sydney is not going to be a forgiving sort!” he reminded his crew as the Pirate Sloop of War Revenge closed in on them. Clayton ran out onto the deck in a full run from the forecastle and skidded to a stop. “What the hell?” he breathed as he took in where he was at. “Oy there! Who are you!?” The Captain yelled, pointing down at him. It was about then the crew all around him paused, eying him with suspicion. “I… uh…” Clayton stuttered as he glanced around at the murderous looks of the British crew. “He’s dressed in dark colors like one of Sydney’s crew…” the First Mate observed, who was now standing next to the Captain to look at their new arrival. “He must’ve got someone onboard already somehow. You dogs there! Get him!” The Captain yelled, pointing at a group on the main deck. “The rest of you, heave to to battle!” Without thinking, Clayton whipped out his phaser and shot the Captain up on the bridge. “Computer! End Program!” he called out as the Captain flew backwards and landed hard on his back. Nothing happened. No yellow lines, no black room, no door… Nothing. “Computer, Arch!” he then commanded as he fired a second shot and brought down the First Mate. Again, nothing. Off in the distance, Clayton heard the roar of cannon fire followed by some whistling. He dodged out of the way of the crewmen that were trying to follow their Captain’s orders, despite the magical beam of light from the stranger’s wand that just took him out. Clayton thumbed the selector to wide beam and brought down a few of them with one blast right as wood and metal met at high velocities. He then threw himself to the right so that he could be behind something solid just incase everyone started trading gunfire. He again wondered just where the hell he was at as he watched the scene unfold. With the Captain and First Mate out of commission, Clayton observed that this crew fell completely apart. Without guidance, they never fired their guns, so this Captain Sydney was able to come alongside with ease and board the ship. Pirates and Buccaneers flooded over from the other ship and within moments the British ship had surrendered. While the calamity ensured, Clayton fortified himself back in the forecastle while he tried to figure out where exactly he was at. He tapped his badge. “Clayton to Harris.” He said. The commbadge chirped angrily back at him and he swore under his breath. He tried once more. “Clayton to anyone on the Miranda.” Same results. Snarling, he whipped out his tricorder and did a scan and looked at the results. His face paled as he looked at the results. He quickly punched up a local starchart and compared it with the starchart that he was familiar with. “Oh damn…” he breathed. “How in the hell did that happen?” he asked himself. Somehow, someway, he was now in 1660 Earth and in the middle of a pirate battle. Clayton looked up as pounding on the door started. Sydney’s crew was trying to get in. “Come on lad! We’s not gonna hurt ye!” one of them called as the pounding continued. Clayton then heard another voice pipe up. “What’s going on here?” the man demanded. “One of de crew locked themselves inside Capt’n. We’s tryin’ to get him out.” “Probably the mystery man that the crew has been muttering about.” Captain Sydney said with amusement. “They say he’s some kind of wizard or something.” Clayton was amazed at just how articulate this Captain Sydney was. He probably was a man of education and/or proprietary from this time period. Sydney then knocked on the door politely. “Hello in there!” he called out. “What’s your name?” Thinking rapidly, Clayton stowed his phaser and tricorder as well as taking off his commbadge and rank pips and tucking them into his pocket. “Clayton.” He called out in response. “Well Mr. Clayton, I know that you can hear us. So is what this British crew saying true?” Sydney asked. “Are you some kind of wizard?” Clayton scoffed. “Hardly. I’m just a navy man.” He said, racking his brain for something to say. “I just grabbed a… a… weapon and shot at the captain, that’s all.” He said as he put full safeties on his phaser and then removed the power pack to that and the tricorder and pocketed those as well. Laughter from the other side of the door. “These Brits must not have any fight in them if they surrendered so easily then.” Sydney said to his crew. More laughter. “They obviously made up a story of a wizard to hide their own cowardice.” Sydney then silenced the crew. “You however, Mr. Clayton, can fight. I don’t know how you got onto this ship and frankly, I don’t care. So what say you? Want to join a real crew here in the Caribbean?” Clayton considered his options. If these were the kind of pirates that he’s read about in stories and history, then they wouldn’t hesitate in killing him and looting his body. And he couldn’t allow that to happen. Also, if he turned them down, they’d probably just leave him in here while they sank the ship and then the results would still be the same. “Alright.” He said. “I’m coming out.” He then got up from his hiding spot, unbarred the door, and came face to face with Captain Sydney. The first thing that struck Clayton about Sydney was the man’s age. He couldn’t have been older than 18 or 19. Yet he was in command of a pirate ship. “Is there a problem?” Sydney asked. “I was expecting someone… older.” Clayton admitted. “And not as articulate.” That got a lot of chuckles from Sydney’s crew. “They usually do.” Sydney said. “I grew up in the aristocracy as a child. Now come, let’s let my crew do their work while we discuss your future as a privateer.” He said, putting a friendly arm around Clayton’s shoulders and leading him back to the Revenge. “Interesting choice of words…” Clayton mumbled. ~Obtaining a Library Card~ The cyborg nodded, her features darkening substantially about the reminder. "What do you need," she whispered. "Parallel timelines," she said with a sigh, leaning back into her chair. "Alternative Realities. For every choice there are an infinite number of possible reactions. The definition behind the existence of the Mirror Universe and the drastic differences of events between theirs and ours, and that divergence was only a few centuries old." Her voice drifted off as she seemed to stare into space outside the window in her office. "To be sure, you have to be lost to find what places can't be found, elsewise everyone would be able to get there ..... " 'And we're all lost, for certain,' she thought. "I need a few days, at the least, to go through the information I have. In the mean time, DOA: Primus extends her services and hospitality, free of charge, to both the Resolved and the USS Miranda. Even though he won't be joining you on your escapades, I still would like to talk to Jii about a few things. If you would extend to me the courtesy to inform him, please?" "I'll pass that along," Cutter said off-handedly, looking down, presumable to some notes of some sort. "We also need to figure out what we'll need to do in the past. We need to know what to change. Now, I'm not a historian - I know what I know about the last twenty years from having lived through it, but my knowledge is limited and filtered. Daren, Jii and his wife have come up with some ideas about what to change, but, we'll only have, really, one chance to change things." “Looking Back” Part 2. The Messenger/Captain Alexander Clayton, Ret. ********** 2402 - Counselor/Chaplain’s Office, USS Pegasus The Messenger/Captain Clayton sat down at the desk and looked at the folded piece of black cloth that lay there. He unfolded it to look at the ornately jeweled cross that was inside. He rarely took this out to look at it just because of all the painful memories that came with it. Tears welled up in his eyes as he picked it up and examined it. He squeezed it and held his fist to his forehead. “Chantelle…” he breathed as he began to weep… ********** St. Kitts, 1661 Baron Clayton of the Revenge disembarked his ship after all the grunt work was completed and headed straight for the Governor’s Mansion. It was one of the qualities that endeared him to the crew; the willingness to be one of the last ones off of the ship and even giving the crew an allowance from the plunder to spend while in port. He kept rotating guards in order to keep the booty safe while at the same time allowing each man to enjoy shore leave while in port. A well taken care of crew was indeed a happy crew that he’d found out. The more a Captain is willing to do for a rabble of buccaneers, the more willing they are to do what you ask. Over the year that he’d been in command of the Revenge and her 115 crewmembers, he’d been doing lots in order to better his crew; daily calisthenics and combat workouts, religious services on Sundays and Wednesdays, even basic education so that each man could do their jobs better. As a result he had a highly trained and well motivated crew that people practically tripped over each other to join on the rare occasion that he ever had an opening. Clayton had earned the reputation around the English and Dutch ports as “the Gentleman’s Privateer” and it certainly worked wonders for opening doors for him. He held Letters of Marquis from both the English and the Dutch and, as rumor had it, held at least a 6,000 crown bounty on his head by the Spanish. He’d taken over the command of the Revenge after serving briefly as Captain Sydney’s first mate before Sydney decided to upgrade to the British Brigantine that he’d captured as his flagship. When he divided his plunder a few months later, he allowed Clayton to retain the Sloop of War that he himself had started privateering on. As he walked the streets of St. Kitts, he was greeted here and there by people that he’d come to know. Clayton didn’t want to infringe on Sydney’s work down by Barbados, so he’d moved north and took up ad hoc residence out of St. Kitts where he was within easy striking distance of both Spanish and French shipping. He’d since ditched his Starfleet uniform in favor of clothing more suitable for the period. Sydney had teased him time and again for going around in ‘underwear’ and was kind enough to give him some of his clothes; which turned out to be black trousers, black boots, and a black fencing shirt. He’d commented that Sydney had a Dread Pirate Roberts look going and Sydney simply cocked his head and stated that he’d never heard of such a pirate and would have to track him down. Clayton had mentally beaten himself for that slip. But now, he had pressing business with the Governor of St. Kitts, more specifically; with his daughter Chantelle. Ever since he’d come to St. Kitts and laid eyes on the buxom strawberry blonde, he’d fallen head over heels in love and thought that just maybe he could rebuild his private life after all. Part of him inside screamed that such a union would be royally screwing up the timeline, but another part of him also said that he didn’t come here by choice either. People said that he didn’t have a chance with her. But he’d come in and practically swept her off her feet. He always saved the most lavish of jewelry from his plundering for her, like the diamond necklace that he had in his pocket now. At first, the Governor protested at his daughter seeing Clayton, but eventually came around when word of Clayton’s deeds in the name of England reached St. Kitts. Over the years, Clayton eventually climbed the ranks of the aristocracy to Baron and the Governor was more than happy to have Clayton court his daughter. Especially since his crew was one of the few crews that actually behaved themselves while in port. His crew feared Clayton’s simple disappointment more than they ever feared jail time threatened by the authorities. At the Mansion, the Governor greeted Clayton warmly. “Baron Clayton, do come in.” he said with a smile. “It is always good to see you.” “It is good to be seen your Honor.” Clayton said, taking off his hat and bowing formally. “Word reached us just before you arrived that you captured a Spanish Trade Galleon.” The Governor said, motioning Clayton over to his desk. “The King will be pleased to hear of that.” “I take it that England is at war with Spain yet again?” Clayton asked. The Governor nodded. “As well as the filthy French.” He spat. “So any attacks on French shipping in the future will be greatly appreciated as well.” Clayton sighed and rolled his eyes when the Governor turned his head briefly to check on something on his desk. The English and the French had been at each other’s throats longer than cats hated dogs. He was beginning to wonder if on the eighth day God created the British and the French and on the ninth day the two decided that they’d go to war. When the Governor looked back up, Clayton had his smiled plastered back on his face. He nodded to the Governor “I will make it my personal mission to make their lives miserable.” He said. “Excellent!” the Governor beamed. “Now then, I’m sure that this is the real reason you’ve decided to come by today.” He gestured over Clayton’s shoulder to behind him. Clayton turned to see Chantelle standing there with a big smile on her beautiful face. “Darling!” she exclaimed with joy as she rushed over to him. She was about 19 now. He’d been lucky enough to be at the ball during her last birthday celebration. With practiced ease, he scooped her up with one arm and spun in place, getting in a discreet hug in the process. He placed her back down just as quickly right next to her father, who was scowling at her obvious public show of affection but smiled at Clayton’s gentlemanly ways. Clayton learned long ago how this game was played. He’d eaten up some of the limited power on his tricorder one night in order to look up the courting rules of this century. He wasn’t technically allowed to touch her unless they were either dancing or betrothed. He figured that it’d only be a matter of time before he got the Governor’s approval to ask for her hand. But until then, he’d be just as happy to woo her and dote on her with the gifts. He pulled out the box with the necklace in it. “For you…” he said as he opened it. “Oh my…” Chantelle breathed as her hand fluttered to her chest. “You shouldn’t have.” She said as she brushed her free hand over it. “May I, father?” she asked. When he nodded his approval, she took it. “If I may?” Clayton asked, gesturing. Both the Governor and Chantelle nodded, and he carefully put it around her neck, with the large diamond resting in the small between her breasts. “It’s beautiful.” She sighed, looking at herself in a nearby mirror. “Not even half as beautiful as you are.” Clayton said, bending down and kissing her hand. She turned, smiling at him. “You are a charming rouge.” She said, patting his cheek. “You will, of course, escort me to the ball that is being held on the morrow?” “It will be my honor and my pleasure.” He said, bowing to her. “Looking Back” Part 3. The Messenger/Captain Alexander Clayton, Ret. ********** Sloop of War, Revenge. Inbound to St. Kitts, 1661 It had been a couple of months since Clayton had given Chantelle the diamond necklace and escorted her to the grand ball. That night she’d given him a token of her affection; a lavishly jeweled cross that now hung around his neck under his shirt. She said that it had been given to her at her confirmation and now she wanted him to have it since he was a man of God and more than willing to spend his Sundays in port with her at Church. As he watched St. Kitts come into view, he couldn’t help but to grasp it and hold it tightly as his heart yearned to be with her once more. The next day, he’d asked the Governor for her hand in marriage, which he was more than happy to allow. Chantelle had squealed with glee as he then found her, dropped to one knee, and presented her his ring. As much as he wanted to get married that day, proprietary and religion wouldn’t allow it. First off, he had to rush out to a tailor’s and purchase some gloves for her to wear out in public which would serve as a symbol of her betrothal and acceptance. Then they had to wait a month or two for their engagement to be announced every Sunday at Church just on the off chance someone might object and give them time to rectify the objection. It was a long drawn out process that Clayton was thankful was coming to an end. “Sail ho!” the lookout in the crows nest called out, jolting Clayton out of his moment of bliss. “Two points off the port bow!” Clayton and his lookout both grabbed for their spyglasses and looked off in the distance indicated. There was a Frigate that was heading out of St. Kitts like a bat out of hell. “The le Messager?” he said, catching the name off the bow. “Now what the hell is a French ship doing in a British port? Did I miss a cease fire or something?” he asked. “Got me Captain.” His First Mate, a man by the name of Briggs, said. “But she sure is making good time out of here.” he observed. He then frowned. “My question is what is Lafayette doing here? Doesn’t he operate out of Port-de-Paix?” “Petit Goave last I heard” Clayton admitted as he watched the ship sail by them without a second thought. About an hour later, the Revenge was pulling into port. Commotion on the docks drew his attention from issuing docking orders. He saw that the Governor himself was rushing from his carriage down to the dock. “BARON CLAYTON! BARON CLAYTON!” he called out as he literally ran at a speed that Clayton never would’ve guessed that any member of the Aristocracy could achive. “Oh this can’t be good…” he muttered to Briggs, who’d come up next to him. “Lower the gangplank!” he yelled down to the crew on the deck. “Finish tying us off! Hurry lads!” The Governor ran straight up to the ship but paused at the base of the gangplank, bent over gasping for breath. Clayton rushed down to him and knelt down so that he could look at him. “What is it? What’s happened?” he asked. “Lafayette…” the Governor wheezed. “Raided the town…” he managed to get out. Clayton got an uneasy feeling in his gut. “He took… he took… He took my daughter!” he managed to cry out. Numb with shock, Clayton slowly stood up, not believing what he’d heard. “Chantelle…” he breathed. Above him, his crew were all deathly silent as they heard the news. The Governor grabbed Clayton by his lapels, shaking him. “Please Baron Clayton! PLEASE!” he begged. “You must get her back!” That snapped Clayton out of his shock as he looked up at Briggs, who merely nodded once. “CAST OFF!” he yelled. “UNFURL THE SAILS!” he shouted, getting the men into immediate action. “Come on you dogs! We’ve got to save the Capt’n’s bonny lass!” Clayton looked down at the Governor. “I’ll get her back.” He said, taking out a dagger and slicing his left palm. “I swear by my blood that I will get her back and make him pay for this.” He said as he turned and ran back up the gangplank. When he got up to the deck he simply kicked it off, allowing it to drop into the water as they pulled away from the dock. He’d get a new one as soon as he caught up to Lafayette. Clayton rushed up to the bridge and told his man at the wheel to get them out of St. Kitts as fast as possible. He then called for his officers up on the bridge. They all arrived as he had pulled out a map and laid it down on the table nearby. He used the knife that he was holding (and which was still slick with his blood) and slammed it down into the map to prevent it from flying away. He then bent over the map and pointed as he explained things. “We’re here in St. Kitts. Knowing Lafayette, he’ll stick near the coasts where the prevailing winds will help that monster of a ship move better. That puts him taking this route north by north west on a bit of a curved course as he heads home. So we will go due northwest across open water and makeup the time. He’s got a good day on us, but if we push the ship and get a decent wind off the ocean, we should get him before he makes Petit Goave.” He explained. There were nods and murmurs of agreement all around. Clayton looked up at them. “I know that promised you all that the last voyage would indeed be the last before we divided up the plunder. But…” “We’re with you Captain.” His Quartermaster (the equivalent of a chief of security) said. “Anyone who says otherwise will answer to me.” Again, everyone agreed with him and expressed similar sentiments. Briggs laid a comforting hand on Clayton’s shoulder. “Capt’n, because of you, we all have women that we love back in St. Kitts and enough of a fortune that we can give them good homes and raise families of our own. That’s all that most of us ever wanted and more. We all know that you’d do the same for us. We’re with you to the end on this one.” He said. Clayton managed to blink back the tears. “Thank you.” He said. “All of you.” He then stood up. “Now let’s look alive! We’ve got a ship to catch.” "Once More, With Feeling 5: No Place Like Home" Lt. Cmdr. T'Pei
