Commander Paul McAllister, SFI

The Messenger (Captain, Ret., Alexander Clayton)

**********

Counselor’s/Chaplain’s Office – USS Pegasus.

With his decision made, The Messenger put his clothes back on. Time Travel was not there for personal gain. He’d had his time and he’d lost it. Now, he had to deal with it. Now, he had to look at the bigger picture. Besides, if he went back to save Chantelle’s life and bring her forward, it could further disrupt the timeline and that was something that he could not do. He could not risk hundreds of millions just for his own happiness, no matter how tempting it was.

He had just finished putting his priest’s collar back on, slipped his trench on, and was reaching for his shades when the door chime rang. “Come in.” he said in a resigned voice. Sometimes he wished that he had a flesh and blood counselor to talk to rather than the one he reported to in heaven.

The door opened, and Paul McAllister stepped inside. Taking in that Clayton was once again in Messenger garb, he shook his head. "You change clothes more often than a whore in a two-bit cathouse." He peered closer at the priest's face. "What the hell is wrong with your eyes? Looks like you've been...crying? Am I in the right frackin room?"

The Messenger rubbed his eyes, not realizing that they were probably still bloodshot from all the tears he’d shed recently. “Yeah, you’re in the right room.” He said sounding defeated. “Especially if you’re here to give me more grief which seems to be your primary mission in life.” He put on his shades, straightened up, and looked at the Intelligence Agent. “What can I do for you Commander?” he asked formally.

McAllister's tone was a tad more subdued than usual. "Clayton, haven't you figured it out yet? I'm not giving you grief -- you're giving it to yourself. I came to finish out discussion on time manipulation; but it looks like you're going somewhere?"

“Alexander Clayton is dead.” The Messenger said flatly. “He died for the last time when he grounded his ship on Earth,” he snapped and then sighed as he slumped back into his chair. “And whether I give myself grief or you give it to me doesn’t matter; I deserve it anyway for what I have done and what I have left undone. I plan on going to the communications center and start putting out queries as to how I can travel to the past and at the very least make sure that others can have a happy life even if that has been denied to me.” For the first time in his life, The Messenger felt truly defeated and crushed as if the entire world had just flattened him.

McAllister sat in the chair opposite his nemesis. "Is this the righteous messenger I hear -- God's chosen, feeling sorry for himself? Getting a little difficult to shoulder the blame for entire civilization's fuckups? Damn it man, show some fucking backbone! I hate to say this to you, but even in this fucked up reality, even you have got the same chances for a little happiness, a little peace, as the rest of us. Instead you wander around like god's holy ghost, blaming yourself for the Old Man, JC and the Spook exiting this pitiful existence stage left. I thought you had a pair, dude. Shit, now I'm dealing with two crying women!"

“Oh shut up already mister I’m-so-wounded-that-I-have-to-take-it-out-on-everyone-else.” The Messenger said, glaring daggers at him now. “Even the best of us are allowed a moment of self pity. You just happen to walk in on it. You know, it’s not like you have a monopoly on heartache here buster. Heck, at least you have the opportunity to remarry the woman you love. I don’t have that luxury and I’m not talking because of my vows of Priesthood either. I’m talking like I’d have to violate, and I mean seriously violate, the Temporal Prime Directive in order to have the woman I love. And believe me, if I thought I could go back in time to save her AND get away with it, we wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation.”

Paul leaned forward placing both hands on the head of his cane. “So the holy roller is forced to admit temptation. Damn, there may be hope for you yet, Mr. Clayton. Welcome to the human race; damn few of us left. As I recall, we determined when we last talked – and I owe you for that comment about my wife – we determined that the Department of Temporal Idiots was no longer around, nor is a real Starfleet, or a freaking Federation. So, what’s a Temporal Prime Directive except another excuse? Don’t you understand? We’re all wrapped up in this somehow – maybe the causal fork in your path was coming back instead of staying behind. Maybe to fix things, you need to go back.” McAllister pulled a PADD from inside his uniform jacket and activated it. “Tell me about it,” he ordered.

“Her name was Chantelle. She was the Daughter of the Governor of St. Kitts back in 1661 Earth.” He bent over and reached into his backpack and found the crystal prism that he was looking for. He pressed the button and the image of the beautiful 19-year-old strawberry blonde girl appeared. She was wearing the long red flowing dress with gold trim that was appropriate for her class and station of the time period. Her shoulders were bare and she wore the same jeweled choker that he remembered her wearing the first time he’d ever laid eyes on her. “I managed to get that picture of her with the tricorder that I had on me when I was thrown back in time.” He explained.

“Nice cleavage,” McAllister remarked, holding up his hand to halt Clayton’s angry comeback. “That’s the one I owe you – ‘one fine piece of ass’ indeed. You should be ashamed of yourself. More to the point: I’m sure the tech heads will argue this, but I am certain that love can be a temporal factor – so can hate and anger for that matter. You think Rebecca or Allison von fucking Ernst were tinkering with time just for shits and giggles?”

The Messenger shrugged. He supposed that he had that coming, so he conceded the points. “Entirely possible, so that raises the question then what all do we need to do? Go back to the 1660s and save Chantelle to prevent me from becoming a warmongering prick?”

“Whether we can go back to 1661 – or, quite frankly need to – I don’t know. Here’s a partial analysis, what I have so far. I’m getting some additional information every day, but it’s a big damn puzzle and many pieces are still missing.” McAllister tossed the PADD to Clayton.

The Messenger took the PADD with an arched eyebrow. “Who you mentioned an Allison Von Ernst. Who is she? A sister or something?”

"Allison is RVE's daughter. I only met her once, on the Galaxy. Damn fine guitar player for a kid. No clue as to who the father is, but I think I know who does -- but I haven't be able to find the guy."

“What was she doing? Playing the guitar right out of the womb?” The Messenger asked, looking over the data. “This says that she’s only sixteen as of this year…” he then paused as he connected two and two and came up with four. “How long was Allison Von Ernst back in time for? More importantly, why did she go back in time?”

"I have no idea why she went back -- or from when. Presuming she began her 'mission' as soon as she arrived in her past -- records have her in Fleet training in Berlin in 2382, with assignment to Galaxy in 2383. I was assigned in 2385 and she disappeared shortly after -- so call it three, maybe four years. Lot's of opportunities to contaminate a time-line in four years."

“We seem to keep on coming back to that year… 2385. Wait a minute…” The Messenger said. He pulled up some more information on his desk display. “And there was that FedNet broadcast for Mercs looking for an Allison Von Ernst. Hell… and Rebecca V.E. is looking for the Miranda.” He then swore under his breath. “I can’t believe that I missed this the other day. That’s what came through time at the Battle of Earth. Or I should say who.” He looked up at McAllister. “And I can think of a couple of people off the top of my head that could actually pull off that kind of job.”

The Messenger leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and massaged his temples. “Ok, so let’s see here. Allison Von Ernst goes back in time and shows up in 2382. Then in 2385 she just up and disappears. So let’s say that whatever it was that she went back in time to do, she did back in 2385. With that done, she goes back to her original time, which appears to be here in 2402.” He said. “Sound about right so far?”

"More than less," McAllister agreed.

“So now the question remains; what happened in 2385 that caused the divergence in the timeline?” The Messenger asked.

"That depends on a couple of things. Remember, most of my time work was analysis, not operations, so how this stuff is done is above my pay grade, but there are a couple of factors to consider when connecting these flow blocks. One is -- did Allison actually arrive back in *her* 2385? The 2385 that fit her personal time-line? If she did, then the causal factors could have occurred anytime between her arrival and when she left the time-line. The second factor to consider is -- when she came back, did she arrive in her 2402? Or is this reality we're in just as screwed up for her as it is for us? I've been focusing on Rebecca's involvement as I can't see Allison pulling this off without her mother -- and Rebecca also factors into the destruction or Earth, and is also tied to the Triad War -- all items that don't fit the analysis. There may -- probably will be, several things that will have to be tweaked to get to the when we think we should be in. One place to start -- or for one of us to start, would be with those folks you think have the juju to pull off something like time travel for fun and profit. What can you tell me about them?"

The Messenger thought about that one for a moment before actually coming up with a name. “Only one of them actually has the balls to pull this off. And unless I miss my guess, she probably has little Allison already.”

Trust Clayton to be involved with a woman with testacies, thought McAllister. "Do tell."

“Yeah, ‘She’.” He said. After tapping a few more commands, he spun the display on it around to reveal a cute looking blonde in her early 30’s. “Aline Leger, daughter of one of the finest officers I’ve ever had the privilege of working with. She’s gone by the name of Cheyenne ever since her parents were killed over New Texas trying to defend Starfleet One. She has the equipment and the daring to pull this off. If we were to contact her, I’m sure we’d find out that she’s already delivered Allison back to mommy dearest and gotten paid for it.”

"So you think this Cheyenne hit Miranda and recovered Ali for mama? Does she have the juice to be one of the ones manipulating time?

“Yes and at the same time, No.” The Messenger replied. “You see the funny thing about this is that Aline had already gone back in time once before, and that was to get her father, Commander Jeremiah Leger, back into Starfleet and set him on a course where he wouldn’t be killed in action when he prevented President Nan Bacco from being assassinated during the yearly Khitomer Conference. If you look into the historical records, he did just that and he continued on in the timeline, restoring the timeline back to what Aline from the future remembered it to be because in that future, Aline was the Chief Tactical Officer of a Federation Starship USS Prospero. Aline went back to the future knowing that she violated the Temporal Prime Directive and knowing that she’d be immediately arrested. But then the Von Ernsts do their little screw up with time and now Jeremiah Leger is dead again, after Khitomer, due to a civil war for all intents and purposes should’ve never happened.” He explained, his memory coming back from that event long ago. “I was there for the DTI investigation on that one and it was determined then that Aline was setting things right. So there’s another clue for us that we really shouldn’t be in this civil war. I think that we can recruit Cheyenne to help us manipulate time and get things back on track.”

McAllister looked thoughtful. "So, with Khitomer involved in this as well, the Klingons are weaker, and just who is currently parked in Klingon space?" He highlighted the block on his analysis labeled Triad War. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

“That we only have a few more lines of dialogue before we have to fade into a commercial?” The Messenger asked sarcastically.

Paul drew a dotted line from the Triad block to the block labeled Admiral Hoth. "Is it really possible that the Feds greatest Hawk was a Triad agent -- either knowingly or unknowingly?"

“Hm… it’s possible.” The Messenger said, looking at the new connection.

"Plans in Place"

K. Jordan Elaithin
Arel Smith

---

It wasn't difficult to track Arel down, but it was considerably more difficult to find her when she was alone -- the addition of Jan on board was irritating on an array of levels and this, by no means, the least of them.

Finally, the opportunity arose, and Jordan acted on it, shoving the woman into an open room and latching the door solidly closed behind her.

Arel reacted predictably.

"Relax! Arel!" Jordan exclaimed, the other woman's fist just skimming her cheek as she dodged. "Relax! Sorry for the method, but I needed somewhere that wouldn't track this conversation." When she was sure the fists were no long flying, her eyes darted around the starship version of a broom closet. "I assume that you're coming back from talking to Daren?"

Arel eased up from her fighting stance. "Yes."

"What did he say?"

"He's ordered me to eliminate Rebecca."

Jordan nodded. Part of her, the part that still allowed herself to be surprised, was a bit shocked and yet relieved that they were on the same page. How many times had she been accused of being too reactionary, going too far, letting too much of the Early Years influence how she acted and reacted now? Protection at any cost, all those things Jii threw at her. Though to be fair, they'd become fewer and fewer as this conflict dragged on.

"Good," she lowered her voice a touch. "I'm already putting some things in motion. We've learned as much from the von Ernst girl as we're going to. Sitting on the ship like this, she's a liability instead of an asset. I'm going to ensure that changes: I allowed some information to leak through people on the crew I know are feeding to the Hawks, and arranged for us to make a forced stop at the nearest space station. From Aria's reports, they already have someone coming,
and I intend to make sure they get what they're looking for."

"We tag the girl and see where she ends up?" Arel nodded. "Yes, that could be useful. But won't Von Ernst think to check her?"

"I'm banking on it," Jordan said. "I put a basic, run-of-the-mill intelligence transmitter under a skin cover attached to her ear. It's hidden enough it should make it pretty far -- if luck holds, all the way to Rebecca. She's paranoid enough and knowledgeable enough to do a full check, in which case -- the bug will get destroyed and Mommy Dearest will be fury incarnate. Which is a good thing for us; if she's off balance, she's not thinking clearly."

"Probably never was to begin with."

"I'm sure you're right. Well, before he..." Jordan cleared her throat and swallowed down the pain. "Connor was working on a method of manipulating cloaked nanites to emit a nearly untraceable subspace beacon. Over the past several months, we've perfected it and injected the technology into her blood stream. It's all but intractable. Only five people know about it, that's one secret that's not getting out. She'll know we're looking, she won't know we know."

"That makes my job easier," Arel said. "Is there already a plan in place to get onto the ship?"

"No. And here's the part you're not going to like much, Arel -- I want Aria to go with you."

"No," She said immediately.

"Arel."

Arel frowned. "I don't need a child to watch my back."

"And I'm not saying you do," Jordan said. "But she's not a child anymore and you have a tendency to go charging in. Also, let's be blunt here? You're not what you used to be. Aria has intelligence tactics and the physical ability to keep up with you. She's been well trained."

Arel felt the uncomfortable twisting in her stomach that usually occurred when she was forced to spend large amounts of time with either Jordan or her brother's children. "I don't care if Kahless himself trained her. If you don't want me to charge in, I won't. But I don't need her. Give me someone else."

Jordan shook her head. "There is no one else. Why are you set against this?"

"Maybe I don't like her."

Ouch. Jordan had no delusions that her daughter didn't ruffle feathers -- but that was a hard thing for a mother to hear.

"I'm sorry?"

Arel sighed. "It's the Shiva, Kit. It's dangerous. We might not come back."

"No one is more aware of that than I am, Arel," Jordan replied. "Believe me." She cleared her throat. "But. I honestly believe it's the surest way to ensure the missions succeeds. Between the two of you...? What chance do they really have?"

Arel was silent. She knew that Jordan was right but wished she could think of something to convince her otherwise.

"What do you have against Aria?"

This was going to piss her off, Arel thought. Well, it wasn't like that was anything new.

"I don't want to resent her for living when Korvin didn't."

Jordan stared at her long-time friend rather blankly for a moment.

"You do know that's ridiculous, right?" she said, the lack of tact a little impressive, even for Jordan. She was aware she could handle it better, but the past few days had been a little overwhelming. She didn't have the strength of mind right now to deal with something like this. She could easily just order Arel to do this, and she would. Maybe that would be the better path to take. "It's not like it was an either/or option. She survived and he didn't. Aria's never been anywhere even near Kronos. If anything, I'm the one you should resent." Her eyes narrowed a little. "Arel..." She reached forward, touching the other woman's arm. "I know what it's like, to lose a son. And my heart aches for you--"

Arel shook her head. "Then why would you risk it happening again? I don't understand."

"Because there's more at stake than me, right now, and because... I promised her that I would never let the fact I'm her mother get in her way," Jordan replied. "It was a stupid promise, but it's done -- and if I take a stand against her now, she'll just push me aside. I'd rather let her go than force her to leave."

"If Korvin gets to live again, he's never leaving my sight," Arel blurted out before her brain could catch up with her mouth. Her mouth dropped open as she literally gaped at herself. "Well, I mean, it probably won't work or anything..."

"Probably not," Jordan agreed. "But if it does, and we do get a second chance at this? I'm not going to let my children down again, either." She moved forward then and hugged her friend. "I'm sorry, if I haven't been there for you. And I'm sorry to ask this of you. But I have to."

Arel awkwardly patted Jordan's back. "Fine, I'll take her. She's gotten past her howling phase, right?"

"As far as I can tell," Jordan said. "She still bites though. Just warning you."

"Great."

"Thanks Arel. I'll have more soon as something happens. It's just a waiting game from here."

"Blowing my mind"

Starring:

Allison von Ernst

Cheyenne

OOC: slight backpost Occurs concurrently with Jeremy's Woman of War Post

Clickity click click.....

Clickity click click....

In a universe rapidly tearing itself to shreds, all things being equal there was nothing that compared to a new pair of

strappy heels.

Truth be told in these dark times, it had cost young Allison von Ernst nearly a weeks worth of replicator credits to

materialize the darn things, but it was amazing what one could accomplish when you mentioned you were Admiral M'kantu's

special niece.

Allison frowned a bit as she 'clicked' her way down the Miranda's endless hallways. Well maybe more specifically whe was

Daren M'Kantu's special 'political prisoner', but if a little white lie earned her a new pair of shoes then the greater good

had been served.

Click click click click.....

most of the ship remained off limits, but some hardcore eyelash batting had earned her the run of the low-security areas.

Food-courts, gymnasiums, and the like.

Alli still didnt know what had possessed Uncle Daren to go wiggo on her and capture her, but she felt secure in the knowledge

that at least she was back in her own time and her reunion with mom would soon be in the offering.

~~~Ahh the 25th century....~~~ the young blond sighed. No more USS Galaxy and its silly shenanigans. No more James Corgan and

his endless stream of blue skinned sluts. most importantly...no more horrid 24th century fashions 20 years outr of date with

civilized times.

Allison shuddered.

Clicking her merry way along however, Alli did have to admit that people seemed to be a bit on edge recently. There were

whispers of wars and planets being blown up and such, but being 16 and not really a follower of current events, she had to

admit being a bit behind the curve on these things.

Oh well...things would sort themselves out soon.

First item of business however was lunch.

First mess hall she passed on this space-going prison barge, she was going to order herself the biggest cheeseburger and diet

fizzy this side of the neutral zone.

15 minutes later in ten forward she was forlornly snacking on a replicated protein bar and a flavorless health slushee.
Seems she was paying for her expensive heels after all.

~~~Frazzing replicator rationing.~~~ she chewed grumpily.

Yeah....life on a starship seemed a bit different here in the 25th century than on the Galaxy. The people in the past may

have had their various sanity issues, but at least they didn't go around looking like they'd jump at their own shadows like

these guys.

She shrugged. none of her business anyways.

Turning her attention towards the huge floor to ceiling windows outside, she idly washed a space-going window washer gently

squeegee her way down the center viewport.

~~Now there's a dumb career move...~~ she was thinking before the world suddenly turned into a roaring hurricane around her.

tumbling over tables, and careening off of the other flailing patrons, Allison suddenly found herself caught in a vortex of

shrieking winds, drawing her inexorably towards the brand new hole in the window.

~~She blew the window out!~~ her brain barely had time to register before the air was sucked from her frozen lungs.

~~Im flying out into space!!!~~~ she flailed wildly, unconsciously fighting against the iron grip that latched onto her thin

arm, cruelly pulling her towards an open airlock....warmth and air.

"Sit still blondie!" and electronic voice commanded. "You're coming with me!"

"The Girl...the latinum...and no spacefights Part I"

Cheyenne

Allison von Ernst

James Corgan

Somewhere halfway across the galaxy, in the midst of the endless night,

the cutest girl in the universe was having a hissy fit.

"I mean it!" Allison stamped her expensive heels into the metal decking,
"You better turn this rumble-bucket around right now and take me back or
I'm telling my mother!"

The ship was the Interceptor, the darkly famous craft of interstellar
bounty hunter and all around scary girl Cheyenne who had been hired to
apprehend the aforementioned teenager.

"I mean Hel-lo, its not as if I was totally having a waltz in the park
back with Uncle Daren and all but at least he wasn't blowing me out of
airlocks and all. Which by the way, do you realize the effects of vacuum
on your skin pores? " Alli rubbed her cheeks sadly, "Spuff it but I'm
going to be exfoliating for a week."

Cheyenne had just about enough of the complaining. She just sighed and
rolled her eyes. Von Ernst better be paying her top dollar for this job.

"Sit down and shut up already goldilocks! We're not going anywhere close
to a parsec within the Miranda so you might as well just make yourself
comfortable." She said, looking over her shoulder and glaring at her.

Alli twirled around and plopped into a nearby flight chair in a huff.

"I'm still telling." she grumbled, arms tightly crossed across her chest
in frustration, her bottom lip quivering in an angry pout. "I mean
come-on! Can't a gal do a little time-traveling just for some zarks
without the whole universe going all freakazoid on her?"

She swiveled around to face Cheyenne, "Speaking of which, what the spuff
is up around here? Its like The great smelly god of Klingons woke up one
morning and totally pee'd in the entire universe's Corn Flakes. Hel-lo!
The galaxy needs to take a prozac and chill the spuff out right?"

Cheyenne shrugged. "Got me. There's been war ever since I can remember.
First the Dominion, then the Triad, then each other." She said, turning
back to her flight console. "Federation never could get it's head
screwed on right." She mumbled.

"Says the girl who's helmet looks like a lug-nut." Alli yawned. "Well
never fear bolt-brain. As my grandma always used to say, you'll be
getting your come-uppance. My mom is a famous ex-Starfleet captain who
is like totally going to go She-Ra on your armored butt when she finds
out what you did..neeners!"

Cheyenne slammed a hand down on a panel. "Just who the hell you think
hired me to get your ungrateful ass from Elaithin in the first place
woman!?" she yelled, her patience at an end. It took a good amount of
restraint to keep from drawing her phaser on the girl.

"Mom? Really?" Allisons blue eyes lit up, and a cheesy smile crossed her
cheeks. (Which despite the aforementioned need for exfoliation were
still the cutest in the known universe) "Zarky! Allright now you're
talking grease-girl." She leaned over the flight deck controls
inspecting them carefully. "Is this as fast as this thing goes then?
What does this button do?"

She slapped Alli's hand away. "Don't touch that!" It was about then that
Cheyenne decided that whatever Von Ernst was offering in payment, she
was going to demand double. Well, at least she was grateful for the
change of topic. "Specs say that Warp 6 is the top speed. I've had her
up to 5.95 myself. We're cruising at Warp 5 under cloak right now. Now
will you sit down and shut up?" she snapped. "It's not like there aren't
people after us here to stop me from getting you back to mummy, Captain
Elaithin included considering that I blew up his crew lounge to get
you."

Chastised, Alli drew her hand back and considered her captor/rescuer.
Sorta cute in a Mad Max Apocalyptic sort of way. "Say there girlfriend,"
she began as she studied, "I know you gotta do this whole big bad bounty
hunter thing to pay the bills and all, but whats up with the armor and
all? You got a Serious Boba Fett fetish thing going on?"

"It's a tool that helps me get noisy brats like you." Cheyenne snapped.

"Well excuse me." All replied testily, "All I was going to say that your
fancy hat there is giving you a rather bad case of 'helmet-hair' and I
was going to offer a few pointers on proper conditioning." She let her
eyes trail down Cheyenne, ".and maybe accessorizing as well. For
instance check this out,"

Hopping up lightly, Alli approached the Bounty hunter and indicated the
bandolier of photon grenades strung across her waist. "Okay..hung here,
the grenade belt says Im like uber bad-ass right?, but if you do this."

Alli quickly readjusted the string of explosives to a more rakish tilt,
"Hel-lo now it says not only should you not mess with me, but also I am
an independent woman who's also ready for a night on the town yah?"

Cheyenne just glared at her. If looks could kill, there'd be a hole
bored right through Alli's skull. She was wondering if she could get
away with demanding triple.

Tapping the metal chest plate lightly with her aluminum nails, Alli
frowned. "Also might consider redesigning this," she said. "You know
accentuate the positive. Maybe a little push up armor plate to give the
boys a tease? "She giggled nervously. "Okay, totally don't tell my
mother I said that, or she'd go freak-a-saurus 'k'? But us petite gals
gotta make do with what we got huh?"

"The only one who's petite here is you girl." Cheyenne smirked. "Just
because the armor is flatchested doesn't mean that I am. I certainly
don't have a problem teasing guys or gals." She said. "Now sit down!

You're bouncing around more than a tribble in a grain shop on the
Klingon Homeworld."

"Gals?" Alli rolled her eyes, "Oh puh-leez. Don't you know the whole
girl-girl thing is totally a Hollywood myth made up for the holo's and
to sell Manga to the fanboyz in the universe? I'm totally not buying it
yah? Saw the whole thing on Lifestyles of the Federations's Rich and
Famous."

Alli paused a moment in her rant, noticing a flashing light on the front
console. "Hey whazzat blinking supposed to mean? Are we being tracked?"

Cheyenne bit back about a half dozen replies when she saw what Alli was
pointing at. She swore under her breath. She knew that this was too
easy. "Great. just great." she muttered. There was no way she could
outrun a capital ship. So it boiled down to fancy flying, shielding, and
slick talking. Cheyenne pointed to the chair. "Sit down, strap in, and
shut up if you want to see mommy dearest in this lifetime." She said
tersely. "We got company."

ooc: immediately after "Women of War"/"Blowing my Mind"

--

"Aftermath"

K. Jordan Elaithin
Intelligence Director

Admiral Elaithin Jii
CO USS Miranda

---

The transparent aluminum shards crunched under her heavy black boots as she moved into the cantina, her eyes surveying the damage with Vulcanesque calm.

"It's not as bad as I expected," she stated.

"Ma'am?"

Jordan looked at the operations officer at her side -- Ensign Loughlin, a young girl, only a year or two older than Aria. Of course, they were all young these days. Most of the old guard had shuffled off, either disappearing into the depths of space or from the mortal coil altogether.

"It's not as bad as I expected," the intelligence director repeated. "In my initial analysis, I'd factored in greater damage. I wonder if that means I'm slipping or getting better... How many of our people did we lose?"

"Lieutenants Hauser and V'Tan are in critical condition. A couple others have complaints of minor decompression sickness, a few deep cuts," Loughlin replied, checking the padd with the reports. "It's primarily property damage."

"No fatalities?"

"No ma'am."

"Definitely not as bad as I expected," Jordan mussed. "Though we do know that this is not that woman's SOP. Look at what happened on the station."

"Doesn't seem she cared much about casualties," the ensign agreed.

"Most of them don't."

"Did we just get lucky, then?"

"No, Ensign," Jordan said, shaking her head. "We just staged it well."

"Staged it, ma'am?"

Jordan shifted her gaze over town the girl with her strawberry blonde ponytail and chocolate brown doe eyes. Freckles across her nose. Exactly the type she would have recruited too: quiet, unassuming, a natural naïveté about her. The Catholic schoolgirl effect.

"Staged it, Ensign. Mr. Faukes," Jordan said, looking over the girl's head toward the large Ktarian security officer set just behind her. "Would you take Ensign Loughlin into custody please? Directly to the brig."

"Ma--"

"Don't misunderstand me, Ensign," she said, almost absently as she ventured farther into the room, her eyes narrowing slightly as they fell upon the blown-out window and the force field flicking fiercely in its place. "I do appreciate your assistance in this matter, as well as the others. But I will no longer need to manipulate your services."

She heard the shouted protests, the frantic and fearful pleadings as Faukes led Loughlin away, but Jordan didn't actually listen to them. They didn't matter, and at this point, she might be able to repeat them by heart. On one level, she felt for the girl; Jordan understood well what it meant to believe so fully in a cause so as to be willing to sacrifice everything for it, yet to have no idea that personal actions were actually detrimental to that cause. And on another level, it made her sick to think that she employed the same methods with others as Serpico had once employed with her those many, many years ago.

