USS Galaxy: The Next Generation Sim Log
Stardate: 60903.01 - 60903.07 |
Logs |
| “Plan B”
Ensign John Thomas (npc: Cliff) Engineering Officer USS Shiva == Ensign John Thomas was a most unremarkable individual. He did his job. He kept his nose to the grindstone. He never complained. He stayed ‘under the radar’ so to speak. He only socialized just enough to let people know he was just as normal as anyone else aboard the ship he came to call his home. He sent and received messages home on a regular basis. He even received ‘care’ packages from his mom willed with home baked cookies. John offered lavish explanations of his home life before entering Starfleet. He stated on numerous occasions he grew up on Alpha Centurai with his parents and siblings. Starfleet was to be a stepping stone for him to continue his education in computer sciences. He wanted to specialize in artificial intelligence. John had figured Starfleet had plenty of opportunities to further such a career once the basics were out of the way. Then the Triad war started. Unfortunately, soon after, Starfleet and the Federation in general had splintered beyond recognition. He didn’t necessarily like war. No one did. He simply described it as his duty to protect Federation citizens. But now he was party to destroying an entire planet and it weighed on his conscious with his every waking moment. ==Fourteen Months Ago, Starbase 56== With the Shiva docked for resupplying, Ensign Thomas was on a short leave. Right now he was enjoying the scenery. A gaggle of women just offloaded from a ship and were making their way into the lounge. He had no idea he was being watched very closely by a pair of eyes from the other end of the bar. One pair belonged to a Trill, the other, a Betazoid. Upon casual observation one couldn’t tell she was Betazoid because of the colored contact lenses she was wearing. The Trill whispered something to his companion. It was at that time John swung his head over and took notice of them. A small feeling of trepidation crept up his spine. The woman smiled at him while the Trill male left to leave. She got off her stool and sauntered over to the younger ensign. “Hi there,” she greeted him congenially as she sat on the stool next to his. “Umm… hi.” John was feeling nervous and had absolutely no idea why. “How are ya?” “I’m fine,” She said still smiling. “How are you?” John looked to the bottom of his empty glass then back at the woman, “Good. I need a refill,” he motioned to his empty drink, “can I get you a drink too?” “I’d love one.” After the bartender brought over two drinks the two settled into the usual ‘first meeting’ type conversation. What’s your name? Where are you from? What do you do? Where’d you grow up? Seeing anyone? And all the other questions in that vein. Finally the question of current galactic politics came up. “So,” Mesta started after a sip of her drink. She reminded herself to slap Jaal for making her drink this much and having to keep her wits about her. “How long do you give the Doves with Von Ernst on your side?” The Betazoid had not yet revealed her own political views. John shook his head. “I’ve only been on the ship a few weeks. There’s talk amongst the crew that she needlessly sacrifices equipment and people to win battles. I haven’t seen it yet… but I haven’t seen much action either.” Mesta rubbed her chin in thought. Her mental senses were tingling. The young man was uncomfortable on that ship to say the least. He wasn’t all that sure he was fighting the good fight, the fight that would benefit the most. “Sounds like you’re not happy there?” she asked. John shrugged, “It’s all right I guess.” One of Mesta’s eyebrows rose a bit. “You’re not doing a good job of convincing me.” John managed a chuckle. “You know… how sometimes you think you’re doing the right thing… but so many people disagree with you?” Mesta’s head tilted as she listened. This could be the one they were looking for. “We’ve all dealt with that on some level at some point in our lives. Try to explain it to me.” John sighed deeply. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with someone he’d just met. It made him uneasy to say the least but as the talking progressed his unease lessened. “I just don’t see the civil war as productive when we’re still at odds with the Triad. I just think we should concentrate on getting the enemies of the Federation out and settling everything else afterwards.” Mesta nodded her head slowly showing she understood. “I know exactly what you mean.” She caught Jaal out of the corner of her eye. He gave the signal it was time to go. “John, I have to run now. Duty calls. You know how it is. Perhaps I’ll see you next time the Shiva is in port,” Mesta smiled. “Yeah, that would be nice,” John replied. ==== Over the course of a year, Mesta met John Thomas every time the Shiva stopped at Starbase 56. Their talks gained a more serious tone as they got to know each other better. John gained some confidence and trust in the Betazoid woman even though he didn’t know she could sense his feelings. Eventually he expressed some grievances some of the lower ranking crew on Shiva had with their ship’s commanding officer. “She seems to want to win every battle no matter what the cost,” John confided, “If the math says that’s the way it is, then that’s the way it is. Von Ernst compromises nothing and seems to have no regard to collateral damage. No one transfers to her ship. You get ‘volun-told’ to serve on it.” Mesta nodded and knew from his description of Von Ernst’s behavior that something truly awful would happen soon. On the most recent rendezvous, which was two months ago, Mesta introduced John to Jaal. “One of these days,” Jaal told John, “Your Admiral Von Ernst is going to do something so heinous, so wrong, so… terrible, that you’re not going to want to be on that ship anymore. How many people have been killed that you knew personally?” John hesitated. “A few.” Jaal nodded, “Only a few?” “The engineering department is kept pretty busy,” John offered, “I don’t get a lot of free time for socializing.” “How does that make you feel?” Jaal asked pressing on. Again, John paused to compose himself. Jaal and Mesta could tell the stress level on the ensign was greater than it had been on previous meetings. Eventually, John answered, “It doesn’t make me feel particularly good. I mean, I know we’re at war, and if I’m going to make a sacrifice, I want it to be for the right reasons.” The youngster shook his head, “I’m not sure civil war is the right reason. I have a lot of friends on both sides. They don’t like the civil war any more than I do. There’s got to be something better.” Jaal nodded again, this time with great empathy, and placing a hand on the younger ensign’s shoulder he told him, “There is.” There was a long silence between them as they considered the ramifications of a variety of actions that could be taken. Finally, Captain Jaxom made a decision. “Can you do me a favor?” John grunted with derision, “Will it end this stupid war?” One corner of Jaxom’s mouth turned upwards, “It just might help,” the Trill admitted. John’s curiosity was piqued. “How much trouble will I get in?” “None if you’re not caught,” Jaal answered honestly. John turned towards the bar and leaned over his glass with his head supported by his hands. Jaal took a sip of his drink leaving the ensign to make his own decision. One of Jaxom’s requirements was no coercion. People had to decide totally for themselves what they were willing to do to end the civil war so Starfleet could go back to fighting the Triad. He glanced over at Mesta, who sat on the opposite side of John. She gave a slow nod. They had him. “What can do?” John asked after finally lifting his head and facing Jaxom again. “It’s simple really,” Jaal smiled, “I have this computer virus. All you have to is install it in the Shiva’s main computer. Any data access port will do.” John frowned. “What will it do?” “It will shut down the ship, slowly, system by system, until nothing is left operating except basic life support and the anti-matter containment system.” John tilted his head, “That’s it?” “Yes,” Jaal answered, “That’s it. We don’t want to destroy the ship. We don’t even want any casualties. We just want Von Ernst stopped. You see? We can’t stop Von Ernst with tactics. She’s too good at her math voodoo. We have to gain the upper hand with some subterfuge. It’s the only way.” John understood. A bit of relief showed on his features once he realized no one was to be hurt in the process. That was the plan anyway. That bit of information helped to steel his resolve. “So… what do I have to do?” ==Present Day, Aboard Shiva== ‘The Earth was totally gone,’ John thought. He was never what one would call a fan of Earth, but he had known people who grew there in better times. Now it was gone. It was gone and it was Von Ernst’s fault. She killed an entire planet. He was working alone in a Jeffries tube repairing and resplicing some damaged optical data network lines. John paused for a moment and pulled an isolinear chip from his pocket. It was the one that Captain Jaxom had given him. It contained the virus. Except, it wasn’t exactly a virus, it was a self-replicating virus crossed with a Trojan horse crossed with a data worm. The Trill captain had described it as a hydra. It was designed in such a way that if any branch happened to be stopped three more took its place. Undetected, it would worm its way into every processor, console, gel pack, and nook and cranny of the ship’s ODN network. Once that was accomplished it would start systematically shutting down Shiva’s operations starting with the most non-essential things and finally working its way to larger and more critical functions. John realized it was as much of a psychological attack on the crew as a physical attack on the Shiva. The first order of business was to silently shut of any anti-insurrection protocols and by now antiquated Starfleet anti-virus programs. Then it would start with the Shiva’s exterior running lights, interior cabin lights, corridor lights, door locks, even hand weapons and then move on to other things like holodecks, replicators, turbolifts, and then on to major systems like propulsion, weapons, and shields until the Shiva simply sat in space powerless to do anything but drift and wait. It wouldn’t happen all at once. That would have been too easy. Each system shut down was precisely timed to cause maximum mental fatigue and panic amongst the Shiva’s crew. Ensign John Thomas started at the chip in his hand for many seconds. It looked just any other of the thousands that were used in any type of starship. So innocent, but he knew this particular chip’s purpose was far, far from innocent. He felt sweat run down his back under his uniform. A shiver went down his spine. He swallowed hard. Rebecca Von Ernst killed the Earth. Could he kill the Shiva? Now he stared at the data port the isolinear chip would fit neatly into. Captain Jaxom said he only had to leave in for forty seconds. His hand grabbed at his chest to make sure his heart was still beating. It was now or never. With his eyes tightly shut, John stuck the chip in the slot. Thankfully, there was no explosion, no alarm klaxons going off, and no security guards rushing down the Jeffries tube to haul him to the brig… at least not yet. The chip just sat there with an innocent, blinking light on its end. John looked around nervously. Still, no one had come after him and the ship was still in one piece. The light on the end of the chip stopped blinking after about forty-five seconds. He pulled it out of the data slot and slipped it back into his pocket. Later on he would destroy it and send the pieces into the recycler just like any other burned out, useless isolinear chip gone bad from battle damage. He swallowed again knowing there was no turning back now. Shiva was going to die. Hopefully none of the crew would go with it. "Apology" Ella Grey Ronnie “Jazz” Patterson (NPC by Betred)
(follows “Playing the Met, Part 1”) *** Ella had given Jazz the short version - that Nathan was a man from her past and that her real name wasn't Laura - and told him she'd give him the longer version later on when the gig was officially over and McAllister called it a night. He hadn't been happy but had agreed and they had finished up the night without any further complications. And now it was time to face the music, Ella thought wryly as she waited for Jazz to answer his door. At least she had a battle plan. Jazz had a speech prepared; he'd even rehearsed it. Despite how he felt about Laura -- damn it, *Ella,* he wouldn't interfere if she wanted to renew her relationship with that Nathan dude. He had some seriously bad vibes about that dude, and he talked funny, but he wouldn't interfere and was prepared to tell Ella so. When the door chimed, Jazz answered it personally, and his little prepared speech died on his tongue. Lau -- Ella, was standing at his door wearing a long form fitting satin number that accented her curves without revealing the promise underneath. A slow whistle of appreciation finally escaped Jazz's lips. "That be one fine cover you got on, girl!" "What this old thing?" She asked innocently. Jazz waved Ella in, inhaling the slight musky scent of her as she glided by him and enjoying the way her body's movement was accented by the cream colored satin that covered her ass but left most of her back exposed. Jazz let the door slide shut as he tried to find something witty to say. "If I had know you'd be wearing that, I'd have cleaned up the place a bit." It was the best his addled brain could come up with. "Well, I thought as long as I was apologizing, I should make it a real good one." Ella's words brought Jazz back to reality. "Grab a seat, luv. I'll fix us a couple and you can tell me about this Nathan dude." Jawing about an ex boyfriend/lover/husband was really not what Jazz wanted to do; what he wanted to do was find out if that gown felt as good as it looked...he shook his head to clear his thoughts and went to the replicator to order their drinks. She waited until he had returned, sipping her drink first for a little liquid courage before starting. "I'm not exactly sorry I lied but I am sorry if I hurt you." Jazz quickly sat down next to her on the couch; his standing vantage point made it too hard for his gaze not to wander down Ella's neckline. At least seated, he had a better shot and maintaining eye contact. "I appreciate that, La -- Ella. I think I was more surprised than hurt. Finding out a friend actually is someone else. You could have trusted me, ya know, I would help you any way I could." "I know," Ella said. She shifted her body more towards him and bit back a smile as his eyes narrowed. "I never thought of it as hiding, more like starting over. My life as Ella has had more drama than a Greek tragedy. Laura was a nice change." Jazz tossed off his drink and fought the urge to get another. "So, who are you now that the secret is out?" "Until it's in print, I'd rather remain Laura when we're performing." "And what about this Nathan dude?" Jazz asked. "He was a good friend when we were on Galaxy." She frowned and took another sip of her drink. "He's changed but then I guess we all have." Jazz knew that folks did change with time; Paul had certainly changed, so had Alicia and Greg, and here was Laura, changing in front of his eyes into Ella. He didn't recognize the changes in himself; Jazz felt he was the one constant in his universe. "Yeah, people change. But sometimes their feelings for others don't. Ya'll appeared to be pretty close at some point..." She tilted her head. "Are you asking if I'm going to run away with him? 'Cause last time I checked Outlaw wasn't the one with a hot woman in his lap." He grinned and pretended not to notice the giant weight that had been lifted off his shoulders with Ella's comment. He looked at her in whole new light, finally noticing that her gown was slit up the side well above her hips and there appeared to be nothing but Ella underneath. His eyes traveled upwards, pausing briefly to note that either the temperature in his quarters had dropped considerably or she really was happy to be with him. Jazz chucked and surveyed his lap in mock surprise. "There's a hot woman on my lap?" He patted his knees. "Where, I don't see her?" Ella laughed at the sound he made as she straddled him. "You were saying?" He held her close as they kissed, his hands caressing her, enjoying the contrast of cool satin and warm, silky smooth skin. Jazz kissed Ella's shoulders, slipping the thin straps of her gown out of the way. "Forgive me?" She whispered. "Luv, there's nothing to forgive," he answered with a kiss. "Chasers" I mean true she was upset at the time about having her one and only darling daughter being forcefully kidnapped by her arch enemies…. And sure, when you got right down to it Earth was nothing more than radioactive wasteland populated by skeletal survivors and cannibalistic toddlers…. But darn it….she had to learn to reign in these violent impulses of hers.
Shrugging her freckle-spattered thin shoulders with a sigh, the pixyish woman turned slightly in the shower, allowing more of the buttery warm water to run down her body. Ten non-stop days of combat operations had taken a toll on her typically frail constitution, and at the moment nothing seemed so important as a luxuriating hot shower. ~~~May be the end of the world, but everything looks better with hot water.~~~ she mused, rivers of froth trailing its way across her bony ribs and hips. Always thin, this older version of von Ernst was borderline malnourished despite a steady diet of Peppermint milkshakes and soggy cornflakes. Her head drooped slightly, the impressive weight of her waterlogged red hair trailed mere inched below her skinny knees, wrapping her self in a scarlet river of wet silk. Drying the wet mass was going to be another story altogether, but despite the efforts involved, Rebecca always enjoyed the silent moments in her cabin gently drying, combing, and sometimes braiding her long tresses.
Reluctantly shutting the water off, Rebecca stood dripping silently for long moments organizing her thoughts for the day. Overriding everything of course was the need to find and rescue Allison. Every avenue of approach she could think of had been tried….bounty hunters….paid mercenaries…..even a call to her ex-husband had so far produced little results. The only lead still remaining were the intermittent position reports on the USS Miranda which was quickly making its way across the ruins of the Federation. ~~Where are you going Jii?~~ she wondered not for the first time. No known Dove bases lay along the reported heading, but nevertheless it seemed obvious that the big ship was after something. They had hardly stopped running ever since they stole Allison away from her. Stepping lightly from her bathroom, and gently wringing her thick rope of hair with her hands, Rebecca reached out to flick on the light switch to her bedroom….. At least that’s what she intended to do since for some inexplicable reason the room remained dark. “COmputer lights.” she commanded absently, further surprised when the bulbs refused to ignite. “Hello computer…turn on the lights! Verify.” >>UNRECOGNIZED COMMAND<< came the pithy mechanical reply. ~~Noodles on a stick.~~ Rebecca grumped before turning to head back into the still lighted bathroom. ~~~Gonna have to do my hair and get dressed in here I guess.~~~
Thirty minutes later, the elfin captain was on the bridge, hair braided into a 4 foot rope, and her uniform shoulders still slightly damp. Status reports indicted no change in the Dove pursuit forces, or shipboard systems, although it did seem a bit warm in here. Warm…. Sitting cross legged atop her oversized command chair, Rebecca sighed and wondered idly if she was hitting menopause a bit early. ~~~Noodles….one ex-husband, one kid, and my body is already out of the game. ~~~
Feelings of wasted femininity aside, the petite redhead had other issues on her plate to worry about. Since the aforementioned apocalyptic ‘overreaction’, the Shiva had been pursued across the remains of the Federation by every Dove ship in the area eager to exact their revenge on the infamous Dreadnought. Shiva was the most hunted Starship in the Quadrant. Rebecca the most hated villain. Up to now the Dove’s efforts had been in vain however, the combination of Shiva’s big guns and Rebecca’s brain making any attempt to close an exercise in futility. However that was not to say that a purposeful strategy wasn’t being developed. Preferring to hang back a bit and track her movements, the Dove forces had been able to coordinate their efforts into harassing and blocking the dreadnoughts’ escape route. By utilizing hit and run tactics and broadcasting Shiva’s position over subspace for all to hear, the big ship was gradually being herded into ambush after ambush. Not that Shiva was bothered by any of this. Rebecca did not allow herself from being distracted form her central goal of recovering her daughter in the slightest, however ever delay was adding up causing her to fall farther and farther behind. At the moment the Hawk Dreadnought was screaming its way across the quadrant at Warp 7.…its highest maintainable speed since the engine damage received in its most recent tangle with the pursuing Dove forces. She was leaving a fleet of dead starships in her wake, but every little engagement took another little nip out of Shiva’s hide and in lieu of any available space dock facilities, every little cut was like an irreplaceable chink in her normally thick armor. Her Hawk allies were not going to be much help either. Always a bit of a rogue, Rebecca’s destruction of Earth was quite unpopular with the rest of the Hawk hierarchy, and as such there were quite a few who would not be opposed to seeing the infamous von Ernst take a fall for once. No matter…she’d do it herself. Allison was waiting. Lost in thought, 11th dimensional polynomial equations danced before Rebecca’s eyes and bright probability curves traced their way across her mind, each of them urging her to back off and make for deeper waters…make for Hawk controlled space and save her ship. That was the smart thing to do. She shook her head to wipe away the numbers. Her path lay deeper into Dove territory….further behind the lines to pursue her daughter, and while the mathematical solutions were becoming a bit more complex and tenuous so far as assuring victory, there still remained a narrow shining path of equations for her to follow. ~~~I’m coming Allison…just hold on my little girl…momma’s coming.~~~
Scrunching her freckled nose, von Ernst wheeled her chair around to glare over her shoulder. “Engineering have you figured out the problem yet?” The dour faced Technician considered her gravely. “Aye Ma’am….it’s the warp engines. Too many hits in that last battle on already patch work repairs leads to….” “No no no…” Rebecca waved away the rest of the reply. “I’m not talking about the engines….we get there when we get there. Im talking about the problem with the food slots.” “The replicators?” The Tech looked surprised, “You mean the problem with your milkshakes?” “Bingo dude. For the last hour or two every time I order a peppermint milkshake I get some green gook that tastes like mouthwash. I sent in a work order.” “Aye ma’am….we got it, but I figured with the engines, and the Dove ships….also some funny power fluctuations down on E-Deck….” he shrugged. “Milkshakes.” Rebecca pounded the point home. “I’ll worry about the bad guys, you keep me in peppermint got it? ” “Aye ma’am….first thing on my list,” he shook his head slightly, calling up new repair schedule. “Oh and also the lights in my quarter are not working…how many Starfleet Engineers does it take to fix a light bulb anyways?” “Lights…got it. Yes Ma’am.” Turning back to the screens, Rebecca sighed. Irritating….that’s what this was, nothing but irritating. Flipping the numbers over in her head again she assured herself that path to victory still remained. Tenuous…but it was there. ~~Momma’s coming. Just hang on…..Im on my way. Just let them try and stop me.~~~ "Charon's Obol" Lieutenant Commander Rafael Dávila - Fleet Intelligence ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Warp Shuttle KittyKat ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ "Chroniton dispersal?" "At max Raf." "Pattern buffer?" "Synched with the comm system Dad." "Position?" "Course matched with the Galaxy in twenty three eighty five... I think." "You think?" Rafael asked sharply, turning to face the AI, "we need to be "C'mon Raf, this isn't easy," Aurora complained, "We know the Galaxy was in "Wiggle all you want," Rafael retorted, "but the closer the better, we have "Dad, this is a long shot at best," Miranda reminded him, "and-" "What the...! Frak guys, what in the name of all the Gods are we sending? Shrugging Miranda kept her face impassive, not wanting to smirk at the look "Mnemo... What?" Confused and showing it Rafael looked to Aurora, "Can "Mnemosyne is your Daughters idea," Aurora explained, "a personality clone "S'okay," Rafael cut her off. A personality clone, well, that explained the "Greek Goddess of memory," Miranda explained as she aligned the comm "You couldn't come up with an easier name?" He asked as he returned to his "Well it's better than Miranda!" ~ One day she's going to tell me 'why' she hates the name Miranda? ~ Rafael "Transmitting!" The AI confirmed. "Okay, Kid, watch the comm array, monitor the chroniton level and keep the "How long can we keep this up?" Miranda asked as she sat watching the "I have no idea." Rafael admitted honestly, "Aurora?" "Best guess, an hour, maybe two before the pattern buffer starts to "We go as long as the pattern buffer holds out," Rafael decided as he = = = Two Hours, or so, later = = = "Raf," Aurora interrupted suddenly, "I'm detecting a ship, high warp "Any ID?" He shouted as he ran back to the cockpit. "No, no IFF at all, warp transition in ten seconds." "Wraiths!" Rafael cursed as he climbed, whoever this was had got too damn "Check," Miranda replied as she started transferring power to the shields Even as the shields were enveloping the small craft Rafael dropped into his "Warp drive in thirty seconds..." Miranda reported, just as the universe lit Holding onto his console Rafael blinked to clear his eyes as he swung the Maybe that was the idea! "What ship is it Aurora?" Rafael snapped as he swung the little ship around <tbc...> “Alternatives”
Commander Paul McAllister, SFI The Messenger (Capt. Ret. Alexander Clayton) ********* Counselor’s/Chaplain’s Office – USS Pegasus
The Messenger swore that his ears were bleeding; he’d never in his life heard someone scream that loud before. As he entered his office, he noticed that McAllister was already seated at his desk waiting for him. “Aline… Excuse me… ‘Cheyenne’ is onboard with the plan finally.” He said, rubbing his ear, trying to get proper sound back into it. He trudged over to his own chair and plopped into it.
