The World of Computer Software/World_Of_Computer_Software-02-385-Vol-1of3.iso/3/3gentx20.zip/EPILOGUE.TXT

Text File | 1993-01-04 | 36KB | 683 lines

                STAR TREK:  THE THIRD GENERATION
                       on Shadowlands BBS
              Created and Edited by Rebecca J. Anderson
                      Ver. 2.0  (93/01/01)

EPILOGUE
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CHARACTERS:                                WRITTEN BY:
Captain Jacqueline Picard..................Rebecca J. Anderson
Commander Barnabas Cole....................Warren Postma
Commander (Dr.) James N'Dok................Tim Ingram
Commander (Dr.) Gwyn Davies................Rebecca J. Anderson
Commander (Dr.) Gabriele Lestat............Lori Hewson
Lt. Commander Nikctalos D'pyrann...........Geza A. R. Reilly
Lt. Commander Mac Scott....................Dan McMillan
Counsellor T'Pryn..........................Rebecca J. Anderson
Centurion Salek............................Adam Gilchrist
Lt. Maverint Slike.........................Steve Mahler
Lt. Konnu..................................Russ Foubert
Moriarty...................................Rebecca J. Anderson
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From:  Lt. Maverint Slike

CHIEF ENGINEER'S LOG, SUPPLEMENTAL:
Many hours have passed since the _Enterprise_'s stardrive section
evaded the Wasilsi ship, and we are now docked at Starbase 822
undergoing additional repairs.  The saucer section arrived
shortly before us, and reconnection was completed at 1500 hours.
Most of the _Enterprise_'s normal engineering staff have taken the
opportunity for shore leave--which they certainly deserved for
their superb efforts during our recent crisis--while the
starbase's technicians complete the major repairs to the ship.
<< END >>

     Maverint sat back in his chair and sighed.
     "This chair isn't half as comfortable as mine," he said,
reminded of snoozing in his 'lazy' chair in his cabin.  "Still,
being the only chair in my new office, I like it!" he concluded,
smiling to himself.
     "Enjoying the spoils of power, are we?"
     "Yes Moriarty, WE are..." Mav retorted, not in the mood to
be lectured by a sentient computer. "Don't you ever knock?"
     "Lieutenant, when one does not have physical substance, such
an action would be exceedingly difficult."
     "Yeah yeah yeah..."
     "I was just passing through engineering and thought I would
like to congratulate you on a fine performance earlier. You
handled the situation and your people expertly."
     A little startled by this show of genuine commendation,
Maverint sat still for a moment, not knowing just what to say.
     "...Thank you," he said finally, the sound of surprise clear
in his voice.
     "You're welcome, my good man. Now if you will excuse me, I
have some exercises I wish to run with the long range sensors.
Good day, Lieutenant."
     "But Moriarty!..."
     "Yes?"
     "I meant to ask you earlier... _Moby Dick_, of all things?"
     "Is there something wrong with my choice, Lieutenant?"
     "It's so... so... old!  Couldn't you have encoded some kind
of modern classic like... like the Garushian Gravi-Drama of
NightDance?  Now there's a classic!"
     "Lieutenant, _Moby Dick_ is a true literary classic, not a
trifle of actors with anti-gravity belts frolicking about the
stage in scant attire!"
     "I wasn't complaining when I saw it..." Maverint smirked.
     "Neither was I..." came a sultry voice from the open door.
     "Oh, and by the way," said Moriarty, "I was going to mention
your wife was on her way here."
     "Ample warning, Moriarty. Thank you."
     "Here to serve, sir.  Now if you'll excuse me, I do have
those exercises to run."
     The comm beeped and the room fell silent.
     "Hi, babe," Kate whispered.
     "Kate!  Don't call me that here!  Moriarty might be
listening."
     "Mav, Moriarty could be listening when we're in the bedroom
for all we know!  What difference does it make?"
     "That thought doesn't help at all, you know."
     "Oh, you fuss-pot.  Just like your father!" she teased.
     "Really?  I was never told that before..."
     "Your mother never mentioned it?"
     "I never thought to ask."
     "Well, I like to do research on men I intend to marry..."
     "Oh?  So there were others?"
     Kate smiled wickedly at Mav and walked over and sat on the
edge of his desk.  "How are you doing?" she asked, leaning over
the top of the desk and ruffling Mav's hair with her right hand.
     "You have such a way of avoiding questions, you know that?"
     "Mmmmhhmmm..."  Kate hummed, stroking Mav's hair into little
circles.
     "Well, things are all right now, all things considered.
Everybody cheered when shore leave was announced.  You'd think
they never had it before..."
     "Not after serving aboard the fabled _Enterprise_, they
haven't..."
     "True... well, as to the ship, the warp drive is totally
back on line and the main sensor arra..."
     "I never asked about the ship!  How are YOU doing?" she
chuckled.
     "Me?  Oh, I'm fine, I guess.  A little tense from everything
that's gone on lately, but otherwise, fine."
     "Good.  I'd hate to think that might have been you lying on
that biobed in Mac's place..."
     "I know," Mav said.  "Me too."  Standing up, he took Kate's
hand and they walked out of his office.
     "So how long do you suppose you'll have such a nice office?"
Kate asked, leaning her head on Mav's shoulder.
     "I don't know.  Just until Mac recovers fully, I guess."
     "That won't be for a while.  I guess I'll have to suffer
with your inflated ego until then."
     "Oh, you're really funny!"
     Kate laughed and gave Mav a little squeeze as they walked
into the turbolift.
     "Deck Ten," Mav said. "I need a drink..."