But like it or not, it all served her well these days.

"Well," she said with a firm nod and the sharp intake of air through her teeth. "I suppose it's time to confess my sins."

---

"HOW COULD YOU DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS!" Jii bellowed, slamming a hand against his desk. "Jordan! I promised to keep that girl safe! And you set her up to be sucked out through a window by a hired gun?!"

"Well when you put it like that," Jordan deadpanned, rolling her eyes with a slight shake of her head. "Jii--"

"There is no other way of putting it, that's how it went down and it's not how we do things!"

"That's a lie, Jii, and you know it as well as I do," Jordan said. "You don't like my methods -- you never have. And that's fine. After 25 years, believe it or not, I get it. But after 25 years, I'd have expected you to accept that every once in a while, my decisions, however reprehensible you may find them, are beneficial. And in the case, especially."

"Jor--"

"She's going to her mother, Jii, I confirmed all the information before I even made a move. At this point, she was nothing but a liability to us and she's not going to be in any danger once she makes it to Rebecca."

"That's not what I'm concerned about, and you know it," Jii replied. "What's going to happen when von Ernst debriefs her daughter and finds out about the TIMELINE?!"

"You're so angry right now, you're not thinking this through," Jordan replied. "Love. Breathe a minute and reflect on everything you know about me."

He glared but did so, literally taking a breath and holding it for an extended amount of time.

"Okay. So how are you turning an innocent teenage girl from a liability to an asset, Super Spook? What have you set her up for?"

"I'm not nearly as nefarious as you give me credit for."

"Oh, you are, Wife, you really are," Jii replied, nodding. "What've you planned?"

"I've deployed Connor's nanites in her blood stream. She's a glowing beacon all the way to the Shiva."

She could see her husband's defeated anger, the way his shoulders slumped a little with the news.

"Jordan," he murmured, eyes casting downward to the desk.

"Love, we need a backup plan. Just in case the Guardian decides not to help us, or in case the altering mission in unsuccessful. We should have taken the so-called 'Red Witch' out a long time ago, but we were never able to get close enough. Given her behavior and the hypotheses K'aa and Janeen proposed, this is our shot. This is our one chance. If nothing else works, at least we have this."

"Someone is just going to stand up in her place."

"No, I don't think they are," Jordan replied. "There may be a few, but they're every bit as tired as we are. It's a step in the right direction. This is what had to be done. M'Kantu sees it. Why can't you?"

"What do you mean, Daren sees it?" Jii asked.

"He had a meeting with Arel a couple days back. Wants to send her on a mission to take von Ernst out, no matter how long it takes or what it costs." The implications hung heavily in the air. "This just ties in nicely, and hopefully, will shorten the time period. Might even get her back safely, though honestly -- I'm not counting on that."

"No. No, I wouldn't either. Just Arel then?"

Jordan drew a slow, deep breath. "Aria's going to go with her."

Jii looked up at her, their gaze holding one another's for a long moment.

"Kit," he said, voice low, almost inaudible.

She felt her throat trembled, and had to steel her jaw. She hesitated before she moved closer to him, their roles quietly shifting toward husband and wife rather than Admiral and advisor. The roles were so liquid these days, sometimes it was hard to know which they were playing. Sometimes, it was painfully obvious.

"I don't like it either. I wish like hell it didn't have to be this way, that other decisions were made, that events played out differently... but she's who we have. Arel's a strong fighter, always has been, but when she gets in a fight it's more a brawl. Aria would be able to make pointed tactical decisions but still keep up."

"And she doesn't feel like she has anything to lose, either," Jii added, voice hard, pained.

"No, she doesn't," Jordan whispered, leaning into her husband, wrapping her arms around his waist. He held her to him in kind, hands against her back, squeezing tight.

"So that's it. We send our daughter into the Lion's Den."

"She'll come out of it. And we promised to never hold her back because of that."

"Since when did parents ever have to keep those promises?"

"I'd rather let her go than force her to push us away," Jordan said. It was the same argument she gave Arel, albeit more simplistic. She was relying on Jii understanding her. "It's coming one way or another."

"Yeah," he muttered, shaking his head, closing his eyes as he bowed against the top of his wife's head. "Don't let her leave without seeing me."

"I never would," Jordan said. "Can you forgive me?"

He kissed the top of her head. "You forgave me, didn't you?"

"The Girl...the latinum...and no spacefights Part II"

Cheyenne
Allison von Ernst
James Corgan





Cheyenne pointed to the chair. "Sit down, strap in, and
shut up if you want to see mommy dearest in this lifetime." She said
tersely. "We got company."

At once, Cheyenne dropped the cloak, raised the shields, and kicked the
Interceptor into high gear. "Here's where we get to test the specs
Blondie." she said as the ship jumped to Warp 5.5. She then saw that she
was being hailed and considered briefly on whether or not she should
answer. Hell, if anything, it'll give her more time to get to the Shiva.
"This is Cheyenne onboard the Interceptor. Something I can do ya for?"
she asked. "Talk quickly cause I'm in a hurry here."

*****

"Sir!" The I.S.S. Stolen Heart's helmsman read off his scrolling
display, "We have a visual on the temporal source."

"On screen."

James saw the jet black interceptor on his viewscreen, a daggerlike
fighter that looked like it could cut space into ribbons. Without the
chronoton signature Allison emitted from just being spat out of
spacetime, the ship would have been very stealthy and its configuration
would have made the Stolen Heart's sensors look nearsighted in
comparson. And even still, the ship was fast and was hard to track with
the human eye. It was going at an incredible speed.

"Looks familiar." T'lan went to the science officer controls, digging
through the ship's database for information. Archives of Fednet recalled
a dozen different files on the vessel, and its owner, all raising red
flags. "Sir, designation unknown, but the ship's been spotted in
multiple sectors and on multiple fronts, in co-relation to multiple
attacks. This ship is not up to spec. It's been modified extensively...
and it's not a chopshop job. Whoever's flying this is connected. This
ship is nothing we want to mess with."

James was carefully weighing his options. He had the superior ship. The
Stolen Heart had bigger guns and faster speed at warp, but the bounty
hunter vessel had manouverability on her side, as well as some of the
fanciest hardware he'd ever seen on a Civil War era vessel. Her setup
smacked of a professional; no off the shelf bounty hunter was this well
equipped.

"Who the hell would send a merc like that after my daughter?" James
grumbled, hearing the mercenary vessel hail The Stolen Heart. "I guess
I'll find out. Open an channel. The merc's got nerve to hail me. Best at
least give her my ear."

He listened to the initial message. =/\= "This is Cheyenne onboard the
Interceptor. Something I can do ya for?" she asked. "Talk quickly 'cause
I'm in a hurry here." =/\=

"I bet you are." James rumbled his voice like tossed gravel, "This is
Captain James Lionel Corgan of the civilian charter vessel The I.S.S.
Stolen Heart. You're a long way from anything and you're modded to the
tits. What brings you out here?"

"Corgan." Cheyenne cursed. "Of course it'd be you." She said. "Who else
would it be?"

The accent was quintessential human, the slight aviator's twang
indicating she was an officer of some experience. By knowing about
Corgan, it also indicated that she was an officer of multiple wars.
James hadn't hit his real notoriety until his Captaincy of the USS
Kindjal, so she couldn't have been that old. Get an older veteran, with
pre-Civil War Starfleet training, that's still young enough to fly
circles and it was the worst combination to run into. "Your fairy
godfather, that's who else. I'm at a disadvantage. You seem to know more
about me than I do about you."

Cheyenne shook her head. "Only know you by reputation I'm afraid. And
I'm in the process of making a delivery." She leaned back in her seat
and tried to coax some more speed out of her engines. "I've answered
your questions Corgan, but mine still stands: Something I can do for you
or are you just tracking me for the hell of it?"

"Sorry kid. I don't do stalking." James Corgan signalled his weapons
officer to declare yellow alert, the lights dimmed and the amber warning
strobes flashed, "I'm here to inquire about your cargo. It seems that
you're carrying something that's mine. Out with it. Where is she? I want
to speak to her."

Cheyenne shrugged. "She's right here; Alive and well and just dying to
see her mother, which is where I'm heading right now." She said. "So if
you'd like to have a nice big happy family reunion, you're more than
welcome to after I take her to Admiral Von Ernst."

"Waitasecond..." James bit his lip, sensing that something was not
right, "You're here on Admiral Von Ernst's orders?"

"And her paycheck." Cheyenne confirmed with pride.

"Then if you don't mind... I'd like to speak to her now." James couldn't
believe what he was hearing. ~"Jesus Christ, fetching a merc to bring
her home? What the hell's wrong with her? And why didn't she tell ME
about it? Doublecrossing bi..."~

Cheyenne motioned to one side. "Go for it, it's an open comm. line."

"Daddy?" Allison leaned over the panel gingerly, straining her neck to
look out the window at the hovering starship outside. "Daddy is it
really you?"

James knew it was his daughter, though the voice was strained by stress
and distorted by years. The last time he heard her was when she was a
teenager, but now she sounded older, if youthful. The mix of Icelandic
and midwestern North American accent was still strong, even if there was
a pronounced clearness from Federation education standard.

He felt his eyes well up. "Yeah, doll! It's me. Goddamn... is it good to
hear from you."

At the sound of his voice crackling over the speakers, Alli's eyes
blurred into a mess of tears and runny mascara. "Oh gawd Daddy it's
really you."

Her reaction surprised even herself. Growing up in the 25th century
without a Father, Alli's fantasies revolved around one day meeting the
mysterious James Corgan that had long ago swept her momma off her feet.

The quest into the past had revealed a much younger, and decidedly foul
mannered Corgan that never quite lived up to her dreams.

But here..here back in her own time this was the real deal perhaps. The
voice on the other end of the speaker was no 30 year old wild youth who
had no time or interest in his time traveling daughter.this was her REAL
dad. The doting concerned father who had come to rescue her from this
surreal nightmare of a future.

"Daddy, oh my but I have so much to tell you," she gestured wildly
unsure of where to begin, "I mean I never shwed up where I was supposed
ot meet Momma, and then these big robot dudes started shooting at me,
and then they said that Mom blew up the world, but Im like Hel-lo.My mom
wouldn't do that. and Uncle Daren wouldn't let me make a call and then
bucket head girl here blew me out the airlock.and zark it if space isn't
really cold just like the movies right?"

"It was ten-forward, not the airlock." Cheyenne muttered.

"Whatever," Alli rolled her eyes, "freeze dried a really good pair of
leather shoes.duh."

"Trust me... I've been there." James laughed between the hiccups. He
didn't know what to tell her; somewhere in her head was the notion that
James Corgan wasn't a neglectful asshole, and Rebecca wasn't an insane
destroyer of worlds. He didn't know what to say to her that wouldn't
shatter her beliefs and leave her a wreck.

Close to him, T'lan held his hand for moral support. She gave him a
glance, and said, "Do what you feel is right. I trust you, and in time
so will she."

James felt buoyed by T'lan's inner strength, but still harboured his
doubts, "Alli baby... I know Daren wasn't that open with you, but he had
his reasons. What they wanted to do with you... it was really important,
ok baby? They were scared that you wouldn't help them. I can understand.
I've made big choices too and they can be scary. But listen... why don't
you come aboard? We'll have a talk. Hell... bring your merc friend over
and we'll have dinner. We can get this all sorted out, ok? I promise."

~~Dinner? With Dad?~~ Alli beamed. All her dreams were coming true after
all.

"Zarky! I'm totally ready to beam over okay?" she grinned at her 'taxi
driver' Cheyenne.

Cheyenne just stared back at her. "You're joking right?" she asked. "I
still have to take you to your mother, which is where I intend to take
you."

"Ahem..." James coughed over the comms, "That's up to Alli. She's a big
girl now. I haven't been face to face with her for years and I can
already tell just be talking to her. Let her come over to my ship. I
want to see her. I want to talk to her. Then we can decide where to go
from there. If she wants to come with you, I won't get in your way. You
have my word... as a former Starfleet Officer and Commodore of the
Fleet."

Rubbing her eyes with one hand, Cheyenne sighed. "This is why I usually
don't get involved in custody battles." she said. "Especially when one
party has the capability to waste a planet." she looked at the comm.
screen. "Look, Corgan. I'm all for you being with your little Alli here,
but I really need to take her back to Von Ernst. You are more than
welcome to follow me all the way to Shiva and bring it up with her, but
I've been hired to do a job and my reputation says that I deliver every
time. I don't know about you, but I personally would really hate to
break a perfect record now."

"Hel-lo..Im a person, not a record." Alli put in.

"Fuck." James muttered under his breath, ~"She had to pick the dedicated
merc. Motherfucker..."~

He was in a hard position, and it looked like the secret was out.
Cheyenne's admission to Rebecca's role in Earth's destruction would put
Alli's trust into Cheyenne in question, and also her trust into her own
mother. James decided to use that angle, and continued, "Alli... it's
your choice. But Cheyenne's right. Your mom did destroy Earth. I'm
sorry... I wish I could tell you different, but it's true."

Alli cocked her head sideways. "Huh? Ummm.hate to tell you this Daddio,
'cause I know you've been out of the family business for a few decades,
but Mom quit Starfleet long time ago. We got a little place on the Lake
in Iceland.you ought to see it.frrakking cold to swim in, but pretty."

She bit her lip; blushing slightly at having cursed in front of her
father.she didn't want to make him ashamed.

"It's true." James repeated with increased severity, "Your aunt Courtney
and your cousins are dead. Your half sister Nuhir is also dead, and I
just barely picked The Mika Machine out of the rubble. I'm sorry, but
your mom... something happened to her, and because of that 10 billion
people are dead and she is the most hunted woman in the Federation.
Because of that... I fear for your safety too. Please Alli... I can't
make you choose, but I beg of you to come aboard. Fuck the merc, just
come aboard. If she doesn't like it... just tell her Corgan will paddle
her dinky little starship black and blue, ok honey?"

"What the hell is a Mika Machine?" Cheyenne wondered out loud.

Allison stole a confused look at Cheyenne and then back at the crackling
speaker. Oh how she wished she could see him.

"Half sister?" she repeated. "I don't have a spuffing half sister! What
the heck are you talking about, I'm an only child!" she shook her head,
a sudden icy feeling creeping into her bones. Didn't the Corgan of the
past mentionsomething about another kid? But that was in the wrong
past..that wasn't now. "Ummm.okay, I don't know what the big joke is,
but Mom's retired got it? She's supposed to be waiting for me to time
jump back in at the Roark's Rift Singularity Thingie, and is probably
waiting there right now with Uncle Victor. Sorry your planet went
ka-blooey, but 'dems the breaks."

"And thirdly," she huffed, "Why the heck would I stay on board with
chauffer girl here? I said Im ready to come over now, and I'll
straighten you out about these misunderstanding with mom.you'll see.
Heck.maybe you could come over for dinner." She paused before whispering
a secret hope, "Maybe you could come over for longer and we could be a
family again see?"

Cheyenne really didn't think that things were starting to shape up here.
She needed the paycheck from Von Ernst, yet Corgan was here and
obviously ready to blow her out of the water if she refused. She started
wondering what else Von Ernst was withholding in terms of information
here. Cheyenne was being denied critical, need-to-know, information. And
it was starting to look like she was going to be denied a critical,
need-to-cash, paycheck.

"Just what exactly are you proposing here Corgan?" she asked. "Cause we
seem to have a dilemma here. Here I have the paycheck that most mercs
would kill, or even die, to have. And then I have you, who just wants to
swoop in, take my uber-payday, give me a pat on the head, and send me
along the way with my ship intact but without pay." She pointed out.
"Then, on the other hand, if I attempt to keep my payday, you're going
to shoot my ship to hell and back, take my payday anyway, and send me
along with a boot up my ass, and without pay. Does this sound about
right so far?"

James nodded, "Seems like you got the basics right. Anything you need me
to clarify?"

"So then just exactly what is my motivation here for just handing her
over to you Corgan? I'd really like to know since I've given up on 'the
greater good' a long time ago." Cheyenne asked.

"Hand her over?" Alli wondered, "Hey, what am I your prisoner or
something? This is the Federation! Daddy, don't let her take me!"

"This stopped being the Federation five years ago when the Council was
disbanded!" Cheyenne snapped at her. "You need to wake up from whatever
fantasy world you're living in and face reality kiddo." She said
irritably, finally fed up with this child's delusions of grandeur. When
Cheyenne was this kid's age she was fighting a war, not wondering what
mommy and daddy were making for dinner that night in a sickly sweet home
environment that would make even the Partridge Family gag.

"Don't let her take me!"

He addressed Alli, "Don't worry, baby. Just don't panic. Your old man's
on
the case. Stay frosty and we'll be back together. Be brave."

James was a little puzzled himself, ~"Alli seems a little less... hard
bitten the last time I saw her. She's acting like the last decade didn't
exist. I hadn't heard a civilian squeal like that since... the
Federation was at peace. Don't tell me Victor was right? Is this the
right Alli?"~

Cheyenne turned back to the comm. system. "So what's it going to be
Corgan?" she asked.

James groaned, "Listen... I could walk away and leave you sucking space
vacuum, but I'd have to seriously restrain myself because that's my...
daughter in there. However you have no bargaining position. You couldn't
intimidate me like some Earthworm, pottery scupting parents because I
know without Alli you would be fucked. You couldn't harm her, because if
there was so much as a hurt feeling on my little girl not only would you
lose your
payday, but Rebecca would ditch you on a planetoid and Protocol 34 the
fuck out of it until SHE got bored... that is if I don't kill you first.
If you'd haven't been playing grabass at the Old Merc's Club and instead
had a family of your own you would know this. So the way I see it, you
can't scare me, you can't hurt my little girl, and you can run fast
enough. The choices are limited. But I do have an option that will make
us all happy."

Cheyenne growled at the 'you should've raised a family' jab, but kept
her mouth shut for the time being on that subject. "And that option
would be?" she asked.

James grinned, "How much is that harpy of an ex-wife of mine paying
you?"

Now they were getting somewhere. Normally, Cheyenne couldn't be bought
off, but she was willing to make an exception in this case. "Roughly a
quarter of a million in Creds as well as any repairs and refueling that
I need on my ship." She said.

"Quarter of a mil..." Alli breathed at the sum. Wow, Mom sure was going
all out. Allison felt all sparkly and important.

Alli wasn't the only one holding her breath, ~"Holy shit... if I pay
that
I'll be cleaned out! I gotta do this. It's for Alli..."~

James reached into his jacket. He pulled out a few latinum strips. "I
could make it worth your while. I'll even pay in gold pressed latinum...
not that worthless Federation credit shit that both sides pass off as
currency and devalued within an inch of its life. Gold Pressed
Motherfucking Latinum. You walk away with your ship, some money, and
your life. Hell, I'm even willing to be friendly with you providing you
do the same for me. I'll also get my daughter back and I can start
setting things right. I'd say that's amiable, don't you think?"

"I think that we can deal, Mister Corgan." Cheyenne said with a smile,
pressing a button that slowly brought the Interceptor out of warp. Gold
Pressed Latinum! Now they were definitely getting somewhere.

James tapped a PADD, presenting it to the viewscreen, "Twenty bars.
That's the equivalent of twenty million fedcreds, but you know that it
won't
devalue. Standard Bank of Ferenginar transaction so you won't be taxed,
charged or asked silly questions. Come aboard unarmed and with my
daughter and we can finalize the deal."

Cheyenne nodded. She just hoped and prayed that the money was good.
But then again, if you couldn't trust a Ferengi Banker, who could you
trust? "Alright then. I'm dropping out of warp. Do you have docking
instructions for me?"

"Batten down the Hatches, and other Nautical Sounding Things"

by Cap'n T'risia

The Captain of the Black Pearl left her Ready Room, leaning heavily on her cane as she strode to the center chair of the wood floored deck of the Bridge. She swept the tails of her long coat behind her, and regarded the front viewer, which displayed an uninteresting starscape. The ship's Bridge was still something of a mess, with blown panels, and hanging lengths of bypass cables from the ceiling. Most things appeared to be functioning, at least for the sake of their current voyage, which would only be to repair the craft, before moving onward.

She seetled her battered and scorched hat more firmly upon her head, and raised her voice to be heard over the sounds of the Bridge. "Mr. Walker, prepare the communications array. I'm needing to send a message. Arrr."

Lucas Walker seemed relieved that she had returned to her affected manner of stilted pirate speech, but after a moment, his face fell. "Um...Cap'n. To send a message, we'll need to shut down the cloak. We talked about that earlier....it probably won't come back online untill we can have major repairs."

T'risia turned in her chair, and arched a brow. "Indeed. And if we do not send a message, we will be unable to scure those repairs. Savvy, mate?" Her expressionless face showed no concern.

The logical conundrum did indeed set Lucas Walker's objection to the proverbial back burner. "In our current condition, Cap'n, we will be highly vulnerable. You know that, of course."

T'risia simply made a hand gesture, a sort of rolling move that suggested that they should move on with the conversation, away from things that they both already knew. She turned her chair once more, and composed her thoughts. With a tap of her chair's arm controls she set the Bridge recorder.

"Ahoy, T'pei," she began with her typical emotionless tone. As she did so, she idly picked at a firgernail with a wicked looking knife, an affected gesture from countless films she had reviewed. "The Pearl, she is greatly damaged. We need to put in to port at Vulcan, a fair port to be sure. Arr. We bear a letter of Marque, and should have no problems, excepting the massive damge that you see around, saavy? Thusly, we come to offer trade. I have here...a map, leading to something that your side can use, as well as several Hawk side computer cores that we've already copied out. If you think we can come to a deal, then rendezvous with me, on Vulcan, at the coordinates attached to this message."

She tood, leaning on her cane, and then took off her had, bowing slightly. "I look forward to the pleasure of your company, dear." The flirting gesture was said as a matter of form, with her usual grave speaking structure. With another gesture, she cut the feed.

Turning, she said to Lucas, "Cut the cloak, Tactical, and send it. Arrr."

"Aye, Cap'n," was the response, filled with a sort of trepidation. As Walker complied, the partially assimilated monkey scampered up onto T'risia's seat, and sat there in her place. "Cloak is off, message away. Now we're relying solely on the ship's skin...which has sensor retarding capabilities."

T'risia arched a brow again. "I am aware of that. I designed it."

Lucas coughed, and covered the gaff. "Of course." He paused, and asked, "Are you really selling the map? I mean, that's been your whole quest?"

T'risia picked up the monkey and threw it at a bulkhead, it's borg shields protecting it from the impact, as usual. "I am taking your advice, Mr. Walker. You told me to plan a mission for the ship's future, and I am doing exactly that."

Walker, for his part, was troubled at that, as the Captain sat again.

“Rhymes and Reasons”

Cheyenne (AKA: Lieutenant, Ret., Aline Stephenson-Leger)

The Messenger (AKA: Captain, Ret., Alexander Clayton)

HAL 9000 – Interceptor Computer AI

So you speak to me of sadness and the coming of the winter;
Fear that is within you now it seems to never end.
And the dreams that have escaped you and the hope that you’ve forgotten,
And you tell me that you need me now and you want to be my friend…
And you wonder where were going; Where’s the rhyme and where’s the reason?

-John Denver “Rhymes & Reasons”

**********

Delta Flyer Interceptor, Outbound from the I.S.S. Stolen Heart.

Cheyenne really didn’t like the fact that she could be bought off. It made her feel like a cheap Orion whore. But on the other hand, a dead merc was a useless merc. That, and the fact that Rebecca Von Ernst decided to withhold information really pissed her off. I mean seriously, why not tell her ‘oh by the way, my irate ex-husband might be after her as well’? Not that any of that mattered at the moment. She was paid in Latnium that she now had in her hold. She does a job, she gets paid, and her world is a happy one.

“Still flying…” Cheyenne said as she pulled away from Corgan’s ship for anywhere but there. She was happy to be leaving the ship behind. After all, this was the man who single-handedly bluffed the Triad into submission. Anyone who could time a planetary bombardment to the tune of Heavy Metal music was alright in her book.

The communications panel next to her started beeping for attention. She arched an eyebrow as she wondered who could be calling. Hopefully it wouldn’t be Corgan calling to say that he’d changed his mind and was going to blow her up regardless and take the Latnium back from the debris of her ship. Cheyenne kicked the Interceptor into high warp and cloaked before looking over to HAL. “Who’s calling?” she asked.

“Carrier signal identifies it as a Dove Faction Starship; USS Pegasus.” HAL chirped in response. “The caller identifies himself only as The Messenger. The Pegasus is approximately a few light years away from our position. Current heading and speed suggest that it is going to rendezvous with the USS Miranda.”

“Joy…” Cheyenne muttered as she considered whether or not to answer it. One of the last places she wanted to go was anywhere near the Miranda.

**********

Counselor’s/Chaplain’s Office – USS Pegasus

“Come on…” The Messenger muttered to himself as he slightly rocked in his chair with his hands steepled in front of him. “Answer the damn hail already…” Finally, the face of the young woman that he hadn’t seen in quite some time came up. He smiled broadly. “Hello Aline.” He said.

Cheyenne paused and then looked closer at her display, unsure if she was seeing what she though she was seeing. She blinked a few times. Out of all the people she might’ve expected, this was probably the last person she’d ever expected. “Captain Clayton!?” she asked, totally shocked.

“Glad to see that you remember me, Aline.” The Messenger said.

“My name is-“

“I know what you call yourself nowadays and what you’re doing for a living, which is why I’m calling. I have need of your services.”

Cheyenne arched an eyebrow again. The Messenger couldn’t help but she the girl’s father in her. “I take it that you can pay?” she asked, catching sight of the Priest’s Collar that he wore. “I don’t exactly work for charity… Father…” she said with great irony. “Since when did you work for the Church? I’d think that you off all people would be in the other’s employ.”

“Funny…” The Messenger said. “Now here’s the deal Aline. You can come here to work with me and help me…”

“Or?” Cheyenne challenged

“Or I make you come here to me and work for me.”

Cheyenne let out a bark of laughter. “I don’t suppose you noticed lately, but neither one of us appears to be in Starfleet anymore, so you can’t issue me any orders. Not that I’d obey them anyway.”

The Messenger chuckled. “I notice that you have HAL there with you. I’d heard that you yanked him out of the Bainbridge’s wreckage.” He said looking at the AI’s wall interface in the background with it’s eerie glowing red optical eye. He raised his voice and spoke. “HAL, execute command override authorization Clayton Beta Two Two Five One Tango Echo. Lockout all flight controls and communications controls. Change course and speed to intercept the USS Pegasus.”

“Command Codes Confirmed.” HAL responded. “Changing course and speed.”

“WHAT!?” Cheyenne pounded on her consoles as she desperately tried to regain control of her ship. “THIS IS MUTINY HAL!” she turned back to look at Clayton. “What the hell did you do to my ship!?”