McAllister chuckled. "Have a bit of a hearing problem?"
The Messenger’s ear finally popped, bringing him relief from the ringing. “Yeah, Cheyenne spent the last hour screaming and yelling at me.” He explained. “Guess I deserve it considering how I got her here…”
"Stand up and turn around," McAllister said.
“Why?” The Messenger asked, but standing up and humoring him. “Shall I dance for you next?”
"Well, I see Alex didn't entirely chew your ass off -- you are not making going home a pleasant experience, you know."
“Sue me.” The Messenger said. “The Captain had my ass first before Cheyenne did. Anyways, if all goes well, this hellhole of a reality won’t exist and we’ll all know some peace for once so going home for you will be a pleasant experience.” He said. “Besides, like I’ve already pointed out, going back in time never is an easy prospect. Which brings us to now; you have someone who can do the calculations for a light speed breakaway jump?”
"If we can make the deal." McAllister activated a computer simulation. "This is the Battle of Sector 001. Notice the highlighted ship. It's difficult to follow as she's highly modified. Now, see that maneuver -- I'll replay it. That sir, is a time effect. And you're going to love this -- that ship has been identified as the Black Pearl, a pirate vessel commanded by none other than T'Risia, a Vulcan of some renown."
“Hysterical…” The Messenger deadpanned. A Vulcan running around playing pirate when he actually was a pirate back in the day. “So what does the next Jack Sparrow have to do with this?”
"Here's where you can have the other half of your ass handed to you by the Captain. Alex and T'Risia worked together briefly right after 001, before she rescued me. I also know her slightly, although I never had the chance to work with her. She was on Galaxy in 2385."
“This keeps getting better and better…”
"So," concluded McAllister, " we've got two chances at contact -- I can call, or Alex can call -- if you can convince her to. I'm not sure who has the better chance of contacting T'Risia. But she can certainly do those calculations -- for a price."
“What is it that she’d want, price wise?” he asked. “I don’t have anything on me right now, but if it’s salvage she’s after, I know of some choice areas.”
"Reports I've read from vessels that have encountered the Pearl all seem to indicate that T'Risia is an information hound -- she downloads vessel’s computer cores, as well as the usual pillage, food, stores, weapons, parts."
“Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I can supply locations to all of that.” The Messenger said, making notes on his PADD.
McAllister had a bemused expression on his face. "Remind me again why I'm helping you with this?"
The Messenger looked at him. “Fate of the Earth, Saving Billions of lives, you might get your son back out of all of this, and I might get my fiancée back at the same time.” He said with all seriousness. The Messenger then handed the PADD to him. “This is what I’m going to need; Light speed Breakaway calculations for a Slingshot Effect to mid 1661 using one modified Delta Flyer that can make Warp 7 with two passengers on it; Me and Cheyenne. I have the basics of the calculations down from what I can remember, but I don’t have the mind to get them precise. I need a Vulcan with the knowledge to do it. I can’t use Spock, since he died years ago, T’Risia seems to have the mindset to be able to do it precisely.”
"Spock?" asked McAllister.
The Messenger chuckled. “I knew ‘Ambassador’ Spock back in the day when he was a lowly Captain.” He said with a grin. He then pointed at the PADD. “I got the basic formula from a certain Scottish engineer that I also knew back in the day after he and the rest of Kirk’s crew did their last Slingshot. You’ve seen my file; you forget that I was born in 2251. I knew Scotty quite well back then and I worked with him later on with the Sovereign-Enterprise E Project.”
McAllister shook his head. "Is this the part where I ask for your autograph? I'm so happy you knew all those famous and wonderful people. Now, can we get back to work? We need to arrange some communication signals and dead drops -- and I may have something I want you to take back with you."
“Alright, alright…” The Messenger said. “So what is it that you’d like me to take back with me?” he asked, his curiosity now piqued.
McAllister withdrew a letter from his jacket. It had been written on actual paper and was sealed with wax imprinted with an odd design: a snake attempting to swallow its own tail. He handed the package to Clayton. "The McAllister clan goes back a long ways -- even to the 17th century, if family history is correct." Paul removed a chip from his PADD and set it one the desk. "That is everything I know about the McAllister's from times beginning till now. And family history was a mandatory topic of instruction in my home growing up. Given the opportunity, I want you to deliver that package to one of my ancestors -- the seal on the envelope will bear witness to its contents, and this," he produced a ring with a family crest, "this will bear witness to your bonafindes."
The Messenger looked at the items and then back at McAllister. “What is this exactly?” he asked with uncertainty.
"It's simple, really," replied McAllister. "That package is a series of letters, to be opened by the current head of the McAllister clan at the beginning of each new millennium. The final instruction in that package is to deliver the contents to the Starfleet Archives with implicit orders to deliver the actual letter to the President of the Federation in the year 2350. The core letter is encoded with intel markers from that time period and this one, to vouch for it's authenticity. The letter, when decoded, informs the reader that the year 2402, as you and I know it, sucks big beefy buffalo balls for breakfast. It outlines the analysis of what we believe went wrong, but says nothing of our additional plans to attempt to stop it. Someone didn't read, or didn't heed this letter in the alternate time-lines -- but with a few tweaks, maybe they will and make our job a whole hell of a lot easier."
“Alright…” The Messenger nodded in understanding. “So is any of this in here have to do with you personally? Or is all strictly for the Federation Government?”
"I was pulled out of the tactical program at the Academy when I was forced to redo my third year. Stuck in intelligence, with no idea why. I always thought it was because of a certain lady I had been seeing at the time; she's a dead admiral now -- but now I wonder if it wasn't because of this." McAllister tapped the letter sitting on Clayton's desk. "I've been in intelligence since graduation, but I never really worked for intelligence. My boss was a civilian in France. And that pissed the hell out of a certain female super-spook we both know. So, now you know more about my past then I think even Alex does. I'm trusting you not to wander off the reservation with it."
“And just exactly where on the reservation am I supposed to deliver this to?” The Messenger asked. “I didn’t know anyone named McAllister when I was back in the 1660s.” he said.
"Wear you're best suit and deliver it to the Court of King Charles II."
The Messenger rocked back in his chair. “You’re shiiting me…” he said, unable to hide his surprise.
"Second cousin on my mother's side. I shit you not." McAllister tapped the ring. "That will get you in. You're on your own getting out."
The Messenger nodded in understandings. “And what family name should I be asking for? I doubt that his last name is McAllister…” He said.
Paul chuckled. "McAllister is a clan name, not a family name. Charles is from the House of Stuart. The crest on the ring will get you an appointment; the seal on the letter will insure delivery to the Clan McAllister. After that, it's up to the fates." "The Passage of Hate; Woe; Lamentation and Fire" Lieutenant Commander Rafael Dávila - Fleet Intelligence ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Warp Shuttle KittyKat ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ "What ship is it Aurora?" Rafael snapped as he swung the little ship around "It's the Templar." She replied gently, her gaze focussed elsewhere. "Class?" Miranda asked as she tried to reinforce the shields. "Concorde class, it's an old ship, but more than a match for me." Sounding "What about the impulse thrusters?" Miranda asked in a panicked tone, "we "Inoperative. Sorry." Aurora reported apologetically. "She's launching Keeping the rogue asteroid between them and the Templar Rafael cursed the "Yes." Miranda confirmed, "It's still repeating, the signal booster is "Any reply?" Not that he was expecting one, they'd had to recalibrate half "No, but as long as enough of the signal got through each time the old "Put up a damage report on Miranda's screen Aurora. Kid, see if there's <= This is Admiral Russo, USS Templar. Mr. Davila, on the charge of treason The universe certainly did love irony. "Admiral," Rafael greeted him in return, "may I ask what happens to my <= I think you know the answer to that question Davila, you're both in the "May I have a moment to talk to her?" Looking at Miranda he knew what she'd <= Thirty seconds Davila. I don't have a lot of time to waste on you. => Watching the old mans face vanish Rafael looked to Miranda and smiled a very "Probably," she agreed, indicating the damage report before her she "Not many. The Hawks must know by now we've been playing both sides, you Typing in a series of commands on her console Miranda leant back, wiping ~ That's a 'lot' of anti-matter! ~ Rafael realised. Holding onto his "I love you squirt." He whispered to Miranda. "Signal our surrender to the Templar." Rafael ordered after a moment's "Yes Raf." Slowly the small ship rounded the asteroid and the Templar came "They're ordering us to lower our shields." Aurora reported. "Yeah, yeah. Why not." Rafael muttered. Closing his own eyes he shut out Beside him he could hear Aurora reporting, number of fighters, a scan report "Yeah... I'm sorry too old friend." In the grand scheme of things, the brilliant white flash of light was For the KittyKat, the Templar, and the surrounding fighters, it was the hand Erasing them all in the blink of an eye. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth Up, up the long delirious, burning blue <fin...> < ? > "Playing the Met – A Rocumentary in Six Short Scenes" (Part Two) Commander Paul McAllister, SFI-USS Pegasus
“Ms. Independent” by Prof. Ayanna Hinanat-Streely and Betred --------------------------------------------------------
** Scene Four – Revelations **
<Backstage Lounge, Metro Theta> "I know," Ella Grey interrupted. "I'm sorry about that." Nathan stared at Ella in disbelief. "Yer *sorry*? You disappear fer more'n ten years, and all you can say is yer sorry?!" She arched an eyebrow. "I'm *really* sorry? What else do you want me to say, Nathan?" "No, Ella, Ah want you to tell me what the hell happened to you," he demanded. "Ah thought you were dead!" McAllister's memory activated with an almost audible click. Ella Grey! He had not known her extremely well when they were both stationed on the Galaxy, but they had at least talked -- well, Jazz made impatient gestures, wanting to charge into the room and rescue his friend Laura -- Ella. McAllister shook his head and whispered, "This is important. Find Pick and have her plug in right now. I want full audio and video on the inside of this room. Alert the others. Go, I've got her back." Paul withdrew a type one phaser from the inside of his cummerbund and resumed listening. Nathan flicked his head subtly to one side, as if he were angling his ear to listen in on someone talking about him behind his back, but he shook his head a moment later, focusing his concentration back on Ella. "I got captured," Ella said with a sigh, sitting down and motioning for him to follow. "Honestly, I think they were more interested in my fighter but ...." She shrugged. "I spent a couple of years in a camp and, long story short, after I was freed I was done with Starfleet. I started over, Nathan." Nathan stepped away from the door and followed Ella. As he sat down, he made sure to position himself so that his back was not facing the door to the lounge. "So you just abandoned everything you knew," he accused. His icy blue eyes hardened as they gazed at Ella, and then they flicked away as Nathan swallowed, trying to keep his voice level as he continued. "Everyone who cared about you." "Yes," She softly. "I know that makes me a horrible person but it's what I needed." Nathan sighed. "It doesn't make you a horrible person," he said with a shake of his head. "Believe me, if Ah could've walked away from the mess this world's become, Ah would've, too. But Ah had responsibilities Ah couldn't ignore." He laughed at that. "Wow, listen to me." He grinned at Ella. "Ah guess yer not the only one who's changed, huh?" "I'm told we all have to some time," She said and then grinned. "You got old, Cowboy." Nathan smirked. "There might be more candles on the birthday cake, darlin', but Ah'm far from old. And they don't call me Cowboy anymore. It's Outlaw, now." He shrugged. "Guess they didn't think Cowboy was 'Hawkish' enough." "Ooh, Outlaw. I like that." "Yeah?" Nathan gave her one of his patented, charming lopsided grins. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd smiled like that and actually meant it. He slid a little closer to Ella and lowered his voice. "So, did you know that yer new friends're spyin' on us, or am Ah the only one who noticed?" "I sorta figured they would," She whispered, then raised her voice. "Not that ANYONE'S listening at the door but I would LOVE a drink." McAllister grimaced when he heard these words, but resisted the urge to barge in. He continued listening as Boom-Boom took up station nearby. Ella rolled her eyes at the door. "I expect company very soon. It'd be nice if you didn't hurt anyone." Nathan lifted an eyebrow. "What makes you think Ah'd wanna hurt any of 'em?" "I seem to recall a couple of times in some bars ...." He chuckled as he thought back to a few of those occasions. "Alright, fair enough. But don't worry, Ah don't have any reason to hurt any of yer friends." Nathan looked towards the door and raised his voice. "That is, as long as they stop listenin' in on us. Ah don't appreciate bein' spied on." McAllister knew a cue when he heard one. Placing the earplant back in his ear, he motioned for Boom-Boom to stay outside the lounge. Paul knocked twice, then opened the door, and limped into the room. "Hello, Everett. I thought that was you, but wasn't sure until I heard your voice." He glanced over at Ella. "You okay?" "Fine," Ella said. "You should sit down and rest your legs." Nathan nodded to the would-be spy. "McAllister. Good to see you again." McAllister took her Ella's advice, sitting across from Nathan. "So, is it Laura, or Ella?" "I'll stick with Laura for the band's sake." McAllister turned his gaze to Nathan. "Now, what?" "Now Ah find out what game it is you folks're really playin' at," Nathan stated as he focused his attention on Paul. "What's an ex-SFI op lahk you doin' runnin' a band?" McAllister chuckled. "We all have to make a living somehow these days. Besides, it more like the band runs me -- not even sure we'll do ten percent over the nut on this one. By the way, can I get you both something to drink?" "Nothing for me, thank you," Ella said. She arched an eyebrow at Paul, wondering if he was going to tell Nathan the truth. She hoped so, if only because talking in code usually gave her headaches. "Ah'm fine, thanks," Nathan answered. "Ah'd rather have a straight answer, instead. Ah wasn't born yesterday, Mac. Yer up to somethin', and Ah wanna know what it is." He hated dealing with spies and their little games. He preferred to handle a situation directly, and not be underhanded about it. That was part of the reason why he and Saul Bental had never really gotten along. Spies tended to believe that they were cleverer than they really were, and every spook Nathan had Maybe it was the accent. McAllister smiled. "You know, a favorite author of my once wrote that you can tell level of cultural decline in an area by two things; the condition of the public accommodations, and the display of manners amongst its people. The restrooms on this tub ain't so bad, but, ya know, Nate, your manners suck. You come to my party, accuse me of lying, and demand to know my business?" He looked over at Laura. "He always been this way?" "More or less," Ella said with a shake of her head. "Now will you children play nice while I go talk to Jazz? He's going to want to know what's going on." McAllister shook is head. That was the second time in as many days that he had been told by a woman to play nice with someone. It was getting annoying. "Jazz already knows what's going on, but he'll want to see you're safe," Paul agreed. He wanted to ask Laura -- shit, Ella -- if Nathan could be trusted, but figured if she was going to leave him alone with someone from her past, then she trusted him. He'd return that trust, this time, and hope it didn't get him killed. "Don't leave before I get a chance to say goodbye," She said to Nathan with a smirk. "Although if you do, I understand why." Nathan answered Ella with a small smile. "It was good seein' you again, Songbird." He waited until she had left the room before turning to McAllister again. "Alright, Ah apologize fer bein' rude. Ah just..." He shook his head. "Ah thought Ah was on mah own these last ten years, y'know? Seein' Ella again, when Ah thought she was dead..." He frowned. "Ah guess Ah just didn't lahk that Ah couldn't even say 'hi' to her without you spyin' on us. Ah can understand why you were worried, but Ah would *never* harm her." McAllister nodded. "I understand your position, but until just now, that lady has been Laura to all of us. I recognize her now, but when we served together, she didn't speak, let alone sing. And your file, sir is lodged firmly in drawer labeled 'ENEMY' in big red letters. But I've got a deal
** Scene Five – Ms. Independent **
After some time, Nathan and McAllister came to an agreement of sorts. Their central premise was that they would hold each other accountable for Ella’s safety. Secondary provisions included a vague promise from both parties to keep the lines of communication of open, and a firmer agreement to disagree on everything else.
With a firm handshake, Nathan left to find Ella, and McAllister hurried to meet his informant at Mary’s place.
(http://groups.google.com/group/ussgalaxy/browse_thread/thread/73f264264f7a4db7?hl=en)
Each day started exactly like the one before it, until today. Shifting her left shoulder slightly, she grimaced a polite half smile and nod to the male next to her. Shuttles had their place in the world of transportation, but over crowded shuttles with little air circulation were not meant to exist in this utopia of time. She thanked the gods and goddess she worshiped that her trip was almost complete as she felt the gentle rocking of the shuttle as it docked.
** Scene Six – The Ride Home **
<Runabout Unicorn, enroute to USS Pegasus>
“So, what was it like seeing her again?” asked Jazz. He had joined Paul in the main cabin of the runabout for a snack. McAllister looked up from the data he had been given by Ayanna.
“Odd, actually. I don’t really remember the details of our relationship, but there was still a bit of a pull – a longing – there. There’s just something about her. I hope she’ll come out of the cold soon; she’s playing a dangerous game. You work everything out with Laura?”
Jazz shook his head. “That Everett dude showing up out of no where – don’t know why, but that was like a punch in the gut, ya know? Anyway, she promised we’d talk later, when we get back. Guess we’ll work it out somehow.”
Paul nodded. Intelligence work was easy compared to keeping a relationship with a loved one on even keel. “Let me know how it goes – would hate to have to get another singer at this point, and I think we could really use Laura if there’s no conflict.”