========================= Vulcan, 2402 T'Pei was certain that seconds took longer than they used to. Or, she reluctantly admitted, it was also possible that she simply noticed them more now. Her training had always made her very aware of the passage of time, but before, it hadn't bothered her. Impatience was an illogical waste of productivity--the universe was large enough that there was always something of interest to occupy the mind. She tried to remind herself of that as she sat in a small room near the Council Chamber, expecting their verdict at any moment. Even meditation was not making it any easier to sit here for hours, like a child waiting for the adults to decide whether or not she would be punished for another's transgressions. Several Council members had clearly been swayed by her evidence that the Viper sensor readings had been fabricated. Of course, those members were already Dove supporters. The Hawk sympathizers, meanwhile, had strongly resisted the exact same evidence, repeatedly returning to the issue of Bolen, the Dove Intel officer whose had supposedly detonated the bomb. They kept bringing it up...because Bolen was missing. The Denobulan Intel officer had left the Miranda six months ago, and T'Pei had reports of activities in Sector 2523 five weeks later, but after that point, there was nothing. When she first admitted that his current location was unknown, the inquiring Hawk minister had affected an expression that was a very particular blend of patronizing and judgmental--the one that Vulcans, alone amongst all of the Galaxy's races, seemed to have truly mastered--and remarked "I see", which clearly meant "But, of course." T'Pei had forcibly stopped herself from gritting her teeth, a small eyebrow raise the only sign of her frustration. She was well aware that she did not rank highly enough for anyone besides a couple of doctors at Vulcan medical to know about her condition, and certainly not any members of the High Council. They might wonder at her beads--the ex-ambassadors in the group might even recognize them--but that would be the extent of it, unless they went digging through her records. If they didn't know she had emotions, then she certainly wasn't going to help them find out. Sorena had not said as much, but T'Pei knew that part of the reason the Council had allowed her to conduct this investigation was that she was Vulcan--one of them. She wasn't sure how they would respond if they had cause to question that assumption. So she mentally grit her teeth, but she kept her face completely calm, and her demeanor composed. Playing Vulcan, because she had to convince them not align with the Hawks. Not for the ideology of it--T'Pei no longer cared at all about Hawk versus Dove. She just needed to know that she still shared something with her people, however meaningless it was. And in two days, when Chris returned, she would leave again, and this time she would probably never make it back, because, home or not, the price of staying here was to be one of them, and she had given up that right ten years ago. ========================= Vulcan, 2392 "These katras have already caused you great damage--damage we cannot even begin to understand. Removal is the only option." "No," she replied, shaking her head. "I am bound by a promise not to leave her here, and I will not allow him to be lost." T'Pei's doctor turned towards the Priestess. "I apologize for wasting your time, Reldai. I had hoped your presence would convince her. It would appear, however, that this illogical behavior is a permanent addition." T'Pei stood angrily, prepared to storm out, but the old woman's next words stopped her. "Doctor, you are gravely mistaken. Her emotions are a permanent addition. As for logical or illogical behavior--that remains, as it always has, entirely up to her." She returned her gaze to T'Pei. "I knew Reldai T'Less. She spoke very highly of you." T'Pei wasn't sure how to take that. Was that a compliment, or did her teacher's praise only make her a greater disappointment now? "You understand what has happened to you, and what will occur if you do not remove the katras." A statement, not a question. T'Pei nodded. "If you will not allow us to employ our methods, then we cannot help you here, T'Pei-kam." "Reldai, they must be removed--" The Priestess silenced him with a gesture, then reached out with the same gnarled hand to gently touch T'Pei's long, wavy hair. "I said that we could not help her here on Vulcan, Doctor. I did not say that there was no help." ========================= She was jolted to the present by a tap on the shoulder, turning to find a young Council clerk behind her. "Have they come to a decision?" "No, but a personal transmission for you was just relayed to us by the Hercules, Commander." "Thank you," T'Pei responded. "I will take it in here." She waited for the clerk to leave, but the other woman stood her ground. "Commander, given the current situation, I have been instructed to remain and review the message." T'Pei suppressed a frown, not pleased at that development, but could not argue. She nodded, and the woman brought up the link at T'Pei's work station. 'Hi. You don't know me, but my name is Kaylee Hunter...' “Looking Back” Part 4. The Messenger/Captain Alexander Clayton, Ret. ********** Sloop of War, Revenge. Just out of Petit Goave, 1661 It had taken a week of hard travel across open water, but the gambit was more than worth it. Now coming into view in Clayton’s spyglass was the French Frigate le Messager. At her helm he could imagine a very confused Lafayette wondering exactly how he’d managed to cut him off at the pass. He snapped his spyglass shut and yelled to his crew. “Run out the guns! Grapeshot and Chain Shot only! Head straight for her!” he commanded. His eager crew complied with much enthusiasm. They’d been foaming at the mouth for revenge for their captain ever since they pulled out of St. Kitts. “Sharpshooters to the main deck, port side. Keep low until you have a good target.” He called out. Of course all of his crew was good shots, but he kept the muskets with those who he had rated well enough to give UFP Marine Snipers a run for their money. “Gunners, you get one shot with your cannons on the port side, then we’re boarding them!” he shouted. A resounding ‘Huzzah!’ sounded from below decks as they were all ready to take out Lafayette’s crew. Clayton watched as the two ships closed rapidly. Already the le Messager was firing with her long guns in an attempt to sink the Revenge before she even got near. Neither Clayton nor any member of the crew was fazed in the least. He’d trained them all well. It would be a shame to see them all go after this, but they deserved happiness as he did. He had plans of his own after this voyage was over. But first, he had a job to do. He gripped the handle of his cutlass and the butt of his pistol in anticipation of the forthcoming battle. Soon, the Revenge was right on top of the le Messager. The le Messager’s guns were firing like crazy now desperately trying to hit the smaller Sloop now. Clayton watched, defiantly standing on the bow looking at the larger Frigate with absolute hatred in his eyes. He gripped a nearby rope and called out over his shoulder. “Hard to Starboard! All guns fire as they bear!” he screamed out. His Sloop hung a hard right, nearly scraping the bow of the le Messager as they turned. The Revenge’s guns barked out as they passed, hurling out their deadly fire. The Buccaneers on the main deck all popped up as one and fired their muskets at the enemy crew. Dozens died on the le Messager in one massive blow. Some pistol and musket shot rang out here and there, but the crew of the Revenge had both the element of surprise and their namesake on their side. “Come about!” Clayton yelled as they cleared the length of the Frigate. “Make ready to board!” he called out as he got ready to lead the charge. He felt his ship shift as it changed directions and came alongside of the le Messager. More shots were now coming from the French Frigate, but Clayton ignored them as he charged over the railing onto the enemy deck. Many of his men were on his heels despite a few being struck down here and there. Clayton leveled his pistol blowing the first Frenchman away before he’d even realized that Clayton was there. Clayton charged on by, cutlass slashing all around cutting all who got in his way as he looked for Lafayette. He didn’t have long to wait as Lafayette leaped down from the bridge with his own cutlass out. Clayton parried the blow and slashed back at him, causing Lafayette to jump backwards to avoid being disemboweled. Clayton continued his relentless assault on the Frenchman until he finally had him backed up against the wall, hands up in surrender. The rest of the crew surrendered shortly thereafter. Clayton lifted Lafayette’s chin up with the point of his sword. “Where is she?” he growled menacingly. “Locked in the forecastle, port side.” He said, nodding in the appropriate direction. Clayton called one of his men over. “If he so much as twitches, you blow him right to Mars.” He said. The buccaneer saluted smartly and took to his new duty immediately while Clayton stalked to the door indicated. With a good solid kick, the door flew open. Inside, Chantelle gave a startled squeak. She then blinked a few times as she saw who was there. “Alex!” she cried