“You forget that I used to be both a Chief Engineer and a Communications Specialist. You also forget that I helped install HAL onto the Bainbridge with the help of your father I might add. So you taking him out of the Bainbridge and putting him into your ship makes your ship vulnerable to the backdoors that we installed into his AI on the off chance that the Bainbridge was ever captured.” The Messenger calmly explained. “Be happy that I’m doing you the favor of calling you first rather than just sending the override codes and having him ship you to me.”

Cheyenne glowered at him. “I can disable his circuits and get control of my ship back.” She stated.

“Before or after you get here and after you’ve had to endure multiple verses of ‘Daisy, Daisy’?” The Messenger asked with a smirk on his face. He then turned serious and leaned forward. “Look Aline, we have the opportunity here to fix the timeline and I need your help to do it. If we’re successful, your parents will be alive again.”

“Supposedly I’ve already tried and failed, remember?” Cheyenne pointed out.

“Technically, you’re not supposed to do that for another three years. But that’s not the point. The point is that with your help, we can all get our loved ones back and avoid this hell that has consumed the universe.” The Messenger said. Cheyenne noticed that this definitely was not the hard-assed XO that used to be in her chain of command before he took a command of his own. “Did you know that you were supposed to have a husband and two children by this point in time?”

“You talking about that Klingon that I hooked up with briefly after Khitomer?” Cheyenne asked. When Clayton nodded she laughed again. “You can’t be serious. I mean come on, I could hardly stand him and he got killed in battle shortly thereafter by the Triad.” This was all insane. “How the hell do you know this anyway if what you said is true and I haven’t even done this yet?”

“I was at the DTI Investigational Hearing that was going to help determine your guilt or innocence in the future when you returned back to 2405.” Clayton said simply. “Now are you going to help me or not?”

Cheyenne sighed, frustrated. “What’s the deal Clayton?” she asked. “You come here out of the blue, hijack my ship from across the sector, tell me a soppy story about these things that should’ve been, and you expect me to just help you at the drop of hat?”

“You do things for a paycheck. Now, how about you do something that’s both for the greater good and in your best interests?” The Messenger said. “Let me know what your decision is when you get here.” He said before cutting the communications channel, leaving Cheyenne to sit there and brood over things.

He felt bad resorting to some of his old ways to get things done, but circumstances have forced his hand. He tapped a button on his desk that opened up a call to the bridge. “Messenger to Captain Lee. Be advised that we’re going to be having a Delta Flyer class ship coming at us at high warp. I humbly ask that you allow the ship to approach and land. I have business with its occupant that I’ll be happy to share with you. Clayton out.”

"The Empty Vessel"

Staring:

Chandrakala Eshe

*** [2402] Location: Qo'noS ***

Death comes to us all.

It is the one thing, perhaps the only thing that unites us.

Villains and Saints. Old and the Young. The Naive and the Wise.

She'd been dead for days Kimberly told me, tricorder in hand the other covering her mouth, tears running unabated down her cheeks.

I'd known for days.

Something happens when someone you love dies, when a connection as complex as an umbilical cord is severed, you feel it. A wave rushes through you as powerful as the wind, deeper than the oceans, it engulfs you, and you know.

But there is a difference see, between knowing and seeing. Between feeling and touching.

There's nothing we could've done.

I remember hearing those words, feeling an embrace around me, as if those arms could contain the grief that was forming, the rage that was building and the denial that was etched across my face.

Tears fell before I registered what I was seeing. Feet moved before I registered what I was thinking. The swelling in my throat expanded until I thought I was suffocating, my nose itched and pricked and my face contorted and I remember someone screaming my name.

I remember the blurred vision, the way her body doubled in my tears as I ran to her side, pulled her into my arms and rushed to dust the hair from her face.

I remember the thud that echoed through the temple as her head thumped on the tiles.

It had only been days, not more than a week and already she was gone.

There was nothing there. Her face was unrecognisable, I'd seen her less than a month before and yet I couldn't see the woman that I loved. Her skin was sunken, her eyes were like glass and her aura had left.

She was a shell. Nothing remained but skin and bone and I retreated from the image before me so fast that I thought I'd never remember it.

But it's emblazoned in my mind.

I turned and said 'she's not here any more', and I walked out into the sunlight numbed to the core.

It is said that one needs closure, that in order to move on one has to grieve for the loss and that funeral's help, they symbolise the end, the celebration of a life lived.

I wouldn't know.

I never went.

Funerals are for the living.

And I was just a shell.

An empty hollowed out tree trunk that stood for eternity in the same place. Never changing, never growing but just there, in that one space, in that one moment, in death, for all eternity.

"Praying for Daylight"

Professor Ayanna Hinanat-Streely

Location: Random location run down space station

================================

Escaping into the corridor, she 'felt' them upon her. If she didn't move, she would regret it. Ayanna's breathing accelerated slightly as she turned a corner. Left or right, the greyness of the walls meshed into one blur as she continued on. Keep moving, get farther away and the effects of the searchers would not be as great. Distance was her friend so the old adage of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer meant certain death for her. Perhaps not death, but torture for information indeed.

God, the wig itched. Out of irritation, she yanked it off her head. Dropping it, she shook her head slightly permitting her long black brown hued tresses freedom. Pausing for a quick second, Streely leaned against the wall. It's coolness welcomed her as she closed her eyes with an attempt to put up a blocking barrier against the attacks she knew were coming in short order. The strength of the mind numb would depend on the creature behind it. She was a valuable prize, her bounty just raised last month due to her involvement with the Hawks. The Doves were upset as well as the independent factions. The attack on her department was a signal sent that she was valued.

Times like this, she was thankful that she did not have children in her life. Raising Logan had been a chore in and of itself and considering the circumstances with his mother Ophelia, she believed she did a damned good job. Anyway, back at it she thought as she hoisted herself upwards. Then it hit.

Like a wave from the sea, the numb was gentle at first.

"Shit." She muttered as she raised her right hand to her forehead. 'Block it.' Ayanna whispered to her mind. 'Block....block...' She repeated to herself.

Turning slightly, she felt them coming. Upon raising her vision, they were practically in front of her. Dressed in the proverbial black, they signaled mind death to those that knew their true purpose. Her posture slumped somewhat as she watched them staring at her intently.

Nothing was said, but Ayanna realized that her ability was not as strong as hers as another stronger wave with more a sting slapped her mind. Grabbing her head, she felt herself drop to her knees. She kept her black eyes on them as she noted one of them starting to smirk openly at her.

His eyes bore into hers as he approached her. The light air from him moving forward puffed out his long trench coat. Ayanna, despite everything wondered if he had heard that trench coats were out this season as she watched him walk towards her. Helpless to move because of the woman behind him, she narrowed her eyelashes at him. It was a feeble attempt to draw his attention away from her temples, and it did not work.

One for details, she was somewhat impressed at his polished nails and the heat his fingers emitted as he placed his fingers on her temples. The sensation was not one of pain, but one of strange tiredness. Her eyes had a mind of their own as they closed against what was left of her will. The rest of her body followed suit as she slumped to the ground in paralyzed protest.

"Rendezvous, Part 1"

Victor Krieghoff
Angelienia Krieghoff

Lieutenant Elaithin Aria
Victoria Elaithin

---

ISV Faith
Bridge
---

"Ship coming in out of warp," Angelienia called out from the Sensors station. "She's small enough to be Aria's, but running without an IFF transponder code."

"Which means that she's almost certainly Aria's ship," Victor noted, dropping his feet from the top of the Helm console where he'd propped them at the start of his watch two hours before. "Keep everything on passive monitoring until we're sure it's them and that they weren't followed, dear. I'll go on and call Elrin and the Second Watch up to the Bridge to take over."

Angelienia smirked over her shoulder at her husband. "Aren't you glad that this isn't like that time in the Gethsemene System?"

Victor chuckled as he stood and stretched. "Well… yes and no. Yes, because we were in your fighter and we really weren't thinking about being attacked at the time, much less engaging in a ten minute fight against Hydran fighters in the middle of a Class Three ion storm."

"And no?" she prompted, still smirking.

"No," he conceded, "because that *was* some of the best sex we've ever had, even counting the Hydrans and the storm."

She laughed and canted a hip at him in an exaggeratedly sensual manner. "Just some?"

"Each time, love," he said, swatting her on the outthrust rear as he moved to the intercom, "is the best time ever with you."

---
Shuttlecraft Ticonderoga
---

"Ew, gross," Victoria said, suddenly.

Aria looked at her, curiously, an eyebrow raised. "Vick?"

Victoria looked at Aria. "It's them."

"Figured as much. Send the twitter, let's make our contact." She went about setting the controls to guide the ship up along the larger vessel. "I think we have the time -- want to ask for permission to come aboard?" Aria leaned forward, peering up through the view screen at the large rogue asteroid. "I would not mind seeing the inside of that thing..."

A few moments passed, and then a return signal was transmitted to their comm console. When the image cleared it was, as they suspected, Victor... but unlike all their other comm contacts, he wasn't in some exotic location. This time, he was simply in front of a blank grey wall.

"Good morning... ladies," he added, seeing Victoria behind Aria in the cabin.

"Victor," Aria said, smiling as much as she did these days. "I see you took my advice."

"For something this short range it makes sense," he nodded with a slight smile. "I don't pretend to know how the Com Girls do what they do to get those settings scanned, much less get the repeaters in place to make me look like I'm transmitting from them - and I'm pretty sure that I don't want to know in some cases."

"Fair enough," she said with a shrug. "We made good time getting out here; Miranda isn't expecting us for some time. You up for giving us a quick tour?" There was some indecipherable whispering and Aria glanced behind her toward her sister, hissed something, and then sighed before she turned back to the view screen. "Make an introduction? Someone wants to meet you but is pretty sure Mother wouldn't allow it."

"I think that we can spare the time for a tour," he nodded. "And I'd be pleased to finally meet Victoria in person." He considered the two for a moment, and then added, "And so you can always tell your Mother that you were trying to not be rude... Would both of you ladies like to come aboard for a tour?"

Aria almost blushed, but cocked a sly smirk instead. "Victor. My mother has been Starfleet's top spook for nearly twenty-five years. She's didn't raise me to be polite -- she raised me to be nosy." Victoria giggled, almost inaudibly behind her, hands clasped to her mouth. "But we'd love to, good sir, thank you ever so much for the kind invitation." The eldest Elaithin girl twisted her voice into some resemblance of an ever so proper British form.

"Good," he smiled. "I think we have plenty of space on the flight deck for your shuttle, but you can always beam over if you prefer?"

Aria glanced back at her sister, who nodded enthusiastically.

"Sounds like a plan. Dropping shields. Beam us up."

---
ISV Faith
---

Victoria gasped as the transporter released her and stared with wide-eyed wonder around Kreighoff's transporter room.

Despite the rugged asteroid exterior, the inside was nearly as comfortable as any ship of the line these days. The pieces were old, the trimmings showed wear and tear, but that was not particularly unusual. Especially given that this was obviously a piecemeal job.

"Is it always like that?" Victoria whispered, looking around.

"Always like what?" Victor asked from the transporter console. He glanced down and checked the readings, "Everything looks alright - did the transport feel off somehow?"

"She hasn't transported since she was a baby," Aria explained with a small grimace. "She had a bad reaction to it, I guess some people do. She'd always scream for hours afterward." Aria couldn't help but reflect backward -- only Oracle could ever calm it, and after realizing that, Victoria took shuttles or stayed on the ship. "Nothing Mom could do would stop it." She looked at her sister, who surveyed the room, taking in every detail, seeing things she ouldn't
-- she was sure. "I figured she was old enough to try it again, though."

"I'm older than you give me credit for," Victoria whispered, a slight blush on her cheeks, though she remained otherwise neutral in her appearance.

"Are you all right?" Victor asked, turning to look at Victoria. "And it's a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Victoria."

Victoria looked at him then, as though suddenly realizing his existence. Her pretty head cocked slightly to the side, and her dark eyes with their blue encircled irises crinkled at the sides, giving her a vaguely older appearance than her young years would suggest.

"You're taller than I expected," she said, softly. "And deeper."

Victor looked at her for a second and then glanced over at Aria as he asked, "Deeper?"

"Don't look at me," Ari mumbled, "even I hardly understand a word she says."

"Well then," he continued, looking back to Victoria. "Taller I understand, but deeper, Victoria?"

"Even more than I initially expected." She wandered forward, moving more like a ghost than anything, like she weighed nothing more than a feather. "Look at your eyes." She cocked her head the other way, smiled. "But a little fractured. Still not quite whole. You think you are. But there's still something -- oh." Her eyes settled over Victor's shoulder at the Ktarian woman.

She stepped away, and looked over at her sister as she continued a little farther backward.

"Okay. That tour?" Aria looked at Victor as Victoria placed a hand on her big sister's arm, almost hiding away from Angelienia.

"All right," Victor nodded, carefully avoiding commenting on Victoria's behavior for fear of embarrassing the younger Elaithin. He moved to the door, staying within range of the sensor so that it would remain open. "What would you like to see first? Anything in particular? Engineering? The flight deck? The Bridge? A sample set of quarters?"

"Nah, just the good stuff. Bridge and engineering... and communications," Aria said, a glint in her eyes. "I want to meet these... comm-girls of yours."

---
Shuttlecraft Ticonderoga
---

Victoria Elaithin wasn't exactly the most outspoken of people. Anyone who knew her would agree, most especially her older sister. So when she pressed that the four of them take just the one shuttle back to the Miranda, Aria was a little surprised. It began as off-hand mentions through the tour of Victor's ship -- how nice it was to have new people around, wouldn't they have fantastic conversations, and, of course, the various off-hand comments that no one understood (but that everyone knew had some deeper meaning). Gradually, such occasional and subtle hints deteriorated into the straightforward suggestion that they do so and the implication that it simply wouldn't do to not have this occur.

She stuck close to Victor through the bulk of the tour; even when she was quiet, which truthfully was most of the time -- Victoria rarely spoke unless she clearly had something to say. She drifted through the Faith's halls, hanging on his every word and making vague observations when it suited her. She was never farther than a couple feet, unless Angelienia approached -- the presence of Victor's wife always made her shrink away, and truly, it was the only way to really give Victor some space from his admirer.

"The way is clear," Victoria stated, as she focused on the controls. "Ari... Angelienia wants to speak with you for a little while... Can I drive? Victor can stay here and make sure I don't mess anything up..."

Behind Victoria's back, Victor raised an eyebrow at Aria but didn't say anything; he'd seen enough examples of Victoria's odd phrasing throughout the day to have gotten used to it, but the pronouncement that someone in another room wanted something before they made that desire known was taking things to another level.

"I think it'll be all right, Aria," he said glancing at the controls. "Victoria's doing a good job."

"Yeah, I've taught her everything she knows," Aria murmured, brushing her younger sister's curls as she passed and headed into the back of the shuttle with only the punctuating hiss of the cabin doors.

Victoria was silent as Victor moved from the observation seat to the chair Aria had, until recently, occupied. She seemed to be busying herself with the controls, letting the quiet waft around them. The girl was almost a happy, comfortable as a cat curled up on a sunny window seat on a perfect afternoon. A small smiled played across her lips.

"You know," she said, softly, more into the panel in front of her than actually to him, "I'm going to marry you, when I grow up." Given her ease with the words, she might as well have said she was planning to have tea, or been mussing about the beauty of the stars. To her, the sentiment seemed perfectly normal, a forgone conclusion. I'm going to marry you. Easy. Simple. Common knowledge.

Victor blinked. She hadn't actually said that, had she? He reviewed the words, and had to admit that she had, indeed, said what he'd heard. "Ah..." he replied, imaginatively, trying to decide what one said in moments like this. "Marry me?"

"Six days after my twenty-first birthday. On a Thursday. The day is bright and sunny and everyone is there, just as they should be."

In situations dealing with children - or teenagers, since Victoria had to be fifteen, perhaps sixteen now - Victor normally relied on the part of him that was, or had been, Chulak. Unfortunately, even after over a century of marriage and five children, Chulak had no answers for him in this case. Possibly, Victor decided, because there were no answers. "On a... Thursday?" he repeated, knowing that it wasn't going to help.

Victoria looked at him, all the confidence in the universe backing her calm, ethereal gaze. She sat forward a little, though her movement lacked the nervous energy of a child imparting a great secret or personal mythology -- she was calm, and that gaze carried intense sincerity. She reached, and touched him, fingertips brushing his knee.

"We name our first child Angela," she whispered. "It's your choice. She has auburn hair and bright green eyes. And you love her as you've never loved anyone before."

"Child," he repeated again, like one of those frilled lizards from Ventak Prime that repeated any sound within a certain frequency range back as a defense against the sonic cries of the planet's predators. "Angela. Green eyes."

"I would tell you the others, but I don't want to spoil too much," she said, lingering with her touch, softly biting her bottom lip as though debating what to do next. "We're very happy."

"I... I'm sure..." Victor stopped, his slow fumbling for the right words to say cut off by a sudden certainty of realization. "You... told your Mother about this, didn't you?" he asked with a sense of doomed resignation.

"Oracle knows," Victoria replied with a small nod and a slight sigh. "One must assume my mother does as well."

"No wonder she doesn't like me - on top of all the other reasons," he observed resignedly.

"You mistake uncertainty for dislike," she stated, assuredly. "The entity that lives inside you, as part of you, must be tempered by a strong soul. There is no doubt that you are strong, but there is uncertainty as how strong you will be once the entity is whole. Once you are whole. It is not something to be done without help. Even the strongest need aid, now and then. And that is something the others cannot offer. The dead, the spirited, or the meek beloved..." She smiled slightly as she turned back to the controls. "You need me, Victor Kreighoff. And what's more, you'll love me more than you could ever think. We understand and share things in a way you've never with another, and never will. Because they... could just not understand."

"Rendezvous, Part 2"

Victor Krieghoff
Angelienia Krieghoff

Lieutenant Elaithin Aria
Victoria Elaithin

---
Meanwhile, in the rear of the shuttle...
---

"What do you suppose they're talking about?" Angelienia asked, eyeing the door to the control cabin of the runabout from behind the chair she'd commandeered as a prop for the quilt she was assembling by hand to pass the time. The fabric squares were bright and cheerful, a spectrum of greens wth a dark green, almost black border, and the stitches binding them together tiny and precise,the work of a master.

"Beats me," Aria said, settling down with a mug of hot tea from the replicator. She took a sip. It was a little too hot. "It could be anything, really. Depends on her mood." She sighed. "So was the little oracle right? That you wanted to speak with me?"

"Did she really tell you that?" The Ktarian woman smiled a touch self-consciously.

"Our mother says Victoria is... intuitive," Aria explained. "My little brother is too, but to a much lesser degree. But Victoria takes it above and beyond, just... sees things differently, I think -- time just doesn't mean the same to her as it does to us. The product of... well." She shrugged slightly. "I'm sure you know the situation. What did you want to talk about?"

"I was thinking... about this idea that Victor's agreed to go and listen to... and what it meant."

"I think the whole thing is absolutely ridiculous," Aria said, shaking her head. "Does this present leave something to be desired? Yeah, of course. If given the opportunity, I wouldn't be opposed to doing something completely different with my life. But, this is what we got. I think that even attempting to change it is just... not right. Irresponsible. Regardless of whether or not it matches up to the memories of this girl, supposedly from this timeline, who supposedly went back and came forward again to find it wrong? And the 'real' now, that she talks about? I'm just not sure about it."

Angelienia looked down at the quilt. "Did... did the von Ernst girl really remember things that differently? What... what was changed?"

"For instance -- apparently, Rebecca von Ernst is retired and living on Earth, which is every bit as beautiful and fruitful as it used to be. And -- oh, you're not supposed to be here. Victor never 'saved' you. Instead, he let you die and is married to some woman named Ella and a Klingon, and the three of them live happily with their kids in some little cottage somewhere... or something to that affect." She shrugged, taking a few sips, blowing on the hot liquid that steamed in her cup. "I just think it's all ridiculous, and that we shouldn't mess with it. Time travel... it screws things up. And even if you
put it 'back', that doesn't mean it's all going to be the same she remembers... some things are going to change just for the sheer fact it's been tampered with."

Angelienia's eyes were wide as she stared at Aria. "We... we're not...? I'm not...? I... died? And he married... two women? At once?" She stopped speaking for a moment, something that went beyond mere pain filling her eyes. "He married... a Klingon? and... Ella? Ella Grey? The Mouse?"

"That's what the von Ernst girl said," Aria murmured, her voice softening considerably given the Ktarian woman's reaction. "You have to take it with a pinch of salt, Angie. We don't know what's right and wrong in this. I don't know who the mouse is or about this Klingon or anything else, but I know he loves you. Isn't..." Aria sighed. "I'm not good at stuff like this. I'm sorry, I should've thought before I said anything..."

"No," Angelienia whispered. "No, it's all right. I just... I thought that we'd be together, that we were supposed to be together... everywhere. Everywhen. It never occurred to me that we wouldn't...." She frowned, thinking. "'The Mouse' is what I called Ella Grey back when she and Victor were... as together as they were. I wasn't... nice... then. But a Klingon? Victor and a Klingon? Was she someone that he'd met before... Wait, there was a Klingon woman. A spy, I think. K'something... K'nevel? K'evil? Something like that. I wonder if that's who it was?" She closed her eyes and squeezed the fabric in her hands tightly enough that her knuckles turned white. "We weren't..." Her eyes opened. "He... they... had children? Children that were his? Not adopted, but, really his?"

"I don't know the woman's name," Aria said, shaking her head. "I could find out, if you wanted me to. Once we got back to Miranda. But I do believe they had children. I don't know how many."

"Children...." Angelienia's eyes, still filled with a pain that had no name, lifted to look at the door to the control cabin. "His children." she closed her eyes, but not quick enough to hide the glisten of tears. "We can't have them," she admitted softly. "Ordinarily humans and my people can, but there's a genetic incompatibility in my cells that makes it impossible for the two of us."

"I know... I'm sorry," Aria said. "I can see how much the both of you want them."

"It's all right," she replied, although the catch in her voice gave lie to the words. "It's just... he's had them before, you see. In a sense, anyway."

Aria nodded. "The katra thing, right?"

"You know about that?" Angelienia asked, her eyes still bright with tears when she looked at Aria. "Yes, yes that was it. Victor remembers everything that happened to him then, everything that the man whose katra he bore knew and felt and was. Victor says he 'ate' the katra, or absorbed it, or something. Really what it means is that it was Victor who lived with Chulak's - that was the katra's originator's name - wife for a century and a half, learned to love her, and had children with her. Half a dozen I think he said. All the while knowing that he was Victor and that he couldn't do anything but be Chulak for fear of disrupting the whole matrix and killing everyone." She closed her eyes again. "I didn't hate her when he told me, because she was just a dream, and because living that life meant Victor knew how to say he loved me... and that was worth everything, anything."

"I can only imagine how difficult it has to be. On both sides. I... had a friend, who grew up on Galaxy. He told me about it once." Aria stared down at the cup, fingers tracing the ceramic. "Prophets, that was a long time ago..." She cracked a small, sad smile. "I can't keep track of when anything happens... or happened anymore. In my head, Victoria's still thirteen. I think she's several years beyond that, now. Things that happened yesterday seem a long time ago, and vice-versa."

"That happens to me too, sometimes," Angelienia said softly. "Especially when it has to do with things that happened to Victor before we were together, really together. It seems like it's been forever since he kissed me the first time some days... and just a second ago at others."

"I've never had that," Aria said. "I don't even know that I'm capable anymore." She sighed, finished the last sip of tea, and stood. "I should make sure my sister hasn't pestered your husband too much. We shouldn't be too far from Miranda now, anyway." Aria paused before the door. "You want to join me?"

Angelienia took a breath and let it out slowly, the sound almmost a hiss. "No," she said softly. "Not for a few minutes. I think I need another minute or two first." She carefully tucked the needle into the fabric of the quilt. "I'll just pack this up first; that should be enough time."

"Fair enough," Aria said, "take all the time you need. No rush." She paused an additional moment. "Let me know, if you need anything."

"I will," Angelienia whispered, not looking up as she folded the quilt.

Only after the door had opened and closed, did the Ktarian drop it from shaking hands and slide back into the chair to cover her face and let the tears she'd struggled to suppress flow freely. 'We were supposed to be..." she whispered. "We were supposed to... But I can't give you what you should have, what you need but will never say..." she shuddered, sobbing for a moment, and then caught herself, breath coming in ragged gulps. "But... but maybe... maybe I can give you what you... what you are supposed... supposed to have."

She looked up, the pain in her eyes undiminished, but joined by other things that were as powerful, perhaps moreso: determination... and unyeilding, unquenchable, unconditional love. "If we're not supposed to be, not going to be... if that's true.... Then I'll make sure you have the woman, or women you were supposed to have... and the children that I can't give you. I'll make sure of that."

"Temporal Mechanics"

Captain Alexandra Lee

Commander Paul McAllister

Alex sat in her ready room upon seeing that all systems were running smoothly aboard the Pegasus. She knew she didn't have to, because as far as she was considered, she had among the finest crew in the Milky Way. She sighed heavily as she looked out the nearby viewport as the stars streaked by. She soon heard the chime to her door sound. She knew who it was...and she mostly wanted to be left alone at the moment. Then it sounded a second time. "Come!" she barked, frustrated.

Paul came into the room concerned, as Alex rarely barked at anyone. He knew she was upset, but they had been apart for too long, and there had been too many changes; he wasn't sure how to react. Sitting down across her desk, he was silent for a moment, then said quietly, "If you want to talk now, I promise to sit and listen and keep my mouth shut for at least ten minutes. Or, if you want, I'll go and we can do this later. But if we never have this conversation at all, I think we'll both regret it."

"You really want to do this? To go back in time..and change it...all due to one of your hunches. Do we even know where this so-called tampering with the timeline begins? How do you know this war isn't supposed to be happening?"

Paul waited as he promised, to see if there were any more questions. "Alex, this is more than a hunch. I've been working on this since...since they put that chip in my head. Before that, just hunches, I admit -- but now the analysis is as true as I can make it, based on known facts. The war should have ended ten to fifteen years ago. This reality is not what it should be."

He leaned forward, hoping to catch his wife's eye. "I don't yet know all the casual factors -- the forks in the time-stream where tampering occurred. I'm getting closer with every piece of the puzzle. Do I want to go. No, not really. I finally have a fresh start with you, and that is almost too precious to risk. But what if the past ten years should have been as good as the first seven? What if Jonathan never should have died? Isn't he worth the risk? Or is there something else?"

"Or how about we never met? We never got together in the first place? How about I'm killed in some godforsaken away mission? What if you're killed? Have you ever computed those scenarios in that damned chip of yours? That's why time travel is forbidden. Its dangerous and too damn fragile. The slightest error can cause any number of consequences!"

"I don't have an answer for that," Paul admitted. "Yes, I have run the calculations -- several times a day in fact. I'm sure there are realities were we never met, never married. Those time-lines are far from this one; you've been the focal point of too many of my life choices for a minor tweak to separate us. We face away mission risks every day -- hell, we could be attacked during this conversation and both die in a Bridge explosion. That's a risk everyone in the Fleet accepts -- and it will be at lot less risky if we're at peace than at war."