“No huhu, man! I’ll keep it cool, no matter what she says.” Jazz hastened to change the subject away from his love life. “So, good data?”
McAllister smiled. “Good data. Gets our foot in the door anyway. Tell me ole friend, what do you know about time travel?” "A Bend in the River" Captain Chris Daniels Captain Jaal Jaxom ==Across Subspace== "We need to talk," Jaxom looked as stern as he could at the younger "I can't let this opportunity pass, Jaal." Chris returned the look "She's not 'that' wounded," Jaxom said sternly, "Our intel reports Chris shrugged. "We withdraw. This girl's still got some pretty good Jaal shook his head slowly on the screen. "It's suicide Chris. You "What would you have me do Captain? Give up this opportunity so that Jaal's mouth was a firm, staight line as he listened to the other The Trill captain paused to collect his thoughts and decide what would Jaal noticed, if only for a second, a change in the human's demeanor. "Jaal...for two years I've been waiting for this chance...now it's Jaal's eyes narrowed. His jaw set. "If you stop making this a matter Chris stiffened in his chair and sat back away from the screen. "Let's talk. I have to go back to Vulcan to take care of some The corners of Jaal's mouth turned up ever so slightly. He nodded, Chris muttered something incomprehensible to Jaal. "Just send me the "The Vulcans, like many other Federation people, are remarkably Once More, With Feeling 8: Shadow Lt. Cmdr. T'Pei ============================== That's how the stand up comic on Aldebaran III starts his routine. He waits for the audience to respond, and then, when it's awkwardly clear they won't, says "You see, with all the shit piling up recently, he simply wasn't fast enough to keep the universal scales balanced, so he threw up his hands and told her to hand out good and bad luck randomly." The setup is followed by the self-deprecating joke that since this establishment gave him a gig, good luck must be randomly assigned. Nobody laughs at this. Of course, nobody laughs at much of anything anymore, not even his best joke--the one about the Aldebaran prostitute on disability insurance (she only had two tongues). Most of the crew had gone to the show seven months ago, when the Hercules was docked for badly needed repairs. Chris had dragged T'Pei along, saying they could both use a laugh. "Well?" he asked expectantly afterwards, chuckling at the face she made. "Fine, I'll admit it was terrible, but stand up is supposed to be terrible. It's a universal law." He waited for some answer, but T'Pei had only frowned silently, and Chris had rolled his eyes good naturedly, knowing that, predictably, she was taking this too seriously. After walking in silence for several minutes, she had finally responded. "His premise was flawed," she said thoughtfully. "Karma does not exist, and certainly no entity holding us accountable for our actions. The only responsibility now is self-imposed." ============================== The timing was uncannily fortunate. After long deliberation, the Council had decided to tighten the restrictions on entering Vulcan space, but remain neutral. The Hercules was officially cleared of all blame regarding the destruction of Marau, and thanked for the medical assistance they had provided thus far. Just thirty-seven minutes after Sorena had informed her that the security restrictions she and Oliver Hume were under were lifted, T'Pei received an incoming transmission from the XO of the Hercules. "Are you communicating with the Council?" he asked, using their pre-arranged code for 'Is anyone listening to us right now?' "No, not anymore. The Hercules has been cleared." She expected Haight to relax at the news, but his face remained severe. 'Something is wrong,' she thought, and her mind flashed to Chris. What had happened when they engaged the Shiva? Haight read her expression immediately. "The Captain is fine; he called off the attack. That is not the reason that I contacted you." "Why did he change his mind?" Haight did not answer, continuing to stare intently at her. T'Pei raised an eyebrow. "Why exactly did you contact me, Commander?" "Do you know a Captain T'Risia?" "I used to know her when we served on the Galaxy, but I have not seen her for over ten years," she answered with a puzzled frown. Haight knew that already, from prior discussions about the Black Pearl's activities. "Then you have no idea why she sent you a private transmission, offering you Hawk Intel in exchange for your assistance in getting her ship repaired at Vulcan." T'Pei narrowed her eyes at the veiled accusation. "Indeed I do not, Commander. Vulcan would not allow a privateer to dock for repairs, especially not right now." "Exactly. She's a privateer. Do you have any idea what would have happened if we had forwarded the transmission without reviewing it? She seemed pretty confident that you would be willing to deal--gives you meeting coordinates and says she's 'looking forward to seeing you again...dear'." T'Pei had served with Haight for nine years; he had been her XO for eight of those. Never, in any of that time, had she ever given him reason to distrust her. The Vulcan woman stood and leaned forward, slowly placing her hands on the table in front of her. "Let me be perfectly clear, Commander: I do not deal with privateers, nor murderers. I have seen the same reports on T'Risia that you have, and she is both of those. Presumably she has chosen to contact me because she is aware that I am currently on Vulcan, and we were associates many years ago, but it is most certainly not because I have any current connection to her whatsoever." Straightening, T'Pei crossed her arms behind her back, returning to cool professionalism. "It would be beneficial for us to be aware of her plans. If you give me the coordinates, I will attend this meeting and ascertain her intentions." His eyes stayed on hers for several moments, hesitating, but then Haight moved partially off screen, and her sharp hearing picked up the clicking of typed commands. "Fine," he said when he returned. "Today, 1900 hours. I sent you the coordinates. Find out what she wants, but that's it. And Commander--I have not seen it necessary to inform the Captain of this. Yet." T'Pei nodded. "When I return to the ship, I will be able to inform him myself," she said pointedly. "T'Pei out." She had just over two hours. She signed off, sighing as she headed for the door. First Kaylee, then Cutter, now T'Risia. Her past seemed determined to find her this week. 'No karma, indeed.' “Exit; Stage Right” Captain Alexandira Lee, Commanding Officer The Messenger (Captain, Ret. Alexander Clayton) Cheyenne (Lieutenant, Ret. Aline Leger) ********** USS Pegasus – As the Dove Fleet is assembling. The Messenger looked out his viewport, watching as the Dove Fleet silently assembled; each ship moving into their assigned positions. From the look of things; every ship was taking up station relative to the USS Pegasus. That meant only one thing: the Pegasus was the flagship and that she would be leading the fleet into battle. Part of him wanted him to stay and fight, but he had to keep his eyes on the prize. He had to remain focused on the task at hand. McAllister had given him the PADD with the calculations from T’Risia on it that would, God willing, take him and Cheyenne back to the correct year in the past. He’d also noticed that the Pegasus was going to be protecting the Miranda while they attempted to travel to the past. He’d gotten that much from all the intraship communications and from overhearing talk all over. It gave him a sense of justification that what he was doing was indeed the right thing to do. Everything was falling into place. Making one last check of the room that had been his temporary home, The Messenger ensured that he had all that he needed for the trip. Everything was packed away in his backpack with the exception of one thing that was lying on his desk. He picked it up and pocketed it and then hit his intercom button. “Messenger to Captain Lee. I’m heading down to the shuttlebay now with Cheyenne. If you could, please meet us there.” He said, before cutting off the paging system. "Acknowledge," came Alex's voice. Shouldering his backpack, The Messenger took one last look around, then cut the lights and left the room for the last time. He was actually sad to be leaving the Pegasus. But all good things had to come to an end, especially where the greater good was concerned. He stopped short of Cheyenne’s door and hit the chime. She was at the door in minutes. No words were said. He simply jerked his head to one side, in the direction of the shuttlebay. She nodded once, grabbed her things, and followed him out. Things seemed to be in slow motion for the Messenger as he and Cheyenne walked resolutely down to the shuttlebay. Everyone around them was hustling around, making last minute preparations for the upcoming battle. He gave a silent prayer for those who were about to die and remanded their protection into the hands of the Lord. They entered the shuttlebay and saw that Lee was standing next to the Interceptor, waiting for them. He nodded to Cheyenne and handed his bag to her. She took it without a word and went into her ship to make the preflight preparations. The Messenger walked up to Lee. “Well Captain, I guess that this is it.” He said. “I never did thank you properly for picking me up off of Earth. So, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to do so now.” Alex nodded. Yes, she, for the most part did not like Clayton, but he had done nothing while aboard to cause her to distrust her. "A thanks is not needed, Clayton. I was simply doing my job." The Messenger pulled out a small wooden cross that was on a simple leather necklace strap. The cross itself had a small sliver of metal imbedded into its center. He gripped it in his hand and crossed Lee with it. “In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen” he said in blessing. He took out some holy water, dabbed it on his thumb and then made a cross on Lee’s forehead. “May the Lord keep you and Bless you in the upcoming storm. May Christ protect us from all storms and lightning. Christ went through their midst in Peace, and the word was made flesh. Christ is with us with Mary.” The Messenger then placed his hand on Lee’s forehead as he closed his own eyes. “Flee you enemy spirits because the Lion of the Generation of Juda, the Root David, has won. Holy God, Holy Powerful God, Holy Immortal God… Have mercy on us. Amen.” He then opened his eyes back up and then placed the wooden cross around her neck. “May the power of the Lord, powered in this relic, protect you and your crew, Captain.” He said as he took a step back. Alex bowed her head slightly. "Thank you." The Messenger smiled. “What you have around your neck is the last remaining Class One relic in existence.” He said. “That is a cross that I hand carved back on earth from wood out of one of the trees growing at the Mount of Olives with a sliver of one of the Crucifixion Nails imbedded into it.” He saw Lee trying to form a protest, but he held up a forestalling hand. “You can and you will, Captain.” He said. “In the event that should this timeline continue, there will need to be someone here to guard it. I am entrusting that to you. You have more than earned that honor.” "Then all I can say is thank you, Clayton. I hope you two are successful in your journey and mission.” “Then there is nothing more to say, other than Godspeed and Goodbye for now, Captain.” The Messenger said. He saw Cheyenne gesturing from the cockpit of the Interceptor out of the corner of his eye. He took a step back and stood formally at attention. “Permission to disembark the Federation Starship Pegasus, Captain Lee?” he asked as he rendered a formal Starfleet salute. It was the first time that he’d ever referred to any ship as being part of the Federation for the first time in a decade. In past conversations, he’d gone so far as to refer to the ship as being a part of anything but the Federation. The response caused Alex to smile. "Permission granted." She watched as the Messenger turned to head into the Interceptor. Once The Messenger was inside, Cheyenne lifted the ship up off of the deck, slowly spun it in place, and gently nudged it out of the shuttlebay. It was a testament to her flying ability. Not too many could spin a shuttle in place without moving it side to side slightly. Once they were clear of the Pegasus, Cheyenne gunned the engines and gracefully arced the Interceptor away from the Dove Fleet. “Any regrets?” Cheyenne asked as she glanced back at him and caught him staring out at the Dove Fleet. “Only that we didn’t do this a lot sooner…” The Messenger replied as the Interceptor jumped to warp in the direction of Sector 001.
“Messages”
Commander Paul McAllister, SFI on USS Pegasus
Inspiration: “Moonlight Sonata” – Beethoven http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vQVeaIHWWck&feature=related
(follows “Alternatives” before "Exit, Stage Right") -----------------------------
<Control Module, runabout Unicorn, on USS Pegasus>
McAllister sat before his portable keyboard, composing. As he played, his mind let his fingers roam without direction, for it was not music that occupied his thoughts. It was a woman.
To be sure, thoughts of women often echoed in McAllister’s mind of late. There was Laura, who was actually Ella. There was the precocious young Sam Widdlestein, wise beyond her years. There was Alicia, the guitarist assassin known as Pick, who had come to him just this evening expressing the band’s desire to ‘sit this one out.’ And there was T’Risia, the Vulcan pirate, to whom his second message of the evening would be addressed.
Then, as always, there was Alexandra. Alex remained passionately adamant that Paul’s planned time-travel adventure was a colossal mistake, a risk unnecessary, a waste or resources and – well, a waste of time. Although not yet removed from the marriage bed, Paul was beginning to wonder if sleeping in Clayton’s confessional would soon be his fate. Alas, the honeymoon was over.
McAllister forcibly pushed the thoughts of these women from his mind to concentrate on the one woman for whom he was actually composing – not a piece of music, but a message. A message to someone he had not spoken to in many years, a person he privately thought of as “Evie.”
He would never address her as such, even now. Their relationship was purely professional, their friendship platonic. The machine-person McAllister had first met seventeen years ago had taken many forms in his thoughts since that first day – from necessary evil to mentor to collogue to, finally, friend.
Paul knew he could rely on standard forms of encrypted communications to send his message, but that just wouldn’t be in the spirit of the game they had played for so many years until recently. This message had to read as nothing but an innocuous letter between two old friends separated by war, while still containing within it the seeds of information vital to their mission.
Finally prepared, McAllister stopped playing and fetched a cup of coffee from the replicator. Returning to the comm station, he engaged the security protocols that would keep even his wife from listening in, and leaned back in his chair with his feet on the console. Having assumed what he considered to be a proper ergonomic position, he began:
“Computer, begin recording. ‘Dear Eve – I hope this message finds you in the best of health and prosperity – or at least as much prosperity as these troubled times allow. Myself? I’m not as healthy as I would like to be; got banged up some escaping Vienna, and now my eyes water and a nasty bump to the head is giving me headaches I can’t seem to take anything for. The signs of aging, I guess.
‘I do have some good news for you. The band had gotten back together, and we’re hitting the road. Have already played a couple of gigs to good reception. We’ve done a few new tunes, some I’m sure will be minor hits – but this next one we’ve just finished recording is sure to hit the top of the charts!
‘Which brings me to the purpose of this message. I don’t suppose you’d mind putting up with this ole vagabond should he show up on your doorstep in say, umm’
“Computer, insert Pegasus ETA at DOA PDQ, OK?” asked McAllister. The computer chirped in compliance. “Continue recording –
‘—and if you could arrange a meet with any of my old producers that might be in the neighborhood, I’m sure they’ll go apeshit for this new tune.
‘Well, Eve old girl, this is pushing the limits of allowed words, so I’ll sign off for now. Best wishes to you and yours! Damn, it’ll be good to see ya again! -- Paulie’
“Computer, cease recording and display.” McAllister reviewed the message. Any intel officer with half a brain would be able to figure out that “Paulie” was bringing “Eve” something of importance. Any intel officer who had access to either McAllister or Valentina’s records – the covert or redacted versions – would be able to figure out that by addressing the message to “Eve” instead of the preferred “Valentina” signaled that this was more than a hello-gram from one old friend to another.
That was fine with him. He was broadcasting this message in the clear. Thousands of computers would sort through the words as they forwarded them along – and there was not one word in the damn thing that would shout out to a computer intercept “Hey, this is secret spy stuff.” By the time an actual person looked at the message, it would be too late, and they still wouldn’t know just what Paul was bringing to the DOA.
“Computer, send using only runabout systems on public channels, addressed to EVE the librarian, care of DOA Primus,” ordered McAllister. His next message would be easy to compose, if harder to deliver.
Paul quickly wrote his request – actually Clayton’s request – for information regarding sling-shot maneuver calculations and included several of the items that the priest had stated he would be willing to trade for T’Risia and the Black Pearl’s assistance. He spent more time attempting to figure out where the Black Pearl might be, or where she was headed.
McAllister decided that the best shot for delivery of this message was to contact another old friend he knew from communications intercepts was on Vulcan. He sent a brief request to T’Pei asking her to forward the message to T’Risia if given the opportunity. With his limited knowledge of the Black Pearl’s movements, it was the best he could do.
With his evening’s work accomplished, McAllister secured the control module and stepped out onto the Pegasus’ flight deck. He passed the mercenary’s ship on his way to the exit, and noted that Alex had posted guards. He approved. Pausing at the exit, he thought to turn around and look at the Unicorn, the runabout the band had been using as it’s mobile base of operations.
He noticed the security officers standing to one side, obviously guarding that ship as well. Their comrades watching the Delta Flyer must have called them – they hadn’t been there when he had gone aboard to record his messages. “To Catch A Comet“
Captain Jaal Jaxom USS Panther
==Bridge==
The preparations were complete.
The comet was on the viewscreen.
The bridge crew was tense and on the edge of their seats.
Captain Jaxom stood in front of his half way to the forward console where the Net’wa and Vam’wa took care of operations and helm respectively.
‘Comets are really rather unspectacular viewed like this,’ Jaal thought silently.
The Panther caught up and was traveling at an easy leisurely pace of seven hundred kilometers per second. The comet itself was approximately five kilometers long, three kilometers tall, and two kilometers wide. It dwarfed any starship and most starbases.
The Panther was taking a swooping course in to pick it up. From the comet’s perspective, the Panther was coming in from above and in front of it. The Panther would swoop down and fall in formation behind the speeding clump of matter.
“All systems functioning within normal parameters,” Marcy called from the engineering console. “Transporter systems are powered up. The Kitty Hawk’s warp drive is up and running. The power grid is stable.”
The Kitty Hawk was the shuttle that the Panther’s transporter buffer was borrowing power from through a quickly assembled mass of plasma conduits. It sat comfortably in its berth in the main shuttle bay.
“Intercept in one minute, fifty-two point four seconds,” the Vulcan tactical officer reminded them with his usual precision.
“Four hundred thousand kilometers and closing,” Vam’wa added.
“Steady as she goes Lieutenant,” Captain Jaxom sounded in reply to various reports.
The comet streaked through space. Essentially, it was a giant ball of rock and ice in space on an eternal journey around a non-descript star. From the Panther’s perspective it was above and ahead of it. It was now swooping down as the comet began to overtake and pass the starship.
Marcy, the Panther’s chief engineer had calculated they needed to get within at least half the transporter’s maximum range.
So far, so good.
As the Panther moved in closer to the comet, the distance was ticked off every 10,000 kilometers by Vam’wa.
They were so close. Only a few more thousand until they were in transporter range.
“Were in range… now,” Tupuk announced from the tactical console.
Jaal swallowed once feeling a bit of sweat on his forehead. “Energize.”
The Panther’s chief engineer and chief medical officer were still not convinced it was a good idea to try capturing a comet. In the end, the captain and the rest of the senior staff won out.
On the main viewscreen the comet in front of them began to fade from view. The Panther’s transporter system, augmented with some extra power from a shuttle’s warp drive, was storing it in the transporter’s buffer.
A similar type of trick was used years ago in an attempt to sneak an atomic bomb into the USS Galaxy’s shuttle bay aboard a runabout. Years and years before that, the famed Captain Montgomery Scott had kept himself alive in a transporter buffer on a crashed ship until help could arrive nearly eighty years later.
This was, however, the biggest thing on record anyone had ever tried to keep in a buffer.
On the viewscreen, the large chuck of rock and ice glowed with the familiar tinge of transporter energy. The blue, glowing orb shrunk slowly until there was nothing left.
The Panther’s bridge crew slowly looked around as if expecting something to happen. Perhaps a panel would throw some sparks or the lights would dim? To their great surprise, nothing happened.
Net’wa, at the ops console noted a blinking light on her panel. “Sir, we have an incoming message, text only.”
Before Jaal could offer a reaction the lights went out and alarm klaxons started going off.
The ship shook violently, but not enough to through people from chairs. Those standing, like the ship’s captain, were toppled off balance.
“Report!” Jaal hollered from the deck.
The emergency lighting kicked on giving everything a eerie reddish glow. The only other source of light was the various consoles around the bridge.
“Massive power fluctuations throughout the ship,” Net’wa offered after consulting her display.
“The power grid is destabilizing rapidly,” Marcy noted with alarm in her tone from the engineering console on the port side of the room. “We’ve got EPS taps popping off all over the place, damage control teams are being deployed…” she turned to face the bridge’s center, “I don’t think we can hold that thing much longer Captain. The strain is too much!”
“Warp drive is offline,” Vam’wa noted from helm control, “and I have no control of impulse at all.”
“Reports from engineering,” Marcy continued the bad news, “Decks six through twelve have power at all. We’ll probably lose more …”
She didn’t get to finish before the ship shook again.
“We have to let it go!” Marcy hollered this time, “Anti-matter containment is down to eighty-nine percent!”
Jaal bit his lip. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Seeing he had no choice he quickly went to the helm console and starting re-orientating the ship with maneuvering thrusters.