From:  Counsellor T'Pryn

     T'Pryn was tidying up her office when the door chime
sounded.  "Come in," she said without looking up.
     There was a soft hissing as the door slid aside.  Someone
walked into the room, stood silent a moment, then sat down on the
couch behind her.
     "I will not be long," she said to whoever-it-was.
     "That's fine," said Barnabas Cole.
     T'Pryn stopped, put the book she had been holding down on
the desk, and turned slowly to face the First Officer.
"Commander," she said.  "I did not expect to see you here.  Is
this an official matter?"
     "No," said Barnabas.
     "How may I help you?"
     "I don't have the slightest idea," replied her silver-
skinned visitor, a snap of irritation in his voice.  "Isn't that
your job to figure out, not mine?"
     T'Pryn watched him out of her green eyes for the space of
ten heartbeats.  Then she gathered her blue skirts about her and
moved to sit in the chair next to him.
     "Very well," she said.  "What don't you wish to talk about?"
     "Don't you mean what *do* I wish to talk about?"
     "No," she said calmly.  "I am asking which subjects you
would prefer to avoid."
     Barnabas looked at her sidelong.  Then he said in a flat
voice, "Okay.  I don't want to talk about my accident."
     "Good," said T'Pryn.  "Then let's start there."
     His jaw tightened.  "No, Counsellor, I *meant* it."
     "I know.  And I also mean what I say.  If you choose to
speak, you may be assured that nothing you tell me will ever
leave my confidence.  If you are not prepared to speak with me,
then you are free to leave.  It is up to you, Commander.  But I
will not change my methods."
     Barnabas gazed at her for a long time without speaking.
Then he said, "You're a tough one, aren't you?"
     "I might not choose that particular adjective," said T'Pryn
with a slight smile, "but the sentiment is accurate.  Pain," she
added more seriously, "will do that for you.  Now, Commander,
shall we talk?"