Paul stood and walked around her desk, kneeling in front of her chair so he could see her face. "Lexi, love -- you've never been this upset before. What am I missing? I honestly want to understand. Tell me what's wrong?"

"I just don't like this mission nor you and Clayton going back. The crew of the Pegasus are a family, Paul. We've had births, birthdays, celebrations aboard this ship. Are you doing this for the quadrant or simply us? Because if you are doing it for us, I'll have your ass thrown into the brig quicker than you realize what's happening. We can't be selfish."

Paul stood and leaned against her desk. He thought he was beginning to understand. "I'm working on this because it's my job. I've been working on this since before the Bismarck -- one of my assignments was to analyze why the Federation was losing the Triad War despite glowing projections of victory. This is the path that analysis led me down and I don't like it anymore than you do -- but it is my duty. The chance to set things right with you and Jonathan is a bonus I never suspected." He realized his words were getting harsh, and made a visible effort to calm himself. After a deep breath, he gently asked, "Alex, are you scared the tweaks we have to make will lose you this command, the Pegasus?"

"You think I am worried about if I command this ship or not in another timeline? This is not about me or Jonathan!" she snapped. "I said that we have had births aboard this ship, Paul. People have served aboard the Pegasus for so long, that we consider many as friends or family. Because the Pegasus is all my crew have left. Its their home...if we change the timeline, those births would most likely have never happened. We'll be killing a lot more children."

Paul walked back to his chair and sat, gathering his thoughts. "Not according to Novikov's conjecture. If an event in the past is changed in any manner that would result in a paradox, the probability of that event occurring is essentially zero. If the proper changes are made, this time-line will fork -- the new fork may merge with what we believe is the true time-line, or it may continue to create its own multiverse with changes so subtle as to be unrecognizable to us in 2385, which seems to be the crux date. This time-line, this reality, will continue undisturbed until it naturally either comes to an end or merges with another reality. Children born on the Pegasus will, at best have a brighter future if we are successful; at worst, there will be no differences that can be obviously detected. And no, there are no certainties, but that is the prevailing theory, as I understand it."

"And that is why I think time travel should not be done. Everything regarding time travel is a fraking theory! Are we to time travel every time something doesn't go our way? The way we want it to or wished it had?"

Paul was resigned to loosing this argument -- confronting emotion with facts was something that only worked on Vulcan. What concerned him most was that this issue seemed to be so important to Alex that he feared he would lose his wife as well as the argument.

"No, Alex, traveling in time should only be considered a last resort. It's unfortunate, but circumstances are dire enough to consider it. Current projections predict the virtual extinction of humanity as we know it within twenty to thirty years -- birth rates are declining rapidly throughout what used to be the Federation. It's not a fact we put out on the net, even the command net, but it's true."

McAllister stood, and regarded his wife silently for a moment. Alexandra was still a beautiful and vibrant woman, and the passion of her beliefs shone in her eyes. He wanted to remember her this way, in case his fears came true.

"Alex, gravity is only a theory, but every time I disregard it, I fall down." He walked to the door, then turned to ask with a shy smile, "Is it my turn to cook dinner tonight?"

"Last I checked, gravity is quite real, just as the artificial gravity aboard this ship that's keeping my ass in the chair, and its certainly much more predictable than time travel." She thought about the dinner question for a moment. Paul was her husband, no matter how she felt about the situation at the moment. "Yes, I believe it is. If there's nothing else, I want to be left alone for now."

Paul nodded. "I'll plan for 1800 -- but will make something that will hold if you're late." Wishing he could say or do something more to comfort her, he turned and left the room.

"Clean Sweep" Part One

For'kel Arvelion and NPCs
===============================================

Behind its simple, stately elegance, the Executive residence of Al’Klei’sh, modeled in part after the Public Residence of the capitol world of the Confederacy, had an extremely complex, and not always so elegant, purpose. The utilitarian structure housed the governor and his immediate staff. As home to the current Speaker of the Alpha Quadrant worlds, an office which revolved every 5 years among the different signatories and colonies, Al’Klei’sh was the de facto seat of power for all things CAW in the quadrant. As such, as one might expect, its Governor was often consulted by the President of the Confederacy himself for advice, which meant that in turn he needed the best advice he could get.

In the bowels of the Executive residence, away from the lines of tourists allowed to peruse the ‘open access’ areas above for their historical and cultural significance, the elected executive and the special advisors and staff of his choosing had the opportunity to get to work on the issues confronting their people.

The room itself was inauspicious. It looked like little more than just another conference room, one of about a dozen in the building. It was however significantly different in one very ‘intangible’ way. This was the secured room.

A myriad of tests confronted anyone who entered, leaving For’kel to wonder exactly how much of an emergency this could be, if the seemingly endless, time consuming barrage of tests were being freely administered. There was the simple request for special issue identification by the Executive Security Service, then a genetic profile and full blood analysis, followed by a brief interview included in which were questions of public and personal history so as to confuse anyone who might have gotten past the first two barriers. Following all that you were given a ‘one-use’ tag, which would allow you to enter the inner-sanctum. Internal sensors of all kinds tracked every movement you made, monitoring your vitals and watching for any other sign of abnormality. Other security features were so well hidden as to be completely imperceptible. Cloak and dagger meeting the broadsword of deterrence, an effective combination.

In the state of the art conference room, around an oval holo-table, sat the chiefs of the Alpha Quadrant Defense Forces, the Special Advisors for Defense, Security and Intelligence, and Foreign Affairs, the Governor… and now one normally far more relaxed special advisor on Refugee Affairs, Commandant For’kel Arvelion. Fork didn’t have the time to review the information flowing across main and secondary screens before the doors closed behind him and the conversation that had been running came to an abrupt end.

“Commandant Arvelion, please take a seat.” Governor Danka Tokorez, the first Non-Stagnorian to hold the office of Al’Klei’sh Governor, smiled warmly as she gestured to the last remaining chair. She was a Lurenian, one of the surviving members of a species nearly wiped out by a century and a half of hostile occupation and genocide, the first people to join the Confederacy from the Alpha Quadrant, and who’s history, like Bajor’s, mirrored the old and tragic story of a once great, advanced society conquered, plundered, and nearly wiped from existence. She had been a rebel herself, from the age of 14…

Interesting times called for interesting leadership, Fork supposed.

“I understand you have experience in Starfleet, correct?”

Fork blinked. It wasn’t exactly the kind of question he’d become prepared to answer. “Yes ma’am.”

“And my understanding is that experience includes previous missions involving one Rebecca Von Ernst?”

“Yes ma’am…” he started before a realization struck him. “How do you know that? What’s this all about?”

The Governor turned her somewhat sagging, middle-aged eyes to her younger, scarlet haired compatriot from the Ministry of Security and Intelligence. “Ms. Carim will fill you in,”

The woman knit her fingers together, putting together the pieces in her mind as she was prone to before speaking. “As you may already know Commandant, a little under two hours ago a sensor drone deployed in the Sol system detected a massive explosion.” She directed his attention to the screen before running the captured images. “The explosion was Earth. The planet was destroyed, and the vessel we believe responsible for deploying the device which destroyed Earth is called the ‘Shiva’. Our intelligence indicates that the ‘Shiva’ is commanded by one Rebecca Von Ernst.”

Fork nodded, although it was all rather unbelievable. He saw Von Ernst once or twice… nothing about her in person indicated she was the type to do anything that severe. “Okay, but with all due respect I don’t see what I could offer…”

“We may need to know how to defeat Captain Von Ernst if it comes to blows.” The Fleet Martial clarified.

“And how am I supposed to know that? Your guess is as good as mine.” Did he ‘really’ get called out of bed for ‘this’?

“We also know that, prior to the Alpha KS-128 operation, your Marines staged a mock boarding of her ship, resulting in a success.” Ms. Carim stared ahead. “It was mentioned in your service jacket.”

Wow. How did they know that? More importantly, how the hell did they screw it up so badly? “Success? I theoretically lost my entire force! Besides, we had the advantage of surprise… I doubt if she’s the one on the attack that she’s going to be that surprised when we defend ourselves.”

“And she lost a top of the line battle cruiser and an elite crew. I’d consider that a tactical victory.” Ms. Carim gave a friendly enough smile that made him wonder how the hell it was somebody that ‘nice’ got wrapped up in intelligence. “Let me ask you Commandant, were we to give material aid and assistance to non-aligned Starfleet forces, do you think she would interfere?”

“Well…” Fork shrugged. “I wouldn’t imagine she would. If she is responsible for destroying Earth, I’d imagine she’s one of the most wanted people in the Federation territories. It’s been my experience that the Hawks and Doves are more interested in fighting each other than in engaging either the former Triad powers or neutrals.”

“And should an Armada enter Federation territory…”

“Wait, what?” Fork leaned in a bit closer, looking at everyone in the room who found convenient places for their eyes to be. “Are you serious? Sending an Armada into Federation territory? What the hell for? Besides, nobody here can authorize the offensive deployment of assets without Presidential authorization.”

“We’ve already spoken with the President, and have the authorization.” Governor Tokorez licked her lips. She made the decision that it was time to clue him in, as his services would almost certainly be required later. “Approximately six months ago, we approached the President with security related concerns. It was decided that intervention may be required for the sake of stability and peace.”

“Six months ago? You’ve been ‘planning’ a war for six months already?”

“We’ve been planning to respond to a war for six months.” Ms. Carim took the reins again. “We’ve developed a complete intelligence portfolio based off a number of sources. Approximately two years ago, humint and satint indicated the last T’Kith’kin vessels withdrew from Federation territory, pulling back into Cardassian space. The Triad seemed to disband, with the Breen and the Hydrans continuing the war against the Federation and its allies.”

She got up from the table and headed over to the central wall display, a time progression of images illustrating her words as she spoke. “Approximately 18 months ago, the number of T’Kith’kin hive ships in Cardassian space dwindled. Entire battlegroups seemed to disappear, and the Cardassian resistance holed up in the Badlands began striking out against individual targets. The Hydran and Breen continued their advances almost unimpeded until the beginning of last year, and their militaries began taking more defensive postures to try and consolidate what they have. The number of planetary based fortifications tripled, and we know both began instituting even more rigorous conscription requirements. Rumor even has it some local jannisary units are being established. We thought this was simply a form of refitting and regrouping for a future campaign… turns out that isn’t so.” She cleared her throat, pointing to the table upon which a number of biographies appeared. “Pictures of the last year indicated a power struggle in the upper echelons of the Hydran royal family, and long range reconnaissance patrols have identified a number of incidents of internal conflict within the Hydran Star Empire. Typically these have been small skirmishes, but there has been a marked increase in violence in the latest reports. Likewise the various system lords of the Breen Confederacy have fractured politically, some calling for an end to further advances and consolidation of won holds, while others urge a continued alliance with the Hydrans and a major drive to finish off the Federation. Not all of the system lords believe the Hydrans can be trusted, so in addition to internal pressures, there have been cross-border incursions between the Hydran and Breen forces. A number of vessels have been destroyed in these engagements.”

“So the Federation isn’t the only ones in a civil war?”

She nodded in response to Fork’s question. “Well, maybe not a civil war, but definite pressures inside the Triad have lead to their breakdown and internal conflict. It’s been an extremely long and costly battle for ‘everyone’ involved, the Triad are no different.”

“So why did the T’Kith’kin withdraw? They didn’t have much of a stake in what was happening in the Federation.”

Ms. Carim bit her lower lip in contemplation. “They’ve lost a number of hive ships. Their battlegroups no longer have a Hive ship as the flag, they’ve resulted to deploying them on a fleet-only basis. The composition of the entire T’Kith’kin fleet has drastically shifted towards smaller vessels. Again, we originally thought this was the result of a fleet rebuilding program, but our long range sensor sweeps and deep penetration probes have indicated that rather than ‘rebuilding’, the T’Kith’kin fleet is considerably smaller than it once was… particularly as far as hive ships are concerned. We didn’t know why this was until approximately eight months ago, when the SSA uncovered previously classified Starfleet documentation from the DOA, including official orders signed by one Admiral John Q. Bhrode authorizing the limited development and use of Strategic Weapons against the Triad… in essence a ‘scorched Earth’ policy, pardon the pun. The discovery of these documents produced a detailed picture of several biological weapons programs, a class of weapons that would be particularly lethal to the T’Kith’kin, Breen, and Hydrans given their mutual reliance on biological technology. One particular strain, classified as ‘Andromeda’ and developed with the help of Cardassian and Romulan specialists, appears to have had entered final research and development stage at Starbase New London’s medical labs before being turned over to the U.S.S. Boston for field testing. The Boston was destroyed during the test, however her loss occurred deep behind T’kith’kin lines, and only shortly before the fall back of T’Kith’kin forces. What we know about Andromeda is that it was designed to be an adaptable, invasive agent that reproduced within specific cellular structures… neuron endings, which severely degraded synapse response in test subjects. An epidemiological review of the pattern of the T’Kith’kin withdrawal suggests that Andromeda may be responsible, and that the T’Kith’kin tried a number of quarantine solutions that were ineffective. This theory is further supported by the destruction of an entire T’kith’kin task force operating in the Badlands, including no less than three suspected hive ships, and possibly as many as five. Sensor readouts and reports on scene indicated most self-destructed, while others were fired upon by their own ships. Communication intercepts from that time were highly erratic and virtually incoherent… subsequently some hypothesize that Andromeda didn’t just effect T’Kith’kin ships, but their crews as well.”

This was a lot to take in. Before showing up Fork had been content that his own, little world was safe and sound, protected from the events unfolding outside its own territory, watching the rest of the Galaxy to go to hell and breaking out the shovels to help rebuild the Federation he knew when it was all over, one of peaceful ideals like exploration and discovery. Suddenly, that passive image didn’t make the sense it once did. “So presupposing you’re right, and the T’Kith’kin are weak, why havn’t the Breen and Hydrans experienced similar problems?”

“They may have, and we may not be aware of it.” She shrugged. “But even if they havn’t, Andromeda may have failed to sufficiently differentiate itself to attack their systems with the same verocity. This development aside, the outlook isn’t good. With the T’Kith’kin hive so weak, they’ve become paranoid about the need to rebuild, we know this from communication intercepts and redeployments. There is a real fear on the T’Kith’kin part that the Hydrans and Breen may have cooperated with the Federation to deploy this weapon, hence their lack of being effected and their sudden disinterest in continuing the campaign against Starfleet. The fact that the Hydran and Breen governments have tried communicating to each other ex parte of the T’Kith’kin only furthered that paranoia. Three months ago the T’Kith’kin started increasing the number of patrols and extent of their mobilization along the former Federation-Cardassian boarder, apparently poised to strike into Breen occupied Federation territories. They know their former allies’ strength and weaknesses, and they know that both the Breen and Hydran militaries are spread thin. A strike now would give them the resources they need to rebuild, and perhaps allow them to bargain for a cure that we don’t believe exists.”

Made sense. Why would you bother developing a cure if you intended on using the virus as a weapon? Doing so only made it possible for enemy intelligence agents to find it.

Ms. Carim continued as the progressions continued into the future. “At this point and time, we believe the T’kith’kin are less than two months from an assault that will catch the Breen Confederacy completely by surprise, leading to their collapse in four months, although we doubt they will be interested in, or have the capacity to, completely conquer the Breen. Rather, we think they’ll seize what planets they need as staging posts for an invasion of the Hydran held territories, then make that assault. The Hydran Empire will have seen what happened to the Breen, they will have had time to harden their positions and mobilize their fleets, but internal difficulties may prevent full cooperation or commitment. It may be two or three ‘years’ before that war finally ends, and in the interim the main worlds of the Federation will be trampled under heel by marauding assault fleets. About the only people who will be happy are pirates, bounty hunters, and mercenaries.”

It was at that point that the Fleet Martial spoke up. “The plan is for a coordinated, simultaneous strike of all three Triad powers as a diversion for a main thrust to liberate the occupied worlds of the Romulan Empire, the Cardassian Union, and the Federation. We hit as hard and as fast as we can, establishing advanced zones of control behind enemy lines while the fleet plows through the remains.”

“Are you serious?” Fork knew he was overstepping his bounds, but all this seemed incredibly irrational. “Even our fastest ships would take weeks to get into striking positions, and you’re talking about pitting our forces against the simultaneous production capacities of the Triad? Weakened or not, we have far fewer combatant ships than they do.

“Distance and ships are not as big a problem as you might think, Commandant.” Ms. Carim smiled again. “We have a few tricks up our sleeves, too.”

"Stand For Your Own Actions"

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lieutenant Shiarrael M'Kantu
Colonel Branwen London
Lt. Colonel Duke
Commander Xavier Ortega

****

"Who's next on the list?" Daren asked tiredly, taking another sip of the
second cup of coffee he shouldn't have been having today.

"Branwen London," Shiarrael said, looking up from her padd and frowning
disapprovingly at her father. "And you've had too much of that already,
father."

"I know," he replied with a smile. "But if this works then it won't
matter will it? And no matter what the doctors say, I've missed my
coffee."

Shiarrael didn't lose her frown, but she didn't continue the discussion
since she knew that she was fated to lose it - again. "The message
should be going through to her now - I expect a connection is..."

The screen in front of Daren cleared and an image started to form.

"...imminent," she finished dryly.

Branwen came to her feet, something in seeing Daren M'Kantu always made
her treat him with the utmost respect. He had been her first captain
many years ago. A kind man who had believed in her and had given her the
first breaks in her career.

"Sir! Good to see you again." Bran said with a smile.

"Let's hope that stays true after the conversation, then," he returned
with a tired smile. "I'm putting a task force together, and I wanted to
know if you were interested in being a part of it?"

"What is the objective of the task force, sir?" Bran asked. "We do not
have any orders at the moment and the ship has nearly been repaired."
The colonel
wanted to go after her ex-husband, but that was hardly an official
mission.

"I'm going to be taking some people on a fact-finding mission that might
become more action-oriented depending on what we find out," Daren
explained.

"The problem is that at the moment, we have exactly one ship assigned to
the task, and sooner or later we're going to almost certainly encounter
individuals that want to stop us. Probably a number of them, possibly
even under Rebecca von Ernst's command. If you're willing, I'd like to
have you come along with your ship to help out with that problem."

Bran looked at her XO and marine commander briefly. Maybe a mission like
this would draw the Capellan ship in. And Bran knew she couldn't go
chasing across the universe for her husband anyway. "Sir, you can count
on us. Where and when would you like to rendezvous?" She asked him.
Hell, she couldn't say no to Daren M'Kantu anyway.

"I'm sending coordinates now," he replied. "We'd like to meet up as soon
as possible, so once you get them give me an estimate on your time in
transit."

A tall man standing to Branwen's side stepped forward. "Beggin, the
Captain's pardon, sir -- I'm Lt. Colonel Duke, the Trafalgar's force
commander. Can you be a bit more specific about the 'action-orientation'
of this mission, sir? I'd like to be able to run some training scenarios
while we're en route."

"Darn considered that. "It could be anything, Colonel, or it could be
nothing at all. But I haven't lived this long by ignoring the
possibilities that would make things more difficult to accomplish. At a
safe bet, I'd consider a small Hawk task force, possibly to include, as
I said, Rebecca von Ernst. At worst.?" He smiled without humor. "At
worst, everybody in the known universe from the Triad to the Borg shows
up gunning for us."

"Understood, sir," replied Duke. "Any particular terrain, or is
primarily ship-to-ship contact expected?"

"I would expect that most actions would be ship-to-ship, Colonel," Daren
offered. "Although boarding actions are not out of the question, and
perhaps more likely than might normally be encountered. As for the
possibility of ground actions... I don't know. It might be wise to run
some basic scenarios in a variety of terrains and environments, just to
be ready for whatever we wind up doing."

"Roger that, sir. Thank you." Duke stepped back behind his CO.

"I wish I could be more specific, but I'm afraid that at this point
that's the best I can do until we learn more about what we're going to
have to do," Daren apologized.

Branwen had talked quickly with helm. "We can be there in two days,
sir." She said. "If you could keep us updated if and when you get more
information."

"As soon as I know something, I'll pass it on," Daren nodded, and then
paused before adding, "There is one more thing."

"Anything sir." She said trying not to sound too eager.

"The interrogations," he said firmly, eyes on Branwen's. "They stop.
Now. Any prisoners aboard ship will be transferred once you reach here.
I'm not instituting an investigation at this time, but while you're
under my command you will be expected to act like officers in the
Starfleet we all enlisted in before this madness started. Do I make
myself clear?"

The colonel actually cringed, feeling she had let this man down.
"Crystal, sir. It has stopped already, I.... I have come to agree with
you. And I will report myself for war crimes when this is over, sir."
She looked his right in the eye meaning every word. Maybe then she would
sleep again at night.

Duke's jaw visibly dropped at Bran's announcement. He quickly closed his
mouth, then glanced over his shoulder at Lt. Adams before returning his
attention to the main screen.

Daren considered Branwen for a moment, and then nodded once,
approvingly. "That's your decision, Branwen - but I think it's the
correct one. If you do that, then I'll speak for you at the
proceedings." He inclined his head slightly. "Assuming that we're all
around to have proceedings when this is said and done, that is."

"Thank you, sir." She said. "I appreciate it. And as captain of this
ship I do take full responsibility. My officers were acting under my
orders. They are not to blame." She had to protect her teenage daughter
and Lt. Adams.

"Everyone needs to stand for their own actions," Daren replied firmly,
"both before their fellow men and before Allah. I understand your desire
to shield those under your command, but that sort of decision is for any
courts martial board that may be convened, not for me to make."

She nodded. But in this she knew she would not support the captain
completely. Bran would do everything in her power to protect Rowena and
Lt. Adams. "Anything else, sir?" She asked.

"I imagine that there will be," Daren nodded, "but for the moment,
that's enough, I think."

Commander Ortega remained dead silent. Honestly, he had sort of expected
this to happen. One of the reasons he'd objected earlier (a secondary
one, mostly) was that word always got out, and then things got worse.
You always seemed to stand more to lose than gain when torture was
involved. "I'll see to the arrangements for the transfer, ma'am." Xavier
whispered to his CO, so as to let her save face.

"Thank you, Ortega." Bran said managing to shoot him a smile. She was so
glad her crew was behind her. They deserved her trust and protection.

"I'll see you in two days, Branwen," Daren added. "If something comes up
before then, I'll be back in touch. If you run into anything that would
alter your arrival time - faster or slower - please contact me aboard
Captain Shivar's ship, the Resolved."

"Yes sir." Bran said and then broke the connection.

“Guilt and Shame”

Colonel Branwen London, commanding USS Trafalgar

Lt. Colonel Wayne “Biggs” Duke (NPC by Betred)

(follows immediately after "Stand for Your Own Actions")

-----------------------------------------------------

<USS Trafalgar, Bridge>

Biggs Duke was one pissed off marine.

As soon as communications with M'Kantu's ship had been terminated, he was able to spare Bran one scathing look before completing a picture perfect about-face and marching off the Bridge.

“XO, you have the Bridge.” Bran called out and then hurried off after her lover. “Colonel, wait, I need to talk to you,” she said in her best command voice as she hurried after him.

Command voice or sultry purr, Biggs wasn't stopping. Not this time. This time, he had to hit something, and he didn't want it to be his pregnant lover and almost wife. Who had just frackin volunteered for a rather lengthy prison term, damn it!

“For Christ sake, Duke, I can’t keep up with you and I don’t want to be shouting at you in public. What’s wrong with you! This mission is important!”

Biggs spun on his heel, grabbed Branwen's arm as she came up to him and dragged her into the nearest room, which happened to be a small supply closet.

"Goddamn it Branwen London, just what in the fuck were you thinking?" he shouted.

“It is not that far away and the ship is nearly good to go again. It would have been terribly rude not to offer help.”

Biggs punched the bulkhead hard enough that Bran could hear bone crack. "Not the fucking mission you twit -- 'I'll admit to war crimes?' Have you lost your ever-lovin mind?"

“Jees Duke. Your hand!” It had been ages since he had called her twit. In the beginning when they just met on Galaxy all those years ago he had thought her an enormous silly twit. “What could I do, Duke. It was Daren M’Kantu. I can’t lie to him, he has always been my hero, and I have let him down. Don’t worry I will take all the blame, I will not implicate Ro or Lt. Adams.”

"You just don't get it do you? You think I’m worried about the fucking implications? Adams could fuck her way out of jail in ten minutes. But you taking the blame doesn't do squat for Rowena -- she was there and in M'Kantu's eyes we're all just as guilty. AND THAT STILL ISN'T THE FUCKING POINT!"

His last shout seemed to have drained him. He squatted down on his haunches, gasping a bit, then sat on the deck. "What about the baby, Bran? What happens to our child if you do this?"

She knelt too and held him in his arms. “You will have to raise the baby love. I know you can do that. Duke,” she said softly. “I am not sleeping anymore. I can’t get that woman’s face out of my head. We drove her to suicide and it isn’t right. It isn’t fair, and it is not the Dove way. It has to stop. I would be a coward if I did not face the music.”

"You idget. I'll be in the next damn cell. I'm the second officer on this tub, just after the XO, who's just after you -- we'll all be cooling our heels -- 'cept this is war, and in war, they can and do use the death penalty, so maybe we just buy one in the head from a squad of our peers. You should have brought this to me, Bran. You keeping talking that you want family and things are different now -- are they really? You didn't fucking think."

“No.” She sagged. “I felt so much shame. I will not name you Duke, not any of you, I promise. We will destroy the proof, and you were not there. Damn it, he knew already, Duke. They know, so better to be honest. I should have talked to you first though. Sorry.” She rested her head on his shoulder.

"Branwen, you're still not thinking straight -- first destroy the proof, then be honest? They already know, Bran, they already know. We have to concern ourselves with you and Rowena now."

“Yes but I told him that I am the one responsible. What could you all do? Commit mutiny? You weren’t even there for the torture. You have to promise me to look after Ro and this baby if… if the worst happens.”

"Luv, that 'just following orders' argument won't wash -- especially if your orders are deemed by the court to be actual war crimes. Removing a commander who issues unlawful orders isn't considered mutiny -- it's supposed to be a duty. You heard M’Kantu, we all stand or fall by our action – or inaction." Duke sighed again. "This probably would have happened anyway; I was just hoping we'd have a little more time. Of course I'll take care of Ro and the baby -- and I'm going to take care of you too."

To her horror Bran began to cry. Nina’s horrible suicide had been one death too many for her, or maybe the fact that the woman was her ex-husband’s lover. She didn’t know what it was but it was affecting her badly. Or in a twisted way, maybe what was happening was a good thing. It was restoring her humanity. She just leaned against her lover for strength.

Duke never could resist a crying woman. Bran's tears drained the last of his anger from him. He held her close, stroked her hair, and rocked back and forth with her silently, respecting her release of anger, despair and fear. It was all he could do.

It took a good ten minutes before she calmed down a little. “What are we going to do?” she asked quietly.

Duke kissed her gently before replying, "First, we have to get ourselves a good JAG. What we don't do is attempt to hide anything. Then we follow the JAG's advice. For now, we pinch this off in our minds and put it away, and get on with business."

She nodded, trust him to be levelheaded about it and come with good advice, her rock.