Before anyone could ask what he was doing he explained, “I’m pointing this thing towards the Breen’s main base… we can’t use it against Von Ernst but we’re not letting it go to waste.”
“We have no more time Captain!” Marcy was nearly hysterical but before she could continue her protests Jaal gave the order to enegerize and release the captured comet.
Except… nothing happened…
TBC… “To Not Catch A Comet” or “All Is Not Lost”
Captain Jaal Jaxom USS Panther
==Bridge==
Before anyone could ask what he was doing he explained, “I’m pointing this thing towards the Breen’s main base in the Trill sector… we can’t use it against Von Ernst but we’re not letting it go to waste.”
“We have no more time Captain!” Marcy was nearly hysterical but before she could continue her protests Jaal gave the order to enegerize and release the captured comet.
Except… nothing happened…
“The power outage has spread and now the transporters are offline as well!” Marcy was doing her best to keep calm.
Her main concern was the anti-matter containment system. If it fell much below eighty percent, the chance of anti-matter leaking out of their magnetic bottles grew exponentially. If even a molecule of anti-matter escaped it would be catastrophic for the ship.
Jaal lept over one of the railings to stand next to Marcy’s chair. “If the transporters have no power, why are we still hanging on to the comet? Don’t the buffers shut down without power?”
“Nay,” Marcy answered, “The buffers are supplied from a different trunk line to prevent accidentally losing whatever is stored there.”
“Shut the buffer down,” Jaal ordered.
Of course, that was the cue for the engineering console on the bridge to fizzle out. Marcy saw the signs first and jumped out of her chair pushing her captain away just as the console shorted out. It send a shower of sparks out from every nook and cranny. Fortunately, the polymers held together not allowing console shrapnel to fly throughout the bridge.
The Panther’s spry chief engineer was on her feet first and configuring an auxiliary console to tap into engineering controls. “Somethings wrong, I can’t reach the buffer controls from here.”
Jaal was on his feet now. “There’s no time, we have to do it manually. Where’s the junction for the buffer’s power feed?”
“Deck four, section twenty-six C!”
“Let’s go!”
Jaal, Marcy, and Tupuk headed into the turbolift…
==Deck 4==
Running down the corridor and counting off the sections out loud, the trio finally made it to the panel that would allow them to disconnect the buffer manually.
It wasn’t hard to spot in the darkened corridor as it was glowing a dull red.
Managing to think safety first despite the urgency, Jaal and Tupuk ripped off their shirts and covered the handles of the panel. With one on each side they gave a mighty heave the tossed the cover across the corridor where it landed with a clank. A sizzling could be heard as the worn carpeting smoked.
Marcy pulled out a small pry bar from her tool kit and pried at the switch.
It disconnected with a burst of flame followed by a shower of sparks.
The equipment that, only seconds ago glowed red, was starting to fade. A quick inspection revealed a failed overload device. Marcy shook her head. “This wouldn’t happen if we had regular maintenance layovers.”
“What happened to the comet?” the Panther’s captain asked.
“The same thing happens to anything that’s stored in a transporter buffer that loses power I imagine,” Tupuk answered.
“It’s gone?” Jaal asked sadly.
“Afraid so, sir,” Marcy confirmed.
Jaal bowed his head a moment. They had just obliterated a celestial body that had been traveling in space longer than his entire crew put together had been alive. He shook his head in regret wondering why he came up with this idea in the first place. He took a deep breath. Exhaling slowly he muttered “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault Captain,” the Vulcan tactician offered, “Our calculations didn’t account for this. To the best of our knowledge, the ship’s power grid should have handled it. I’m sure we can find another way to beat Von Ernst.”
“I know,” Jaal admitted sounding defeated, “What I’m really sorry about is destroying a celestial body in the attempt.” Looking up to his companions he added, “Many a planet-bound culture regard comets as omens of some significance. What if someone misses this one?” “Not a whole lot we can do about that now, is there?” Marcy replied. She sighed and tossed her small pry bar down. “Well, I’ve a ship to fix… again.” She closed up her tool kit and headed off to main engineering.
Tupuk, with his hands customarily folded behind his back reminded his captain of the message received during this escapade.
==Bridge==
The bridge was crowded with engineers and other technicians who were repairing some of the damage caused by beaming the comet aboard.
“Communications were not affected sir,” Net’wa informed Jaal almost cheerily, “Besides the text message, we’ve also been picking a lot of chatter on the Dove channels. Seems there’s a group of ships dogging Shiva. She’s slowing down.”
Jaal considered that a moment. “Let’s see that text message.”
Net’wa tapped a few buttons on her panel and a long string of numbers displayed on the operations console display. Net’wa’s Klingon brow furrowed deeply. “It looks like a date and time… but that’s all… does it mean something?” She looked up to her captain who was smiling broadly at the string of characters.
“Does that Dove chatter mention anything about the Shiva’s location or heading?” Jaal asked.
Net’wa nodded. “It does. She still seems to be chasing down the Miranda.” “Unintended Consequences”
==2409, Somewhere Along The Comet's Path==
“My liege! The Starwatchers are worried! The Great One has not arrived at its due time!”
The Smumps’ Grand Poobah frowned at the news. Every seventeen spars the Great One flew through the night sky for fourteen wachas. It was the Great One that signaled the turning of the Star Stone. If no signal were to arrive, the Star Stone would not get turned. If the Star Stone didn’t turn, the Big Water would not get diverted down the other path. If the Big Water didn’t get diverted down the other path, the food crops couldn’t be planted in the Other field. If the crops kept getting planted on the same field the soil would lose it’s life giving force, the Chra.
Every Seventeen spars the Star Stone was to be turned to divert the Big Water from one planting field to the other.
That was the way of things for as long as any of the Smumps could remember.
While one planting field was under water, it’s nutrients and life giving Chra would be revived by the Big Water. Meanwhile, the other field would be used to plant the food crops. And so that’s how the Smumps knew when to switch sides and ensure a bountiful reaping every season.
If the Big Water was never diverted, the field’s soil would eventually run out of Chra and no more crops would grow there.
And so it came to pass that the Great One never showed at the end of that one, fateful growing season. The Other field ran out of Chra and consequently, every last Smump starved to death.
Oh pity the Smumps!
Alas! They weren’t all that bright to begin with…
==2416, Somewhere Else Along The Comet's Path==
Every type of thing that travels through space, be it a planet, a star, or a comet, or simple asteroid, exerts some kind of gravity on everything else around it.
On one particular planet that that was just the right distance from its yellow, shining star, and happen to be, by astronomical standards, very near the Great One’s path.
Now that the Great One was no more, obviously, that minute gravitational pull was absent forever more.
And without that tiny influence, the planet’s tectonic plantes, floating on the planet’s molten core, shift a little more… then a little more… and finally, on the surface, a great planetquake changed much of the landscape.
In one particular swamp, on one particular land mass, in just the right temperature zone, proteins that for previous millennia, could not merge because of the Great One’s influence were now having the absolute greatest party of their little lives.
For those of you that believe evolution happens, that’s what exactly happened. Sure, it would be another couple of millennia before anything of intelligence showed up on the scene, but sure enough, intelligent life was on its way…
Hopefully it would develop more intelligence than the smumps… "Between Raising Hell and Amazing Grace" Captain Alexandra Lee Colonel Branwen London-- USS Trafalgar (Mieke) Captain Edward Summers-- USS Constitution (NPC) Captain Amy Jackson-- USS Stargazer (NPC) Captain Carl Chavez-- USS George Washington (NPC) Captain T'pa-- USS Bellerophon (NPC) Captain S'ran-- USS Excalibur (NPC) Captain Yoshi Li-- USS Columbia (NPC)
USS Pegasus Captain Lee wanted to see how the other commander's preparations were coming along. Her first check in would be the secondary Commander under her. Although she didn't approve of Colonel London's tactics, she was still a good combat commander and a member of the Dove Fleet. "Open a channel to Colonel London on the Trafalgar." "Aye, captain." A moment later, the view screen displayed the image of Colonel London in her command seat. "Colonel London, this is Captain Lee aboard the Pegasus. What is your status? " “Captain, good to see you.” Branwen smiled.”We will be here soon.” She said. “And the ship has been repaired, we are ready for action. Can you give me more information?” "Thats good to hear. I recommend launching all of your available fighters, shuttles, and runabouts to engage the Shiva. Our study of their weapon systems from the battle over Earth, indicates that they're vulnerable against small attack craft, such as fighters." She nodded. “How many ships do we have, and how many do they have besides the Shiva?” Bran asked. “I will give you all I have got.” "Your sensors should show the rest of the fleet. We have six other ships, the Constitution, Stargazer, George Washington, Excalibur, and the Columbia joining us. From what we can tell, there are eight other vessels besides the Shiva, which means we are slightly outgunned. We've been able to determine that those ships are the Capella, Achilles, Hades, Brittain, Agamemnon, Cortez, Istanbul, and the Cortez." Bran nodded. ‘It’s not going to be easy then, Captain Lee. But I am sure we can do it. Anymore that we are waiting for?” She asked her fellow captain. "No, all assigned ships have joined up or are in the process of doing so. Is there anything else?" “Nope, I think that is all the information I need right now.” The colonel took a deep breath. It was worse then she had feared. "Then god speed, Colonel." USS Constitution Captain Edward Summers, an average built human with a receding hairline, with his hands clasped behind his back, stood in front of his command chair, staring at the view screen as he watched the Dove Vessels finish taking up their assigned positions stood in front of his command chair. He, like many others had grown weary of this battle. It had taken a toll on both his ship and crew, but they once again had answered Admiral Akaar's request for help, as they always would. He thought about Captain Lee. she was young but he had heard only good things about her and for admiral Akaar to trust her enough to place her and the Pegasus as the fleet's flagship, was good enough for him to trust in her ability to lead this fleet to victory. USS Stargazer The slender build of the red-haired, Captain Amy Jackson was currently touring the small bridge. Though she wouldn't admit it to anyone, she was extremely nervous, as she came to the ship's plaque and silently read it. Amy thought about the past vessels to carry the name Stargazer, including the original stargazer once captained by the legendary Captain Picard. She had lost her husband in this damned war. They had married at a young age--just before the civil war which split the Federation. Now, her home planet of Earth had been destroyed by Von Ernst. "See you in hell, you bitch," she uttered as she turned and made her way to the command chair. USS George Washington Captain Carl Chavez was among one of the older captains of the Dove Fleet. His hair peppered, along with his goatee. An eye patch covered the right eye with a positronic-based artificial left leg. Some of the crew, he learned, had began to call him 'Ahab' due to his hard work ethic and the fact he resembled a pirate when one thought about the patch and prosthetic leg. If he was Ahab, then the Shiva was his White Whale. He saw the Shiva one of the leading causes for the continuation of this damned war. He stared into the view screen as he stood next to the tactical officer's position. "Helm, once we drop out of warp, keep our impulse engines at full. We'll be a hard target for the Hawks to lock onto. Take all unnecessary systems offline and reroute to the engines." "Aye, captain." He then thought of his favorite line from Moby Dick--the last line uttered by the infamous Captain Ahab. "...from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee," he uttered under his breath. USS Bellerophon Captain T'pa sat in her command chair with an emotionless expression that accompanied majority of Vulcans. Yet, behind that face, her mind was constantly working out probabilities and alternative tactical strategies to use against the Hawk Fleet and the Shiva. Things did not favor the Dove Fleet with the Shiva, even if the vessel had been damaged. This war had tested T'pa mentally--requiring that she meditate often while not on duty. However, she was confident in her crew to perform their best during the upcoming battle. T'pa tapped a few commands into the arm console controls to her right and was satisfied as all systems were in working order. Not at the level of proficiency that she would prefer to have, but it would have to do, especially with the short amount of time they had before the battle. USS Excalibur Captain S'ran's antennae twitched back and forth, each taking in the anticipation of the upcoming battle from the crew aboard the bridge. "He too, was eager for this battle. For a person to simply destroy a planet was an unnecessary show of power...reckless power, at that. It was now up to him and the other vessels of the Dove Fleet to punish Von Ernst for that recklessness. He and his crew were more than ready to administer that punish with Von Ernst's death. He was confident in his crew as they had seen many battles together and had always come out on top. USS Columbia Captain Yoshi Li was perhaps one of the youngest captains in the Dove Fleet. However, that youthfulness hid the experience that she harbored from countless battles and combat patrols, as she had had the honor of serving under Captain Alexandra Lee for a year. It had been Alex's first year as captain, but she had been a damn fine captain from the beginning. Some captains simply had a knack for leading while others had to work hard at it. She closed her eyes, allowing herself some time to herself as she sat in the command chair aboard the Columbia's bridge. She thought back to the day she was given command of the Columbia. It had only been six months ago, yet it felt like a lifetime ago. Alex had been among the few captains to first congratulate her. She, like Lee, had strived to uphold the Federation's prinicples. She re-opened her eyes as she waited for the coming battle. USS Pegasus "We're coming up on the Hawk Fleet and the Shiva, captain," Ensign Cathers announced from his station. "Sound Red Alert. Drop in right on top of them and launch all fighters at my command." TBC.... “The Kitty Calvary Rides Again…” Star Captain Le’on Khatowren, CO Task Fleet Harpoon. ********** CIC, ICS Days of Thunder… Inbound to the Dove Fleet. Le’on checked the status of his little task force for what seemed to be the hundredth time. Out of the original ten; he only had three ships left over. High Command at Cattus promised more ships to help hunt the Shiva down, but he was doubtful that they would make it in time for the party. The whole situation seemed surreal; The Miranda was being chased by the Shiva. The Shiva was being chased by the Dove Fleet, which seemed to be chased in turn by the Hawk Fleet. He didn’t have any idea in the least of what was going on, but he did know that by taking out the Shiva the leadership of the Hawk Fleet would effectively be wiped out. In the end, that was all that was important. He was thankful that K’aa’s people had repaired, refitted, and rearmed his ships back at Gorn as a way of saying ‘thanksssss’ for backing them up with their mega-weapon testing. Le’on still couldn’t get over the size of that thing or how far that thing was able to shoot. He just hoped that it would be enough for in the future whenever it would be employed. After the Cattusians were ready, K’aa had informed him of the imminent action and gave him directions to the battle. It was probably the first time in decades that the two actually parted ways amicably. Le’on saw that the Claw and the Talon were holding formation and that they were at full combat readiness. Tapping a few more controls, he got a readout on the Dove Fleet that was assembling. “Heh… The USS Pegasus again…” he chuckled as he saw the flagship light up. “So we meet again…” He remembered the spirited human captain from the Battle of Earth not so long ago. He turned and looked at his communications officer. “Send word to Captain Lee onboard USS Pegasus; Let her know that we are coming to the party.” He said. The communications officer nodded and carried out his orders. He then looked over at his exec. “Salem, once message is off, have the fleet cloak. We will run silent and shadow the Dove Fleet until contact with the Shiva. Contact me in…” he checked the chronometer. “Eight hours when we are close to intercept with the Dove Fleet. Ensure that crews are rotated and rested during that time. We do not need everyone falling victim to cat naps in the middle of battle.” He ordered. Salem grinned at the pun. “Of course Comrade Captain.” He said, waving his paw in a bit of a mock salute. “Get some rest…” “That I will…” Le’on said, stretching and yawning a bit. “Tomorrow we will hopefully see the Shiva’s reign of terror end. I definitely want to be awake for that event.” “Double Back” Part 1 The Messenger (Captain, Ret., Alexader Clayton) Cheynenne (Lieutenant, Ret., Aline Leger) HAL 9000, Interceptor Computer AI ********** Delta Flyer Interceptor – Inbound, Sol Sector. 2402. “Course plotted and entered into NavComputer.” Cheyenne said. She looked back over her shoulder to where Clayton was sitting at the auxiliary station. “Last chance to change your mind on this little endeavor.” She said. It had been a couple of days since they’d left the Pegasus and they could tell from long range sensors tell that the battle against the Shiva was just now getting underway. “Not a chance.” Clayton said, jaw set, looking out past her to the distant orb of fire called Sol that they were about to fly towards. The theory and calculations were sound. James T. Kirk had done it at least twice within his own lifetime, so why couldn’t he do the same? Probably because no one has ever attempted this large of a jump before… the nagging little voice in the back of his head said. He glanced at the plotted course; they were heading in from what was considered the nadir point, or ‘up’ point, of the solar system. That way there was no chance of crossing a planet’s orbit and there was a miniscule chance of hitting an asteroid or satellite or something. Granted, the destruction of Earth made things a little bit trickier since the gravitational pulls of everything in the solar system was now affected. We only have to do this once… Clayton told himself. After that, things would be easy. He sighed and nodded to Cheyenne. “Alright, let’s do this.” He said. And let’s hope that T’Risia hit the calculations right on the money… Cheyenne nodded. “HAL, once we’re at speed, give me the countdown for breakaway.” “Acknowledged…” HAL responded. “Here goes nothing…” Cheyenne said as she engaged the engines. As the Interceptor jumped to warp, she glanced back over her shoulder. “This is probably a bad time to bring this up, but you do realize that this ship never has been above Warp 6 and we’re supposed to be doing at least 9.8?” she said. “Back in Kirk’s time it was 9.8.” Clayton mentioned. “Nowadays that is significantly less due to the upgrades in technology.” He stated. When he caught Cheyenne’s questioning eyebrow he decided a simpler approach would be better for the Engineering Illiterate. “Let me put it this way. Back in Kirk’s time, Warp Factor 9.8 is roughly a thousand times the speed of light. With the revised scale due to improvements, a ship wanting to make that speed only has to be doing about Warp 7, tops.” “This ship is only rated for Warp 6!” Cheyenne protested, “Why the hell are you just now telling me this?” “Rated…” Clayton said, emphasizing the term. “But what can she actually do? Have you actually ever bothered to push this ship past her limits?” he asked with a challenging smile. That worked. In a huff, Cheyenne looked back at her console and gunned the engines way past the red line. “Warp 5, on course.” She announced. Ahead of her on the viewscreen, Sol was slowly growing bigger and bigger. “Warp 5.59…” Cheyenne announced. Clayton remained fixated on his own controls as he enriched the matter/antimatter mixture in order to coax more speed out of the small ship. “Warp 6!” Cheyenne called out with a bit of a thrill running through her. It was the highest she’d ever had the Interceptor before. Clayton had personally looked at her engines before they left the Pegasus; whoever tricked up Cheyenne’s ride knew their stuff. “Warp 6.5!” he heard her call out. It was about this time the ship started shuddering a bit. He checked the Structural Integrity; stressed but still within acceptable parameters. The ship began to start to feel warm as they drew closer and closer to the sun. “Warp 6.75!” Cheyenne yelled out over the din of the shuddering and the whine of the engines. “Thirty Seconds to breakaway…” HAL intoned. “Pour it on girl!” Clayton yelled as he removed the safeties to the injectors and shoved as much matter/antimatter into the core matrix that he could. Warning klaxons blared. Cheyenne looked over her shoulder. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?” she called out as she glimpsed at what had caused the warning to blare. “Relax!” Clayton yelled back. “You’re the pilot; I’m the engineer for this trip. Now keep your eyes on what you’re doing!” he snapped as he pointed forward. Cheyenne frowned, but otherwise did as she was told. “6.8…” She called out. “6.9… 6.95…” “Ten Seconds to breakaway.” HAL continued on. “Nine… Eight… Seven… Six…” “Warp 7!” Cheyenne called out triumphantly. “Wait for it!” Clayton yelled. The sun was now filling up the entire screen, bathing them in its bright yellow-orange light. “Four… Three… “ “Wait for it…” “Two… One… Zero…” “NOW” “YEEEEAAAAHHHHHH!” Cheyenne yelled as she yanked back hard on the control stick, throwing the Interceptor hard to port and into a close orbit to the sun. Gravity then took over as everything faded to white… ********** Somewhere in time… According to the memoirs of Captain James T. Kirk, when he and his crew entered the time warp, there was a bit of disorientation followed by what he later described as ‘temporal echoing’. It was something of a phenomenon that Kirk attributed to the relativistic effects caused by moving faster than the speed of light while time itself reversed. The echoing was that of voices that they heard while in the time warp that they would later experience over the course of their trip back to the 20th Century. What does your God have to say about something like that? One male’s voice asked, Clayton swore that he knew that voice, but couldn’t quite place it. Do you have any idea what you’re asking of me!? Another angry male voice now demanded, one that Clayton was pretty sure of. Clayton wondered if that was indeed what he was experiencing now, this ‘temporal echoing’, and he wondered if Cheyenne was hearing the same things that he was. Well, this should be interesting… A female’s voice says sarcastically. I thought that you loved me… Another young feminine voice says, pouting. Please tell me that you have an actual emergency this time… Some male’s monotone voice says I’m sorry m’lord… there’s nothing I can do… A sad voice in a British accent shouts. Please… Please don’t do this… The young feminine voice again. If you know this information then why are you not stopping it!? Another different British sounding voice said angrily... You sure this is going to work? The first female asks. I bow to no man… Clayton’s voice said. ALEX!!! The feminine voice yet again screamed out. ********* Sometime in the past… “Alex?” Cheyenne asked, shaking his shoulder. “Yo! Clayton!” she called out. “You ok?” “Mm? Yeah, yeah…” Clayton said, snapping out of it. “What happened? Where are we?” he said, looking to the viewscreen and then down at his panel. Cheyenne grinned and then returned to the pilot’s seat. She swung the Interceptor to starboard and slightly up. Clayton gasped as he slowly got to his feet. There it was in its entire blue-green splendor… Earth… “Double Back” Part 2 The Messenger (Captain, Ret., Alexader Clayton) Cheynenne (Lieutenant, Ret., Aline Leger) ********** Delta Flyer Interceptor – Earth. 