out with joy as she got to her feet and rushed into his arms. “You can’t believe what has happened to me…” she started sobbing into his shoulder. “It was horrible…” she moaned. He gave her a comforting squeeze then got a blanket from the bed she had been sitting on and covered her up with it. Clayton escorted her back to his quarters, made sure she was comfortable there, and then came back over to look Lafayette in the eye. Then without warning, he got his knife out and plunged it right into the man’s stomach and removed it just as quickly. He then let Lafayette collapse to the deck so that he could bleed to death. Without a glance back, he calmly walked back to the Revenge. “Captain…” his Quartermaster called out. “What about the survivors?” he asked, his tone saying what he really wanted to do. “Survivors?” Clayton asked innocently over his shouder. “What survivors?” That was all his crew wanted to hear as they eagerly proceeded to make their Captain’s words come true in typical bloody buccaneer fashion. “Looking Back” Part 5. The Messenger/Captain Alexander Clayton, Ret. ********** Sloop of War, Revenge. En route from Petit Goave to St. Kitts, 1661 The only problem of heading westward in the Caribbean was that one had one hell of a headwind to contend with heading back eastward. So the trip that took them inside of a week to complete one way took the Revenge almost twice as long going back. It would be another two weeks before any of them saw St. Kitts. Clayton didn’t mind. In fact, he was looking forward to the time he’d get to spend with his Fiancé on the way back. Sailors usually regarded women onboard ships as bad luck, but in this case Clayton’s crew was willing to make an exception. Especially when he’d pointed out that the bad luck was already paid in spades by the late captain and crew of the le Messager. The night was now falling and Clayton asked Briggs to take over early so that he could be with Chantelle. Briggs gave him a knowing wink as he took over. Clayton went to his private quarters located just under the bridge where Chantelle was waiting for him. She was at the window looking off over the horizon. When she noticed him coming in, she looked over at him, gave him a sad smile and turned back to the window. “What’s wrong my love?” he asked her. Concerned, he crossed the room to sit next to her. “What is it?” Chantelle burst into tears. Clayton took a handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to her. She snatched it and cried even harder into it. “I… I…” she stammered out. Clayton waited patiently for her to continue. “I’m not pure anymore!” she wailed. “Pure?” Clayton asked, confused. “What are you talking about?” “When La- That man, took me.” She said, sobbing. “He asked for my hand. I-I refused him since our wed-wedding was near. He said that he’d find a Jesuit Priest somewhere to marry us off, with or without my consent. I slapped him and refused to talk to him. That is when he kidnapped me. That night, on his ship; he took me in his quarters. And… and… and he forced me to love him as if he were my husband.” Clayton rocked back, stunned. Lafayette had raped her. And as she went on and on about her ordeal, it was obvious that it wasn’t a one time thing either and that she was forced to behave or else she was going to be given over to Lafayette’s whole crew. Suddenly he wished he had the bastard down in his brig just so that he could give the man a whole new appreciation for the term ‘pain and suffering’. Just slitting the man’s belly and leaving him to bleed to death on the deck while his ship burned around him wasn’t enough. “And now we can’t get married because I’m not pure anymore!” Chantelle wailed again, finishing her story. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Clayton said. “Hold up here. You’re saying that as if I wouldn’t want you after this.” He said, taking her hands into his and lifting her chin up. “I still love you with all of my heart.” He told her. “I don’t care if you’re not pure anymore. It was not your decision to go off with him nor was it your fault that he forced himself upon you when you refused his advances. I still fully intend to marry you when we return to St. Kitts. If you will still have me, of course.” He said with a smile. “You… you really mean that?” Chantelle asked with a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Absolutely.” Clayton said with all honesty. “But how… when we go to bed… on our…” she blabbered out, trying to sort out her jumbled thoughts into coherent words. Clayton embraced her and kissed her full on her lips. “My darling, this is the day that we were to be wed. So if you’ll permit me, allow me now to take you to our wedding bed and show you what proper love is. In time, I promise you that this will be nothing more than a distant fleeting memory as if it were a bad dream.” Chantelle managed a shy smile as she dabbed at her tears with the handkerchief. “But it wouldn’t be proper.” “This from the woman who just admitted that she isn’t pure?” Clayton asked with an arched eyebrow and a wry smile. “Let proprietary hang and let us be happy the way we were meant to be happy.” He said as he led her over to the bed. He kissed her again as guided her down to the bed. “My dear, we still intend to marry and no one needs to know what had befallen you on that monster’s ship.” “Oh Alex…” She breathed as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. “You make me so happy.” “As do you, my dear, as do you.” Clayton murmured as he then took his time that night to show her exactly how love should be like between a man and a woman. “Looking Back” Part 6. The Messenger/Captain Alexander Clayton, Ret. ********** Cathedral of St. Kitts, 1661 The crew of the Revenge had formally disbanded a few days ago, each with their small fortune that they were entitled to when the booty was finally divided up. Capturing the le Messager and taking all of her goods and gold was an added bonus. Each member of the surviving hundred easily took home about 500 doubloons while the eight surviving officers averaged about 700 a piece. Clayton’s cut, as captain, including the gold he got off of selling the Revenge and the rest of her cargo, came to about a few thousand. It was more than enough to live off of and give Chantelle the type of lifestyle that he was used to. Not to mention the added bonus of being elevated to Count upon his successful return to St. Kitts as well as the acreage he’d accumulated over the past year from favors that he’d done for the crown. He and Chantelle would live well for the rest of their days in St. Kitts quite comfortably. Now it was the day of his wedding and he eagerly stood at the front of the Cathedral, waiting for his bride to be marched down the isle by her father. Clayton was nervous and excited all at the same time. Among the sea of faces in the audience were all of his former crew as well as the upper crust of St. Kitts. He swore that there were even some dignitaries from the nearby Dutch colonies there to give their blessing on the occasion. Checking his pocket watch for what must’ve been the millionth time, he wondered what was keeping them so long from coming out here and getting the wedding started. ********** The Governor’s Mansion in St. Kitts Chantelle looked herself in the mirror for the last time and twirled in place. Her bridesmaids were looking on with smiles. This indeed was the perfect day for Chantelle. In mere moments she was going to marry the man that she loved and who loved her unconditionally. Nodding to her bridesmaids, she declared that she was finally ready to go. She caught sight of a dark shape at the doorway. “Ready to escort me to the Cathedral father?” she asked as she turned. Her and her bridesmaids then all gasped as one as they saw the three dark men standing there. “Your Fiancé has cost me a brother.” The leader glowered at her, his pistol raised. “Now I am going to cost him a bride.” Tears filled up in Chantelle’s eyes. “Please…” she begged. “Please… don’t do this…” she asked of him. The man’s mouth quirked up in an evil smile as he pulled the trigger. His two compatriots followed suit. ********** The Cathedral. A page-boy rushed into the Cathedral and tore down the isle. “Count Clayton!” he called out, his voice cutting through the air, silencing all who were assembled and echoing off the walls and ceiling. “They need you m’lord! At the Governor’s Mansion now!” Clayton didn’t need to be told twice as he tore down the isle to follow the page-boy out. He ignored the congregation as it erupted into absolute chaos. ********** The Governor’s Mansion. As soon as Clayton reached the front door, he was directed upstairs. It wasn’t looking good as he noticed that most of the King’s Army was there and that there were two men dead on the front lawn with a third being led away in shackles. It also didn’t look good that there were surgeons there taking out one body of a woman in a bridesmaid’s dress on a stretcher. He got up to Chantelle’s room and the first thing that he noticed was all of the blood. The Governor and his wife were just outside her room, both of which were clutching each other, crying with their youngest daughter their with them. His heart rose to his throat and then sank to the pit of his stomach as he cautiously walked in. The surgeons were loading the other bridesmaid onto a stretcher, her body covered up in a white sheet. His gaze settled onto the bed where the Governor’s personal surgeon was working on Chantelle. With a frustrated snarl, the surgeon took his bloody hands away from Chantelle and turned towards the window. Clayton managed to get past the lump in his throat to speak. “Doctor…” he managed to croak out when he walked up next to him. “Count Clayton…” the surgeon said formally. He placed a bloody hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry m’lord…” he said. “There’s nothing I can do, the… the shot is too close to her heart.” Clayton didn’t feel himself collapse to the floor, nor did it really register that he practically crawled over to her. He took