"There's one other thing we need to do – soon,” Duke continued. “We need get those marriage papers signed -- if we get a good enough lawyer, we may be able to get our case tried in a Fed court rather than a Marine one -- in a Fed court, spouses can't be compelled to testify against one another. Besides," Duke grinned even though his heart wasn't in it, "then I can do this legally." He kissed her again, reaching between her legs and giving a playful squeeze. Any diversion would be good at this point.

She leaned in for his kiss and opened her legs to give him better access. Bran as well could use all the distraction she could get. “Let’s get married as soon as we can find someone qualified to do it,” she agreed. “I don’t want to wait any longer either. I want you to be mine.”

Duke gave her another gentle squeeze then helped her up off the floor. "You need to be on the Bridge -- get us pointed in the right direction. I need to talk to my officers, get them ready for what may come. You can show me your old carcass has some life left in it later, maybe this evening?"

“Yes, I would like to have you close tonight. Will you stay with me?” Bran asked him.

"Of course."

She gave him another kiss and then pulled herself together to play the Colonel in public again.

"God's Gonna Cut You Down"

John Walker


John had never been to Denobula before, so he didn't know what it had been like when the Federation was still around. Maybe it had been a beautiful place; maybe it had been the pinnacle of all that was good and right with this universe. Or maybe not---who knew? It was a shithole now, just like any other. Dirty people and panicked glances and the smell of red copper, always just beneath.

John couldn't wait to be away, flying to some other shithole.

He and six other officers were bunked down in various shelters. They couldn't be seen together, so their meetings were privately held out of the way, back alleys of back alleys, the dirtiest of basements. Kaylee was still on board the Perdon, which was marginally safer than being planet-side, marginally being the operative word. No where in this 'verse was actually safe.

Still, Kaylee was better off on the ship. This wasn't a lifestyle that took kindly to Take-Your-Daughter-To-Work day.

"This is a three-phase operation," Mercedes was saying to the away team. John tried to get himself to pay attention, but it was difficult---one mission was pretty much like every other, and they all ended the same anyway, no matter what he did or didn't do. What was that quote---he'd heard it once---something like the last act of any play was bloody. If that was the case, then the whole universe had been stuck in the last act for about twenty years now.

Apparently, the End of Times took longer than he would have given it credit for.

John wondered if he'd still be alive, when God eventually decided to pull the plug. When He realized that this whole experiment called sentient life had been a bad fucking call.

But back to paying attention, sorta. Nnerhin was asking Mercedes a question. Nnerhin was always asking someone a question---he was the kind of guy who liked things triple checked and properly spaced and labeled. God forbid the man actually had to make a decision on his own---he couldn't find his own ass without a list and an order to do so.

John tuned him out.

Why did he still believe in God? Catholic upbringing, he supposed. Turned out Catholicism was harder to shake than a Ferengi who was owed money---it was there, all the time, the need to repent, for absolution. Nobody here could provide absolution, least of all Mercedes and her ongoing insanity. Mercedes was talking now, answering all of Nnerhin's questions, with a zeal that he hated to see punctuating her every movement, gesture, smile. Mercedes had once believed in God; good, little Catholic girl . . . well, Catholic with a dirty damn mouth, anyway. Still, she had believed. He wondered if she still did.

Probably not.

John watched Mercedes's lips move and tuned out the sound of her voice. He still caught every other word she said: enemy . . . Hawks . . . fear . . . resistance . . . Dove . . . friendly . . . fear . .. fear . . .She could make a great propaganda holo-novel. Boys could get her action figure and lead the charge against the Hawks with Captain Delgado! Hawks everywhere, beware!

Christ, maybe he was cracking up.

Yeah, probably. But he still did what he had to do. And he didn't need to hear the mission outline: it was always a three-phase plan. Phase One would be to scare the yokels, a lot of lip work and trash-talking, raising as much anti-Hawk sentiment as they possibly could. Phase Two would be a couple of well-placed terrorist attacks, small accidents, suspicious circumstances. Were they really accidents? Who knew? But maybe they weren't accidents--maybe it was those godamned violent Hawks. Phase 3 would be the Tragedy. There was always a Tragedy.

Mercedes would wait until the last minute to unveil that one. John didn't want to know.

The play always ended the same.

It would be bloody and it would be sad and the Denobulans would be on their feet, screaming for vengeance.

And Mercedes would be there, like an avenging angel, to guide them, to lead them in the charge.

*

When the briefing was over, Mercedes "asked" John to stay behind. "You weren't paying much attention," she observed. "You're fucking losing it on me, aren't you?"

John didn't even look at her. "I do my job," he said dully and pushed himself to his feet, ignoring her ever-present glare. "Saw a bar at the outskirts of town. Thought I'd start there. You know, whole Pathetic Vic Routine."

Mercedes nodded. "I'll come with you," she said. There was no suggestion in that voice.

"Checking up on me, Mercedes?"

"It's a two-man con," she said. "Plays better that way, and you know it."

He did know it. It didn't matter. "Fine," he said. "Who do you want to play? The drunk or the victim?"

Mercedes just looked at him.

Right. He shouldn't even have had to ask.

(takes place immediately after God's Gonna Cut You Down)

"If You Like Pina Coladas"

John Walker


Mercedes always played the victim.

She was well-suited to it. Slender woman like her, big eyes, long hair---she looked fragile. Sweet. Helpless. John suspected she got a kick out of it, playing the damsel in distress, while secretly having a six inch blade down her back, a phaser in her boot, and a garrote in her pocket. Mercedes love to be the puppet master.

And good God, could she work those strings.

John had entered the bar a good twenty minutes before Mercedes did, got himself a working start on that alcohol. He wasn't really supposed to get drunk, but---well, fuck it. He'd always been a fan of method acting. Mercedes entered, sat down next to him, and ordered herself a shot of something hair-raising. She didn't drink it, though, just cupped her little hand around it, looking forlornly into space. A mockery of somebody else's loss and grief.

Mercedes had her own loss and grief, but she kept it locked tightly away. Not method, then.

John turned to look at her, letting his eyes freely roam her body. "Hey," he asked loudly. "What's your name?"

Mercedes never looked at him. "Elena."

"Elena, hey. Pretty name. I'm John." He said it just to piss her off. Mercedes hated it when they used real names, like John was oh-so-fucking distinct. "What's a good looking girl like you doing in a shitty little joint like this?" The bartender gave him a dirty look, but he ignored it. He was feeling pretty damn good now. Probably time to back off the booze.

He ordered a double shot.

Mercedes hadn't answered him. John leaned towards her, close enough to smell her hair. "Hey, hey. Uh, Lena, yeah. How's it going?"

Mercedes started to cry.

Fucking crocodile tears, John thought, but that's what the game was. Right on cue, a big, beefy guy marched over to them. His hands were about as big as John's damn head. "Hey, lady," he said---John decided to call him Butch. "This guy bothering you any?"

Butch, you're a cliche, John thought. But then they all were.

"It's not him," Mercedes assured Butch. "It's just----it's---my husband. I lost my husband." She started crying again, and John drained his shot. How could she do that so easily, start and stop the tears like tapping a commbadge on and off? He suddenly wanted to slap her, just backhand her off her stool.

Instead, he asked bluntly, "How did it happen?" and allowed himself to blink owlishly for a minute. "I mean, shit, Jesus, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, shit . . ."

"It's okay," Mercedes said and then launched into her tale: a husband who believed in neutrality, who didn't want to hurt anybody, an innocent soul taken, just because he didn't stand with the Hawks. His commercial vessel had been targeted to send a message to other "neutral" ships. "He was so good," Mercedes said. "All he wanted . . . all he wanted . . ."

She broke down into sobs again. John allowed Butch to be the one to comfort her. He wasn't in the mood; besides, he was so fascinated by her story. Not one lick of truth to it---what had happened to Mercedes had been a million times worse than the lie she was spinning. Some nice guy blown up on a cruiser. Jesus, instant death. They should all be so lucky.

"Those bastards," John said loudly, order another drink with his index finger. "Those fuckin Hawks, man, runnin 'round, like they own the universe or somethin. Killin good people, same thing happened to my cousin, you know, totally unprovoked and then just bam." He threw his hands up in the air violently, only lowering them to take his drink from the bartender. Mercedes glared at him from out the corner of her eye and then started crying again.

God, how he hated that bitch.

"Earth," someone said from behind him. John didn't even bother to look around. "The Hawks actually blew up an entire planet. Crazy motherfuckers, I'm tellin you---"

"---crazy bitch, more like," someone else said. "That Von Ernst woman---"

"---they're not all like that--"

"---hell you talking about; they're all like that. Didn't you see when---"

"---my uncle, dead---"

"---my friend, I always thought---"

"---his brother, just blown to bi---"

"---and she told me that it was the Hawks who did it, who---"

"---sooner or later, they'll come---"

"---devils---"

"---why would they do that, why---"

"---neutral here, everyone knows---"

"---not neutral, Dove-Friendly---"

"---neutrality doesn't matter. If you're not with the Hawks---"

"---we have to do something---"

"---we're all going to die---"

"---everyone knows---"

"---everyone knows---"

"---something must be done---"

John lost track of the conversation, finished his drink, and slipped out of the bar . . . well, stumbled, anyway. He didn't bother looking at Mercedes; he didn't give a good godamn about her permission tonight. Besides, it was better if he was gone, in case anyone started asking questions on who started all this talk. Mercedes would slip out soon too, John was sure. He hoped she stayed away from him. He didn't want the lecture. The only thing he really wanted was more booze.

Instead of seeking some out, though, he made his way slowly back to his camp-out, landing heavily on his cot and awkwardly turning on his back. He spent some time there, not exactly conscious, lazily appreciating how the world seemed to spin. He liked that about being drunk, that vague tilt-a-whirl thing. Funny, you'd think that the world would spin differently on different planets, like maybe it would spin faster on Earth than on Denobula. Before Earth got blown up, of course. Yeah, that had sucked. He should get drunk on Vulcan sometime. That could be a real experience.

John was so wrapped up in his deep thoughts that he didn't even notice Mercedes storm in. "What the hell was that?" she snapped at him.

John blinked at her. "Shouldn't be here," he said. "Got, you know, designated meetings and stuff."

Mercedes didn't even blink. "You don't get drunk on the job, John. Jesus, what the hell is the matter with you lately? You never get drunk on the job."

John grinned vaguely at her. "Thought that was kinda the point," he said. And apparently Mercedes disagreed, because she had John upright and against the wall in less than 2.5 seconds. The world stopped spinning suddenly and instead, started to just completely collapse.

Mercedes held him up. "I swear to God, John, I cannot be having this from you right now. I need you to fucking shape up yesterday. I need you at my side."

John pushed her off of him and miraculously stayed on his feet. "You don't think I'm on your side?" he screamed at her. "Christ, Mercedes! What do I have to do? I've killed for you!"

"Oh, boo hoo. For Godssake, John, wake up and smell the decade. Everybody's killed. You think that's some excuse to sit and cry? You think your life has been so hard---you think you deserve a day off to bitch and mope?"

"Oh, don't you even tell me what my fucking life's been like---"

"Yeah, yeah, your fake girlfriend died, your poor, wacky 8-ball. Cry me a fucking river---"

John took a step toward her. "You shut the fuck up."

"---and your Mommy's dead and your Daddy's dead and all your brothers and sisters are dead dead dead---"

John shoved at her. "Shut up!"

"Everybody's families are dead, John. Everyone has blood on their hands. You think you're so godamned special? We're all monsters here! That's why we're doing what we're doing, so someday, it can be good again, we'll be clean. Everything we do now is worth it, don't you get that? Don't you want that for your daughter?" Mercedes moved forward and quickly backed him up into a wall. "Do you want the Hawks to get her, to take Kaylee like they took me?"

John's mouth suddenly felt dry. "Mercedes," he tried to say.

But Mercedes was having none of it. "You owe me, John," she said. "You and that fucking precious daughter of yours---you owe me. You owe me!"

The alcohol was making his head swim. John found himself sinking to the floor, head falling in his hands. Mercedes lifted it up again with the edge of her knife.

He didn't remember her taking the knife out. Was she going to use it on him? The blade felt so refreshingly cool against his skin . . .

"You should have been there," Mercedes said, and this time John couldn't block out her voice, no matter how much he wanted to. "You weren't there for me like you should have been, and it almost cost me my life." She pushed the blade closer to his neck, maybe even cutting into the skin. He couldn't feel much except the cool touch of steel. Christ, it felt good. "I'm counting on you, John," she said. "Can I count on you? Or should I just kill you right now?"

John felt his mouth fall open and honest to God, he didn't know what he was going to say. Because Kaylee---but Jesus, he was tired, he was ready to rest, he had earned his right to rest, and he didn't want to know what tragedy Phase Three would involve, and he didn't want to see this better world Mercedes thought she was making. Because she was wrong, of course she was wrong.

No one ever got clean.

But Kaylee---always Kaylee---

---and Mercedes saw the choice in his eyes. She let go of him, let him collapse on the ground, and walked out without another word. John thought about lifting himself back up the cot, but didn't have the energy.

He was grateful, so beyond grateful, when he finally passed out.

"Sgyrsian"

Colonel Branwen London, commanding USS Trafalgar

Ensign Rowena London

(follows "Guilt and Shame")

----------------------------------------

<CO's quarters, USS Trafalgar>

Rowena walked into her mother's quarters, unannounced as was her habit. "Mum?" she called out, not seeing Branwen in the common room. Ro had learned that recently it was best to knock on her mother's bedroom door before entering, so she tapped on the door when it did not automatically open for her.

"Mum? You decent in there?"

“Yes, of course I am. Come in honey,” Bran said.

Ro walked in to find her mother sorting through her closet, looking a the few items of off duty apparel she owned. "Got a big date?"

“Hmmm?” She had some dresses lying on the bed. “Oh, Duke and I decided to get married as soon as possible. What do you think Hon? Which one should I wear?”

"How can you be thinking of marriage now? You just volunteered us all for a court-martial! Mum, what were you thinking?" Rowena couldn't hold onto the facade any longer and broke into tears. "I'm scared for you!"

“Oh baby.” Bran put her arms around her eldest daughter. “I will keep you safe, I promise. You are safe.” She kissed Ro on the top of her head like she had done when Ro was smaller. “I am pregnant sweetheart, Duke and I want to get married but we are doing it quickly to protect the baby. If anything happens to me, Duke can keep it safe. And he promised to look after you as well.”

"What's he going to do? How did you get pregnant at your age?" sniffled Ro.

Bran snickered. “Hon, I am barely forty, not ancient.” Hmmmm Shanna really had skipped the sex education classes. “Sweetie, I think it is time we had a little talk, you and I.” She cleared her throat.

"Is this about Jennifer?"

“Partly. Your Aunt Shanna is a dear, but a bit of a prude, I am afraid she might have skipped part of your education. I think it is time to talk about sex, sweet,” Bran said seriously.

Rowena bust out laughing. She tried to speak, but only more laughter would come, until there were tears of a different sort in her eyes. Holding her stomach, she gasped out, "Mum! It's a little late for that --" Ro couldn't continue as another wave of giggles prevented her from talking.

“Well yeah.” Bran huffed a little. “I know it is late, but it is better later then never. There are some things you need to know if… if this relationship between you and Jennifer goes much further.”

"Mum, Jennifer and I have already slept together. She was very gentle, and I enjoyed every minute of it. We could probably teach you and Uncle Duke a thing or two," Ro grinned.

The colonel blushed bright red…. “That… she didn’t tell me…. Christ Rowena, you are seventeen!”

Rowena giggled again. "Mum, what's that got to do with it? How old were you when you lost your cherry?"

“Twenty-three and I was married,” Bran said primly. “Seventeen is much too young. You should enjoy being young and innocent.”

"I am enjoying being young and innocent, Mum," Ro explained. "I'm sorry I laughed, it's just that with everything that's happening, you wanting to talk to me about sex, well -- it's funny."

“Hmpf.” Bran said. “I will have to have a talk with your aunt.”

"Why?" Ro asked innocently. "Did she wait forever too?"

“No your aunt got married while in the Academy, and you know that, young lady.”

"Tell me what's about this court-martial thing. I bet Duke was pissed!"

“That is an understatement.” Her mum was smiling again. “For me it felt good. What happened… it had been bothering me. I am glad it is in the open now. And don’t worry honey, we will shield you.”

"I'm not worried about that -- well, yeah, I am, but what about you? And you're pregnant too? You can't have a baby in prison!"

“That is why Duke and I are marrying. If the worst happens he can take care of the baby.” She looked very serious now.

"What happens if he goes to prison too?"

“He won’t,” her mum said stubbornly. “I will make sure of that.”

Rowena looked doubtful but decided not to pursue the matter until she had talked with Duke herself. So she changed subjects again. "When is the wedding?"

“As soon as we can find someone to marry us. And of course you will be allowed to be there.” She gave her daughter another hug.

"Allowed? You mean I don't get to be in the ceremony?"

“What do you want to do hon, give me away?” she joked.

"Why not?" asked Ro, pouting a bit. "Other kids have done the same thing."

“Alright then baby.” Bran said. So Ro finally acknowledged that she was still a child. ‘Will you be careful with Jennifer? You ARE still very young.”

Rowena wondered what Bran would think of Jennifer's new toy, but decided not to ask. "We're being careful, Mum. What about you -- this is the first time in a while I've come in here and not caught you with your pants down."

“Very funny.” Mum was not impressed. “You know what the doctor said. No sex for a month.” She was finally healing and Branwen really wanted to keep it that way.

Her daughter laughed. "Geez, I was just joking. So, what do I call Col. Duke now anyway -- off duty, I mean. Uncle Duke. Biggsy? Mister Branwen London?"

“You can ask him. How about Dad?” she teased.

"You think he'd really go for that? I mean, he seems so, I don't know -- gruff and blunt. I mean, if it wasn't for the size of, well, you know, I don't know why you two are together."

“Rowena Dhanista!” Branwen snapped. “I should scrub your mouth out young lady!”

Ro giggled. "Seriously, Mum. What do you see in Uncle Dukie? I mean, now's the time to know, before you sign any contracts."

“He loves me and he is kind to me. Duke holds me when I am down and I can cry on his shoulder. Sometimes those are the most important qualities. And he is not bad looking either.” Bran could smile again.

"He doesn't strike me as the gentle type. I wonder what he sees in you," Ro asked innocently.

“Oh thank you dear. Always nice to know how you think about your old mum.” Bran smirked giving her daughter a playful tug.

"Seriously Mum. You can be so moody at times -- how does he react when you get morose?"

“Rowena, please! Did you talk to your Aunt Shanna this way?” Rowena was sometimes so different from the children she had raised herself, and at other times acted just as Katherine would have done.

Ro grinned and shook her finger back and forth at her mother. "Now who's changing the subject?"

“Just curious. We haven’t been together that long. And when Shanna raised me I would not have dared talk to her the way you are talking to me half of the time.”

"I couldn't talk with her like this. But you feel more like a big sister than a Mum. I don't mean that in a bad way." Rowena poked her mother in the stomach. "So, when's it due?"

Bran didn’t know how she felt about that. But that is what you get for not raising your kids yourself. And since Shanna had raised her it made sense that Ro saw her as a sister. “In about six months from now. We need to get married before I start to show or I really won’t fit into one of my dresses.”

"I'll give you the benefit of my extensive fashion experience. Take that ugly uniform off and we'll see what we can do with your old carcass," Ro laughed.

“Come here you!” Laughing she started to chase her daughter. “I will show you who has an old carcass. I can still win a fight with you any day, young lady!”

"The Path"

(Occurs immediately after 'Stowaway" and before "Rendezvous")

Victor Krieghoff

Elrin

****

ISV Faith

Deck 2

"So," Victor asked after a moment's walking, "is there some place you want to go for the talk, or should I pick?" He took another step, and glanced over at Elrin's shorter form. "And on another topic, have you had a chance to look over the Faith? What do you think?"

"She's a nice rock...er...ship. I still haven't gotten totally settled yet but she's a lot more roomy then the Ebon Hawk. Still, I think you should pick as I haven't learned all the good spots yet."

"The whole flying rock part does take some getting used to," Victor agreed. "You'd think that the difference between a metal hull and this wouldn't be apparent from the inside, but… she does feel different than a traditional ship, doesn't she?" He paused at an intersection, looked both ways, and selected the left-hand corridor. A few meters down it, he paused at a door, keyed it open, and stepped inside.

The room was currently unfinished, as were many of the spaces within the Faith, but it had something that most of the other rooms didn't – a viewport that looked out along the length of the asteroid-ship's hull. "I didn't ask them to add this, "Victor explained, "but looking at it, it was a good idea. Might be a good lounge for the crew once things get more settled." He indicated a switch on the wall. "That closes the shutters – they're seamless from the outside, and the mechanism is all natural materials, so it doesn't register on sensor sweeps. The viewport is tempered diamondite crystal, not transparent aluminum, so it won't show up either."

Elrin scanned the room and nodded. "A rock with windows. That's a new one. Would make a good lounge I think. I for one have some difficulty not having natural light in my room despite your engineers' best attempt to keep it as natural a feel as possible. So, what's up? Since you wanted to talk in private I assume its...not good."

"That," Victor sighed, "depends on your point of view. Elaithin Jii and Daren M'Kantu want to talk to me about a mission they've dreamed up." Elrin got a quizzical look in his eye as he appeared to be searching his memory for the names. Then it struck him. His old Captain and the leader of the Doves. Odd indeed.

"I wonder what they would need you...or us for. They wouldn't be just calling in outside help unless there was a pretty good reason."

"There is," Victor nodded, moving to look out the viewport at the barren surface of the asteroid-ship and the stars beyond it. "They want to change things. Everything. All of it; no Civil War, no destroyed Earth… everything."

Elrin looked surprised and it took him a moment to respond. "I take it they're talking about", Elrin gulped for a moment because the thought of what he was about to say gave him a lump in his throat ,"a temporal incursion. "

"I'm pretty sure that there are other names for it when the people that worry about these things all the time sit down to talk shop, but yes." Victor frowned out into the darkness of space. "I'm not certain that I think it's a good idea – or that I'll help them even if I decide that it is - but they've asked me to come and hear M'Kantu and Elaithin make their case, and I've agreed to do that much. In their defense, they say that they have reason to believe that something or someone has *already* changed the timeline, shifting us away from what was supposed to be and into… what we have now. I'm not sure about that, either, but I remember enough of the person that they say gave them the information that I'm willing to hear them out." He glanced over at Elrin's reflection in the viewport. "What do you think?"

It took a moment of staring into space himself to come up with a response. When he did Elrin's voice sounded distant. "Where I'm from when first developed warp drive and realized it was possible in some circumstances it could be used to travel back in time it caused perhaps the greatest philosophical debate in our history. The religious community, particularly Alanna's clergy, wanted to ban the use of warp drive and destroy all the prototypes immediately before anyone could mess with The Path the Mother Goddess had set us on. Naturally the scientifically oriented on our world resisted and, well, it nearly caused the first war in over five thousand years. Eventually a solution was worked out, Warp Drive would be allowed but all who went into space on warp ships were to take an oath to maintain The Path. Even I took such an oath as a young child when I went aboard the ship my parents served on. Until now I've never questioned it. I've never even considered why altering The Path would ever be necessary. Until now that is."

"And now?" Victor asked. "You're not certain anymore?"

"Certainty has been alluding me ever since I heard Earth was destroyed. Perhaps it's a luxury I can't afford anymore. If someone has altered The Path, then...well...philosophers could argue for centuries about whether or not it was still meant to be. But we don't have centuries do we?" Elrin's voice was still distant. It was as if he wasn't speaking to Victor but rather to the gods themselves. He wanted an answer from them...but they wouldn't answer. They hadn't since Altair.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Victor conceded. "Time is tricky like that, which is why your people decided not to mess around with it in the first place. I think that makes them wiser than many people have been. Possibly wiser than we are for even contemplating this idea. I understand that the universe is… broken. It's in the middle of a nightmare that it's showing no signs of waking up from, and I want to change that. But…" He looked away, back out at the stars. "I love my wife, Elrin. I love her more than anything I've ever conceived of in all the things I've seen, so much that I've spat in the eye of the universe to keep her alive and with me. What if I lose her when this happens? What if we never meet, never fall in love? What if…?" He sighed. "So many questions, so may possibilities…" He paused for a moment, and then added, "So you think that I should listen to them – really listen, and not just sit there and nod my head?

"I'm no oracle Vic, I'm sure you know that." Elrin finally turned to look at his employer. "There's no way of knowing what might happen if we try to adjust The Path. We don't even know if it would come out for the better. But I do think its worth hearing them out. Whether you should go with them or not...that's between you and the gods. You want me to go with you?"

"No, not to the initial meeting, anyway. I think I want a back-up plan in case this all goes to Hell in a faster handbasket than the one we're in already. That plan would be you. I'll let you know where we're going, and I want you to shadow us at a safe distance, maintain silent running, and just watch. If I signal for a pick-up, then come and get us. If things blow up, wait until the shooting and whatever else is going on stops and then come in cautious and see if you can locate us." Victor shrugged. "Whatever happens, at least we won't be dead."

Elrin nodded. "Got it. Hopefully the other guys won't notice one more rock sitting around. You want us to plant a locater chip on you so we can beam you out in a hurry? "

Victor thought for a moment, eyes still on the stars. "No, no, I don't think so. Someone else would just spot it, and we have the implant communicators already, so that's enough of an issue. Those, at least, we can turn off." He frowned, and then turned to Elrin. "There is a way though, that you can scan for me with sensors. There's a specific setting you can use, one that no one had reason to use before twenty years ago, and then only once. Nothing in the galaxy that isn't a part of me will register on it. I'll give that information to you before we go."

Elrin nodded again "After twenty years you still surprise me Victor Krieghoff. We'll do our best to keep an eye on you and I'll have the birds fueled and ready if we need to get wet. And I'll make sure Angelina is safe as well."

"The last part likely won't be a problem," Victor returned with a smile. "I expect that, whether I want her to or not, Angelienia will be coming with me. Wives are like that, you know: stubborn, willful creatures that can make you forget all of those traits with a smile and a touch of their hand."

Elrin's only response was a slight chuckle.

"I am going to leave you with some other information, though," Victor added. "Access codes, contact lists, and the like. Just in case. If I'm put in a position where I can't get back to you, someone has to keep things going on Xellos. That's going to be you, I'm afraid."

"Well hopefully it won't come to that, but I understand. Hopefully you'll set The Path right and things will come out better." Elrin then thought of something and reached into his jacket. A moment later his furry paw-hand emerged with a crimson and orange looking ribbon and a small pendant. "If you do go back and need to contact me in the past, show me this ribbon and I'll know you're telling the truth. Its the symbol of my clan back home. The amulet...that's for luck. You'll need it as much as I will."

Victor took it, turned it over in his hands, and nodded, tucking the item away in his jacket. "Thank you," he said simply, with a nod. "I'll try to live up to the honor and trust you're showing me by letting me carry it."

"You're welcome and may Alanna's blessing be upon you as it sounds like you'll need the help of deities from several worlds to get through this."