1661. Clayton and Cheyenne stood there for quite some time, admiring Earth’s beauty. Cheyenne actually had tears in her eyes. “You know… I think that it takes you losing something before you actually appreciate it…” she said. “Amen to that…” Clayton said. “Now the question is; when are we?” “Well…” Cheyenne said, wiping her eyes and composing herself and looking at her NavComputer. “No emissions, no electronics, hell, can’t even find a lightbulb down there…” Cheyenne said. “The stars are in the correct position for some time in the 1600s. But how close to where we need to be?” Clayton called up the sensor data; there was no sign of the USS Relativity anywhere, so it was before Captain Braxton showed up to pull him out. He localized the sensors to the area of the Caribbean that he was all too familiar with. “Keep us in a geostationary orbit here.” He told Cheyenne. “Let’s see if I can see where I’m at…” “What?” Cheyenne asked as she put the ship into position. “Keep in mind; I got my past self down there somewhere on the deck of a Pirate Sloop.” He said. “And there I am…” he said as he found himself. He pulled up the aerial view of his old ship; the Revenge. “”Looks like we overshot by a week. The Revenge is just now leaving catching up to Lafayette’s ship. Remind me to buy T’risia a good case of Romulan Ale when we get back.” Cheyenne let out a low whistle. “Wow… not bad considering…” she commented. “So now what?” she asked. “We have about five days before the Revenge gets back to St. Kitts.” The Messenger commented. “Then another three days until the wedding and the murder.” He said bitterly. “And then the two days after that will be the funeral.” “So then what’s the plan?” “Well, first off we need to get the Interceptor in low to one of the poles to mask our warp core. The Relativity won’t show up for another two weeks, so our warp trail signature should be dissipated by that time.” “No way. That’s a 29th Century timeship that you’re talking about. They’ll see us when they get here.” “Five credits say you’re wrong.” The Messenger says. “They’re going to be too focused on getting my past self outta here before I hit Petit Goave to notice even the most residual traces of a warp trail.” “Great…” Cheyenne said. “So we get to just sit around for a week and a half at least, just twiddling our thumbs?” “Nope.” The Messenger said. “We actually get to do something before then.” He said, patting the pocket of his trench coat where McAllister’s letter and ring was at. “Once we get into position, I have to beam down to London to make a delivery.” Cheyenne arched a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Last time I checked, you didn’t pack a spare set of clothes. How you going down, dressed just like that?” she asked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms in front of her. “Well, now that you mention it…” ********** Windsor Castle, Berkshire, England; 1661 The Messenger had intended walking right up to the royal castle dressed as he was. His clothing, while a bit off here and there, did strongly resemble the clothing trends of the clergy of old. The Church never really did update their fashion image from the dark ages on. One of the things that The Messenger was thankful for was the fact that England’s official religion at the time was the Church of England as reinstated by Charles II., which understood itself to be both Catholic and Reformed. Even though he wouldn’t formally convert to Roman Catholicism until he’s on his deathbed in 1685, he could at least carry out this favor for McAllister in the religious light that he had planned. So whether or not Charles II was proclaiming himself Catholic or Anglican really didn’t matter in this case. A priest was a priest and was therefore on a mission from God. Failing that, The Messenger could claim to be an angel and even use his phaser if need be to perform a ‘miracle’ for the skeptic, but he sincerely hoped that it wouldn’t come to that. It was nighttime in England right now, but The Messenger wasn’t making any attempt to hide his presence as he calmly walked up the mile long walkway up to the palace gates. He intentionally beamed down way outside of the guard’s perimeter and allowed himself to be seen by a few peasants here and there. It wasn’t long before he encountered one of the many patrols. “Halt! Who goes there!?” “Messenger for His Majesty, the King!” The Messenger called out as he stopped in his tracks. Two guards stepped out of the shadows and looked at him carefully in the flicker of the fire torches that lined the walkway. “Never seen you ‘ere before…” one of them said. The Messenger held up his left hand, where he wore the ring that McAllister had given him. Both guards’ eyes widened and they both stiffened up as they saw the seal on the ring. What really put the fear into them was the fact that they saw the ring on the hand of someone who was apparently wearing the cloth. “I have a message for the King, which is to be delivered to him personally.” The Messenger said calmly. Moments later he was being ushered through the gates and being led through the castle with armed guards clearing the way for him and leading him right to King Charles II himself who was waiting for him in the throne room, undoubtedly informed ahead of time of his arrival as The Messenger first reached the gates. The Messenger walked right up to him, stopping just short of the steps that led up to the throne. “Your Majesty…” he said with a formal bow of the head. Charles arched an eyebrow. “Typically my subjects bow in my presence.” He said in an attempt to remind people of their place. “Typically people in your presence are not members of the Church.” The Messenger said, drawing back his trench coat enough for Charles to see his collar and he showed him the ring on his right hand that signified him as a priest of the Church. “I bow to no man.” He said. “Indeed.” Charles said, with a slight nod of the head. “Now, I understand that you have pressing news for my attention?” he asked. The Messenger glanced around at everyone who was still in the room and then looked back at the King in askance. “Leave us.” Charles commanded with a dismissive wave of his hand. After everyone has left, he looked down at The Messenger and gestured for him to proceed. The Messenger pulled out the package that McAllister had given him and handed it to the King. “Your Majesty, I have instructions to give this to the current head of the House of Stuart with the Message that this package is to be opened, in private, by you. You are to follow the instructions inside to the letter and then destroy the letter that you have just read.” Charles took the package and regarded the waxen seal on it. “How did you come to posses these documents?” The Messenger now showed the King his left hand that had the signet ring on it. He pulled it off and casually tossed it up to Charles, who fumbled the catch a bit but got it under control. He held it up to his face to study it. “And how…” he started to ask. “Let’s just say that a relative of yours in the House of Stuart gave it to me along with the documents and leave it at that.” The Messenger said, turning on his heel to leave. “Wait!” Charles commanded. “Just who are you? What is your name?” “I’m just The Messenger, doing God’s work.” The Messenger said. “And if you have the best interests of your people in mind, you will do well to follow those instructions…” he said, walking out the door into the antechamber beyond. Thankfully there were no guards, so he tapped his badge under his trench coat. “Cheyenne…” he muttered. Charles, however, was still mulling over things. He dashed off of the throne and threw open the door and went through the now empty antechamber for the doors leading out to the corridors. He threw them open and glanced all around, seeing only the startled looks of his guards. “Your Majesty?” they inquired. “The Messenger… Where is he?” Charles asked, looking around. “No one has come out, sire.” One guard said, looking at his partner in confusion. “The Messenger is still inside with you.” He then looked at the King. “Is everything alight?” “Yes, of course.” Charles said, recovering quickly. “See to it that I’m not disturbed please.” He said, returning to the throne room to look at the documents. He glanced around uncertainly before breaking the waxen seal and reading. The Messenger had indeed vanished into thin air… “Double Back” Part 3 The Messenger (Captain, Ret., Alexader Clayton) Cheyenne (Lieutenant, Ret., Aline Leger) ********** In low polar orbit around Earth 1661. Cheyenne watched The Messenger as he made his preparations to go back down to the surface. “Are you sure that this is going to work?” she asked dubiously as she leaned up against the bulkhead with her arms crossed. “Technically, this should work far better than what we have planned.” The Messenger said as he made some last minute detail adjustments on his tricorder. He then snapped it shut and put it into the black box on the workstation nearby before walking over to the medical stasis chamber which housed his ‘Chantelle Doppelganger’ as Cheyenne has come to call it. The Messenger had used the image in his holo prisim and the lock of hair that he’d kept with him all this time in order to create an ad hoc clone that would fool the most cursory of checks, which was more than enough for this to work. He could’ve used a rubber mannequin with a synthetic skin and it would’ve worked to fool people for the funeral that would be taking place in a couple of days. But at least by growing a dead clone with organic matter, this would go through the motions of decomposing just on the off chance that someone decides to unearth the grave later on. “Keep in mind that these are simple people He checked the status to make sure that the process was competed. The doppelganger had spent the last week and a half growing inside of the stasis chamber while they were waiting for the right time to move. The Messenger had made sure not to look at the thing inside there. Intellectually, he knew that it wasn’t his fiancée in there, but the human heart sometimes conveniently forgets details like that. He wanted to remain objective for this. “So where’s the Revenge at?” he asked. “Pulling into port at St. Kitts now.” Cheyenne replied. “I can’t believe that you actually spent a year on that thing.” she commented. “One does what one has to.” The Messenger replied. “At the time, I had no idea what was going on or when I would be picked up.” He said as he worked. “As time went by, I just figured I was stuck there just as I was the first time I went through time. So I did what I had to whenever something happens to you like that; you just pick yourself up, move on, and adapt. Sometimes that’s easier said than done. Sometimes it’s the hardest thing that you’ll ever have to do. Sometimes it means doing something that you have to do, not necessarily what you want to do.” “Hm…” Cheyenne muttered noncommittally. She then pondered that point for awhile. “Is that what my father did?” she asked. The Messenger looked up at her. “Multiple times.” He said. “And he it each time at great personal sacrifice. We all should be lucky to suffer as he did.” “Suffer how?” The Messenger sat down and sighed. “The first instance I heard of was in the Dominion War. I looked up the records of his ship to confirm it. Captain Goulet literally had to punch him in order to get him to an escape pod, leaving your birthmother on the bridge. According to the recordings, Goulet thought that your mother was dead while your father contested that. Another time was when he killed hundreds of refugees in order to prevent some Jem’Hadar from destroying his ship and killing thousands. The next time was when he found the woman that you would later call ‘mother’. He found her at Havras and, going against orders, he busted into an interrogation facility in order to save her. Later still, he volunteered to be captured and tortured by the Breen so that he could get inside information and liberate hundreds of Federation nationals knowing very well that it would severely affect you and your mother.” The Messenger explained. “He made the tough decisions and, most times, got a lot more grief for it than he actually deserved; Court Martials, Reprimands, Demotions, physical pain and suffering… You name it, he’s been through it. It makes me sad to see that you chose the easy way out in life, but he would’ve wanted you to make your own choices, be they good or bad, and live your own life. I respected that view and that’s why I allowed you to take the life that you did.” Cheyenne wiped the tears from her eyes that had appeared as she sat down on the deck. “I’ve made a bit of a mess of things, haven’t I?” The Messenger turned back to his work. Now he was preparing various medical instruments and hyposprays that they would more than likely need when they beamed Chantelle up. “We all have. Thankfully though, we have the opportunity to make things right. Not all people get second chances like this.” “So what is your plan when the, Relativity is it, shows up?” Cheyenne asked. “I don’t see you committing suicide or anything like that.” “In the 29th Century that Captain Braxton is from, they have something called Temporal Integration. I overheard the term when I was on the Relativity. When my escorts had left, I accessed their computer and looked up the term. It’s basically a process in which temporal counterparts can be merged back together. Usually its so that they can stand trial, but in this case I can cease to exist, impart my knowledge into my counterpart without having to explain anything in depth, and give my Chantelle the husband that she remembers instead of a fifty-something priest.” He gave a half shrug as he looked over to Cheyenne. “Everyone wins.” He said. “And what about me?” Cheyenne asked. “What do I do? Where can I go? I don’t want to fade out of existence or anything.” “What is it that you want?” Cheyenne sighed. “I want the life that I should’ve had.” She said. “I want my family back. I want to be the one who goes back from 2405 to get dad back on track.” “Then talk to Braxton about it when we see him.” The Messenger said. “Since we’re effectively helping him restore the timeline, you still can be that woman.” “Double Back” Part 4. The Messenger/Captain Alexander Clayton, Ret. (Future Self – Age 54) Count Alexander Clayton (Past Self – Age 34) ********** St. Kitts, 1661 (again) The Messenger checked his chronometer as he walked past the Cathedral. He was moving right on time. His past self would be getting ready in one of the antechambers now and Gustav Lafayette and his two cronies should be disembarking from their ship right about now. Everything is moving just as it had the first time around. Dodging around the multitude of people who were steadily making their way into the Cathedral, he quickly made his way through town and up to the Governor’s Mansion. He didn’t go right for the mansion. As much as he wanted to prevent this event from happening altogether, he couldn’t. Events had to take place as he remembered them. For a moment, he ruefully thought that this was probably the reason Braxton refused to rescue Chantelle in the first place; because he was already doing it at this point in time. Interesting thing: time travel. Once he was through the estate gates of the Governor’s Mansion, The Messenger headed right for the multitude of servants quarters. There was one in particular that he singled out; the Governor’s personal Surgeon. The Messenger had to take the man’s place for this to work. Without so much as knocking, The Messenger charged straight in and found the man coming out of his bedroom. “Now see here!” he exclaimed. “I demand to know what the meaning of this intrusion is!” The Messenger rushed him, pinning him up against the wall. “Shut up and don’t make a sound unless I tell you to. Understand?” just to emphasize the point, The Messenger pulled a pistol from the time period from the pocket of his trench coat. The Surgeon nodded vigorously. “Now here is the deal. In little less than twenty minutes, there is going to be a murder at the Governor’s Mansion. You will be hearing shots fired. That is going to be Gustav Lafayette killing Chantelle and her two bridesmaids.” The Surgeon’s eyes widened at that revelation. “Then what… what are you doing here? If you know this information then why are you not stopping it!?” he cried out. “Shaddup!” The Messenger snapped. “You will be going up there, but you won’t be able to save them despite your best efforts. You are then going to come here and drink your sorrows away wishing you could’ve done more. I’m telling you this because you personally will not be doing it. I will be.” The Messenger explained. He released the Surgeon and drew out a small piece of parchment with his free hand. “Now read this.” He said. “Are you mad?” “Like a hatter. Now read it before I give your brain some much needed air conditioning.” The Messenger said, cocking the hammer on the pistol. The Surgeon gave The Messenger a dubious look, but did as he was told. When he was finished, The Messenger smiled. “Thank you.” He said pocketing the pistol and tossing the parchment into the nearby fireplace where it was incinerated immediately. He then quickly whipped out a hypospray and pressed it to the Surgeon’s neck. “When you wake up, you’re going to have one helluva hangover from all the rum you drank because you failed to save the Governor’s daughters.” The Messenger said as he caught the Surgeon as the man lost consciousness. He drug the man to his room and dumped him on to his bed. He then grabbed a nearby bottle of rum, poured a bit of it over his mouth and down the front of his shirt and then wrapped the man’s hand around the bottle. The Messenger then glanced around to make sure no one was nearby. He tapped his commbadge. “Alright Aline, beam it down.” He whispered. Instantly, a small box materialized out on the table in the main room. He opened it up and proceed to put the mask on and change. When he was finished, he tapped his badge again and told Aline to beam it back up. The box disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. Now, all he had to do was wait… ********** The Governor’s Mansion in St. Kitts… Chantelle looked herself in the mirror for the last time and twirled in place. Her bridesmaids were looking on with smiles. This indeed was the perfect day for Chantelle. In mere moments she was going to marry the man that she loved and who loved her unconditionally. Nodding to her bridesmaids, she declared that she was finally ready to go. She caught sight of a dark shape at the doorway. “Ready to escort me to the Cathedral father?” she asked as she turned. Her and her bridesmaids then all gasped as one as they saw the three dark men standing there. “Your Fiancé has cost me a brother.” The leader glowered at her, his pistol raised. “Now I am going to cost him a bride.” Tears filled up in Chantelle’s eyes. “Please…” she begged. “Please… don’t do this…” she asked of him. The man’s mouth quirked up in an evil smile as he pulled the trigger. His two compatriots followed suit. ********** The Surgeon’s House… The Messenger was amazed at the sheer amount of pandemonium that ensued after the first gunshots rang out. He was kind of surprised that he didn’t hear them the first time around while he was waiting down at the Cathedral. First, there were the three shots from Gustav Lafayette and his buddies, then there were the screams and shouts of alarm coming from the mansion. Already there were guards and people coming out from the nearby structures to see what all was going on. He watched as Lafayette’s goons were then gunned down as well as Lafayette subsequently surrendering rather than be shot. “SURGEON! SOMEONE FETCH THE SURGEON!” He then heard someone from up at the Mansion scream out. Others started echoing the order. That was his cue. The Messenger, now disguised perfectly like the actual surgeon now tucked away in a dark corner of the bedroom, made one last look back to make sure that the actual surgeon was still out cold, grabbed the surgeon’s bag (now heavy with some additional instruments that he’d put in), the surgeon’s apron, and dashed up to the Mansion. Being in the little ‘Governor’s Community’ made the trip relatively short. He barreled through the front doors and looked around, as if he were searching for the wounded, even though he knew perfectly where they were at. Servants and Maids were all either pointing upstairs or calling for him to go upstairs. The Messenger wasted no more time vaulting the grand staircase. The scene was pretty much the same as the first time he saw it; the three ladies were down on the ground, all bleeding profusely from their chests. The Messenger whipped out the rudimentary stethoscope and knelt down by the first woman; this one being Chantelle’s best friend as he recalled. She was already dead. He pulled out a hankerchief to cover up the young girl’s face to signify deceased status and move on to the second woman. This one was Chantelle’s sister. She too was already dead. He heard the Governor’s voice by the doorway ask if she was ok. He looked up at the man, that relatively speaking he hadn’t seen in about twenty years, and shook his head no. The Governor’s wife wailed out from behind him and the Governor started crying as well. Ignoring the chaos, he started snapping orders to the nearby servants. “Get them out of here!” he pointed at the Governor and his wife, his voice now perfectly matched to the actual surgeon thanks to the voice chip in the mask. “You there! Fetch more lads to get these two out of here and be quick about it.” He said tersely. That just left Chantelle herself. His breathing hitched as he saw the woman he loved, alive, but fighting for life, again for the first time in about twenty years. He shook it off and got to work. He made the standard check with the stethoscope while he discreetly reached into his back and removed a hypospray. “She’s still breathing!” he said in triumph as he pressed the hypo into the side of her arm. His words concealed the muffled hiss of the hypospray. He pocketed it and waved a butler over. “Help me get her to the bed! Hurry now lad!” he said as he placed his arms under her. “Lift!” he cried out as him and the butler picked her up and moved her over to the bed. He noticed that the Governor had once again snuck into the room. “Get him out I said!” The Messenger pointed to him as he placed the doctor’s bag on the nightstand next to her. “And someone go fetch her fiancée!” he added. “It might be the last time he gets to see her…” he mumbled as he turned to his work. The Messenger used the momentary lapse of human presence to open up the medical tricorder inside of his bag. He’d already had it configured to make the scan as soon as he activated it. It did its sweep and instantly reported back; the lead ball had just missed her heart and she was bleeding internally. The hypospray that he’d injected into her was full of medical nanoprobes that were already fixing the damaged tissue and preparing her for hibernation. They were already slowing down her heartbeat so that she could lie in a form of stasis for a bit until he could get her back up to the Interceptor to be completely healed by the EMH. All he needed to do now was inject her a second time with a medicine that would complete the process. He got out the hypospray in question, quickly injected it into her neck and then got to the real work of putting on a show. After tossing both used hypos back into the bag, he got out the bottle of alcohol and a couple of rudimentary instruments; a long pair of tongs and a scalpel. He cut open Chantelle’s dress a bit to expose the wound and immediately poured the alcohol over the wound to clean it. Chantelle bucked and screamed in pain as the alcohol met open wound. Sorry Darling… he thought. But I have to do it… he put the scalpel up to his mouth and held it in his teeth as he made a show of looking into the wound. Amazingly enough; he could actually make out the small lead ball. Boy that is in there deep… By this time, a couple of the younger surgeons from town were putting Chantelle’s friend on a gurney and covering her up with a sheet. The surgeons looked at him, wondering what they should do. “There’s nothing we can do for them. Take them to the undertaker…” he said mournfully. He did regret not being able to do anything for them as well. But, he reminded himself, they were due to die anyways and he couldn’t save them without disrupting the timeline, especially with instant killing shots like they’d received. Moments later, he heard his younger self come in downstairs while he was busying himself with ‘attempting’ to get the lead ball out with the tongs. As his younger self came in he gave out a frustrated snarl and tossed the crude medical instruments away. He turned to look out the window, not really wanting to see this transpire again. It was heart wrenching enough the first time around. The younger Clayton managed to get past the lump in his throat to speak. “Doctor…” he managed to croak out when he walked up next to him. “Count Clayton…” The Messenger said formally. He placed a bloody hand on his younger self’s shoulder, which seemed kind of odd to him; being on the other side of the conversation this time and everything. “I am sorry m’lord…” he said, trying to remember what the surgeon had said the first time around. “There’s nothing I can do, the… the shot is too close to her heart.” Clayton didn’t feel himself collapse to the floor, nor did it really register that he practically crawled over to her. He took her hand into his and looked at her with tears streaming down his face. Chantelle’s breathing was ragged and shallow as she literally fought for each breath. “Alex…” The Messenger heard her breathe. “Don’t… don’t