her hand into his and looked at her with tears streaming down his face. Chantelle’s breathing was ragged and shallow as she literally fought for each breath. “Alex…” she breathed. “Don’t… don’t talk honey…” he said, unable to stop crying. “Just rest…” he said as he discreetly reached into his pocket and flipped open his tricorder that he still had after all this time. He only pulled it out in dire emergencies, conserving as much power as he could ever since he got here. A quick scan told him that the surgeon was right. If she were in the 24th Century, this would be nothing. But back in the 17th Century, things were a bit different. “It’ll be ok…” he managed to say. Chantelle was slowly dying right there in front of him and there was nothing that he could do about it. Chantelle managed to reach up and stroke his cheek affectionately. “It is ok my love.” She whispered to him. “I got to have you as husband and wife in the Lord’s eyes even if it wasn’t in people’s eyes…” she said to him. “I’ll… I’ll always love you…” she said before slowly closing her eyes for the last time and slipping away. Inside, Clayton felt a part of him die with Chantelle. He clutched the cross that she’d given him and cried. “Burn The Land & Boil The Sea, You Can’t Take The Sky From Me” Lieutenant Commander Rafael Dávila – Fleet Intelligence ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Pentref Combat Zone ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ “Dad, where are we?” “Pentref.” Rafael answered softly, his attention focussed on the world outside that they were rapidly approaching. Frowning Miranda scanned the planet below as her father piloted them down into the murky atmosphere. Years of conflict, either surface warfare between various factions, or orbital conflicts that had let stray shots, torpedoes and even the odd wreck fall from the sky had left the planet a barren husk. Shattered cities, burnt out forests, an atmosphere that on a good day could generously be called acidicly toxic and radiation levels that would kill anyone stupid enough to try and walk around unprotected. Though it would be a toss up as to whether the toxic atmosphere or the radiation killed you first. It wasn’t a pretty planet. “They’re still fighting down there,” Miranda muttered, looking at the intermittent scan readouts. Sporadic heavy weapons fire and evidence of a recent low yield nuclear and anti-matter detonations were obvious. “How many people live here?” “Now? Probably only a few million or so, mostly combat units.” Rafael replied vaguely. “Why’d you ask?” “Records say this place used to have a population of over two ‘billion’. What happened to them all?” Looking out of the forward window she watched as the thick clouds finally parted as they descended, revealing a scarred and tortured landscape. “Dead mostly. Hawks, Doves, Klingons, independents, you name the faction, they all wanted something here and they’re still fighting over it.” Sounding singularly uncaring about what had happened here Rafael brought the shuttle down lower to figure out where he was. “Why are they still fighting?” Miranda wondered aloud, “There’s nothing left here!” “Because none of them want the other side to get what’s down here, and none of them are stupid enough to destroy the planet because they all want what’s here too badly.” He explained as he flew slowly over radioactive lakes formed in the craters caused by massive explosions and a grey brown landscape that appeared to be devoid of life. “What’s so important?” Miranda asked in disgust. “They’re all under the impression that somewhere on this planet is the fabled Section Thirty One archive. Backups of all their data and dirty deals. They think that whoever finds that will get a massive advantage over the rest.” Spotting a landmark he recognised Rafael angled the shuttle towards it, lifting her slightly to get past a low mountain range that had once been much higher. Only giving his daughter a small portion of his attention he answered her absently as he watched the land below pass by, flying by eye sight and the seat of his pants. Sensors were worse than useless down this low. “What makes them think it was here? This was an agri-world!” Incomprehension evident in her tone she looked around, this wasn’t war, it was stupidity! “They think it’s here because I told them all it was,” Rafael admitted uncaringly. “I needed a diversion to get their people off my back while I trying to find it myself. So I leaked it.” “Yo... you caused ‘this’!” Miranda whispered, horrified. Even for her father, this was excessive. “Not me kid, they started fighting, it’s their stupid war not mine. I just needed their teams away from me.” Spotting one of the few surviving compounds left on the planet he angled the KittyKat to the landing zone. Air defences had automatically started tracking him as soon as he had crossed the mountains, hopefully though they had read the IFF he was transmitting, or this was about to get messy. “Two ‘Billion’ people!” Miranda said quietly, staring out the window. Shrugging Rafael turned to his screens, satisfied they weren’t going to get blown out of the sky today. “As I said, not my war squirt, another few billion dead at their hands, I don’t think anyone even noticed, or cared, when this rock died.” “I know I didn’t.” Setting the shuttle down gently Rafael left the ships systems running, “Aurora, hot standby, we might need to run quick.” “Copy Raf, the atmospheric interference is screwing the sensors, but I’ll do my best.” Scanning the surroundings Aurora surveyed the lay of the land. Most of the structures appeared to be mostly subterranean, the only surface features being the AA towers, some vehicle and personal airlocks and the odd structure that had seen better days. Leaving the AI to monitor everything Rafael headed aft and to the lower deck, and started dressing in a hostile environment suit, looking at Miranda who had followed him he shook his head, “You stay on board here, and no arguments. We only have one suit that can survive outside,” tapping the armoured leggings he was pulling on, “the atmosphere here eats standard EVA suits.” “I’m not going out there,” she announced flatly. “Dad...?” struggling to put into words what was going through her mind she opened and closed her mouth a couple of times as he dressed, stunned at the devastation outside and his heartless attitude to the loss of life. Standing carefully, Rafael made damn sure nothing was going to pinch inside the suit. Once outside there wasn’t going to be much in the way of opportunities to adjust anything. Watching his daughter try and articulate the thoughts in her mind as he dressed he shrugged, even though the armoured suit made such a gesture pointless, “Kid, don’t let it bother you.” He advised, “if you start fretting over every lost life, every senseless battle or every pointless deed that’s been done, you’ll have the mother of all nervous break downs.” Snapping the gloves on the suit he ran a diagnostic, “Your mother worried, just like you are now, and she ‘did’ break down. You’re both too good for this verse kiddo.” Adding the last very softly he leant forward and kissed Miranda’s forehead, “Don’t change.” He asked softly. Picking up his helmet he sealed the suit, “I’ll be no more than thirty minuets,” Rafael warned her, “keep us ready for a quick getaway.” “Are you expecting trouble?” To be fair they ‘always’ expected trouble, but he seemed overly paranoid right now. “I’m meeting renegade Klingons, so I’ve already got this massive urge to run away. Stay alert.” With that final warning Rafael hit the panel to open the aft ramp. “Reassuring!” Miranda muttered as she watched the cargo ramp lower. Backing away unconsciously as the force field flared randomly, she watched the radiation outside interact with the field to produce a riot of colours that washed across the opening. Waiting until her father had stepped outside she closed the ramp and headed up to the cockpit. “Best resolution on the sensors Aurora,” Miranda ordered as she sat, “try to keep an eye on him.” “As always.” Aurora confirmed. Staring outside Miranda let her mind drift as she considered the galaxy they lived in, a place where two billion lives could be snuffed out and no one cared. A place where a simple diversion sent hordes of soldiers and weapons to an unsuspecting planet in search of a mythical treasure trove of data. And most of the Section Thirty One data that had survived had turned out to be so out of date anyway, or useless in the current war that it sure as hell didn’t seem worth the devastation. It was enough to make you cry. Then there was her Father. He’d been distracted these last few days, his mind on something. It had happened before but this time there was a definite energy to his zeal, he was driven to do something. Since their discussion, well to be honest argument, regarding his latest wild scheme he’d been hunting for something, and again she found herself in the dark, ‘for safety’. “G’day’t!” She snapped suddenly as she waited, the Klingon epitaph echoing in the silent shuttle, “I hate this spy crud!” Whatever he was up to he’d say something sooner or later. But it was the not knowing that was frustrating. And her Mother? What had her father meant when he said she’d ‘broke down’? Their time on Thérà had seen her in and out of hospital a lot, but she’d never known why. What had happened? Lost in thought Miranda sat silently for some time, almost missing the urgent blinking of the sensor alert until Aurora brought her attention to them with a gently ‘Ahem!’