“I’ve never been a big believer I luck,” Victor replied. “But I’ll take all the help that I can get. Now let’s go and get you that sensor data and…” He frowned. “Let’s go and get the data,” he repeated, “but there’s a warning that needs to go with it.”

"What's that?", Elrin's brow furrowed slightly.

“When you do the scans,” Victor explained as they moved to the door and out into the corridor, “it’s possible that you’ll find more than one source for the readings. Mine should be the larger by far, but if you can’t pick out the source immediately, or if, when you check it out, it appears that you’ve located Thyago Carneiro – you remember him from back on the Galaxy? – instead of me… then you walk away. Don’t contact him, don’t have anything to do with him. If he tries to follow you, then you run, you transport, you do whatever you have to do in order to get away from him. Okay?”

"O....k.... I will." Thyago’s name was not one he'd associate with mortal peril but Elrin had learned not to question Vic when it came to such things. "Anything else?"

“Probably, but nothing that I can think of at the moment,” Victor conceded. “Just… be careful. If something happens to us, then until that gets sorted out, everyone on Xellos IV is depending on you.”

"I understand and I won't let you or them down. But I'd still prefer you come back alive..."

"Off the Temporal Rails"

Starring:
Cheyenne the Merc (Jeremy)
Allison Von Ernst (Chris)
James Lionel Corgan (Dallas)
and T'lan Corgan

Location: ISS Stolen Heart, somewhere in Federation Space.

The transfer wasn't fancy. A quick transporter beam to the ISS Stolen Heart, followed by a short meeting in the Cargo Bay under an armed guard of a half dozen Space Boomer deckhands with disruptor pistols. When

James waved them off, the cordial transaction continued. Accepting Cheyenne's fingerprint on the PADD, James transferred ownership of his gold pressed latinum to the mercenary.

And felt all the more broke for it.

"Great doing business with you." James shook the merc's hand, "And I'll let you know if I have any work for you in the future. You sure you don't want to stay for dinner?"

Cheyenne smiled but shook her head. "Love to, but I make it a point not to get too friendly with my clients."

"Well then..." James let go of the handshake, "Safe journey and good fortune to you."

"And to you..." She said, returning the firm handshake. Then with a cordial nod, she turned on her heel and marched right back onto her ship and took off.

~"My life's savings..."~ James mourned for the loss of his money, hiding his discontent with a friendly smile. ~"And I still don't know whether or not Alli wants to go back to Rebecca, making the whole exercise

useless. The things I do on a gamble..."~

His gamble wasn't all a loss. He had, though it was still up to a jury of his peers whether or not she qualified, his daughter back in custody. Allison, the temporally displaced teenager with a half dozen surnames, watched the transaction pass and her father treat the merc with a martial kindness, and from what he could see handled herself with a wonder and naivety of a girl that had a hard time understanding the severity of her situation. Different attitude or not, James looked at his darling daughter and felt a warmth in his chest, knowing the audacity and intelligence it took for her to take a transit through time and come back.

But was it her?

It was close enough to James to feel love and pride.

And it was a short lived feeling too, because when the mercenary Cheyenne left, T'lan stormed into the room, and with her James would know terror and pain.

From Allison's perspective, T'lan didn't look that much different from her past iteration. Vulcans aged slower than humans, making a twenty year span but a small fraction of a Vulcan's life. T'lan would still look the same twenty years later, the same toned Starfleet vet trained body, the same shamelessly bountiful femininity despite the minimalist restraints of Vulcan clothing thereby screaming 'it is illogical to be ugly'.

What was different was emotion. Lots of it. Allison last saw T'lan as a Vulcan Paragon, logical to the core, unwavering loyalty to James and Starfleet. This T'lan had some of her logic and a lot of her loyalty, but it didn't come unquestioningly. On the contrary, it had very strong questions.

"James!" T'lan fumed, too late to prevent what vexed her, "I know I told you that I trusted you to do the right thing, but did you have to spend most of our money doing it?!?!"

James shrugged. He would have a lot of explaining to do. Best it started now. "All but six bars, honey. I had to save a little orphan from the clutches of the big bad mercs."

"But James! That was our operating budget!"

"And we'll earn it back, trust me baby." James sweet talked his wife like his life depended on it, and if anyone knew the brutal cocktail of Vulcan enhanced strength and a temper best described as a 'certain and steady like a tsunami', it very well did, "It was either that or risk my girl's life, and I can't have that. Now we know's she's safe because she's with me. T'lan... have you meet Allison yet?"

He didn't need to ask. Of course T'lan knew! Vulcan memory had perfect recall, and T'lan was one of the people at Allison's birth. It was the only time she'd seen her. It was a point she was going to remind James

until she saw the little blonde princess for herself.

Alli was having a few wild emotions herself. Not only had T’lan of the 24th century been an annoying Vulcan prig, but more alarmingly she’d been somewhat of a rival for James attentions that the love-starved 16 year old had come to resent.

Corgans fascination with the blue skinned hussy Mika had been bad enough, but when little Allison saw her father almost drooling over the aforementioned ‘bountiful femininity’ of T’lan, she had felt a real pang of betrayal.

Daddy was supposed to love Mommy. That was just the way the universe was supposed to work.

Maybe Daddy had never been around while she had been growing up, but Alli was sure the reasons had to be more noble than ‘Daddy was getting some on the side’

She shook her head in abject frustration.

Her quest had been a double failure: One in the past with a young vulgar James Corgan and his Andorian fling….now in the present with an older….wiser…and still cheating James Corgan and his green blooded whore.

It was almost more than she could stand. She wished she’d never left Iceland and the safety of her delusions.

“Daddy?” she began slowly, trembling a bit as she wondered how to word this carefully…word it perfectly. “Dad….I thought you were going to come back…come back home to us?” she stole a glance at the impassive T’lan, “Come back to Mom…..and me?”

James answered grimly, "Sorry kiddo, it doesn't look like that's going to happen anytime soon. Your mom's nuttier than a bowl of cashews at the moment and after killing ten billion people at the push of a button she's become the most hated person in the universe. To top that off, 'Becca divorced me, got fed up with me being away saving the goddamn Federation all the time. I remarried to T'lan since then. This is stuff you should know. What the hell is going on..."

“STOP SAYING THAT!” Allison hissed, “My Mom is not evil! She is not in Starfleet anymore and she didn’t blow up the spuffing world okay! How could she?”

"Look." James tried to speak calmly, kneeling down to Allison as if in voice and body language he was speaking as an equal, said, "All I can tell you is what happened. I will also provide evidence. I know you don't want to hear it but it's true."

"Sir." T'lan urgently pried in, "If I may have a word."

"You don't have to ask. Of course you do. What's on your mind, love?"

T'lan went into full Vulcan explanation mode, "Victor's claimed Allison's memories didn't correspond to events that happened in our present. That includes the events she should have been aware of before her temporal transit. Her story does not match with ours."

"What are you saying?" James snapped, "That we got the wrong Allison? Or that she's in denial?"

"That would be an illogical jump to conclusions." T'lan corrected tersely, "The possibility of denial is a mere five point four five percent. Her mannerisms indicate that she sincerely believes what she is saying while lacking the characteristics of denial, such as shifting eye focus and a lack of hesitation in telling her story."

"In other words, he would have to be a hell of an actor if she was lying."

"Correct. Further more, we've been tracking her through a chronoton signature, a method though useful can be crude and imprecise. For all we known, we could have tracked a item from any other time in the future. After all, any item under time travel conditions irradiates these particles, and that would include my theory."

James asked, "Which is?"

"That we are dealing with an Allison from an alternate timeline." T'lan explained, "A timeline where you and Rebecca never divorced, where the Federation didn't split apart and start a civil war... where the Earth was never destroyed and has in fact been at peace for her brief lifetime."

The interchange was interrupted by way of the blond teenager pushing between them (T’lan perhaps receiving and extra forceful shove).

“Okay okay….time out now old people. Remember me? I’m the gal you just spent a billion bucks on, so don’t you think you better be getting your money’s worth and pay me some attention huh?”

Cocking her head to the side, Allison sighed and considered her father in a new light. Life sure was full of disappointments it seemed, but this was the fantasy she had asked for all her life. Maybe Daddy’s needed to grow up and lead their lives as well.

Her critical glare landed on T’lan, and in spite of everything All had to admit there was a certain bit of logic to the arrangement.

Daddy Corgan was already getting a bit grey at the temples, and would continue to go downhill quickly from here on out. The svelte Vulcan on the other hand could reasonably expect to remain a hottie for decades to come.

Hey…why marry somebody who’s going to get old and baggy along with you when you could be playing with perky Vulcan bits till the day you die?

Allison shook her head. “Okay Daddio.” she hooked her arm into Corgans own. “You’ve been gone for 16 years buckaroo, and we need to talk seriously about the little pony you owe me….not to mention back allowance yah?”

James grumbled, "Alli, didn't you just hear T'lan? This might not be your timeline. You might have been knocked off course. Aren't you the least bit concerned about that?"

“Blah blah blah….“ Alli made little talking motions with her hand. “Fate of the universe and timelines and stuff. Hello….I just spent a year mucking with the timeline to get a little paternal attention. Now you’re gonna go and lecture me? Lost that right 16 years ago pops when you walked out on us.“ Alli shook her head. “Oh…and another thing though,” she held up a warning finger, “No more of this comparing Mom to Darth Vader talk got it? Honestly, I spent my whole life with the woman, and I can assure you that she’s famous only for cooking really bad meatloaf, and using her math skills to make a killing on the Ferengi Stockmarket….I swear she’s a whiz with the checkbook.”

James wanted to throw his arms up in the air. "Christ girl! I just told you Rebecca killed 10 billion people. How else am I supposed to look at that? With adulation and a twinge of pride? She. Killed. Those. People! What part of that is not picking up on your scanners?"

“HEY!” Alli poked James hard in the chest, which given her aluminum nails would make for a nasty welt later on. “What part of your long lost daughter trying to communicate with you don’t YOU understand? If you want to spend a zillion dollars to hire some mercenary to kidnap me and then spend all our quality time trash-mouthing my mother then think again laser brains. She raised me…she bought me guitar lessons, she took out the trash every morning, and she listened to my run down on the 10 cutest guys in the 9th grade all without yawning once! Don’t put yourself in a contest with mom because you’re gonna lose buddy boy!”

James defensively whispered to T'lan, "What did I do?"

T'lan replied, and in an unimpressed manner directed to James, "James, you can be very insensitive sometimes. Can't you see that to this Allison, Rebecca is not a murderer? She is her mother, and she has pleasant memories of her, not like us. Try to treat those memories with respect. It is, as I can surmise, one of few pleasant memories she has."

"Christ." James swore, "I hate ending up as the asshole."

"Then give her comfort and solace. She'll accept reality in time. For now, we must have some answers. I recommend we take her to Dora. She may be able to find out."

James nodded, "Aye. Alli hasn't meet Dora yet. I bet Dora would be tickled pink... well... blue... to see her."

“Dora?” Alli asked skeptically, glancing at T’lan. “Is this another girlfriend, or another surprise half sister of mine?”

James gulped awkwardly. "Yes and no. As in yes she used to be and no she's not now. That's Dora for you. She's my new ship's computer. She was the central processor of the Temporal and Alternate Realities Transporter that brought you back to our time. I rescued her from Earth, and I used her to track you down. Would you like to meet her? She's been wanting to see you since you left Earth. She can't stop talking about you."

“You want me to be friends with your ex-girlfriend the computer?” Alli raised an eyebrow, before another thought distracted her, “Oh and another thing,” Another evil glare at T’lan, “Keep the smoochies to a minimum while I’m around okay? I mean gross me out but the sight of old people slobbering is totally un-zarky got it?”

T'lan and James took a self conscious step back from each other, snapping to a prim and proper stance, like teenagers caught in the act, or their lips turned into molten lava.

"Got it!" James backed away, making the 'hands off' gesture.

"Understood!" T'lan added.

"I wasn't going to kiss her. Honest."

"Neither was I. Inappropriate."

"Very."

"Very."

James and T'lan exchanged awkward glances. James then directed his question to Allison, "How long are we supposed to keep it up? Just within your eyesight?"

"James!"

Alli gagged. ~~Old people.~~

"eBaying for Secrets"

Commander Paul McAllister, SFI -- USS Pegasus
Sam Widdlestein

----------------------------------

<Intelligence Communications, USS Pegasus>

McAllister reviewed once again the information contained in the film-chip Ayanna had obtained for him. While not exactly what he had asked for -- but since when was intelligence an exact science -- Ayanna had obtained time travel information, in a roundabout fashion. His informant's report contained specific information on some very interesting maneuvers performed by the pirate vessel Black Pearl during the battle at Sector 001. Also contained in the record was a contact -- someone who allegedly now possessed the information on the location of Ellison Base, long believed to be the home of the Guardian of Forever. This contact, one Samantha Widdlestein, had been a member of the Black Pearl's crew and was now residing on Vulcan, of all places.

Paul had few contacts on Vulcan, but after some digging, was able to find the hostel where Ms. Widdlestein was staying. While the computer prepared a secure and encrypted channel, he removed his uniform jacket so as to not immediately appear as a Fleet officer.

When the computer indicated his comm channel was open, Paul said, "Greetings, Ms. Widdlestein. My name is Paul McAllister -- I'm not sure you remember me...

"Sure, you're the guy who had the mechanical parrot," Sam replied. "I thought about having one when I was on the Pearl but the remembered I didn't really like birds. What's up?"

"I understand you have some information for sale. If it's genuine, may I ask what the opening bid may be?"

"Got any alcohol?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Alcohol," She repeated. "Never really cared for Vulcan wines and synthehol anything is a joke. And since I stopped the pirating biz I'm a bit short on the buzz juice so..."

"Buzz juice," McAllister repeated. "I think we can arrange for something, but I would have thought you'd want something a little more --substantial?"

"I'm going through what you'd call a life change, Paul," The redhead replied. "I thought maybe I should dye my hair back to blonde but realized it was a bit more serious than that. I'd make buttons but I just haven't had the energy. The Vulcans just kill any creative spark I might have, I think. Anyway the point is that I'm not really sure what I want at the moment. Why don't you start by making me an offer?"

McAllister was beginning to think he was out of his element. Maybe she just couldn't talk right now? Did she know the secret she was safeguarding?

"I can supply transportation to a locale that might inspire your creativity," he suggested.

"Ooh, that sounds promising," Sam said. "Like where?"

Paul had what he hoped was a flash of inspiration. "I know a band that's starting a tour -- you could tag along with them until you found a place to you liking. Or, if you have a specific destination in mind, I'm sure arrangements can be made."

"Give me your coordinates and I'll check it out."

***

<Metro Theta>

"You always take me to the nicest places," Sam said dryly as she entered the room. Since she was no longer a pirate she had decided to forego her usual outfit in favor of black leather pants, black boots, and a black halter-top.

McAllister was bemused, and not a little bewildered and befuddled. Spending time with Sam was...different. He had shown her the band's last venue, accepted some advice on costuming and stage effects, introduced her to several contacts in what was left of the show business industry, and still had not managed to get a straight answer about or final price for the information Sam was supposedly marketing.

"We play were we can find a paying audience. With a war on, you can't always get the Ritz," responded Paul.

"You could with a better manager," Sam replied. "And don't even ask. I'm not up for it right now."

"Good management is hard to come by, " agreed McAllister.

"I got to give you credit," She said, checking an imaginary watch. "You still haven't asked. Definitely lasted a whole lot longer than I thought you would. I can give you the information but first I want to know what you're going to do with it."

"Beg pardon? Lasted longer than you thought? A test of tenacity and forbearance?"

Sam shrugged. "I test everyone. Nothing personal."

"Well, long story short: I intend to travel to the location specified on your map and ask some questions of a large chunk of rock. Depending on the answers, we may be able to arrange a rosier future that what's currently being served up by Hawks, Doves, Rebecca von Ernst and associated other malcontents."

"And I'm as much for the happily ever after ending as anyone but *everyone* thinks they're the good guy in their own particular fairy tale. I want the long story long, dude."

McAllister considered Sam's demand, quickly running a cost – benefit analysis in his head. The level of risk should Sam divulge what he was willing to tell her about his plans was acceptable. "Have a seat then, dudette -- this could take awhile."

Paul explained his theory -- he was beginning to wonder if he should just write a book about it -- that the reality that currently existed was far off the chain from what should be, based on several analyses begun in the 2380s and updated periodically since then. There appeared to be several causal factors, and although no one root cause had been identified, there was enough information available to begin planning a mission that unfortunately included time travel -- hence, his need to find the Guardian. McAllister glossed over some of the details, and conveniently forgot to mention Adm. Hoth's suspected involvement, focusing his remarks more on the Triad and Rebecca and Allison von Ernst.

"...and so, some of us hope to go back and tweak this time line a bit, the goal being to bring it closer in line with our 2385 predications." Paul leaned towards the young girl -- no, young woman now, and his voice quivered a bit. "There's also a personal reason, for me. My son was killed during the Hawk's first attack. He was five, just a baby really. I hope to see him live and grow-up in a better reality than this one. But, that's is secondary to the survival of Earth."

Sam nodded. "Get me a long range shuttlecraft that actually runs and I'll give you the information."

"That's it? That's all you want?" He considered her price; it was certainly reasonable, if the information she was selling was accurate. One problem: his credit of late with one Alexandra Lee-McAllister was running low when it came to time-travel ventures. He had personal credits enough locked away to purchase such a shuttle -- he' get Jazz started on the search. "That's an interesting price tag, but I can meet it," McAllister replied. "But why a shuttle?"

She grinned. "You're never going to understand women so don't bother trying. Besides if you actually succeed in this plan of yours something tells me that any money I were to get out of this exchange would be useless. Who needs money in 'happily ever after'?

"I hope you're right. But, how do I know the information is genuine, and the sale exclusive? You know I have to ask, right?"

"Get a guy you trust to look over the stuff. As for exclusive, well, you're just going to have to trust me, buddy. I mean, hello? I'm an
ex-pirate. What the hell kind of assurances can I really give here?"

McAllister smiled. At least she was honest. He extended his hand.

"Deal."

"Containment”

Captain Alexandria Lee, CO USS Pegasus

The Messenger (Capt. Ret. Alexander Clayton)

Cheyenne (Lt. Ret. Aline Leger)

*********

Main Shuttlebay, USS Pegasus.

The Messenger stood there with arms clasped behind his back as he watched the sleek black Delta Flyer ship get towed into the shuttlebay. He knew that its sole human occupant would be upset to say the least. How far gone upset she would be was something that remained to be seen.

Alex came in the shuttlebay with several security officers, armed with pulse rifles. "You better have a damn good reason for bringing a bounty hunter aboard my ship, Mr. Clayton."

“Well, considering that I’d never dream of asking you to take your ship and crew back in time on a risky venture, I decided on doing a little outsourcing.” The Messenger deadpanned, his eyes never once leaving the Interceptor as it was settling into place. He caught Lee’s dubious look and smiled. “Relax, I’ll vouch for her and I’ll keep her under wraps. She might be a merc, but she’s also the daughter of one of the finest officers I’ve ever had the privilege of serving with.”

"Then the apple had best not fall far from the tree, Mr. Clayton, because if she so much as even gets near a restricted area, I'll slap her ass in the brig so fast, she'll think shes in the second grade again. Security will be monitoring her whereabouts at all times."

The Messenger wheeled on her. “I sincerely do hope that was a wisecrack on me and not her parentage, because one thing I will not stand for is the insulting of Captain Jeremiah Leger. He was a man who had more honor in his left thumb than the entire Klingon Empire put together. I watched him valiantly make his last stand at New Texas trying to protect President Bacco.”

"I do not care who her parents were, Mr. Clayton. She is a mercenary and I will do everything in my power to protect this vessel and its crew. Either abide by my rules or I'll leave you and that merc out here by yourselves...and I doubt you'll have enough deuterium to reach the next inhabited star system."

“Good…” he said as he heard the doors to the Interceptor open up. Without a word, he then quickly glanced down, snatched Lee’s phaser, wheeled and fired it at Cheyenne, who was in the process of coming out.

Cheyenne was pissed and was coming out of her hijacked ship with a phaser in hand. She was planning on making Clayton pay for this. How dare he have the nerve to kidnap her like this. Just who did he think he was anways? What she hadn’t planned on was any kind of resistance. She heard the whine of a phaser and then was thrown off of her feet back into the side of the Delta Flyer. She let out a huff of air as the breath got knocked out of her lungs. She collapsed to the deck in a heap.

The Messenger casually tossed the phaser back over his shoulder to his startled Captain and walked over to her and kicked the merc’s phaser across the deck to the waiting security officers, who promptly confiscated it. “You’re good Aline, but you’re not that good.” He said as he knelt over her.

“You go to hell!” Cheyenne spat back up at him.

Security had their rifles trained on Clayton and the mercenary in the ready position. All they needed was Alex's order and they would fire without hesitation. Too many of her crew knew of her protectiveness of them and they returned that protectiveness as a family often does. Alex was not pleased at all at what just happened. "Mind telling me why the hell you fired without my permission, Mr. Clayton?" she asked, leveling the phaser at him.

“Because I know yon hero here and, as I’m sure you saw, she had a phaser in her hand ready to fire at anyone she would’ve thought was responsible for bringing her here.” The Messenger stated calmly as he stared down at Cheyenne. “Any denials?” he asked.

Cheyenne just growled at him.

The Messenger stood up and looked at Lee. “I assume that you would want any member of your crew to defend their fellow crewmates without the slightest bit of hesitation, yes?” he asked.

"And she would have been taken out had she even thought about raising that weapon. Also, I trust my crew. Theres not a single man or woman aboard that I wouldn't completely trust my life with and therefore I trust their decision. You, Mr. Clayton, on the other hand, have yet to fully earn my trust." She looked down at the woman lying on the deck. "Are you seriously so stupid as to brandish a weapon aboard a ship full of armed security with pulse rifles pointed at you?"

“Considering that I’ve spent my life from the time that I was fourteen in the field of Covert Operations, I’d say that the only smart person here is Captain Clayton here who anticipated my moves.” Cheyenne said with a grin. “If I were in your position, Captain, I wouldn’t have had anyone in the shuttlebay, I would’ve gassed the whole area, waited until I was unconscious, disarmed me, and then talked rather than sit out here like you were expecting a dignitary.” She said, slowly getting up and brushing herself off. “But that’s just me.” Cheyenne looked over at the line of security officers. “Standard ‘firing squad’ formation, their aims are slightly high, which meant that I could’ve taken the whole line out with a single wide beam. That leaves you and the rest of the crew assembled approximately five seconds to draw your phasers with another two seconds to acquire a target and aim by which time I would’ve already been firing on you.”

“And to think that fighting is only your second best skill…” The Messenger said evenly. “Thankfully, we only need your primary ability; piloting. Which means that you don’t need your little tonka toy in the back there…”

Alex showed the weapon to Cheyenne. "And what would you have done with your weapon? Thrown it at my guards?" she then dropped the weapon to the deck at Cheyenne's feet. "It's energy cell was drained the moment you opened your doors. My security chief, Lieutenant T'ral is quite thorough when it comes to dealing with mercs. Starfleet Security Computers...such amazing pieces of technology, wouldn't you agree?"

“Bite me.” Cheyenne said defiantly

“Well, let me do something even better to disarm our resident mercenary.” Clayton piped in. “Cheyenne here is the proud owner of one of the few remaining completely operational Templar Battlesuits. It’s primarily the secret to her success as a mercenary.” Clayton said. “Considering we won’t need that where we’re going, I’d consider it payment to you for all of your troubles with me and Cheyenne here.” He said motioning to the open hatch.

“You can’t!” Cheyenne protested as she made a move to block the hatch from anyone entering. Clayton grabbed her and shoved her back up against the hull of her ship. “That’s mine!” she screamed at him.

“No Aline, it’s mine!” Clayton said, keeping her pinned in place. “I am the one who approved the project along with Captain McKibben back on the Bainbridge, I am the one who primarily worked the suits with Lieutenant Commander Siminea and it was I who allowed you to retain possession of it even after we sent the lot of them back to Starfleet R & D.” He let her go and then looked back at Lee. “Captain, you mentioned that you don’t trust me. That’s fine. You have that right. I would like to point out though that you did trust me up until I revealed my identity to you and I’d also like to point out that I have been completely honest with you ever since you pulled me off of Earth.”

"Not entirely, as you did not reveal your true identity at first. But...I can understand your reasons. I would be ashamed of who I was as well, if I had killed countless of innocents. You must understand that my trust does not come easily, Mr. Clayton. Especially when several mercenary organizations have a bounty on me and my crew."

“I am asking you to trust me for just a little bit and then your problems will be gone.” He said and then glanced back at Cheyenne. “Both of us…” he added.

"You, Mr. Clayton, I trust, for the most part. The mercenary here, I do not. Therefore, her movements while aboard my ship will be tracked at all times. If she tries anything, I'll space both of you. Understood?

“Perfectly.” The Messenger replied. “She’ll behave because there’s no ‘profit’ in it.” He said, sneering at her. “Your father would puke at the thought of you whoring yourself out for money.”

Cheyenne got in his face, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Don’t. You. Dare. Mention. My. Father.” She said menacingly. “You’re not even half the man my father was…”

“My dear, I’m not even a quarter of the man that your father was.” The Messenger retorted. “He, like Captain Lee and her crew here, clung to the ideals that were Starfleet and the Federation while people like us turned our backs on them.” He said. He then grabbed her by the arm. “Now if you will, allow me and these fine upstanding security officers here to escort you to your room, which just happens to be across the corridor from mine.” The Messenger then manhandled her to just in front of Lee. “Consider her your Captain now for the duration of your stay.” He said.

Cheyenne swallowed hard and grudgingly looked Lee into the eyes. “Permission to come aboard…” she asked. “Captain?” she added when The Messenger nudged her from behind.

Alex looked at the young woman. Why would such a woman who looked up to her father--a Starfleet Officer, turn her back on the organization in which her father served so faithfully? Simple rebellion against parents that many children do, or was there something else? "Against my better judgment, permission granted." As they headed out of the shuttlebay and into the corridor, Alex turned to Cheyenne. "So, why exactly did you become a mercenary?"

“Why or How?” Cheyenne asked icily. When she caught Clayton’s glare from behind those damnable sunglasses of his, she frowned and decided that it’d be best to go along with things. “I left Starfleet after President Bacco was assassinated and the Federation Council started to slowly disband. Whatever organization that was responsible for my parent’s death, I no longer wanted to be a part of.” She waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder towards Clayton. “Oh sure, Clayton here came along and tried to keep me in, but I let him have it the last time I saw it.” She sighed as she glanced back over at Clayton. “You really did let me go back then, didn’t you?” she asked.

The Messenger merely nodded.

“Should’ve figured. There was no way I could’ve hit your tractor beam emitters on the Astalder that easily.” Cheyenne said, shaking her head ruefully. “And I guess that that Letter of Marque from Starfleet was your idea as well?”

“Only way I could keep tabs on you.” The Messenger said in confirmation.