talk honey…” Clayton said, unable to stop crying. “Just rest…” he said as The Messenger noticed him discreetly reaching into his pocket and flipping open his tricorder that he’d had from the Miranda “It’ll be ok…” Clayton managed to say. Chantelle was slowly dying right there in front of him and there was nothing that he could do about it. Chantelle managed to reach up and stroke his cheek affectionately. “It is ok my love.” She whispered to him. “I got to have you as husband and wife in the Lord’s eyes even if it wasn’t in people’s eyes…” she said to him. “I’ll… I’ll always love you…” she said before slowly closing her eyes for the last time and slipping away. Inside, Clayton felt a part of him die with Chantelle. He clutched the cross that she’d given him and cried. Clayton then took her up into his arms and just rocked with her. The Messenger felt for his younger self. He wanted to tell him that it would be ok. He wanted to tell him that he would see her again in two years when he brought Chantelle to 2385 for him… for them. But he couldn’t. He had to let things transpire the way they had played out before. The Messenger turned around and pretended to not notice the futuristic device on the floor next to Clayton’s knee. He glanced inside of the bag and saw that Chantelle was now firmly in stasis. He had about 48 hours now to get her to the Interceptor. He made a show of putting his instruments back into his bag, at which point he shut off the tricorder. He was lucky that his past self was too busy drowning in his own sorrow to notice. He picked up the bag and left the room. On his way out, he stopped to look at two young men. “When he is finished in there, cover her up and take her to the undertaker.” He said mournfully. He then looked at the Governor and his wife. “I am sorry m’lord…” he said with a formal nod of his head. “I’ll… I’ll…” he sighed. “I’ll be in my house if anyone needs me further…” he said as he then turned and walked down the stairs, heading out the door and back to the surgeon’s house. He called up Aline again and changed back into his normal self. After the disguise was safely beamed up, The Messenger went back into the bedroom and dumped the surgeon back onto his bed. He then pressed a hypospray into the man’s neck, bringing him back into the land of the conscious. “What… What happened?” the man asked, slightly slurring his words. “You’re getting drunk after watching those three girls die up in the mansion…” The Messenger said. “And I was never here…” he said as he then left the house. “Yes…” The Surgeon said, looking at the bottle of rum in his hand. “Yes… of course…” he said as he took a long drink from the bottle. "The Infinite is in the Finite of Every Instant" ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 3391 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ "Can someone 'please' get me fifteen cc's of aerosal." "Headache Sir?" A voice enquired solicitously. "Yes, have you seen all of this Ensign?" From amongst the multilayered Catching one of the displays the younger man looked over the calculations "By orders of magnitude! We still have the one primary focal point but the "Oh no, not...!" Abject horror in his voice the younger man looked both "No no, not 'him' thank God! I don't think I could handle cleaning up after "Aye Sir." "One incursion, one little temporal jaunt and now all this!" Reordering his "If this doesn't underline the need for the Temporal Prime Directive once "That could possibly constitute child abuse Sir," the Ensign warned him, "I "Ensign, trust me I can wait, I'm a patient man." Sending another display "Yes Sir." Scanning the list the Ensign paused at one entry, "What about "The Thucydides?" "Yes Sir. Ah, she's a timeship, first generation model but she has temporal "And a Captain who is fine for rescue jaunts into the past, but wholly "If he commands a timeship doesn't your mandate allow you to give him an "Timeship maybe, but over nine hundred years ago? I think that's stretching "Hmmm, well 'this' one could be a problem," the Ensign muttered, anxiety "How so?" Asked the Captain absently, lost in the intricacies of Temporal "This was one of my ancestors," halting the floating display he turned it to "Well, let's hope we don't have to drop the temporal shields before we "Again," the Ensign muttered, "I've already ceased to exist twice this tour "Ensign, right now I have a dozen temporal events to monitor, all in the [Ready to serve Sir!] A chippy voice answered instantly. [How can I be of "Oh go stow the attitude in a black hole and get me an update on all current [Happy to help Captain, I'll have that data for you five minutes ago.] Watching the Captain as he manipulated the displays the Ensign looked around Hearing a pop from the far side of the room the Ensign looked up in time to <= Bridge to Temporal Cartography. => A voice boomed into the silence. "Cartography here, Ensign Cabaral Sir, how can I help?" Flushing a bright <= Ensign, Timeshock approaching. Secure the displays and lock down the "Aye Sir." Doing just that he addressed the empty room as scanned the files <= How do you mean Ensign? => The disembodied voice of the XO replied. "Well, not to dance around the topic, but he's starting to sound like Chuckling the XO sounded amused at the directness, <= Don't worry Ensign, "Am I ever going to live that down?" "<= Not in this lifetime! => The XO answered cheerfully.
“Double Back” Part 5. The Messenger/Captain Alexander Clayton, Ret. Cheyenne/Lieutenant Aline Leger, Ret. EMH Mark 1 ********** St. Kitts, 1661 (again) The Messenger left the Governor’s Surgeon in his drunken stupor as he left the house and made his way out of the grounds to the Governor’s estate. He noticed that is was just now starting to get dark outside, which is just how he liked it. With all of the confusion going on regarding the invasion of the Governor’s Mansion and the interruption (and cancellation) of the wedding, the added darkness made things easier for The Messenger to go to where he was going. After roaming the streets and determining where the undertaker’s shop was at, The Messenger went straight for the Cathedral. The Cathedral was now empty with the exception of a couple of alter boys here and there who were in the process of doing cleanup. The priest, he’d already seen, was at the undertaker’s shop in the process of administering Last Rights to the dead. After that, the priest was going up to the Mansion in order to offer some measure of comfort to his past self, the Governor, and his family as well as making the arrangements for the funeral service. The Messenger vaguely remembered the details as he did remember getting plastered off of rum that night. The Messenger made his way to the Priest’s office where he found what he was looking for; a simple piece of parchment that was his and Chantelle’s marriage certificate. They’d already signed it since they had technically married the week before in an unofficial ceremony onboard the Revenge. Briggs, acting as the ad hoc Captain for the duration of the ceremony, had married them off the day after he’d rescued her from Lafayette. The Law of the Sea was just as strong as any other law. They’d kept it quiet, of course, in the interest of preserving her honor in the eyes of the community that they had planned on living amongst. It would’ve been a scandal if anyone had known of her being raped by Lafayette or if they had known that they’d willingly slept with each other afterwards. Only Briggs and a couple of his officers knew the full details and an extra cut of the plunder ensured their silence. Sure, they would’ve kept their mouths shut regardless, but he had wanted to give them a little something for their troubles. It was as Chantelle had said on her deathbed; they had been married in the eyes of God if not the eyes of Man. He stuffed the parchment into the inner pocket of his trench coat and walked out of the Cathedral just as easily as he had walked in. It was now dark out and he made his way back to the undertaker’s office. The priest should be gone and the undertaker should be done with his initial preparation work by this point. Since it was late, the undertaker wouldn’t be doing the really grueling detail work on the bodies until the next morning. The Messenger made his way to the mortuary and waited until he was sure that the coast was clear. He watched from a dark corner as the undertaker came out and locked his shop for the evening. If anything, The Messenger figured that he probably just undressed the ladies and bathed them in perfumes and oils so that any stench wouldn’t be overwhelming the next day. Once the coast was clear, he walked over to the door and produced a simple lockpicking kit. Lockpicking was a handy little skill that he’d picked when he was stranded here the first time. In his privateer trade; one never knew when there was a cabin door that needed opening or a stubborn chest of gold that needed opening, or shackles, or whatever. With a couple of deft strokes, he had the old lock open and he was in the shop. He closed and locked the door behind him and went directly downstairs to where the bodies were kept in the cool basement. He was greeted with the onslaught of a mixture of smells; perfumes, oils, herbs, you named it. It was almost like he’d run into a solid wall of the stuff. He blinked the water out of his eyes and moved to the tables that now had the bodies of the three women on it. He checked under each one until he’d found Chantelle. Sure enough, the undertaker had stripped her dress off of her, cleaned the body, and simply sewn up the wound. The Messenger took out his tricorder to make sure that Chentelle was stabilized. She was in as deep a sleep as possible and the lead ball was still inside of her; the medical nanobots doing their job of keeping it in place in order to prevent it from doing any more damage from being jostled about. The Messenger then tapped his commbadge. “Alright Aline, beam it down…” he whispered. Off to his right, on the floor, a shimmering of lights appeared and the body double of Chantelle appeared. The Messenger whipped the cloth covering the actual Chantelle off and covered up the double on the floor. He then took out a small exoscalpel, checked the actual scar on Chantelle, and then made the same scar on the double in the correct location. He then carefully picked Chantelle up and placed her on an unused table and then placed the double in the correct space. When he was convinced that the room looked the same as when he had entered, he picked up Chantelle’s naked body and tapped his commbadge one last time. “Aline, two to beam up.” He said. He then felt the familiar tingle of the transporter beam as it whisked them both away. ********** Onboard the Interceptor… The Messenger and Chantelle materialized in the back of the Delta Flyer. “HAL! Activate the EMH.” The Messenger said as he lay Chantelle’s body down on the medical bed that Cheyenne had pulled out in order to beam out the doppelganger. The EMH Mark 1, which looked exactly like the famed programmer; Dr. Zimmerman, shimmered into existence nearby. “Please state the nature of the medical emergency.” It said in its monotone voice. “And please tell me that you have an actual emergency this time…” he added as he looked at Cheyenne. “I’m a doctor, not a vibrator.” he said, glaring at Cheyenne, who’d just turned a shade of pink. The Messenger’s head whipped around as he lifted a questioning eyebrow in her direction. “Don’t ask…” Cheyenne said moving past The Messenger and going up to the EMH. “Human Female. Gunshot wound to the chest.” She said, pointing at Chantelle. “She’s been placed into a form of suspended animation and needs to be revived.” The EMH moved to his task. He took the medical tricorder from The Messenger’s outstretched hand. “Lead ball, shoddy medical work. Where are we? The dark ages?” he asked as he did the scan. “Close enough…” The Messenger muttered. “What do you need?” he asked. “Five CCs of Polyadrenaline, Ten CCs of Cortolin.” The EMH ordered. Cheyenne prepped the hyposprays and handed them over to the EMH, who promptly injected them both into Chantelle. Chantelle’s eyes immidately snapped open and she gasped for air so hard that she arched her back up off of the biobed. “Hold her down!” the EMH commanded. “Exoscalpel…” he then called for. The Messenger slapped the one that he’d used down in St. Kitts into the EMH’s hand and then shoved Chantelle back down onto the bed, pinning her into place by her shoulders while Cheyenne grabbed the girl’s legs and pinned them down. With quick movements, he reopened the wound that the undertaker had sewn shut and looked down into the wound. “Phaser…” he then ordered. “Phaser?” Cheyenne asked, shocked. “Unless you happen to have a high powered medical bay hidden around here with a stabilizing platform and advanced targeting laser borer, I have to use what I have on hand.” The EMH retorted as if he were talking to a child. He gave Cheyenne a dirty look as she handed over her phaser. The EMH adjusted the settings and then pointed it right into the wound. He thumbed it once and obliterated the lead ball that was inside of Chantelle’s chest. “Autosuture.” He then commanded, handing the phaser over to The Messenger. Cheyenne then handed the Autosuture to the EMH, who then proceeded to repair the damage that had been done. “The wound will be closed momentarily. Please have a dermal regenerator standing by.” He said calmly as he focused on his task. When he was finished closing the deep wound, he traded instruments with Cheyenne and finished up. The Messenger noticed that there wasn’t even a scar left over. The EMH stood up, looking at the nearby medical monitor. “She’ll be just fine. She needs to rest for awhile though.” He said. “Give me Five CCs of Melorazine; that’ll help her sleep inside of the stasis chamber here and help her recover faster.” The Messenger breathed a sigh of relief. They’d succeeded in saving Chantelle’s life. “Thank you doctor.” He said with all sincerity as he watched the EMH administer the sedative and saw Chantelle drift off to sleep. “It’s my job.” The EMH said simply. He then looked at Cheyenne. “I trust there will be nothing else then?” he asked. “No. Thank you, doctor.” Cheyenne said. “HAL, deactivate the EMH.” She said. She waited until The Doctor shimmered out of existence before moving to where he was standing at and pressing the button, sliding Chantelle back into the stasis chamber. The Messenger then followed Cheyenne back to the cockpit where she flopped back down into the pilot’s chair and he sat back down at the engineer’s chair. He let out a snort of laughter. “Vibrator?” he asked with a grin. “Shaddup…” Cheyenne said, glaring at him. “It gets lonely when you’re out here on your own…” The Messenger chuckled some more. “I just figured that you would’ve had some recreational holograms or something…” Cheyenne sighed. “Oh I do, but… well… you know…” When she saw him sitting there with a huge smile on his face and his head just bobbing in a knowing nod, she threw a nearby PADD at him. “Oh just shut up will ya?” The Messenger dodged it easily. “So what are you going to do about your naked girlfriend back there, hero?” The Messenger sat back up straight after avoiding the PADD. He checked the time on the display nearby. “Sometime tomorrow I’ll beam back down after her family has packed her things up. I’ll tag a couple of chests with her things in it. They’ll be on a ship bound for England tomorrow night and the ship will be out to sea the day after that. We can beam them out tomorrow so that she’ll have something to wear. Cheyenne shrugged. “I can always lend her a jumpsuit, although with her chest size, she’ll be showing off some major cleavage.” The Messenger shook his head. “Thank you but no. She’s been through a lot and tomorrow will be a bit of a shock for her as it is. I want her to have something familiar to her while she gets adjusted.” He then stretched and yawned a bit. “We can rest easy now Aline. The hard part is over…” “Double Back” Part 6. The Messenger/Captain Alexander Clayton, Ret. Cheyenne/Lieutenant Aline Leger, Ret. Chantelle Clayton, Civilian ********** Onboard the Interceptor, 1661 Chantelle woke up as if from a very bad dream. The dream consisted of her wedding day and a strange man pointing a pistol at her. The pistol went off and she felt a sharp pain in her chest. She screamed out for Alex, wanting him at her side. She saw her sister and her friend on either side of her, both of them lying on the floor with vacant expressions. Then there was a lot of shouting and more gunfire off in the distance. Then the surgeon was over her, shouting orders. Finally Alex did arrive, but something was wrong… he was crying… Then it was dark and cold for awhile. She wakes up again to a balding man holding some kind of strange object in his hand. He’s saying things that she can’t understand while talking to another man and a woman nearby. Everything looks so strange, and then she feels no pain. The pain in her chest is gone and she drifts back into a fitful slumber. Oh Alex, where are you darling? She wonders as her eyelids flutter close and she feels herself sliding into a dark coffin that seems to hum all around her. She stirs, uncomfortably. Then she tosses and turns before the nightmare gets so bad that she just has to break out of it. Desperately, she claws her way out of dreamland and calls out for her love. “ALEX!!!” she screams out at the top of her lungs, her voice echoing in the tight confines of the strange room. “Woah!” The Messenger says as he catches her by the shoulders as she bolts upright. He’d been sitting next to her, watching her sleep, in the event that she woke up. “Calm down my Darling…” he says in a soothing voice as he stands up and wraps his arms around her. “Easy… Easy…” he says, smoothing his hand over her strawberry blonde locks. “I’m here…” he says softly. Chantelle was panting hard now, her body slick with sweat from the nightmare. “Alex?” she asks uncertainly as she takes in the strange room. “Where… where are we?” “You’re safe now. We’re in a safe place.” The Messenger says, trying to calm her down. “There’s a lot to talk about, but I promise that I will explain it all.” It was then that Chantelle looked down and noticed that she was covered up with only a simple blue sheet. She pulled it closer around her body. “Uhm… Alex, Love,” she says uncertainly. “Where be my clothing?” “Your chests are right next to you with all of your clothes.” The Messenger said. He simply loved her period-British accent. It’d been far too long since he’d heard her melodious voice. “It was necessary to remove your clothing in order to perform the surgery to remove the bullet.” He said. It was a half-lie, but it was the easiest way to even begin to explain things. Chantelle’s hands flew to her chest. So she had been shot! It wasn’t a dream after all. She looked down and saw the small scar that was right in the small between her breasts. “It wasn’t a dream?” she asked. “No, it all happened.” The Messenger said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Gustav Lafayette and his henchmen broke into your home, shot you, your friend and your sister. They didn’t make it. I’m sorry…” he handed over one of her handkerchiefs that he’d gotten out of one of her chests earlier for just this occasion. “Oh God…” Chantelle wailed as she blew her nose into the handkerchief. “Why?” she asked to no one in particular. “Tell me he hung for this! Tell me there was justice!” “I did far worse than hang him my Darling…” The Messenger said, remembering the day long torture session he’d put Gustav Lafayette through. “Justice was served.” “Very good…” Chantelle said resolutely. She then cocked her head to the side and glanced up. “Alex darling, why are you standing behind me so?” she asked. “Come, let me see you.” She said as she lifted a hand up in offering to him. This was the part that The Messenger was dreading. He took her hand in his and, while giving it an affectionate squeeze, he walked in front of her and knelt down. Chantelle’s eyes went wide. She yanked her hand back as if shocked and backed herself up on the bed up against the bulkhead as if trying to get away from him. She drew her knees up to her chest. “You… You’re not Alex!” she said tersely as she looked him up and down. “Who are you sir? Where is my fiancée? I demand answers!” The Messenger had his hands up in front of him. “Calm down, Darling…” he said in a soft voice. He hoped using their little pet name for each other would help here. He removed his shades and tossed them aside so that she could see his eyes. “It is me. It’s Alex.” He said. “Eighteen years from now…” Chantelle was shaking her head back and forth, like someone who’d just had their reality shattered. In this case, it wasn’t far from the truth. “No… No…” she said, the tears brimming in her eyes. She noticed the similarities between this older man and her Alex, but no… it just couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. “The last thing that you said to me was in your room where no one else could hear. It was right after you were shot. You told me that it was ok because you got to have me as husband and wife in the Lord’s eyes even if it wasn’t in people’s eyes and that you would always love me.” The Messenger said. He then took out the cross from under his shirt that she’d given him back on her nineteenth birthday. “You gave me this, as a piece of your heart, the night of your last birthday, the day after I had proposed to you in St. Kitts.” He said, showing her the cross. He then sighed and looked down at the deck before looking back at her. He had one more piece of sure fire ammunition. “Do you remember what you told me, in my cabin on my ship, when it was just the two of us?” he asked. “You were afraid that I wouldn’t marry you because you were no longer pure. I told you that I didn’t care because it wasn’t your decision to go off with Lafayette. It was the first night that we had lain together and the next day we had my first mate marry us off in a private ceremony.” Chantelle was looking at him with a gaping expression now. “A-Alex…?” she whispered in a small voice. He nodded, but made no move towards her yet. “But how…?” The Messenger sighed. “I didn’t give you the whole truth when I first met you.” He said. He hated coming clean like this, but circumstances were as they were. “What I told you about being born in the Americas was only half true. I was born in a place called Arizona that is about West-Northwest of the Florida Keys, past the Gulf of Mexico in what you would consider on your calendar to be the year twenty two fifty one.” Chantelle laughed now through the tears. “That is absurd!” she said. “Such a thing is not possible!” she said. But when she looked to the ceiling and saw all the strange lights and things around, ‘Not Possible’ seemed to be like the order of the day. She buried her face in her hand and squeezed her eyes shut. “I think that I can help prove it, if you’ll permit me.” The Messenger said, holding out his hand for her. She looked at it, looked at him, and then slowly took it. He guided her up off of the table. “Here…” he said, he wrapped the sheet around her to serve as an ad hoc dress for the time being and then led her forward to the pilot’s compartment. There, Chantelle saw another blonde woman sitting there staring out the window. “Who are you?” she asked as she saw the starry night out of the window with more stars than she had thought possible. “What is this?” Cheyenne turned and looked at her. “Hello Chantelle, I’m Cheyenne. I’m a friend of your fiancée.” She said. “Shy Anne?” Chantelle asked, rolling the unfamiliar word around in her mouth. “Close enough.” Cheyenne said, shrugging. “Do… do I know you?” she then asked, peering at her. “Not yet…” Cheyenne said. The Messenger stepped forward and gestured out the window as Chantelle frowned at the strange response. . “Cheyenne, bring us about and show us St. Kitts please.” He asked her. Cheyenne turned in her seat and punched in the new course. Chantelle watched in wonder as the room seemed to tilt and the stars started moving. She grabbed onto Alex’s arm for support, but was surprised that she couldn’t feel the floor moving even though her eyes were telling her a different story. She then let go and felt herself drawn to the window as a huge blue-green orb that looked vaguely familiar. “What… what is that?” she asked in wonder. “Is that…?” “Port Royale, Santiago, Havana, Florida Keys…” The Messenger said as he pointed out each place around the Caribbean. “San Juan, St. Eustatius, St. Martin, and St. Kitts.” He said, smiling as she was starting to get it. “You’re on what is called a spaceship.” “A Space Ship?” Chantelle asked, “Is that like a Brigantine or a Sloop?” “Sort of…” “How is this possible?” The Messenger smiled at her. “Have you ever had a moment when you wished that you could turn back time and correct a mistake that you have done, or to change something that has happened?” he asked her. “Well… yes.” Chantelle admitted as she looked at him. “But to do such is pure fantasy.” She objected. “Where, and when, I come from, such a thing is possible, as well as what we’re doing now; flying through the sky like a bird.” He said, once again turning her attention to the viewscreen. “You said that you were 18 years older than what I remember.” Chantelle said, her mind working furiously to make sense of all of this. “Does that mean that it is now 1679?” “No, we are still in 1661. In fact, it’s only a couple of days after what was supposed to be our official