. “Is that weapons fire?” Miranda asked as she leant forward suddenly, frowning at the data displayed. With the interference it was hard to tell, but the spikes she was seeing did not look encouraging. “I think so,” Aurora confirmed, “looks like he’s in trouble. Again.” “There!” Half standing Miranda looked out the window and saw her father, running for all he was worth towards the shuttle from a nearby airlock. From behind him bright flashes followed him, missing him barely in the murky half light that permeated the land. Firing behind him his own shots were just as wild, and the cris-cross of disruptor fire lit up the landing field with sporadic flashes. “Opening the aft hatch.” Aurora said calmly. “Immediate lift off once he’s aboard.” Miranda ordered, running her hands over the controls, “keep us low, under the AA towers arc until we’re clear.” ‘Another’ quick getaway, something Aurora had much practice at. Hearing a thump from below Miranda saw the status of the aft hatch change to ‘secure’ just as her father’s voice bellowed from the lower level. “Aurora, get us the hell out of here ‘NOW’!” “Looking Back” Part 7. The Messenger/Captain Alexander Clayton, Ret. ********** St. Kitts, 1661 A couple of days after Chantelle died, Clayton was attending her funeral rather than enjoying his honeymoon with her. He was numb the entire time. While he was busy with the funeral, the authorities were busy trying Lafayette’s Brother for the murder of Chantelle, one of her sisters, and their friend. It was by sheer quirk of fate that he’d survived the flight from the Governor’s Mansion while his two compatriots had been gunned down by musket fire by the members of the King’s Army who’d responded to the sounds of pistols firing at the Mansion. He was easily found guilty and sentenced to immediate death. It was a sentence that would take place at a time of the tribunal’s choosing. The next day, Clayton appeared in the jail where Lafayette’s brother was being held at. As soon as he appeared, the guards left. Clayton just stared at the man who’d murdered his beloved in cold blood. He was sitting in a chair with his hand shackled behind his back. “If you had a problem with me, you should have just challenged me to a duel instead of gunning down a helpless woman…” he said hollowly. The man just snorted. “Please. You can’t frighten me and you can’t do anything to me.” He said. “All anyone can do to me now is just hang me. And I don’t fear the gallows.” “Oh but there is much more I can do to you.” Clayton said, taking out a knife and opening the jail cell. “You see, the tribunal gave me the honor of being your executioner.” He said. Clayton aimlessly twirled the knife in his fingers. “They were just a bit fuzzy on the details.” He said. Lafayette’s brother visibly swallowed hard, wondering exactly what Clayton had in store for him. Clayton kicked the man square in the chest, causing him to fall back hard onto the cold stone floor. Clayton knelt over him and casually sliced the man’s cheek. “I am going to do what I should’ve done to your brother when I caught him. I am going to torture you; slowly, painfully, and methodically.” He said, holding the knife over the man’s forehead and slowly turning it like a drill. “And when I am through with you, I am going to get my crew back, get a mass of volunteers together, and sail to Petit Goave where I am going to raze the city to the ground in your and your brother’s name. And while I am there, I am going to personally visit your whole family and repay them sin by sin of what you two have done to me. I will hunt down and wipe your family out of existence and make sure that your name is cursed for all time.” “You… you wouldn’t…” “Look at me. Do I look like a man who has anything else to lose anymore?” Clayton asked, coldly staring down at him. ********** Sloop of War, Revenge. Outbound from St. Kitts en route to Petit Goave, 1661 Clayton had tortured Lafayette’s Brother for three days straight before the man finally succumbed to death. The entire time the man was confessing to sins that he’d committed during his lifetime including the ones he’d visited upon Clayton. The man begged for forgiveness and told Clayton all the secrets of the French navy and French cities in the Caribbean in a vain attempt to get Clayton to stop. Not once during the whole process did Clayton ever say a single word. He just stared at him with his cold, hard eyes as he methodically tortured the man in ways that didn’t even exist yet. When Clayton had found out, using his tricorder, that Lafayette’s Brother was near death and wouldn’t survive long, he’d literally drug what was left of the man through the streets of St. Kitts with a sign tied around his neck proclaiming that this was the fate of those who chose to murder innocent women. Interestingly enough, virtually all crime in St. Kitts dried up the day after that for a time. Clayton drug the man all the way down to the docks, threw him into a hanging cage, and hoisted him up high. He then took his pistol and used the man for target practice. First he practiced shooting the man’s feet and hands, and then moved up to arms and legs. Then he aimed for shoulders and hips and slowly moved his way inwards on his torso. Clayton figured he must’ve put about fifty shots in and through the man over a period of a few hours before he finally stopped moving. After he was sure that he was dead, Clayton holstered his pistol and turned back to town. The next day he met with the Dock master and managed to purchase his ship back for double of what he’d sold it for. He then went to the pub, stood up on the bar, and declared that he was going to go to Petit Goave and wipe the town off the face of the planet. Considering that it was a French town and he was making this declaration in a British town, the news went over well. He had his old crew back along with a couple hundred more who were ready to storm the gates of hell armed only with buckets of water if he’s so asked. After that, it was on to the Governor’s Mansion to let him know what he was up to. The Governor, using his authority, had sent notifications to all of the other English colonies saying that war was being declared on France. Now, the Revenge was heading westward again with two massive Frigates following him that were filled to the brim with British soldiers. Clayton stood on the bow jaw set, looking westward, glaring. He would have his revenge. ********** Timeship USS Relativity – Sometime in the 29th Century. Captain Braxton tossed his PADD over to Lieutenant Ducane. “Ok that’s another member of the USS Miranda restored.” He said. “Who do we have next?” This whole temporal cold war was getting on his nerves and this temporal shift that happened to a third of the Miranda’s crew in the 24th Century. Messes like this were hell to clean up. “Lieutenant Alexander Clayton, Assistant Chief Communications Officer.” Ducane replied. “And from the looks of it we need to hurry; he’s about to eliminate the Lafayette family line.” “What!? How!?” Braxton asked, shocked. “How long has he been back there?” “Two minutes by our reckoning. About fifteen months by his.” Ducane explained, pulling up his record and information and displaying it on the holo display. “Sweet Jesus!” Braxton exclaimed as he looked at what all Clayton had been up to back in the 1660s. “He did all that in fifteen months? He’s a busy man. My God, look at what he did to Gustav Lafayette in St. Kitts…” “Well, what would you do to your wife’s killer if you had the official backing of a legitimate government?” Ducane asked rhetorically. He then frowned. “We can’t just beam him out. He’s surrounded by too many people.” “I got an idea…” Braxton said. ********** Sloop of War, Revenge. 1661. “Sail ho!” the lookout called. “Directly to starboard! She’s a Trade Galleon flying truce colors!” Clayton frowned as he got out his spyglass. The last thing that he wanted was distractions. He looked at the incoming ship and his blood turned cold as he saw the name on the bow; Relativity. He shut the spyglass quickly as he just stood there staring at the ship dumbfounded. He barely heard Briggs as he walked up beside him on the bow. “Orders sir?” “Reef the sails. Allow her to approach.” Clayton said. “Sir!?” Briggs asked, shocked. Clayton had never allowed anyone to approach before. “I said reef the damn sails!” Clayton snapped, looking at him sharply. “All stop!” “AYE CAPT’N!” Briggs said, unnerved by the way Clayton was acting. If he was acting scared, then there was a damn good reason for it. Briggs jumped down to the main deck and started shouting out orders to bring the Revenge to a stop and to signal the two troop Frigates to do the same. Clayton watched as the massive ship silently came alongside and watched as the crews of the two ships tied up. A man in a simple jumpsuit appeared on the Relativity’s deck. “Ahoy Captain Clayton!” he called with a wave. “Permission to come aboard?” “Permission granted.” Clayton responded. He watched as the man walked down the gangplank with arms clasped behind his back. The man then held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you. I am Captain Braxton of the Relativity” he said. Clayton numbly shook his hand. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?” he asked. Clayton motioned to his quarters and left Briggs in charge as they left the deck. As soon as the door was closed, Braxton wheeled on the man. “Do you realize, Lieutenant, that if I haven’t come when I did that you would’ve wiped out the Lafayette family line and royally screwed up time as we know it up to and including causing the Americans to lose the Revolutionary War of 1776?” he asked, referring back to Clayton’s actual Starfleet rank. Clayton was just as pissed as he got up into Braxton’s face. “Do you realize that I don’t rightly give a damn?” he countered. “Where the hell where you five days ago when I could’ve been pulled out of the frakking timeline with my wife still alive!?” Braxton sighed. “You have my condolences on that. You really do. I am truly sorry for your loss, but she would’ve died a year down the road when a band of natives raided St. Kitts. Yes, she still would’ve been kidnapped had you not been here and she would’ve endured a lot more for months at the hands of Lafayette while he was demanding ransom money. I know that its small consolation, but you actually gave her a better life than what she would’ve had otherwise for however short a time it was.” Out of all the things for Braxton to say, Clayton wasn’t prepared for a rundown of how her life would’ve been like had he not been thrown back into this time period. He found his way over to his desk and slumped down into the chair there. Tears that he’d been holding back since the funeral came back in full force now. Braxton laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to go home Alex. Your ship and your crew need you. Most importantly, you have a destiny to fulfill, whether you realize it or not.” Clayton chuckled hollowly through the tears. “You tell everyone that that you come back in time for.” “We don’t personally come back for people. We usually just transport them out.” Braxton said. Clayton pounded a fist on the desk. “Damn it all…” he said. “And what about this invasion force that I’ve managed to assemble?” Braxton shrugged. “It would’ve gone sooner or later to rescue Chantelle.” He said. “So no big change there. So are you ready?” “Is there… couldn’t we…” he started to ask. “No.” Braxton said flatly, knowing what Clayton was going to ask him. “There’s no way we could prevent her murder without further tampering with the timeline. We’d have a nasty paradox on our hands if we even attempted it.” He stepped back and gestured to the door. Sighing, Clayton scooped up a couple of rolled parchments from his desk and headed out. The crew were all assembled, wondering what was going on. He knew he had to tell them something. “It appears that I’ve been summoned to appear in His Majesty’s Court.” He announced. “This ship just missed us out of St. Kitts and came out to catch up to us. Naturally, we cannot deny the wishes of His Majesty.” There were now murmurs all around as word spread to the crew. “Briggs!” “Aye Capt’n?” the First Mate asked, stepping forward. Clayton took off his captain’s hat and placed it on the man’s head. He then handed over the parchment. “These are the deeds to the Revenge and my estate back on St. Kitts. They’re all yours now when you return.” He said with a smile. “My last orders are to continue on to Petit Goave as planned. Raid the city and then return to St. Kitts after which you all can do what you will.” He caught the disappointed looks from his crew and he took the time to personally say goodbye to each and every one of them. He shook hands, and thanked them for their dedication and their support before finally following Braxton back to the deck of the Relativity. Before leaving, Briggs walked up and handed him the colors of the Revenge that Clayton now noticed were missing from the back of the ship. “Somethin’ to remember us by Capt’n” he said with a smie. With tears brimming in his eyes, Clayton took the folded flag. He tucked it under his arm and saluted Briggs smartly. “Thank you… Captain.” He said, before turning away and following Braxton back to the bridge. There he stood as he watched the two ship’s crews disconnect the two ships from each other and he continued watching as his former ship disappeared out of sight as she sailed on. “I can see why many people of our time periods indulge in fantasy recreations like this in holodecks…” Braxton said, joining him by the railing. “Fresh air, warm sun, and lots of room and you got to do this for real for fifteen months. I think it was Picard from your time period that said it best; this is freedom.” “Wouldn’t know…” Clayton said. “I’ve only met the man once.” He deadpanned. “So now what?” “Now, we go back.” Braxton said. He took out a small device that looked like a Type I Phaser and pointed it down at the deck. The Galleon and her crew instantly disappeared and Clayton saw that they were standing on the hull of a sleek looking starship of which Clayton had never even imagined before. Braxton tapped his commbadge. “Braxton to Ducane, Two to beam in please…” “Looking Back” Part 8. The Messenger/Captain Alexander Clayton, Ret. ********** 2402 - Counselor/Chaplain’s Office, USS Pegasus Alex Clayton/The Messenger slammed his fists down on the desk. He then opened up his palms to look once more at the cross that Chantelle had given him. Even to this day he yearned to hold her in his arms once again. He would do almost anything to have her by his side once again. Part of him argued that after all that he’s done; he is entitled to that one bit of happiness. But even if he could pull it off, what then? Married Priests were not unheard of and he’d certainly be married before he entered the priesthood, so the vow of celibacy wouldn’t apply. But then how would she adjust to the future. STOP IT! He mentally chastised himself. He sighed as he looked over the cross. Chantelle wouldn’t want him to jeopardize millions just to save her. She was one of the most selfless and caring people that he’d ever known. She would want him to go on helping others before helping himself. He had the plan. But what would he do and how would he go about it? Should he return to being Alexander Clayton? Should he return to being The Messenger? He didn’t know. He glanced at the PADD off to one side that had a date emblazoned at the top of it: 2384. It was just two years after he’d taken his trip to the past. Only two years older. After Braxton returned him to 2382, Alex had tried to patch things with Riva; his on again, off again girlfriend on the Miranda before he’d been thrown back to the 1660s. But it was no use. No matter what he did, he kept on seeing Chantelle everywhere he looked. He never did go near another woman ever again. A year later, when hostilities flared up between the Federation and the Triad, he’d hooked up with his old friend, Gabriel McKibben, who was in Starfleet Intelligence and now in command of the USS Bainbridge. It was on the Bainbridge that he’d seen couples form; loves get kindled, and in some cases reignited. Meanwhile he threw himself more and more into his work, eventually becoming the ruthless killing machine that he was. That was the event that he had to stop. He had to stop himself from helping Third Echelon become the Starfleet Hit Squad. That meant that Alexander Clayton had to leave him for good. With his decision made, he got up and tossed the Starfleet Uniform and Rank Insignia into the reclamation bin he kept the Starfleet Communicator just for sake of convenience. But he would keep that hidden under his trench coat. He walked over and started to redress himself with the first item being something that he hadn’t worn in 18 years… For the first time since Chantelle died, he put her cross back on around his neck as a reminder to always serve others before himself. END of “Looking Back” OOC: Musical Inspiration for “Looking Back” includes: “If Tomorrow Never Comes” by Garth Brooks “The Red Strokes” by Garth Brooks “Traveling Soldier” by The Dixie Chicks “Sometimes I Wake Up Crying” by The Dixie Chicks maj dok Staring: Chandrakala Eshe And K'vol
*** [2402] Location: Qo'noS ***
… and the mate replies "maj dok" (our blood). This exchange seals a marriage vow.
Looking out at the destruction of what once was a glorious city I could do nothing but shake my head. No words could convey the emotion that bubbled beneath. Lush greenery had covered this land, flowers of all sizes and shapes sprung from enriched soil, but now it was just a wasteland, a never ending chasm of destruction that left a gaping wound in my heart, across my chest, stretching as far back as I could remember. As far back as I would let myself remember.
Had there ever been any clarity in my life? I took every day as it came now. Morning rituals were just that, mourning. Mourning the life I never had. Painting a face for the world to see, painting the smiles for my children, the fangs for my comrades, the understanding for my husband. War paint, huh, I clucked; such a bitter understatement.
Every day was a battle, a battle between what was, what should be and what is. The ever present voice called out endlessly that this isn't how it should be. My husband shouldn't be the shell of the man that he was. My son shouldn't be scarred with the cowardly acts of another race that sought to destroy all I had left and my daughter shouldn't carry the name of the dead, but the name of that who should be living.
"What about where you died Kala?"
His voice cut through the silence, thick with accusation that cut me to my core. I wanted to reply but my throat swelled and once more my eyes stung. I hung my head; letting my crimson tresses cover my face, shield me from being exposed once more.
"You died before I married you," he told me, "a shell of the woman that I grew up with. You were full of life, you had a taste for battle, a knack for making things work, a knack for making us work…."
I could hear the regret laden in his voice, I looked up from my shroud, surprised for the warmth I felt from him, the warmth directed at the memory he had of me. Why had I never seen this side of him before? I mentally scoffed myself, the answer already taunting me; because he hated me now, he hated me because I'd failed him, failed my Klingon heart.
"You died long before I did." He said so matter-of-factly, so limp and without care. I had a good mind to thump him. Did all of his will power just get up and go? Did all of the strength he had just disappear? Wasn't I enough for him? Wasn't our family something to fight for? But instead of asking him that I screamed; "Then why did you marry me?" with all the venom I could muster.
"Because I thought that I could save you." He shouted back at me.
"Wha..?" I was confused now, rightfully so. The aggression ebbed for a time as I stared at him, looked deep within him to ascertain the truth of the statement.
"I thought that if I took you to be mine, I could fill the void she left." He told me. The fire in his voice had left. The anger he held had passed, all that was now were the bones, bare and unadorned with trinkets of emotions that barred our way for all these years.
"I don't und…." I began, but the meaning was becoming clear, the direction of his thoughts guided me before his lips ever could and when I reached the understanding I turned from him.
"Do not talk about her." I said evenly, steeling myself against the years of repression of that memory.