"So, when the Federation was being torn apart, you did what many have done and simply ran..." 'You coward,' Alex thought to herself as she glanced at the woman. "Caring only about yourself while people with similar ideals as mine and those of my crew, died in an attempt to preserve what was left of the Federation. Ever heard of a thing called Faith? Its what keeps you going through the darkest of times. I have faith that the Federation will, one day, rise to what it once was...but that takes courage, determination, and faith. The same courage, determination, and faith that first put mankind among the stars, landing on the surface of Luna, setting up the first Lunar Colony, traveling beyond the Sol System."

Cheyenne wheeled on her. “Don’t you sit there and presume to judge me or my actions!” she yelled at Lee. “And don’t you get on your high and mighty holier-than-thou kick either. I have seen first hand what you people have done in the name of the frackking Federation and it makes me sick! Hawks, Doves, it doesn’t matter. You all are nothing more than mangy dogs, beating each other’s brains in, fighting over table scraps after the owners have abandoned the house while the wolves are at the door trying to come in!” she screamed, laying into her. “Faith!? How about common sense? Why the hell are you all spending your time fighting each other in a senseless war when the damn Triad owns half the stupid galaxy?”

"In regards to you and your line of work, I am holier than you," Alex replied, standing up to the woman. "First thing is first. Try to reason with Hawks and if they don't comply, then I will defend myself even if it means the deaths of officers and those who serve the Hawks. I have have never once wavered from my standpoint on the principles on which the federation was founded. Once the Hawks and Doves are united...or at least at peace with one another, we can then draw in on allies and then fight the Triad. The actions of my crew and I are not senseless. In fact, if we had been, your friend here, Mr. Clayton, would be lucky to have anything left of him any larger than a single cell as well as several hundred survivors...all that is left of Earth after Captain Von Ernst destroyed it. We are out here making a difference in people's lives...can you say the same, mercenary?"

Before Cheyenne could even come up with an objection or retort, The Messenger grabbed her from behind and tossed her through the doors of her assigned quarters. “As much as I love these spirited debates…” he said dryly, “I think that it’s time to end this one before Captain Lee decides to arrange a tribunal and/or firing squad.” He said over Cheyenne’s protests. He blocked Cheyenne by stepping into the doorway. “Sit down and shut up will you?” he said, pointing over her shoulder towards the sofas. He then turned back to Lee. “My apologies Captain. I promise you that I will keep her out of your hair for her brief visit here.”

Alex nodded slowly. "Very well." She sighed slowly. "Mr. Clayton, I may seem hard, but I am a fair woman...if there is something you need, please let me know."

“If You’re Going Through Hell, Keep On Going”
(Occurs concurrent with ‘Burn The Land & Boil The Sea,’)

Lieutenant Commander Rafael Dávila – Fleet Intelligence
And Guests

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Pentref Combat Zone ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“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. Stepping through the over excited atmospheric screen Rafael made sure the ramp was secure before moving off.

It was only a short walk to the airlock hatch but by the time he got there he was sweating, and not just from the exertion of walking around in an armoured suit. Entering his ID he waited as he was scanned, a nervous couple of moments while the Klingon at the other end of the scanner decided whether or not to vaporise him. It was moments like this that made Rafael wonder just why oh why in the name of the Prophets did he go to so many weird places, meet so many weird people. Starfleet’s mission used to be boldly going where angels feared to tread, nowadays most everyone’s mission was simply survival.

And this place was not conducive to survival, the environment or the inhabitants.

Breathing a sigh of relief as the door slid open Rafael stepped into the airlock and the relative safety of the compound. Wishing for a book or maybe even a chair he stood in the bare room for the duration of the long decontamination cycle, shuffling from foot to foot as the high tech steam clean did its work.

When the inner hatch ‘finally’ opened Rafael tugged at his helmet seals and took a deep breath. Though not much cooler, and certainly more rank than inside his suit it was pleasantly humid. “Morlath,” he greeted the aged Klingon who stood waiting for him.

“Bajoran.” Morlath replied, barely veiled contempt in his voice.

~ Oh Frak, he’s in a bad mood! ~ Sighing, realising he was in for yet another long arduous haggling session with the son of L’Rak, Rafael hung his helmet on his belt and stepped forward, “Bad day?” He enquired casually.

“Qu'vatlh Dove Ha'DibaH,” turning and walking away the Klingon muttered to himself as he descended several flights of stairs to the habitable levels of the compound. Following Rafael stayed silent as they walked, reaching the base of the stairs the two turned down a narrow corridor and into a nearby meeting room.

“What do you have?” Morlath snapped as he sat.

“That depends on whether you have what I asked for?” Rafael countered, leaning against the table; the suit wasn’t really designed to sit down in.

Dropping a chip on the table Morlath grunted, “Specs for that antique you use,” he confirmed. “What do you have!”

“Codes for the planetary defence network on Helion,” Rafael offered, dropping his own isolinear onto the table, “current for the next eight solar days.” Not that the network was much of a threat, but it was one of the few around that was still even partially functional, and capturing it intact would make any fleet commander reasonably happy. Add to that Helion was a fairly tempting target anyway.

Frowning Morlath looked at the rod suspiciously, “That’s a lot of valuable information there,” he remarked, “what else do you want?”

“Just information, current affairs, anything you might have as usual. There’s a lot going on right now, I’m trying to stay informed.” Speaking as casually as he could he kept his eyes off the chip on the table, despite wanting to grab it and run.

Nodding as if that made sense, “I’ll see what we have.” Morlath grunted as he pulled out an old and cracked PADD and typed for a moment.

“Dávila!” Turning at the surprised shout Rafael cursed the Prophets as he looked out the open door, and then silently cursed anyone else he could think of as he spotted the source of the cry. Spencer. Most definitely not a Klingon, but possibly almost as bad.

A Hawk. And being here with ‘these’ Klingons probably meant only one thing, an alliance between the renegade Klingon forces and the Hawks. Definite bad news. Bad with a capital ‘BAD’! Most pressing was the level of crud it was about to potentially drop him into right now, less urgent was the overall impact on local politics.

Local politics though was the last thing on Rafael’s mind as he watched Spencer approach, “What the hell are you doing here!” Spencer asked harshly as he halted before Rafael.

“I could ask you the same,” Rafael replied, his mind racing. If Spencer was here, and most obviously not a prisoner then things were about to take a nose dive straight to the blue hells and beyond.

Turning to the Klingon Spencer angled a thumb in Rafael’s direction, “What’s ‘he’ doing here?”

“We trust Dávila,” Morlath replied gruffly, “so if you wish to work with us then I suggest you do the same. He told us of the Archive somewhere on this planet so-”

“He what?” Spencer interrupted suddenly, facing Rafael, “But I thought you-”

~ Oh Frak! ~ Rafael cursed silently in the dark corners of his mind as he watched the thoughts literally flash across Spencer’s face. He didn’t need to be a telepath to figure out what was going on in Spencer’s mind, the thoughts were right there, etched all over his ugly face. ~ Of all the ill timed luck! ~ Rafael bitched.

One hand closing on the chip with the schematics Rafael clenched his other hand tight, breaking the seal over several tiny filaments embedded on his glove. Closing his eyes he winced as even through his eye lids he saw the massive flash that emanated from his suit. Old fashioned perhaps, he mused as he opened his eyes, but effective. Blinded by the light the Klingons and Spencer were disorientated, not for long but long enough for him to grab his helmet and do what he should have done a long time ago.

Run like hell!

Shouldering his way past Spencer Rafael knocked him to the ground as he hit the corridor running. Stuffing the chip into his suit he secured his helmet as he ran, well, stumbled along at a slightly faster than walking pace. The armoured suit was designed for many things, safety, emergencies and security chief amongst them. Speed and comfort were not part of the design.

Hearing shouting from up ahead Rafael drew a pair of disruptors from his thigh pockets and, without hesitation or warning began laying down a steady stream of covering fire in front and behind him. There was he realised, a slim chance he could have talked his way out of this, sat down and come up with some explanation for Spencer and the Klingons and dealt with this rationally.

There was also the slim chance that the Galaxy would stop rotating and the stars would spontaneously form into a pattern big enough to allow denizens of the Andromeda Galaxy to read, ‘Eat at Joes; Best Bar & Grill on Feron!’

Ducking into a doorway Rafael traded shots with a pair of Klingons who were blocking his exit then followed the blasts up with a grenade. Ducking back he let the explosion wash up and down the corridor, and then stepped out, firing at random down side passages, not really aiming, just spraying fire randomly towards movement or doorways. He had at best thirty seconds before a general alarm sent every Klingon in his direction with rising blood lust and a massive arsenal of weapons.

That thought alone was enough to spur him into a burst of speed up the stairs to the exit hatch, firing down as he went.

Checking his suit as he breathlessly reached the top of the stairs Rafael flipped another grenade towards the inner airlock door and dropped down below the top step. The rising noise level from below was drowned out briefly as the micro anti matter charge, a few atoms, but enough to obliterate the door in a hail of lethal shards. Tossing another grenade towards the outer door he stayed low as the outer door went the same way as the inner, letting the atmosphere outside come rushing in suddenly.

~ And that should hold anyone downstairs at bay, ~ he realised, ~ At least until they unseal the lower doors or find a suit. ~ Stepping into the murky atmosphere he moved at his frustratingly slow pace to the KittyKat, sending the occasional shot back to the airlock. Someone was either desperate, pissed off or suited up already as the occasional shot flashed passed him, lighting up the toxic gasses around him.

Stumbling around the shuttle and up the open cargo ramp he turned to close the ramp, only to find it already happening. “Aurora, get us the hell out of here ‘NOW’!” Rafael roared as he ripped his helmet off.

“What the K’hest happened down there Dad!” Miranda yelled from above as the KittyKat lurched to one side suddenly.

Quickly stripping the smoking suit off Rafael hurled the pieces into a storage case as the little ship bucked under him. Locking the offensive suit away for now he headed up and forward, hanging onto the ladder as the ship rocked Rafael clawed his was to the upper deck, then staggered forward, holding onto one wall for support as the little ships artificial gravity and inertial dampeners failed to keep up with Aurora’s erratic flight pattern.

“We got screwed, that’s what happened!” He snapped as he dropped into the pilots seat, “Frakking Klingons down there have allied with the Hawks, we were dealing when a Hawk, Spencer I think, wandered into the meet. Damn riot broke out there and then.” Taking manual control Rafael veered the little ship between two low hills to mask them from the AA batteries and slowed a little, “I think the Hawks are gonna be pissed!” He decided. It was inevitable really, years of playing the sides eventually someone was bound to catch on.

“Did you get it?” Aurora asked urgently.

Tugging the small chip from a pocket Rafael plugged it in and let Aurora analyse the data, “You tell me.”

“Get what?” Miranda asked irritably as Aurora read.

“Complete schematics for the cloak.” Rafael explained as he nosed the little ship higher and brought the impulse thrusters online, sending them skywards through multiple sonic booms.

“For the cloak?” Miranda queried, obviously confused, “we’ve kept it working okay up to now, why in the name of all that’s holy did you risk meeting these animals for ‘that’!”

“Because, without these... we’ll have no hope of sending your mother a message in twenty three eighty five.” Rafael admitted.

“Twenty three... Mother! Dad, we talked this through!” She protested.

“Yes, we did,” he agreed, “and so I decided we’re going to do it anyway.”

“So Many Worlds, So Much To Do, So Little Done”

Lieutenant Commander Rafael Dávila – Fleet Intelligence
Miranda Burton – Civilian (Slave)
Aurora – KittyKat AI

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Warp Shuttle KittyKat ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“You’re serious about this?” Miranda asked, disbelief plainly evident in her voice and written all over her face.

“Yup,” Rafael admitted, “and Aurora’s on board as well, we ‘can’ do this.” He announced firmly. “But as you’re so fond of reminding me, this is your ship, so it’s your call.” Exiting the toxic atmosphere of Pentref Rafael brought the warp drive online and took them to warp, wanting to put as much distance as he could between them and the pissed off Klingons downstairs.

“And you’re going along with this half baked idea?” Miranda accused Aurora. Bad enough her father was off on another of his flights of fancy, but for him to have persuaded the ships AI, that was a new one.

“With some work, we’re confident it has a high chance of success.” Aurora admitted. “Sending a signal back in time will be vastly easier than sending a person. All we need do is locate a comm relay and target that. The local network will do the rest for us, it’ll route the signal to the Galaxy, and from there to the KittyKat at that point in time. We have all of your Mothers old codes, so we use them, and the data stream will have an auto initiator for the program to reassemble the data packets into a usable format.”

“And you’re sure you can actually ‘transmit’ through time?” Miranda asked, her lack of enthusiasm clear.

“With a high probability of success, yes.” Aurora replied smugly, “your father actually had a good idea for a change,” ignoring his muttered protests she continued, smirking at him as she did, “the chroniton density on the emitter arrays will be the difficult part, but we think we have that solved. Routing the comm signal through the transporters annular confinement beam will add coherency, all we need do is figure out how to target the signal temporally, and the notes from the Defiant have given us some ideas there.”

Shaking her head at the two of them Miranda sighed, “In all the years we’ve been wandering around, avoiding wars, stealing, playing people against each other and generally trying not to get killed, this ‘has’ to be the wildest idea you two have ever agreed on.” The fact though they were both in complete agreement with each other was starting to annoy her. As long as Aurora had been opposed she had some arguments, now though.

“Ah hell! Dad, I swear, if this doesn’t work ‘you’re’ rebuilding everything we cannibalise!” Capitulating with that statement Miranda thumped her console into life with a frustrated smack. “What’s first?”

“I get to work. You and Aurora need to create a spore of her program and prep it for transfer. Primary components get a higher priority and more copies, so figure out what’s more important and get data packets set up for transmitting.” Standing Rafael headed aft, “I’ve a few days work here, so stick at the helm and keep us out of trouble.”

~ Which would be a nice change! ~ He thought as he walked away, staying out of trouble was a virtual impossibility with sporadic violence erupting wherever you looked.

“I’ll get a..” Aurora started to say, only to have Miranda cut her off.

“No. Let me think a moment.” She ordered the AI curtly. Travelling back in time had seemed like a fantasy up to now. But now they were not only considering it, but actually preparing to send her mother information that could save her life, she needed a moment.

Five years was a long time to grow up without your mother, especially when she had died when you were ten. So many times she’d wished her mother was there to help her, answer questions her father couldn’t. Hold her when she was scared.

So many things she wanted to say, to ask.

“Aurora, how hard is it to create an engrammatic personality clone?” She asked after a long silence, “To create an AI based on a real personality and memories.” If she couldn’t go, perhaps there was a way to at least let her mother know the things she wanted her to know.

“It’s not easy,” Aurora cautioned, “and technically illegal, though who’s going to enforce the law is beyond me. We have the equipment... What are you considering?” Looking at Miranda the AI frowned, it didn’t take a genius of her calibre to figure it out really, she only asked out of curiosity in case she was wrong.

Looking at Aurora’s hologram with a raised eyebrow Miranda smirked, “Aurora, if you need to ask that...” leaving the sentence hanging she chuckled, “you know exactly what I’m thinking. Can we do it?”

“Yes, we can, though the data packet will be huge. We’ll have to compress the file and hope we can send enough copies to make sure the reconstruction has a good chance.” Fading slightly as she thought Aurora’s image was occasionally obscured by text and images that flashed across her, after a moment her figure solidified and she nodded, “head down to the cargo bay, I’ll need you to find some equipment and hook it up in the med bay.”

“You’ve got the conn then,” Miranda ordered as she stood, “will this take long?”

“That young lady depends on just how much of yourself you want to send.” Aurora replied curiously, “personality only, or memories as well?”

“Aurora, I’m sending my Mother a message to try and save her life, how much do you think I want to send?” Miranda asked wryly.

“I’d better clear some storage space.” Aurora sighed.

"Reminiscing"

Captain Daneel Olivaw
CO USS Eldritch

Currently aboard Shivar's ship, Resolved

==Observation Lounge==

Daneel stared into space wondering where this trip was going to take him.

He'd been on some really strange ones in the past. He was a Starfleet
captain and strange 'was' in the job description not too far from
'risk'.

He could easily tap into someone's mind and find out but that was
against his ethics. Still, even with his mental shields on high it was
hard to not to pick out bits and pieces from the various 'loud'
thinkers on the Resolved.

There was definitely something brewing and it had nothing to do with
Jaal's plans to try and end the civil war.

And where the hell had Jaal sent him anyway?

As the Betazoid captain's mind wondered it fell into a cache of old
memories. Back then, things, as they often do, seem much simpler than
present day. They were memories of better times and victories and a
hopeful future.

\/\/\/\/\/ <flashback> \/\/\/\/\/

(From: USS Miranda, Season 9, Episode 76, Into The Light, shortly
after a Section 31 coup of the Federation government is thwarted)

"Double Date In Paris"
Cmdr. Jaal Jaxom
LtCmdr Taalis (written by Lisa)
Lt JG Anjoli D'Bari (written by Scott C.)
&
Capt. Daneel Olivaw

==Le Jules Verne Restaurant, Eiffel Tower, Paris==

"The prestigious Jules Verne Restaurant is located on the second floor
and has its own private elevator access (south pillar). Sitting in the
heart of this intricate iron structure full of angles and
perspectives, the Jules Verne looks out over Paris from 125 meters
above ground." -From the Eiffel Tower's Official Website.

After a full day of site seeing a quadruplet of Starfleet officers
that helped save the Federation from the evils of Section 31 decided
it was time for dinner.

Anjoli had been talkative for the whole day. Paris was her favorite
Terran city, and she had spent a lot of time there. Her choice of
attire for the day had been simple--bronze mini and halter top outfit
and her best pair of comfortable sandals.

Occasionally during the day, a bit of melancholy took over Anjoli for
the briefest of time before she would shake it off. The reminder of a
lost love was everywhere here, but she told herself that she had moved
on....

Having never actually been to Paris before, Jaal was quite excited
most of the day. He marveled at the ancient landmarks and took
pictures of most of them. "Can you check out this view?" The Trill
asked looking out the windows they were seated by.

His friend and captain of the USS Eldritch replied simply with, "Yes,
as a matter of fact, I can." The Betazoid chuckled lightly. He nudged
Anjoli with his elbow, "You'll have to excuse my friend. He's always
been quit a spaz."

Taalis didn't know what 'spaz' meant exactly, though logic stated that
it was probably something somewhat derogatory. "Allow us to have
sight seer's gawk," she said with a smile hoping she got that
particular bit of language correct.

"Nonsense, Daneel. I admire a man that can revel in the simple things
of life, such as this exquisite view." Anjoli said with a teasing
tone. "It's easy in our path of life to become jaded. Of course, for
me it is--unavoidable." she joked, running a finger along an extended
forearm of green flesh.

The Betazoid understood what his emerald companion meant and also
sensed she didn't wish to dwell on it now. Instead of asking about it,
Daneel smiled back at Taalis. "But of course ... and allow me to
relive some old habits from our academy days. Back then, your husband's
usual reply would have been..." thinking better of repeating it in a
fine restaurant he waved his hand dismissively. "Never mind, it would
ruin this wonderful ambiance."

Jaal's gaze turned from the windows to his old friend. "Finally Dany,
you're starting to show some class for a change," the Trill retorted
with a wink.

"As long as I don't lose my eyebrows in a purple flash, I don't mind
some return to Academy days," Taalis grinned.

Anjoli turned with amusement to the lovely vulcanoid, touching her
hand gently with her own. "Now *that* sounds like an amusing tale...."
she said with delight.

"Amusing now.", Taalis chuckled, "But then not quite. Jaal was quite
the prankster then and I had been tricked into setting off the prank."

A playful expression appeared on Daneel's face. "Yes, indeed. It 'is'
an amusing tale." He looked expectantly at Jaal.

The Trill's face flushed slightly. Everyone but Anjoli knew the story.
"Well," Jaal gave an innocent shrug, "It was a chemistry experiment
that got ... a little outa hand. It was a prank that was originally
meant for Daneel. It backfired and Taalis bore the brunt of it." He
looked to his wife, "They did grow back though."

Anjoli covered her amused grin with her fingers. "You are quite
fortunate, Jaal....to mar the face of Taalis would be a crime against
beauty itself."

Jaal chuckled a little nervously, "Don't I know it."

"It could've been worse. My eyebrows could've grown back purple,"
Taalis said wryly.

"Or not at all. I hate when that happens...." Anjoli chuckled.

"And that was mild compared to some of the other stuff he pulled," Daneel added.

Jaal's nose crinkled, "Ya know, I think it's best we don't dwell on
the past too much here." His face took on the flush that was there a
few minutes ago.

Thankfully the waiter arrived to take their orders.

Taalis had perused the menu when they entered and ended up going with
Altair water and a simple steak and potato done New York black and
blue.

Jaal frowned, "We're in 'France' honey, c'mon, order something
French," his eyebrows wriggled up and down playfully, " ... like
french fries."

Daneel shook his head, 'Some things never change.' It was obvious to
the Betazoid his friend was screwing with either his wife or the
waiter, knowing Jaal it was both.

The waiter rolled his eyes in disgust.

Anjoli was amused that three highly and experienced Starfleet officers
with extensive training in cultural sensitivity could mangle contact
with a native culture with such aplomb. She then realized that no one
at the table was a Terran. The French were likely to start a war over
such a thing--but surrender just as quickly. "Perhaps I should order
for all of us....." Anjoli offered. She looked up at the waiter with a
pleasantly sultry glance. With only a hint of accent, she began to
speak the Terran's native accent.

Anjoli ordered in French...

"<Waiter....we shall have....Kir and cheese for our apertief, canapes,
hummm....souffle au frommage....Faux-Filet au Poivre for the main
course ... mousse au Chocolat for dessert.>" She smiled up to the
waiter once the selection was made. "<I look forward to seeing the
renowned skill the French have for making a meal a wonderful event,
from the exquisite skill of the chef to the delightful attendance of
the waitstaff.>" She took a sip from her drink, with a raised eyebrow.
"<Impress me.>"

"Oui, 'oui,' mademoiselle," the waiter smiled widely at the emerald
woman. As he turned to put their order in he shot a quick scowl at
Jaal and headed, presumably, to the kitchen.

Jaal grinned slyly, "So," he asked Anjoli, "What didja order us?"

Anjoli sat back in her chair and swirled her wine. "For you, a
hamburger... For the the truly civilized--that's the rest of us,
Jael--sirloin steak with peppers, cheese souffle, and the most
delightful invention the French have to offer civilization since the
kiss--chocolate mousse for dessert."

Jaal's nose crinkled a little as his brow furrowed, "Thanks ... I think."

Meanwhile, Daneel chuckled out loud. "Enjoy your chopped steak burger
my friend."

Jaal's eyes narrowed slightly, "Oh, I will. How about a salad with
French dressing to go with it."

Daneel wagged an admonishing finger at the Trill, "Tut tut monsieur,
I know what you're thinking ... and I don't think that would go over
too well here. We're supposed to be on our best behavior." Then to his
date he added, "I always ended up getting Jaal out of trouble back in
the day. I didn't mind though, his next prank would always be more
elaborate and funnier than the last."

"Oh, Daneel....you're only encouraging him." Anjoli mock pouted.
"Pulling a stunt here would only taint French relations with Starfleet
for generations to come......"

"And that would be bad how come?" Daneel teased.

"They could withdraw from the Federation....and where would we get
French Toast after that, I ask you? Or French Ticklers, for that
matter? Think of the children!" Anjoli laughingly pled to the Betazoid
next to her with hands clasped in prayer.

"What's a French Tickler?" Taalis had to as since she'd not heard the
word before.

Daneel blinked a couple of times then looked at Taalis' husband, "She
really doesn't know?"

Jaal shrugged. He looked at Taalis with raised eyebrows then to his
Betazoid friend. "I guess... not." His grin took on a sly quality,
"Although it's not like we've ever needed one."

Anjoli just shook her head slowly with a sad expression. "Jaal...I'm
very disappointed in you. A man of your obvious qualities ignoring
your wife's education to the finer things in life."

Jaal's eyes widened a bit with embarrassment. "But..." the nerve to
finish the sentence never showed up.

Daneel laughed out loud causing several others at surrounding tables
to look their way in bafflement.

With a reassuring pat to Taalis's hand, Anjoli smiled with pity."My
dear, before this day is through, you and I are going shopping."

By now Taalis had well figured out what a tickler was and while she
didn't see the need for assistive implements during intimacy as long
as flesh served the purpose, just seeing what was out there and
possibly giving it a try couldn't hurt.

"As long as we can stop at that leather goods store we passed, it's a
shopping trip," she replied with a smile.

"Done and done." Anjoli saluted her with her wine. "My kind of woman."

Jaal looked pleadingly to the other male at the table for some
support. Daneel only shrugged saying, "Ladies will be ladies. You
should now better by now old friend."

Anjoli looked to Taalis, ignoring the boys for a moment, but knowing
they were listening.

"My dear....there is a world out there awaiting you. I have such
things to show you..."

Anjoli's words reminded Taalis of an ancient Terran movie where she'd
heard something along the lines of 'We have such sights to show you'.
It made her smile, "And I look forward to seeing."

Daneel nudged Jaal with a wink. "This could be good for you ya know,"
he whispered to his friend. "Anjoli knows 'a lot'."

Jaal smiled slyly and whispered his reply. "I know."

The waiter brought each entree with a flourish, making the meal a true
event for all to remember fondly.

As they sat awaiting the final course, the delicious chocolate mousse....

Anjoli swirled her wine in contemplation as she looked to her dining companions.
"Recent days had brought so much chaos and misfortune to the world."
she said softly. "But thanks in part to those sitting at this
table.....the long dark night would now have an exquisitely beautiful
dawn."

"To the Federation....and absent friends." she toasted, lifting her
glass in salute.

Taalis raised her glass as well and joined the toast. Jaal and Daneel
followed suit. There was a brief clink of glasses and everyone sipped
the exquisite wine.

The Trill became quiet and introspective. Daneel noticed it as surely
as Taalis did. The Betazoid was the first to ask about it.

"Daneel," Jaal began, "Do you think Section 31 is really gone?" It was
apparent by his tone that he didn't believe it anymore than than the
Earth was flat.

Daneel looked down at his glass and spun it around by it's base when
he answered, "Honestly, I don't think so. Even with Murdock's list of
their membership we can't have caught all who are sympathetic to their
ideals. They're crippled for sure but I don't think the dragon is
dead, not yet anyway."

Anjoli swirled her own wine, sniffing the aroma before commenting. "A
wise human once said....the price of freedom is eternal vigilance."
She touched Daneel's hand softly. "As for mythic monsters from Terra's
past...perhaps the hydra is most appropriate. Cut off one head...and
two replace it. All we can do...and those that follow us...is keep
swinging."

Jaal said nothing for a change but nodded solemnly at the sentiment.
They could never tire, never stop being vigilant.

Taalis nodded in agreement. Considering how long Section 31 had been
around, it only was logical that they'd have some sort of contingency
plan to endure after they'd been attacked on a serious level.

Daneel gave Anjoli's hand a light squeeze and his black irises focused
exclusively on her. "Indeed. We will."

"Ohhhhh booy," Jaal whispered to Taalis, "I 'know' that look."