wedding.” The Messenger corrected her. “This is actually the second time I have been back to this year. The first time is when I met you. I left shortly after you were shot. Which means that the ‘me’ that you remember is still down there.” He said, pointing to the general location of where the Revenge was now at. At this point in time his past self would be just leaving St. Kitts bound for Petit Goave on his mission of vengeance. “This is all very confusing…” Chantelle said, fanning herself with her hand. “It is. And I promise that I will answer all of your questions. But, for the time being; how about you back into the room, change into some respectable clothes, and then we can talk some more after you’re done.” He said, guiding her back to the aft compartment. ********** About a half hour later… Chantelle reemerged into the pilot’s compartment wearing her favorite red/maroon flowing dress that left her shoulders bare. She was looking around at the doorway as it slid open. “This is certainly a wondrous creation…” she breathed. “A door that opens on its own…” “Just wait till she sees the replicators…” Cheyenne snickered from the pilot’s seat. The Messenger shot Cheyenne a dirty look but didn’t comment on it as he got to his feet and offered her a nearby chair. Chantelle was trying to take in everything at once. “And these lights… Are there candles inside of them?” she asked as she reached out and touched one. Outside, the dual nose phasers fired, sending two azure beams out into the darkness. Chantelle jumped at the sight of it as she looked at the button she touched and back outside where the phasers had fired at. She went to touch it again, but The Messenger gently took her hand. “You just fired cannons of the future…” he said with an amused look on his face. He saw her beginning to apologize but he held up a hand and guided her down into the seat. “It’s ok, you didn’t hurt anything. Just don’t touch anything until we teach you what things do around here.” He said with a smile. “Think of this being like the Revenge or any other sailing ship that you’ve been on.” “Oh…” Chantelle said. “My apologies…” she said, blushing. She folded her hands into her lap and kept them firmly planted there, afraid to touch anything else. “I had been thinking about what you had told me, Alex. But I am still awfully confused about things. How can you be here when you are also… uhm… out there?” she asked. “And why are you dressed much like our priest?” she asked, his clothes finally registering on her. “And how can I be dead when I am right here? And…” “Ok, ok…” The Messenger said. “Let’s slow down. I’ll tell you the short version of things and then we can get to the technical questions later. I arrived in the Caribbean in 1660 after being flung through time from the year 2382. That’s when I met you. After you were shot, things happened in your room as you remembered them. From my point of view, you had died. After I administered justice on Lafayette, I then went into a rage and set sail for Petit Goave along with an invasion fleet.” He said. He tapped a few buttons on the console that magnified the view on the viewscreen to show an overhead view of the Revenge along with the two Frigates carrying the British invasion force. “That’s what you see happening now. Your funeral has already taken place. Yes, I know that you’re alive, but everyone down there in St. Kitts thinks that you’re dead, including me.” He increased and shifted the view so that Chantelle could see the younger version of him standing on the bridge of his Sloop. Chantelle looked from the screen, back to him, back to the screen, and back to him again, trying to make sense of it. The Messenger went on. “In a couple of days, another ship is going to show up in order to take me back to 2382…” “I thought that you said you were born in 2251?” Chantelle asked, interrupting him. “That would make you well over a hundred!” she exclaimed. “One Hundred and Thirty One at that point in time if you do straight counting…” The Messenger said with a nod. “I skipped a few decades. Long story, I’ll tell you later. Trust me, I have only lived thirty four years by the time I had met you.” He said, trying to get back on track. “I went back to my time and my life that I had been taken from. It was an endless war that we were involved with. Suffice to say, I ended up leaving in favor of the Church. I never did remarry nor did I ever desire to love anyone else but you. As time went on, I eventually became a Priest and dedicated myself to God’s work. When I told you on my ship that I would forsake all others, I truly meant it. Anyway… I did all that I could for the people and for the Church, but events in 2402 forced me into a difficult position.” “Which was?” Chantelle asked, fixated on his story. The Messenger gestured out of the window. “Earth was destroyed…” when he caught Chantelle’s astonished look, he went on. “A woman, bent on evil ways, launched a cannon of sorts that was powerful enough to do it.” He said, putting it into terms that she could comprehend. “A few of us figured out why she did it and what had happened. Long story short…” “Too Late…” Cheyenne muttered from the pilot’s seat. She was idly twirling a strand of her blonde hair with her finger. “Do you have a plasma injector to clean or something?” The Messenger snapped at her. Chantelle giggled even though she had no clue what a plasma injector was. She’d seen him use a line similar to that back on the Revenge when he wanted his crew to leave him alone. He heard her giggle and smiled at her. “Anyway… A few of us determined that between choices that we had made in the past had helped contribute to it; myself included. So that’s why we’re here now; to correct certain mistakes.” “Does that include me?” Chantelle asked. “You were never a mistake. You were the best thing that has ever happened to me.” The Messenger said at once. “Once we were married and settled down in our home in St. Kitts, I was going to tell you everything so that whenever I was ‘retrieved’ I would bring you with me back to my time period. No, the mistake was letting you die on me. I became a man of war and did things that I probably would’ve never done had you been there to act as my conscience like you usually do.” He said with a rueful smile. “The plan is to take you to 2385 so that you can be with him…” he pointed at his younger self on the screen, “er… me…” he corrected. “And get me out of the navy and into the Church so that I can correct a lot of mistakes.” Chantelle’s face fell. “But you’re a priest now…” she said, pouting a bit. “That means we can’t be together… I though that you loved me…” “I do love you and we can be together.” The Messenger said with a smile. “I have the documents saying that we’re married from our priest. Remember? We’d signed them the day before so we didn’t have to wait around to do that afterwards. They will hold up in any court. Besides, I can be a priest and be married to you.” “I think she’s getting at the Vow of Celibacy, Alex…” Cheyenne said over her shoulder. “New Canon Law of 1980 officially stated that any member of the clergy could be married and have sex with their spouses if they are married before the man is ordained.” The Messenger quoted. “Besides, there have been multiple priests, bishops, cardinals, and even a few popes that have been married in the past. At least seven from what I remember correctly including St. Peter, St. Felix III, and Clement IV to name some off the top of my head.” The Messenger said. “Felix and Clement actually sire a couple of children, legitimately, as opposed to say Innocent VIII or Pius IV who had illegitimate children because they broke with Church Law. Besides, the fact that all Priests take a Vow of Celibacy is more of a myth than a fact anyways.” Chantelle smiled. “So then we can be together…” she said. “That makes me happy.” “Believe me, it makes me happier that you could ever imagine…” The Messenger said, mirroring her smile. “Double Back” Part 7. The Messenger/Captain Alexander Clayton, Ret. Cheyenne/Lieutenant Aline Leger, Ret. Captain Braxton, CO USS Relativity Lieutenant Ducane, XO USS Relativity Chantelle Clayton, Civilian ********** Onboard the Interceptor, 1661 For the past couple of days, The Messenger and Cheyenne had been watching the Revenge’s progress across the Caribbean. It was only a matter of time now before the Relativity showed up from the future. The Messenger had spent the time teaching Chantelle in things that she would need to know in order to survive in the future. Chantelle took to learning like a duck took to water. She was an eager student and wanted to know more and more with each passing minute. In addition to everyday items, he taught her history, art, and literature of the future as well as telling her more of what had happened to him over the past 18 years. Chantelle was horrified at first at some of the things he’d admitted to and even more horrified at some of the archival footage that he’d produced, but ultimately gave him the benefit of the doubt considering that he was willing to raze an enemy town in her own time period in her name and people of her time period have been guilty of far worse for far less provocation. Cheyenne idly listened to the lessons and stories but otherwise kept herself busy by pouring through the records and personal logs of the Bainbridge that The Messenger was kind enough to unlock for her. It absolutely amazed her what she’d learned about her parents than she’d ever thought possible. She was in the middle of one such log made by her father when her sensor panel beeped for attention. He set the PADD aside and punched up the data on her console. “We got company…” she said, her attention now riveted on her console. “Who?” Chantelle asked, her curiosity piqued up. It was the first amount of action on this small ship that she’d seen ever since she’d woken up. “That would be Captain Braxton coming in from the 29th Century…” The Messenger said without even looking at the sensor panel near him. “We are still cloaked, right?” he asked. “Yeah… no problems there…” she said, continuing to watch the futuristic timeship as it passed them on by and entered Earth’s atmosphere. “They’re ignoring us.” “They don’t even know we’re here.” The Messenger said. “I just lost them…” Cheyenne reported. “Some kind of cloaking device probably.” “Holographic masking technology.” The Messenger said. “Even in the 29th Century they’re still bound by the Treaty of Algeron. Look for a Trade Galleon near where the Revenge is at; that’ll be the Relativity.” He said, getting up from his seat and leaning over Cheyenne to get a better look at the main sensor panel. He looked at the chronometer on the panel. “Let’s give them a few minutes, then move to a position near where their outbound path will be. We’ll hail them once they’re out of the atmosphere.” He said as he moved back to his seat to wait. ********** USS Relativity. Outbound, Earth, 1661. Captain Braxton slumped down into his command chair and sighed. Yet another temporal brushfire put out and there are still hundreds more to deal with. Alexander Clayton was simply one more drop in the bucket but at least he was the last one he had to personally retrieve. “At least it’s smooth sailing from here on out…” he said, thinking that everyone else that he was due to retrieve could be taken out via temporal transporters. “Captain!” Lieutenant Ducane called out suddenly from his station. “We’re receiving a hail!” Braxton frowned. “Who from? We’re not expecting any messages from command, are we?” Ducane shook his head. “It’s not coming from command, Captain.” He said grimly as he looked back at his console. “It’s coming from off of our port bow.” “What!?” Braxton asked in surprise. Serves me right for thinking something stupid… he thought wryly as his mind worked on this new development. “Who the hell are they?” “Chronoton signature indicates late 24th, early 25th century.” Ducane reported. He then jerked back slightly as he saw more information appear on his screen. “They just decloaked. Signature is reading as a Delta Flyer Class runabout. Federation.” He said with surprise. “Well, let’s see what they want…” Braxton said. “Put them on screen.” A blonde woman appeared with a smug smile on her face. “This is Captain Braxton of the Federation Timeship Relativity. To whom do I have the honor of addressing?” “The name’s Cheyenne; Mercenary for hire in command of the Delta Flyer Interceptor.” She said, then thought about it and shrugged. “Or at least I was. Anyway… I’ve been hired to bring my passenger to you Captain Braxton. So with that said, do you have docking instructions for me?” “Just wait a damn minute here. How in the hell did you get here in the first place?” Braxton asked. “You’re sure as hell are not on a timeship.” “Slingshot maneuver.” Cheyenne said. “Now I know that we’re not supposed to be here and I know that you can’t afford to leave us here, so that leaves us with one thing; docking instructions.” When Braxton hesitated again, Cheyenne went on. “Look, I know you got questions and my passenger will answer them for you, once he is onboard. Now are you going to clear me to land or am I going to have to make my own hole in your hull to get in?” Braxton nodded to Ducane. “Transmitting instructions. We’ll see you in the Main shuttlebay. Braxton out.” ********** Onboard the Interceptor… “Well that went well…” Cheyenne deadpanned as she turned in her seat and looked over at Clayton. “Why did you want to keep your identity a secret anyways?” “Because Braxton might flip and annihilate us on the spot.” The Messenger replied. “This way he can’t kill us outright and wash his hands of it all.” He nodded to her. “Go ahead and take us in.” Cheyenne gave him a wry grin. “Well, this should be interesting.” She said sarcastically. “Here we go…” “Double Back” Part 8. The Messenger/Captain Alexander Clayton, Ret. Cheyenne/Lieutenant Aline Leger, Ret. Captain Braxton, CO USS Relativity Lieutenant Ducane, XO USS Relativity Chantelle Clayton, Civilian ********** Onboard the USS Relativity… Still in 1661… Captain Braxton stood with his arms crossed as he watched the two occupants of the Delta Flyer stepped out into his shuttlebay. His eyes went wide as he saw an older version of the man that he’d just picked up. “Lieutenant Clayton!?” he asked in surprise. “I… we…” he looked to Ducane and back to Clayton. “We just picked you up down on the planet.” The Messenger simply smiled as he looked back at Cheyenne. “I told you our warp signature was concealed. That’s five credits you owe me.” “Would you take an I.O.U.?” Cheyenne asked dryly. “What is going on here?” Braxton demanded. He then gasped as he saw a second woman step out of the Delta Flyer who was wearing clothing fit for the 1600s and who was looking at everything that she could with extreme interest. Clayton smiled up at her, took her hand, and helped her down the steps. “Oh you gorram bastard… You did it. You actually did it, didn’t you?” Braxton said as the dots connected inside of his head. “Dammit Clayton! I told you that we couldn’t do this! Hell, I told you not five minutes ago that we couldn’t do this!” “You couldn’t do this, Captain Braxton, but I could.” He said, putting Chantelle on his arm and walking forward to him. Braxton looked at him. “You’re older.” He stated. “Eighteen years from my counterpart in the other room” The Messenger said. “He has no clue that we’ve actually met face-to-face down on the planet while Chantelle here was supposedly on her deathbed. From what I can tell, I pulled this off with no problems. Everything is as I remembered it exactly.” “Except now that you’re a fifty-something year old man married to a nineteen year old girl.” Braxton said looking at them both. “Disgusting if you ask me.” “Nope, I’m going to be a thirty five year old man married to a twenty year old girl by the time her birthday rolls around here in the next couple of days.” The Messenger said. “That’s where you come in at.” “Me?” Braxton asked. “Yes. I wish to undergo Temporal Integration with my past self from 2385, right before the USS Bainbridge is ordered out on its mission after the Starfleet Games of that year conclude.” Braxton’s jaw dropped. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking of me!?” He demanded angrily. “How in the hell do you even know about Temporal Integration in the first place?” “Overheard you and Ducane here talking about it in an unrelated case as I was being escorted to my temporary room here on the Relativity. If you check your records, you’ll see that I’m looking it up in you computer databanks now.” The Messenger said. “Hold up.” Braxton said raising up a forestalling hand. “Ok. Even if you do know about it, give me one good reason why we should even help you considering that you’ve just violated the Temporal Prime Directive. We should be returning you to your time period so that you can stand trial with the Starfleet Department of Temporal Investigations.” The Messenger gave him an evil smile. It was just the opening that he was waiting for. He held up a PADD for them. “Because Captain; in the timeline that Cheyenne and I have come from; neither Starfleet nor the Department of Temporal Affairs and Investigations no longer exists and, therefore, the Temporal Prime Directive no longer exists; which means that whatever future that this ship belongs to also doesn’t exist.” He said before waggling the PADD in front of the two astonished officers. “This PADD contains the history of our timeline up to the point where we left. Check it against yours and that’ll prove that what I say is true.” He said. Ducane took it and proceeded to a nearby terminal to start comparing notes. “Yes, I came back here to save Chantelle’s life, but at the same time it is so that I could meet up with you and let you know of the changes that have occurred. This event in my life is the only way that I knew for sure that what had happened in my lifetime was not supposed to happen since there were people from a 29th Century Federation.” From at the console, Ducane swore. “It’s true Captain.” He said. “From 2385 on, nothing matches up. The Triad won the war, the Federation dissolved, and Earth was destroyed.” He walked over and handed a PADD over to Braxton with the two timelines shown. “I’m actually doing you a favor here guys.” The Messenger said with a grim smile. Braxton sighed. “Ok, so what is it that you’re proposing exactly?” “This is the easy part. You take us back to 2385. Integrate me with my past self. I will voluntarily leave Starfleet and at the same time attempt to disband Third Echelon, which has helped cause half the atrocities that you see there.” The Messenger explained. “There are others from 2402 that are in 2385 now attempting to correct the timeline, so we’re not alone in this. I just need to do my small part from 2385 on.” “Even with Integration, you would have future knowledge…” Ducane argued. “Of a future that will no longer exist…” The Messenger countered. Braxton mulled it over for a moment, and then looked at Cheyenne. “And what about you?” he asked. “You’ll more than likely fade out of existence or you’ll be an extra component in the timeline.” He said. “Clayton here told me of a future where I go back in time from 2405 to let my father know of future events. I also know that I have to stand trial in 2405 since I apparently did violate the Temporal Prime Directive. When the timeline is restored, I would like to go back to that timeline and be Integrated with my counterpart. I think that there is much that we could learn from each other. But, most importantly, my parents will be alive.” Cheyenne explained. “An interesting point…” Braxton conceded. He was familiar with that case since he’d been placed on standby to go back in time to 2384 to retrieve her in the event that she did not return to her original time. But apparently Lt. Commander Jeremiah Leger had convinced her to return home to face the consequences of her actions. “I think this is the first time that anyone has wanted to voluntarily be integrated with a counterpart to stand trial.” He thought it over for a moment before finally nodding. “Alight then.” He said. “Aline Stephenson-Leger, AKA Cheyenne, you are hereby placed under arrest for violation of the Temporal Prime Directive. You will be confined to the brig until such a time that Temporal Integration can be performed so that you can stand trial.” He motioned to a couple of nearby security guards. The Messenger had not been expecting this move on her part. “Aline…” he said, touching her arm as she walked past him. “It’s ok.” She said, turning back to him with a smile. “This is something that I have to do, something that my father would want me to do.” She stepped forward and gave him a big hug. “Thank you,” she whispered into his ear. “Thank you for everything.” She stepped back and wiped the tears from her eyes. “When you see my father again, tell him that I said I was sorry for losing my honor.” “Tell him yourself when you see him in 2405 when the timeline is restored.” The Messenger said with a sad smile on his face. Cheyenne nodded and then stepped up to Chantelle and hugged her. “Take care of him for me, would you?” she asked. “He’s a great man…” She said as she pulled back “I know. I will.” Chantelle said, tears in her eyes as well. She pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. They all watched her be escorted away by two of the Relativity’s Security Officers in silence. Then Braxton turned back to Clayton. He regarded the man for a moment. “And what makes you think that I just won’t do the same thing to you?” he asked. “Because my motivations are to save the planet, the timeline, and billions of lives all the while giving you a home to go back to.” When he caught Braxton’s obvious look at Chantelle, The Messenger went on. “She’s still technically dead. If you were to go down to St. Kitts you’d find a grieving family, a gravestone, and a lovely little memorial for her down there. And, I’m sure, you’ve already checked the timeline at this point in time to see if there is any contamination from the little swap trick that I’ve done. If there was any, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?” The Messenger smiled when he saw that he had Braxton. Braxton looked at Ducane. “What do you think?” he asked. “I don’t know whether to toss him into the brig for the hell of it or give him a commendation for original thinking.” Ducane deadpanned. “Although I’m still wondering why you don’t just give your younger self the information and then return to 2402?” he asked. “You know the answers as well as I do Lieutenant Ducane.” The Messenger said. “If I go back to the future after the timeline is restored, it will not be the future I’m from, leaving me left out of the loop and having a seventeen year old gap. I can’t simply kill myself or wait for myself to simply fade out of existence, because both would be going against my doctrine.” “And Temporal Integration?” Ducane asked with an arched eyebrow. “What does your God have to say about something like that?” “Don’t know…” The Messenger said thoughtfully. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” “Alright then…” Braxton said with a resigned sigh. “Let’s drop your younger self off in 2382, get you two to 2385, and then we all can get to work.” "Clean Sweep" Part Two AKA Chris H's Homage to Stargate Fans Commandant For'kel Arvelion (A Basement in the now 'deactivated' Military District- Al'Klei'sh) For’kel watched in stunned silence as the blast doors opened, revealing an Nobody would’ve guessed to find a device of such potent potential here, in He’d never actually seen a ‘real’ one in his lifetime. The only Its potential as a device of exploration was amazing. Its potential as a machine of warfare was horrifying. And although he’d never seen one up close before, and although the one he “Familiar, Commandant?” Ms. Carim asked half-heartedly, she already knew “An Iconian Gateway?” “More like an Iconian Hub.” She corrected. The Iconians were a species that, hundreds of millennia ago ‘were’ the Well, not without a trace, obviously. “It was originally discovered in an excavation study for resource “Alexander the Great.” Fork muttered, more than familiar with the man from "We've discovered the Iconians transversed far more space than originally "How far are we talking about?" Ms. Carim gave a catish smile. "I can't give you the specifics just yet, Fork whistled. "That's far." She nodded. "This is all interesting and all, but why did you tell m..." "We want you to run the project." She said frankly, cutting him off at the "And I'm probably the one nobody fears, politically." Fork cut her off this "The Governor did bring that up, yes." "So what exactly is this mission?" "Na-ah, I need an answer first." Fork bit his lower lip. He'd become used to a quasi 'civilian' life. A Then there was that annoying, boyish, naive 'this could be cool!' feeling "If it's your family and homestead you're worried about, we will provide you He ran his fingers through his hair. He probably should've discussed it "Commandant, we don't have much time. There is a lot you'll need to learn The reply was inevitable. "Okay, I'll do it." "Excellent." The cat-like smile returned. "Welcome to the program 'Oh yeah.' Fork thought to himself while his hostess prattled on. 'Leah's “Uncle Duke”
Ensign Rowena London (NPC by Mieke) Lt. Colonel Biggs Duke (NPC by Betred)
(follows “Sgyrsian”) ---------------------------
<Marine Force Command Area, USS Trafalgar>
“Duke, sir, are you decent?” Ro peeked around the corner of his office door with a grin on her face.