"And why not?" He asked me, an uplift to his voice, "We talk about everything else…"
"Oh no we don't," I snapped whirling round on him, "we haven't had an honest conversation in years…" I snarled.
His head tilted questioningly at me and I shook mine in response, he really wasn't this obtuse.
"I am suffocated by you." I told him earnestly, "By this life. I never wanted…. this…" "Once More, With Feeling 6: Lies My Parents Told Me" Lt. Cmdr. T'Pei ======================= Kaylee Hunter. Up until thirty seconds ago, she couldn't have even said if she was alive, let alone anything else about her: where she was, what she looked like, whether she still lived with her father, whether she was anything like her mother. T'Pei had not seen her since she was an infant. She had a picture of Kaylee as a newborn, too young even to smile, chubby sausage fingers wrapped around her mother's thumb. Once every year, near Kaylee's birthday, she had aged it. She wondered how accurate the picture was now. The clerk was examining both the letter and her reaction to it, and so with difficulty, T'Pei forced herself not to fidget or look away from the screen. No matter how hard she tried, though, her eyes would not focus on the words. The woman's scrutiny felt radioactively hot, burning her carefully folded hands and her stiff-as-it-always-had-been posture. T'Pei finally ended the stand-off by turning around. "This letter is of a personal nature," she said with deliberate detachment. "You may have your staff review it. I have nothing to hide." The woman nodded, but continued to read over her shoulder, forcing T'Pei to be more direct. "I would appreciate some privacy." "I will require a copy of any reply before it is sent." "I will make sure you receive one," T'Pei ground out coldly. The clerk cocked her head to the side. "That is acceptable," she replied, and exited, finally allowing T'Pei to return to the letter. ======================= Hi. You don't know me, but my name is Kaylee Hunter. You used to serve with my mom, 8-ball Hunter? I don't know if you remember her or not, but I guess you used to give her, uh, Vulcan lessons or something. Anyway, she died when I was really young, and I don't remember anything about her, and I was just hoping maybe you could, I don't know, fill in some of the blanks. My dad (that's John Walker) has told me stuff, but there's just so much to know. Were you guys friends? Did you like her? I'm just looking for anything you can tell me. Maybe, most of all, and I know this is kind of a weird question to ask someone you don't know, but maybe if you know how my mom died? I've never known. I think it's too painful for Dad to talk about. Anyway, if you can, please, please write me back. I'll be your favorite 12 year old (well, almost 12 years old, anyway) fan EVER. Thank you! ======================== T'Pei's rigid posture crumpled, and she melted back into the chair. The absurdity of Kaylee asking if she actually remembered her mother almost made her laugh, until she recalled that she was most likely still under surveillance. It did tell her one important thing though: John Walker had never mentioned T'Pei to his daughter, beyond the lessons. She was not surprised; the death of his friend had come close to shattering the man. With one violent exception, he had said nothing to T'Pei after the funeral, and had left the Galaxy soon thereafter. Given that, it was almost certainly unwise to reply, but T'Pei knew beyond any doubt that she was going to, even though she had no idea where to begin. How could she describe her relationship with 8-ball to anyone, let alone her twelve-year-old daughter? "At first, your mother only worked with me because she had to," did not seem quite sufficient, nor was "We got to know each other through mind melds". Perhaps there were no words that could accurately describe the truth. They had been friends, but not in the way that many sentients would think of when you used the word 'friend'. They had simply spent far too much time inside the other's head not to end up close. As strange as it had seemed to everyone else, they understood each other. T'Pei sat up suddenly, realizing that perhaps that was all Kaylee was looking for--to understand her mother, in even the smallest ways. This time, she was too late to swallow her laughter. She had all of the information that Kaylee wanted, and even if she could not tell her about her mother's death, she could tell her about her life. She owed this child--she owed 8-ball--that much. Mindful that it would be screened, she worded her response carefully, and handed the clerk the PADD one hour later. "Please inform me when you have sent it," she asked. "I will wait in my quarters for the Council's decision." ======================= Kaylee Hunter, I remember your mother very well, and I will endeavor to give you some of the answers you seek. You have asked me if your mother and I were friends. Our relationship was unique--we were very different people, with very different backgrounds and perspectives. In spite of this, in the five years I knew her, I came to consider her one of my closest friends, and I learned a great deal from her. Your mother grew up resisting the Vulcan half of her heritage, and I do not believe that she ever realized that some of her natural behavior was, underlying, quite Vulcan. She readily identified the most logical course of action in any given situation, but would immediately reject it anyone else presented it as such. I learned quickly that a particularly useful method to steer her in one direction was to suggest the exact opposite, and claim that it was the only 'logical' option. She was also quite spontaneous. She gained great enjoyment from unstructured activities, and a certain amount of added pleasure from my discomfort with her lack of planning. Once, several years before you were born, she informed me that we were going to participate in a wilderness survival exercise as a recreational activity. Suffice it to say, very little of the actual execution ended up as recreational, which she assured me was an essential part of an 'authentic' experience. She was able to briefly introduce me to one of her many non-nutritional substances, called s'mores, however, they were lost, along with our supplies, in an incident in the river shortly thereafter. Above all, your mother was a caring and passionate woman. When she was pregnant with you, she was the happiest I knew her. She loved you deeply, and I know that she did not wish to leave you. Regarding that, your final question--if your father has not yet told you about your mother's death, then it is not my place to do so. I can only say that she was a very brave woman, and that she died serving a very important cause. You do not remember me, but I knew you when you were an infant. It is extremely gratifying to hear that you are well. You may always write to me with further inquiries about your mother, and I hope to learn more of you, as well. Peace and Long Life, T'Pei Once More, With Feeling 7: Older and Far Away Lt. Cmdr. T'Pei ======================= For the tenth time, T'Pei swatted his hand away. "I'm not a fucking cat, so stop petting Walker had left now, and she looked around the room, wondering where he had gone. The Now she's running, towards the glint of a knife. But she can't quite get to it, because T'Pei jolted upright, her fingers clutching the sheets to her chest, her heartbeat She had dreamt the most important moments of 8-ball's life, again and again, for twelve The chirp of an incoming transmission surprised her. That must have been what disturbed She had not seen the face that greeted her for almost two years. "Cutter..." He was looking down, reading something. It took a moment for him to look up and notice "Well," she lied, then, after an awkward pause, asked, "How are your... flash forwards?" "Annoying," he said quickly. An automatic response, the same thing he always said when "I am managing." As always, a simple answer seemed to satisfy his curiosity. He had asked "Have you heard?" he asked once they had finished with their customary unpleasantries. "We heard two days ago," she said quietly. "Were you there?" He nodded, several times, with his mouth slightly open. T'Pei could see him holding his T'Pei watched him shift slightly, frowning. Being saved by someone else didn't sit well with Which made her highly uneasy about what he had to say. "Cutter...it has been a very long time. Why have you contacted me now?" "We were near Earth to provide support for the Miranda," he explained. "They were there "I was not aware she had a daughter," T'Pei said. "She doesn't," he responded, "Not anymore." "She died? With Earth?" "No, she was never born," Cutter said calmly. "Her name is Allison Von Ernst. Or "How did you know she would be on Earth?" "Daren had ordered a review of Galaxy logs two years ago, to try to develop intelligence T'Pei's eyebrow shot up. "I am not sure I understand," she said. "Why are you so "She doesn't seem to know where she is. According to her, everything is different. She T'Pei just stared at the Fruna'lin silently. He could not possibly be suggesting what she "He wants to change the past. He wants to travel back in time and change things, to make "To ensure the impregnation of Rebecca von Ernst?" T'Pei asked dryly. "I believe James "No." Cutter's face took on an impatient expression that suggested that he had been "I'm not," Cutter admitted. "But, as Daren has pointed out, frankly, it can't get much "That is an unwise supposition..." she began, but trailed off as the implications of all He watched her trail off, how her eyes glazed over as she began to think. "T'Pei, come "What do you plan to do?" she asked, her face betraying the fact that she no longer found "Once we get there?" he asked, stating the question he intended to answer. "We don't T'Pei folded and unfolded her hands. Her eyes were still turned towards Cutter, but she Cutter tsked, and frowned. He didn't want to have to wait on a decision. "I just "And...?" "We're going there," he said. "She's going to help us find the location of an ancient She nodded. "I will let you know before then." He tsked again. "Fine." Then, with a nod at T'Pei, he abruptly ended the connection.
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