Anjoli nodded, her jaw set with the idea of always being on the
lookout for danger.

"So," Daneel started ready to change the subject, "What are the after
dinner plans?" His eyes were still beaming in Anjoli's direction.

Anjoli finished the last of her wine and sat back. "Well, I'm up for
just about anything....I'm still too wound up from the last few days
to relax just yet." She gave Daneel a smile with a raised eyebrow. "As
a Starfleet captain, you've probably had special training to relax at
a moment's notice...."

"In fact I do," Daneel replied smoothly, "and I can show you also."

Jaal chuckled, "I think that's our cue to be scarce now," he told
Taalis watching his friend and the Miranda's CMO amused expression.

Anjoli smiled wantonly as she signaled the waiter.

"Contrôle svp!"

"We could also split up so the men can do something and us women can
do something else," Taalis suggested.

"What a wonderful idea...." Anjoli clapped her hands together. "That
way once we're finished we shall have the remainder of the evening
free for other delightful pursuits."

/\/\/\/\/\ </flashback> /\/\/\/\/\

"Hélas ! La France est allée !" Daneel thought sadly.

"Command"

Captain Alexandra Lee

Lee sat in her command chair on the bridge of the Pegasus. The alert panels glowed a steady yellow with crews at their assigned posts. "Captain, there is an incoming message from Command for you."

"On screen."

The view screen turned from the image of streaking stars to that of a older man with long white-pepper hair and a uniform indicating the rank of Admiral. The man's eyes, despite his age, appeared clear and strong. A face that harbored many years of stress, and conflict. Alex stood up immediately. "Admiral Akaar. It is an honor to speak with you."

"The honor is mine, Captain Lee. We are assembling what ships we can afford to join you in the defense of the Miranda. Intelligence reports show that the SHIVA may be at the specified coordinates and attempting to intercept the Miranda as well. We believe Von Ernst may be going after her daughter."

"Are you telling me that crazy bitch destroyed Earth just because she is looking for her daughter?"

Akaar nodded solemnly. "It appears so, captain. However, I am calling to inform you that I am placing you in charge of this fleet."

"Me, sir? May I ask why? I haven't been a captain as long as some of the others..."

Akaar chuckled. He knew many captains would jump at the chance of such a command--which is precisely why he and a few other surviving admirals had chosen Lee. "Because you still fight for and uphold the Federation's goals and ideas. You are also a good captain with a good ship and loyal, dedicated crew."

Alex was at a lost for words but cleared her throat and spoke. "Yes sir. It will be my honor to lead the Dove Fleet into battle against the SHIVA and Hawk Forces."

"Good. Just remember that your main goal is to protect the Miranda, Captain Jii, and his crew while they attempt this time travel."

"So...you believe this timeline isn't the correct timeline, sir?" Alex asked, wondering if maybe, just maybe her husband wasn't completely crazy.

Akaar let out a slow sigh and leaned back in his chair. "Captain Lee, I hope they are right and if they are successful in restoring the timeline, if it was tampered with back to noraml...and then maybe so many lives would not have been lost is such a costly war. Perhaps we would not be fighting ourselves...and maybe the Federation would still be present, as well as Earth."

Alex nodded slowly as she took in the admiral's decision and order. "Very well, admiral. We won't let you down."

A grin crossed Akaar's face as he nodded. "I know you won't, captain. God speed."

The view screen went back to the image of streaking stars. As Alex turned, she saw the faces of her crew, most with a look of confusion at the conversation they had just overheard. Alex wasn't sure how her crew would take it. They were now, only mere hours from battle..a battle to avenge those lost on Earth...to avenge the deaths of so many...to avenge time itself, it appeared. Time had been described both as a friend in which guided you on your journey, reminding you how prescious life truely was, and as a monster, who hunted you down until it calimed your life into its grasp. "Ladies and gentlemen...Command believes that this timeline may not be our correct timeline...that perhaps, this war should have never started. If this is true, then millions, if not billions of lives may be saved. We do not know what the other timeline, if there is one, holds for each of us. But I know that here and now, I am Captain Alexandra Lee, commanding officer of the Pegasus...the Pegasus, a name of a mythical winged horse ridden by Bellerophon in Greek Legend. This name has a long and proud tradition behind it and you are its crew...a crew I have come to see not as simply officers and crewmen, but as a family...my family, you and the ideals of the Federation is what matters to me, and is what I will fight for. I ask that you have faith and let time never forget the name or the crew of the Pegasus."

Alex's first officer, Commandr Moonblood, stood from his chair and stepped next to Alex. "I will fight with you, as I always have, captain."

"Thank you."

Her Andorian Tactical Officer remained at his station but spoke. "I will serve you faithfully, as always captain," he replied with a slight nod of the head.

"As will I, captain," replied Ensign Cathers from the Helm station behind her.

"Me too, captain. Same here, captain. I'm with you, captain. Lets kick some SHIVA ass, captain," the other other officers present aboard the bridge spoke up.

The latter commant made Alex smile. "Indeed, lets show Von Ernst and her Hawks just what the Pegasus is able to do."

"Captain," T'ral spoke up. "I have been studying the SHIVA's weapons systems and defenses from our sensor logs at the battle over Earth. Her defenses focus mainly around combating larger vessels, such as capital ships, and not smaller vessels such as fighters and shuttles."

"Good work, T'Ral." She turned towards Cathers. "Ensign Cathers, ready all availiable shuttles, runabouts, and fighters for emergency launch. We're going to launch everything we have at the SHIVA."

"Aye, captain," Cathers replied, immediately sitting back down in his seat and began punching in the commands to the shuttlebay work crews.

T'ral spoke up again. "I'm picking up several vessels...they're showing up as Dove ships. Its the Constitution, Stargazer, George Washington, Bellerophon, Excalibur, Columbia, and the Trafalgar.

The Pegasus and its crew were now ready for the upcoming battle, as the Dove ships began to join up with the Pegasus.

"Children of a Lesser Corgan"

Starring:

Allison Von Ernst (Chris)

James Lionel Corgan (Dallas)

T'lan Corgan

Location: The Computer Core, ISS Stolen Heart, somewhere in Federation Space

The new setup of the computer core room looked like a macabre spectacle lifted from a Borg Cube. The lights were dimmed to minimum, giving the room a haunted, ghostly pallor, as Federation greys and beiges were muted by the intrusion of an electronic jungle, its vines strewn on the floor and crawling up the walls, metal glinting with the reds and whites of display screens reading out near indecipherable script and unknown graphs.

A mashup of alien and Federation technology co-related into a silver metal coffin, the trunk and origin of the metal roots.

Inside the open topped tomb rested the diminutive, sunken eyed, anemic heart of the process, the biological processing unit called 'Dora'.

From her perspective, being a ship's computer was exciting. She had plenty to do, following the orders of the ship's crew via their console commands. She allocated power to key systems, made sure they were functioning within normal parameters.

She saw the universe through sensors; the stars, the asteroids and the planets with accompanying compositions. She felt the universe brush her through the deflector array, the particles tickled her skin like goosebumps. She calculated, monitored and adjusted the Stolen Heart's warp transits, the advanced mathematics behind it were no more difficult than temporal theory. And she spoke, on behalf of others and whenever asked, through the ship's subspace transmitters on the outside and the comm units within.

Overall she had no complaints about being a starship. It was rather pleasant. Her body could move, not like the last one. It could see, though it didn't see time it did see the here and now and that was less overwhelming for her senses to handle.

And she was appreciated. There were some with apprehensions, but it was better than Hawksley Temporalwerks. There, with the exception of her caretaker, everyone around her treated her like a piece of equipment, best used but ignored. With the Sad

Man liberating her, and the crew at least acknowledging that she was a living thing with a personality, she felt a sense of self realization that was hard to grasp back on Alpha Centauri.

She was Dora. She was a ship's computer. She had people who loved her and would love them back. She had a purpose again. It was not the same as before. At Hawksley Temporalwerks, she had a purpose. Watch The Traveller. Provide her the path. Easy.

Once she travelled, watch. Do nothing else. Mind numbing fatigue. Constant.

Here, her purpose wasn't so straining and she was appreciated for it.

But in her mind, it nagged in the corner. What was The Traveller doing? She was gone a long time, and the ship didn't have the temporal scanners her old body did. Though she could track The Traveller by chronotons, those limited temporal senses leaving her worried due to an incomplete picture. The signature came on board then... nothing.

Outside sensors were superior to those indoors. It was like looking an an object an inch from one's face. The image blurred.

The focus was gone.

Until she heard with biological ears and antennae, saw it through the haze of light sensitive, damaged biological eyes.

"Traveller!" Rasped the disused, voicebox enhanced excitement of Dora. "The Sad Man brought The Traveller home!"

The hissing of doors announced the arrival of Captain Corgan and his small party.

The grey haired old warrior approached the Computer core without hesitation, flanked to his left by the svelte figure of his doting Vulcan wife.

The third arrival however, in the form of young blond Allison von Ernst hung back a bit. Her stylish heels clicked too loudly in her ears as she hugged the perimeter of the stark echoing room.

"Hey Dora!" James greeted his computer like he would a close friend, "What happened to your voice? You used to stutter?"

"I...." Dora's excitement was muted, "Sorry. Biological systems restoring. Adjustments are completing. I will be whole again. Traveller! Where is she? I must see her."

Unconsciously edging closer to her father, Alli peered over his shoulder in horror. “Oh gross dad….its that zombie thing from the planet I landed on? “ her thoughts drifted back to the muck-coverd Mika Machine that had heralded her arrival in this nightmare of a universe, “She was all oozy and gross and who knows what.” She shuddered. “Don’t tell me you got some sort of Silence of the Lambs thing going on with turning your ex-girlfriends into the living dead.”

"Oh!" James smacked himself on the forehead, Dora overreaction meant she winced, "Alli, Dora. Originally she was the centrepiece of your time travel device. She kept watch over you in the past timeline and waited for your return... Until Earth blew up and her the time machine with it. It's a miracle she survived. I picked her up, jacked her in when my computer fried, and she's been with me since." James sat on the edge of the tomb. Dora reached out, and James took her hand for a moment, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Dora then let go, and reached out to Allison, "Don't let her creep you out and try to be nice. She may look like my old ex-fiance, but she is for all intents and purposes a whole new personality, as emotionally developed as a young child. Those butchers at Hawksley Industries wiped what little could be salvaged of Mika's personality and put in their own. Kinda like reformatting a isolinear chip."

Alli stood quite still. Her inner revulsion waged war with a new realization that her memory of the past did not jive with reality. “No….no thats not possible. I didn’t go through any time machine. In fact I never saw your dead girlfriend until a few days ago when I got back. Mom had Uncle Lysander build me a spiffy Warp-shuttle to slingshot around a blackhole…that’s how I got to the past.”

She thought wistfully back to how rudely she had treated her mom at the time of parting. Allison had ram-rodded the trip down her mothers throat in a desperate attempt to mke her paternal fantasies come true. ‘Either you help me or Im going to get Uncle Luysander to do it for me.’ she had spat. That was all it took. Rebecca had never been entirely comfortable with Lysander van der puls Hawksley’s grasp on quantum mathematics.

She shook her head sadly at the memories.

James talked in an apologetic tone, "Either your mom and Lysander's keeping secrets from me, or T'lan's right, but as far as I know you hopped a ride on The Mika Machine. Slingshotting was deemed too hazardous, and system defense sensors would have picked it up. A chronoton transporter has the advantage of being covert, and the DNA Lock could keep you monitored and pull you back even if there were changes in the timeline, just branch the changes over to another alternate thread. Heck... that's why Lysander built the damn thing for Protocol 34. A covert time machine would be a perfect weapon. I can only tell you what I know, and what I know is Lysander was stupid enough to throw you in."

Seeking out a nearby chair, Allison sank into it stretching out her long legs in weariness. True Lysander was a bit odd, but his lifelong crush on Mom prevented him from ever doing anything to hurt her darling daughter. Still…things were not jiving.

“Well I’m telling you that’s how it happened. “ she said aloud, “Mom did the calculations for the jump herself. Heck…sat at the kitchen table and rechecked her work three time! Have you even known mom to ever recheck her figures? Geez…what do you think I’ve been trying to tell you all this time? Mom can't have gone to the Dark side because she’s supposed to be waiting for me back at the blackhole….Roarks Rift they called it. Oh man oh man she’s probably wondering why I never showed up…she’s gonna spazz.”

"Roarke's Rift?" T'lan asked, "The Devil's Graveyard? There's nothing but dead ships in there. It has no strategic value."

"Rebecca's not the sentimental type, T'lan. Hell, she went to tactical school in the Wolf 359 graveyard. And besides, strategic value's not needed for a slingshot maneuver."

Allison was confused. There were a thousand questions, and the freaky dead eyed stares from the Corpse-Bride over there wasn’t making things easier. “That makes no sense….even if what you’re saying is true how could zombie girl miss me? From your perspective I was only gone an hour or two. Mom plotted it out that I’d get back almost the same time I left. I mean I was in the past for a year, but I’ve only been gone from here a short while."

James and T'lan looked at each other. James clarified, "From our perspective, you've been gone for years. Hell, the Federation was falling apart. We were hoping you'd stay in the past. We even tried to nudge you to an alternate reality so you wouldn't have to witness the war again. We even tried to hijack The Mika Machine to make sure we could get you back just in case. But two hours? No, I'm afraid not. Our little temporal conspiracy has lasted for years."

"Years?" Allison cocked her head sideways, turning slightly in her chair, "I’m only 16 years old! How old was this kid you sent back huh? And you have the nerve to complain about mom. You're not winning any Father of the year awards here."

"Don't you get it Allison?" James sighed, "She was Allison! She was you! She was 16 just like you! It wouldn't matter anyways. Ten, twenty? Fifty? All she had to do was get recalled at a temporal point in her line at our choosing. Time is fluid, constantly changing and difficult to track, but what it can be is manipulated. You can come back five minutes from transit, ten minutes, ten years, twenty years, in another bloody timeline... No matter. What's important to me is YOU! You have to live. That was my mission number one. If it meant keeping you out of a universe at war, shunting you elsewhere to bring you back when the universe was safe... even bringing you back to a world you don't know... then so be it."

James walked towards Allison with a pronounced limp. His war wounds were acting up, it happened when he was upset or agitated, "Most parents would take the action that's safest for their child. 'Becca knew what she was doing then when you asked to go back in time. She saw, like I saw, what was wrong with our Federation. That's why she allowed it. I screamed bloody murder, but when we were faced with annihilation I couldn't let you die with me and countless millions until I was sure it was safe. Even Lysander, that crazy... insane son of a bitch... cared enough about you to give you what you... The you I know... wanted. It was the safest option. "

He leaned back on the console, next to her as if bracing himself with the weight of his guilt, and he said with finality, "I can apologize to you for a million things. I'm sorry I wasn't there to be your father. I'm sorry I didn't turn out to be the guy you thought I was. I'm sorry I didn't do enough to make our family work. I'm sorry that I put my Starfleet career over the needs of my family. And most of all I'm sorry that I hurt you. All I can do... is apologize for the things."

He glowered, "Just never... ever... ask me to apologize for looking out for your well being." Then he smirked, "Just ask me to apologize for half assing it."

Through the whole speech, Allison remained very quiet, staring blankly at the various blinking lights in front of her. She didn’t have mom's talent for math but she could put two and two together. "This is all your fault." she whispered aloud even as she reached the conclusion. "This whole mess....not only this nightmare you call home, but my own past....you screwed it all up!"

"Yes." James nodded, "I did. I even warned my past self away from you. There was enough damage as is! Dammit girl, what happened if you entered my life then? What if, by your actions, Mika had lived? You would have erased yourself from the timeline! Christ!"

"So instead you erased the whole timeline?" Rising from the chair, she suppressed an urge to punch him. "I was happy spuff it! I lived in a perfect world....green trees, puppy dogs, a Mom that loved me, and even if my dad was absent, at least he wasn’t shacking up with ever alien hottie that happened along...at least he didn’t have any other children but me!!"

"Where did you get this idea I was some ideal person back in the old days?" James asked, "How? Kid... you chased a rainbow. I'm sorry I don't have a way to surgarcoat it, but you had a mistaken idea about me. So listen..."

"No you listen," Alli poked him in the chest, again putting her glittery aluminum nails to good use, "I went back in time to find my ideal dad, but instead thanks to your mucking around with the timeline I found something different...I found a two timing loser with another daughter, and absolutely no interest in my mom....you realize what that meant? It was a past that I could never have existed in. I'd never be born!" she gestured wildly at the Mika Machine, "but that wasn’t enough...not only did you screw my past, but when I tried to return to my own time I land here! Holy Crap what a mix up! And all you can say is oops....I did it for your own good? I didn’t change the past…it was already changed when I got there….this is your fault! Maybe you saved your version of Allison and she's off eating Krispy Kreme donghnuts somewhere, but you royally porked my whole universe!!"

"Ok... that's it!" James, fed up with his daughter's attitude, found the gumption to stand up to a raving sixteen year old, "You haven't been listening to a word I said. Young lady, you can hate me all you want, but all you've done is use me and some crazy image of me to blame your problems and solve them at the same time. I can blame myself for not raising you, much less raising you right, but you have ducked and dodged your own accountability. You choose to travel through time, both Allisons. You should have known the risks!"

"You should have let us just travel then, instead of mucking with where we ended up!" she shot back.

"STOP!"

Dora's voice was a thundercrack that broke the argument. Digital wraith spewed out of her raspy throat, "It was me! I made the mistake! I must know..."

James turned to Dora, doting like a father, "Dora, take it easy. It's not your fault."

"Traaveleeeer?" Dora drawled pleadingly, reaching out with both hands. "I must see. I must know..."

"Children of a Lesser Corgan pt II"

Starring:

Allison Von Ernst

James Lionel Corgan

T'lan Corgan

Location: The Computer Core, ISS Stolen Heart, somewhere in Federation Space

"STOP!"

Dora's voice was a thundercrack that broke the argument. Digital wraith spewed out of her raspy throat, "It was me! I made the mistake! I must know..."

James turned to Dora, doting like a father, "Dora, take it easy. It's not your fault."

"Traaveleeeer?" Dora drawled pleadingly, reaching out with both hands. "I must see. I must know..."

James tried to reassure Allison, a pat on the shoulder and a few words were the best he could manage, "It's ok. She's harmless. She might be able to straighten this out."

Shaking off the touch to her shoulder, Allsion considered the dead woman before her, "You want me to touch her? Ewwwwww. Isnt that how zombie-ism gets transferred?" However when T'lan and James assured her that the new computer core was not contagious, Alli sighed and offered a hesitant hand.

"Okay...but if I start having a craving for brains, you two are the first ones on the menu saavy?"

Dora waited for Allison's unspoken consent before taking her hands. Clammy, rough and fragile digits manipulated Allison hands, turning her palms up so they could be examined like a palmreader. Dora's dead eyes rolled up as her antennae pointed to the palms, her head waving in dreamy motions, as her focus shifted to the temporal.

Viewscreens lit up and were hijacked by more graphs and charts. The central point, dated to Mikaiu sh'Sonora's birth, created a line on the screen. As the main line traversed, various roots began to grow, divert, and split further and grow its own roots, creating a complex cycle of monitored cause and effect. The main trunk then ended at Mika's death, and diverted further like a oak tree's branches.

One of the diverted timelines was marked as 'main', or the timeline Dora was currently inhabiting. It provided a guideline to follow all paths.

Then she worked a timeline based on Allison, using herself as the anchor. It traced the events of the two parents, as flashed by images and video files, through her main timeline. Then it tracked the birth of Allison, sometime after Mika's death but still on the main timeline as they knew it.

Then Dora's eyes shot up wide.

The timeline diverted further. Allison's trace broke away from the main timeline somewhere after a major Hydran engagement.

No files could be brought up on her divergent timeline, but in the main timeline it was a precursor to years of war and a further rift between the Federation Hawks and Doves, events that would lead to the civil war.

"No!" Dora instantly let go of Allison, clambering back to her tomb, tears streaking down her face, "NONONONO!!!"

"What's going on Dora?" James demanded.

"She diverged!" Dora jabbered with confused alarm, "She diverged! The timeline not diverge. SHE DID! I took an alternate Traveller, not OUR Traveller! I am sorry! I am so sorry!"

"Told ya." Allison rolled her eyes back towards James, unconscious wiping her hand on her neat little skirt, "Well now that we've cleared that up if you guys can kindly click your heels and send me back to Kansas I'll be going. Good luck with your apocaplypse and all."

Dora, wracked by tears, warbled, "I CANNOT! I followed orders... did the recall... but I scanned and found you. I thought it was The Traveller! Too similar... why did I not see?! I marooned you... and it's my fault! I'm so sorry! There is no way home for The Traveller. The stars are gone, the line is cut, the orphan is left without a guiding light..."

"Calm down Dora. Calm down." James soothed, but it was ineffective. Dora, consumed by her own guilt, huddled inside her tomb and refused to speak.

T'lan spoke plainly, "For all intents and purposes, you are stuck in our timeline. I assure you this is a temporary problem. We will do what we can. You will have to adjust to our future for the time being."

“Well I DON’T LIKE your future!” Allison snapped, resentful of anything the green blooded hussy told her she ’had’ to do, “Everybody here is all doomy and gloomy making veiled references to my Mother….Atilla the Mom!” she crossed her hands over her chest and huffed. “Then I find my dad likes to keep dead girlfriends around as a collection,, who knows what you do to your daughter, or if I’m going to wind up on a shelf somewhere. If this isn’t my reality then stop the bus and let me get off okay?“ Allison turned to the glowing machine. “Mika! You used to be a time machine right?”

Dora choked back sobs, and said, "No. I am a processor. My old body was destroyed on Earth. I need a chronoton manufacturing unit."

T'lan said, "We don't know how to find a naturally occurring chronoton source. They are made during temporal transits. For them to be created artificially, we would need massive industrial capabilities, which we do not have."

The teenaged blond pushed anyways, “Well figure out how I got here…in the meantime start plotting a course -thingie for another slingshot around that blackhole….I’m not staying her in the future of the living dead with you whack-jobs!”

James continued, "I'm willing to take you back home, but kid... there's only one way to do it. We'll have to go to the Guardian and chuck you back in time. You can go before this universe diverted from yours. And better still... this reality might not happen."

T'lan interjected, "James... you know what will happen to us."

"That's right. Alli... you won't find anything at Rourke's Rift but radioactive clouds and damaged hulls. You would be inviting death. The Guardian is the only way."

"Riiiiiight..."Alli drawled. "What’s a Guardian?"

"You mean M'Kantu didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what? Since I got here, I've been kidnapped four times already, almost stepped on my giant rusty Go-Bots, Blown out an airlock in the middle of lunch, and generally heard every comparison between my dear old mother and Darth Vader!" she puffed a lock of blond hair from her face, "So to answer your question. No, Kidnapper #2 was a little light on details."

"Ho boy... gotta love Starfleet when they get secretive." James sarcastically said, "Look, it's a being with a omnipotence rating of 85. Not quite Q but a hell of a lot better than Tremaine. He has a portal through time. All you do is step in at the right moment and... poof! You're there. I even saw it once. You and your mom. Nice place."

Allison cocked her head sideways. If she ever got home she was going to have so much to tell her high school guidance counselor, "Blah blah blah….If I ask you what the zark a Q or a Tremaine is am I just going to get another weird answer? No nevermind...dont tell me." Alli looked a bit peeked, "I need to sit down, " she sighed wearily, "You know between slingshoting around stars, this Guardian of yours, and Mika the Magical Time Machine, its no wonder the timeline is screwed up."

"That's.. why we have rules like this, little miss. When you go home, your grounded until you memorize the temporal prime directive." James began to speak, unraveled, "I know it's alot to ask, but face it, we need you to do it too. This timeline is fracked. So much temporal mucking about's turned the timeline into a tumbleweed. It might as well be cut off."

"So... that's it? There was nothing worth saving here?" T'lan asked.

"Lets be honest... Alli said it herself. This future is damaged goods." James limped off the coffin's edge, "I don't like it either, but my Starfleet career, which I should have spent taking care of Allison, was used fighting enemies that could have been handled by people other than me. I made decisions, followed the Hawks, tried to be my own person in the process, and just fought and fought and killed and killed so that my family... and a billion families like mine wouldn't know the horrors outside our borders. And guess what? I FAILED!!!!" Wailing despair, he thumped a fist on a console, the plastic cracked and his hand was jarred, "My Federation fell apart, my Starfleet turned on itself and even my own family hates me! I FAILED IN EVERY WAY! If I'd stayed back, or if I'd not taken certain missions that escalated the war... this future wouldn't have happened."

T'lan had to argue, "And what about us? Did you regret me too?! Are you going to allow the beautiful things we made together be lost with this timeline too? Does that not matter?!"

James sputtered, "Of course it matters! But dammit T'lan... beyond us everything's hell and I helped make it. I helped make Rebecca. I abandoned her when she needed me the most. I used those warzones as an excuse to run away from my home problems and as a result I helped steer the Federation to ruin. I do that to everyone. I did it to Atole... she loved me but I bolted as soon as she slighted me. I did it to 'Becca. Hell... if Mika had the chance to live I would have driven her mad. And I'm afraid... the same would happen to you. Because I was selfish. I wanted a companion. But the next emergency I have to handle myself... I would do it... even if it meant leaving you. I know me... It would happen. And you would hate me for it."

T'lan struck James in the cheek with a powerful slap, making even Allison jump in surprise.

T’lan said, as James wiped blood from his lip, "Do you know why I stayed your partner even though you were engaged to Mikaiu, and married to Rebecca? Did you know why I married you when you weren't?"

James groaned, "No. Not really."

She answered, "Because loyalty is love. If you need to save people... do it. I will follow you wherever that takes you. I cannot speak about Mika or Atole, but if you want to know the difference between me and Rebecca... that is it. Rebecca will not follow you to the darkness. I will. I'll even risk reverting to that unrequited hell before we married, and risk that you and I are never to be... just because you say so. That is my love for you. So don't apologize for us. I trust you'll do what is right. Are we going to send her back if it means we will never be? Don't feel guilty about the answer. Don't regret making the big decision. But never...ever... say what we have wasn't worth it. What will it be?"

James nodded, without a second thought, "I'm gonna miss us. But hey... you never know. After all, we're one of a million realities. I say we do it anyways. I'm just glad you're on board."

She turned to Allison, "Then it is settled. We will take you home, by your permission. I am sorry about my husband's conduct. James can be a little dense and indecisive."

Alli was a bit uncertain, "Are you sure this will work?"

T'lan spoke with no uncertain terms, "The truth is The Guardian is your only hope. The only way there is to M'Kantu. We will aid you."

"Even if it means we may die." James picked himself up, regaining his dignity, "Heck... I might not be able to change the diapers or read you a bedtime story, but I'm an expert at giving Death the finger. Can I do that much for you?"

Alli managed a half smile. "I change my own diapers nowadays Daddio....but lets talk about borrowing the starship for PROM."

James split a foxlike grin.

"Heh heh. I love these father and daughter moments. Corgan to helm... set course for heading mark 321 point 525. Engage at Warp 7!"

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