Biggs chuckled. “I’m always decent, sometimes even spectacular. What can I do for you, Ro?”
“I hear congratulations are in order.” She said. “How come now all of a sudden? You have known each other for years?”
Biggs’ grin faded. “Have you talked with you mother about what’s going on?”
“Yeah, I know about the baby.” Ro said leaning against the door. “I thought you two would be wiser then that.”
“Your mom’s implant failed.” Biggs shrugged. “These things happen.”
“Yuk. Am I glad that I like women instead.”
“You like women now – but you haven’t tried the other team yet, have you? You may like both.”
She blushed. “Well I love Jennifer and we are going to stay together for ever, so that is not going to happen, Uncle Duke.”
“Uncle Duke?”
“What else do you want me to say? Dad? Ain’t going to happen.”
Biggs shook his head. “No, Uncle Duke is fine. But only when we’re in a private conversation. Understood?”
“Yes sir.” She teased.
“So, what else do you want to talk about?” “What Mum did? Jeez, Uncle Duke couldn’t you have stopped her! Has she gone nuts?”
Biggs frowned. He wasn’t sure he should be discussing command decisions with a mere ensign, but then again, this particular Ensign had a big stake in the results. “Have you talked with you mother about this?”
“I tried to. But there is no reasoning with her. She thinks she can take all the blame, and it will not involve the rest of us. I am not that naïve,” Ro said honestly.
“We’ve all done things we shouldn’t have. I’ve talked with her, but what’s done is done. My advice to you is to begin documenting all orders and actions related to the handling of prisoners of war on this ship, and not to talk to anyone other than JAG about your actions. Not me, not your mom, not Lt. Adams. We’ll all get through this, but only if we stay on the straight and narrow from this point forward.”
She frowned. “You mean you think they will let us go with a warning?” Ro asked hopefully.
Biggs choked on the coffee he had just taken a sip of. “That’s highly unlikely. It will be, in the finest traditions of the Corps, a long, drawn out and eventually exhausting affair. Personally, I hope buy one before it even begins, but I promised you mother I’d look after you and your new step-something or other, and I also promised to look after her to boot. No warning.”
Ro grinned. “Thank you…. Daddy. But what can you do?”
“It’s best you don’t know the details. But I’ll be damned if my kid gets raised in a prison camp somewhere.”
“Newsflash colonel, I am all grown up.” Ro giggled. “Mum just tried to give me sex education. I told her she is a bit too late.”
“Not you, the other one that ain’t been born yet. You’re not my kid, and if you were, some of the antics you’ve pulled would have gotten you a good spanking by now.”
“Excuse me?” Rowena raised an eyebrow.
Biggs leaned back in his chair and ticked off items with this fingers. "Charging a superior enemy -- that's a hero stunt designed to win medals, not battles. Allowing yourself to be seduced by a superior officer in your own chain of command -- and yes, I know I'm technically guilty of the same charge. But there is an unofficial difference considering your mother's age and position and your own -- younger officers are supposed to be mentored, not manipulated. Third, the torture of a prisoner of war. The case will be made that what you did to Litterest was done to impress your girlfriend, not to extract needed information from an enemy, despite the beneficial results. These are some of the things you need to be prepared to answer for if the court you mom had volunteered for ever meets."
“I am not going to put the blame on Jennifer. We did what we had to do! Don’t you see, we were saving lives! If we had not got the information from her, more people on our side would have died. I think the end justifies the means.”
"Let's hope you can convince a judge of that," Biggs replied. He decided to change the subject; discussing a war-crimes trial was just too damn depressing. "So, what do you think about the idea of me marrying your mother -- you really OK with that?"
“Sure.” The girl shrugged. “You are a step up from the other guy, not trying to kill me I mean.” There was a lot of old hurt there. She had not grown up with her mum because of Man’darr.
"How do you think the rest of the family will take the news?" Biggs asked.
“The other kids will not be happy. They love their father. But don’t mind them, they are still kids, they will get used to it.” Kate would throw a fit most likely.
Biggs didn't feel hopeful -- why did marriages have to be so complicated? "So I guess I won't be accepted with open arms, eh?"
“You will have to work at it, real hard. Bribes might work though, especially with the youngest two.”
"Bribes?"
“Yeah duh! Toys and stuff, always works like a charm. And allowing them to do more then Mum does, make yourself popular.”
"I don't need to be popular," Biggs replied. "I just don't want a bunch of rugrats running around sabotaging the relationship."
“Believe me. That is NOT the right attitude. Looking at them as a hindrance is not going to make them like you. Believe me, Duke, you need a plan for this.”
"OK, what's you idea?"
“Show interest in them, find out what they like and indulge them. It is the only way you can win them over.”
Biggs shook his head. "I don't know; I've never been around kids that much. I wonder if I can talk your mother into eloping somewhere away from all of this."
“Fat chance! She is very protective of her kids. Ignoring them is THE way to lose her fast.” Ro predicted.
"Yeah, I know. All of this will be moot if we don't prepare for this next mission. Is Adams running security drills?" “Yes sir,” she said. “And the ship is in top shape again. I hope we are going to see battle.” Ro nearly snarled.
"Don't be an idiot," Biggs said quietly. "You're too young to have a death wish."
“Don’t forget I am part Hydran, sir. Maybe it is in my blood to want battle.” She had picked security as a profession.
"I don't consider that an acceptable excuse for desiring to kill. If it's forced on us, then kill 'em all and let the gods sort 'em out. But there is no reason to relish killing others; it's psychotic. A good security officer will arrange things so that people don't die -- it's a proactive profession, trying to keep your crewmates safe -- not exposing them to additional harm."
“I am not saying that I am enjoying it, killing. I am not THAT Hydran.” Ro looked at her boots. “In fact I thought I would enjoy it more, you know the torture. I am half Hydran after all.”
Biggs shook his head. "You need to stop using that as a shield to hide behind. Who gives a shit if you're a half Hydran? I don't. You're mom doesn't. Adams evidently doesn't. You're Rowena London -- that's all that matters."
“My stepfather did. He hated me before I was born. I know that he wanted to kill Daffydd and me even then. Do you believe that a race can be all evil, Uncle Duke?” Ro was very serious.
"No, I don't. It may be hard to find redeeming qualities in another species, but if you look hard enough and deep enough, they're there. And has far as your stepfather goes -- if he really wanted you dead, we wouldn't behaving this conversation. You were that close -- I saw the struggle in his eyes. But in the end, he let you go."
“I know. And I don’t understand, he had more reason to kill me then he had Daffydd. Why did he let me live?”
Biggs eyes clouded. "Because, I think, deep down, he still loves your mother."
Ro didn’t know what to say. “I… how is that for you?”
"I guess that depends on if your mother feels the same way."
Rowena was silent for a while. “I believe she loves you very much. And I think you will be much better together then she and Dar were. And I am not saying that because I hate the bastard.”
Biggs regarded the young woman for a moment. "You'll never be free to beat him until you let go of that hate."
The youngster looked down again. “I don’t know how. He killed my twin. Daffydd and I were very close.”
"It's not easy. You just have to one day make a decision to let it go."
She did not really answer that one. “Is there anything else, sir?”
Biggs chuckled. "I don't know Ensign; you came to me. Is there anything else?" “Looking in the Mirror” The Messenger/Captain Alexander Clayton, Ret. (Future Self – Age 54) Lieutenant Alexander Clayton (Past Self – Age 34) ********** Onboard the USS Relativity – In Temporal Transit The Messenger was all about taking his assumed name literally at times, as was the case when he delivered the documents to King Charles II for McAllister. This time, however, he had a message of his own to deliver… to his past self. Braxton, of course, threw a fit when The Messenger pitched the idea to him. Chantelle even voiced objections, but he suspected that was more because she wanted to see the Clayton that she knew and loved rather than be stuck with the aged version for the time being. Ultimately, he won both arguments. Chantelle would only have to wait another couple of hours and he convinced Braxton that what he was doing was for the best in the long run to restoring the timeline and that his past self could be trusted to keep his mouth shut. The Messenger hated resorting to such methods, but the meeting that he required took years in advance to reserve in many cases. He walked up to the door that Braxton had told him about, tucked the package that he had under his arm, and pressed the button to allow him access. He walked into the room that had been his home for all of about two hours. This was definitely a new development since the moment he walked in, new memories started flooding into his mind. He could tell that his past self didn’t recognize him due to the aging and the shades that he enjoyed wearing. “Greetings Lieutenant…” The Messenger said as he came in and took a seat on the couch and placed the package off to one side.. “Who are you?” Clayton asked, looking at him with suspicion. “Braxton said that I wasn’t going to have any visitors until it was time to drop me off.” He said. “Things change or are we there already?” “Things changed.” The Messenger said. It was weird having a face to face conversation with his past self and briefly wondered how the timeline would repair itself after this was all over. “For instance, after you get back to the Miranda the crew will be given orders for mandatory R&R while the ship is undergoing repairs at McKinley station. You already have plans to visit Father Michaels in Covington in order to give Confession.” “How?” Clayton started to ask, but then shut his mouth as he remembered that they were on a timeship. “When you get to Father Michaels,” The Messenger said, continuing on. “You are to give him this.” He said, taking out a folded and sealed parchment similar to that of what McAllister had given him. “You are not to look at it, you are not to ask questions, you are simply to give him your Confession, receive his counsel, and arrange a private meeting with the Pope in the Vatican through Father Michaels.” Clayton took the documents and looked at the man in black before him. “Do you have any idea how long that takes to arrange?” he said. “Would you like a blessing while you’re at it?” “A private papal meeting takes months, typically years, to get.” The Messenger said calmly. “That is why I am having you start getting one as soon as we drop you off.” He then tossed the package over to Clayton. “There is your replacement uniform. Put it on, and place your clothes and things from the 17th Century into the bag inside. Keep you communicator, tricorder, and phaser though.” Clayton gave him a dubious look but otherwise started stripping out of the period clothes. He paused at the cross, seemingly torn as to whether or not to toss that one. The Messenger spared him the decision. “You can keep that. I know what it means to you.” He said. “Thank you…” Clayton croaked out. He then looked at the man in black. “You ever lose someone close to you?” he asked. “Multiple times…” The Messenger said without hesitation. “How did you deal with it?” “By keeping my faith in the Lord.” The Messenger replied. “He does have a plan for us all, even though we might not understand it or agree with it; we are all instruments of His will.” Clayton then noticed the man’s collar for the first time. He bowed his head toward him. “My apologies, Father, I should have noticed earlier.” “No apologies are necessary. I know the grief that you are going through.” The Messenger said, getting up. Clayton had finished changing and had put the last of his items into the bag. The Messenger reached past him, picked up the bag, and started for the door. Clayton’s voice stopped him. “Will I ever find out what this is about?” “In due time, you will, in due time…” The Messenger said before walking out the door. ~Too Long a Set Up~ Thyago looked over at Aina and smiled, "It was good seeing you again, She glanced at him, confused. "Wha--" she began to ask as she started Thyago rose from his chair and walked back to where Aina's body now lay, "I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise for the others." And it was starting to get cold. Really cold. He looked back into the dark, powerless shuttle craft. Aina Mason's dead, slightly cooked body lay in the shadows at the back. If he had known that it would have taken so long for them to get their act together and send out a rescue worker bee, that he would have had to sit in the dark and increasing cold for so long, he wouldn't have fried the shuttles systems by electrocuting Aina. He would have just broke her neck or something. The 'Sparky' pun just wasn't this funny. He looked back out, a slight shimmer catching his eye. There was a small craft heading towards them. "Finally," Thyago sighed, and walked back and sat next to Aina's body. In his mouth, he gargled up a pool of saliva, and then with his finger, painted a streak of spit running down from each of his eyes. He'd never been able to master the art of crying on command; he just wasn't that kind of actor. Besides, there was too much humor in the universe to ever warrant crying. After a few moments, there was a knock on the front glass. He looked up, as if he were unaware of the passage of time and that it had taken them so long to reach him. Outside, there was a man in a space suit, holding a flashlight. The bright beam flashed around the small shuttle like a gnat; it's light illuminating the space but muting all the colors. It looked like he was in an old black and white movie, Thyago thought. Perhaps an old Charlie Chaplin feature. Thyago climbed up and stepped towards the man. The space suit held up a sign. Are you okay, it read. Thyago shook his head no, small, uncertain shakes. Then he turned his head in an obvious way back to Aina's body and counted to eight. Looking back, he pointed to himself and nodded yes to the space suit. He pointed to Aina and shook his head no. The man nodded solemnly, shining his light through the cockpit glass on Aina's still body. He looked down to his oversized padd and began to slowly type. Eventually, he held it back up. This time, it read, Do you have any power. Thyago resisted the urge to squint in displeasure at the obvious question, and simply shook his head no. The man nodded once more, and again, began to type. I'm going to tug you in, he wrote, then maneuvered out of sight. "Bobo tartarugo," Thyago cursed in his native language once the man was gone. Then he sat, and waited for the man to hook up his worker bee to the shuttle and drag them in. =================================================================== "What happened?" Thyago looked up at the large, white winged alien. He hadn't seen Cutter since he had left the Galaxy, but he looked the same. And sounded the same. The avian was always a humorless dick. Thyago briefly wondered how many other old faces he'd seen on this adventure. He sighed, adding a little quiver to the act. "Um, Sparky, she, uh..." he began, then looked back to the ground as he pretended to collect his strength in the face of loss and adversity. "When she activated the landing sequence, there was a short, and Sparky, she was electrocuted." Thyago looked up to see if Cutter gave any reaction. To see if he got the joke. He actually looked a little sad. Thyago didn't remember the Fruna'lin ever caring about anyone but himself. "I tried to save her. I tried to give her mouth to mouth. I, uh, I think I broke her ribs." Cutter nodded. "That's what the nurse said." Thyago looked back down and waited, but Cutter continued to stand there, awkwardly, in front of him. After several long moments, he offered, "Sorry." "Yes," Cutter said, "Me too. She was very talented. This mission is going to be hard without her. I assume she told you about it?" "Changing the past?" Thyago asked. Cutter nodded. Then, "I'm glad you're all right, Thyago. We'll need all the help we can get. The nurse told me you could view the body, if you wanted." "No, thanks. Actually, I was hoping you could give me some work. Something to take my mind off... you know," Thyago said, looking back up into Cutter's eyes. "Of course. I believe Artim said something about repairing one of the auxiliary fusion cores. I'll look into it for you." "Obrigado," Thyago smiled. A sad smile. Then, as Cutter turned to leave, he asked, "We're going to save billions of lives?" "That's the plan," Cutter replied simply. "I'm glad you asked me to help," Thyago said. Cutter nodded, and then exited the waiting room. As he left, a sinister grin crept up Thyago's cheeks. 7163 |