     It was well over an hour later when Barnabas left the room.
T'Pryn watched him steadily until the door had closed behind him;
then she sighed, and ran a hand over her face in a gesture of
weariness she would never have permitted herself in public.  She
had taken a big gamble with the Commander, though he would never
know it:  she had not been sure that forcing him to confront his
most hated memories immediately was the wisest thing to do.  He
could very well have stormed out, and she would have lost any
chance of speaking to him again.  Yet instinct--a most un-Vulcan
trait, but useful nonetheless--had told her to take a firm line,
and now it was clear that the impulse had been a good one.
     She rose from her seat and moved to the replicator.  "Tea,
green, 22 degrees centigrade," she said.  The familiar mug
materialized, and she carried it back to the couch, cupping it in
her hands, savoring its warmth.  Yes, it wasn't easy to be a
Counsellor, and harder still to be a Counsellor and a Vulcan
both, and hardest of all to be Counsellor of the flagship of the
Federation.  But even as she thought about the events of the past
few weeks since she had first boarded the _Enterprise_, with all
their terrifying dangers and surprising joys, she had to admit
that there was nothing she would rather do, and nowhere she would
rather be.
     Life was much more than a series of emotionless logical
puzzles.  Life was an experience, and one T'Pryn meant to savor
for herself in all its complexity.  That would surely mean pain
as well as pleasure, but that was a price T'Pryn was prepared to
pay.  Again, an illogical choice.  But a wise one.
     The business of tidying the office could wait.  T'Pryn
stretched out on the couch, leaned her head against the pillows,
and closed her eyes.


From:  Captain Jacqueline Picard

     The _Enterprise_ entered Rhysan orbit as of Stardate 59841.3,
and by this time Jack was definitely ready for it.  The first
thing she saw when the sparkling blurriness of transport cleared
was the familiar faces of her senior officers smiling at her.  It
was a welcome sight, indeed.
     "So," said Barnabas Cole, his silver eyes amused, "did you
enjoy your holiday?"
     "Define _enjoy_," she said with a wry smile, and stepped off
the transporter pad.  She was conscious of Gwyn following her,
but she was careful not to look at him.  In a measured voice she
said, "Allow me to introduce the Chief Cyberneticist of Starbase
643, Commander Gwyn Davies, who will be with us for some time
while he pursues independent studies.  Lieutenant Slike--" she
turned to face a quizzical Maverint--"will you please show Dr.
Davies the Engineering section and provide him a lab in which he
may work unhindered?"
     "Certainly," said Mav.  "Will you need an assistant, Dr.
Davies?"
     "I'm not sure yet," said Gwyn, "but I'll let you know when I
do.  Captain, may I abscond with your Chief Engineer?  I'm
anxious to get to work."
     "Yes.  You are dismissed, Dr. Davies, Lieutenant Slike."
Jack turned her back on them as they went out the door,
determined not to show any more interest in Gwyn's activities
than she would in anyone else's--indeed, less interest, if
possible.  It appeared she had succeeded thus far, anyway:  the
eyes of her fellow officers held nothing but their usual polite
regard, no dangerous curiosity to contend with.  "Well," she said
to the remaining officers as the doors closed.  "I believe our
next project is to get the ship ready for the signing of the
Federation-Romulan peace treaty.  Is that not correct, Centurion
Salek?"
     "It is," said the Romulan.  "The ceremony is to be held in
one week's time."
     "I've already laid in a course for Earth," said Barnabas.
"We're to pick up the President and several Admirals there, and
then to rendezvous with the _Paladin_ at Starbase 65 on the edge of
the Neutral Zone.  The Romulan ship _Kordan Vos_ will meet us
there and escort us to Romulus."
     "Excellent," said Jack.  "Then let's get to work.
Counsellor," she began, turning to T'Pryn, "I'd like you to
analyze the schedule for the ceremony and give me a report on any
anticipated diplomatic difficulties and how best they might be
resolved.  I'll need the report in two days.  Centurion Salek,
I'd like you to be ready to give a tour of the ship to your
Romulan superiors.  And, if you don't mind, I'd also like you to
help me brush up on my Rihannsu, which I fear is rather
schoolgirlish at this point."
     "Aye, sir," said Salek.
     "Lieutenant Commander D'Pyrann, I'd like you to work with
Moriarty and Chief Engineer Slike on analyzing what went wrong
with our initial G-Warp test.  I've been informed that some
adjustments were made to the nacelles, but I'd still like to run
some simulations and look for any more possible anomalies.  I'd
also like a level three diagnostic run on the primary systems."
     The Borg inclined his head to her.  "I will inform my co-
workers of your wishes, Captain Picard."
     "Good.  Lieutenant Konnu, continue your scheduled security
drills, and prepare a holodeck demonstration sequence for the
teams to run through when Mr. Salek gives his tour.  Dr. N'Dok,
when you have time I'd like a report on the physical effects of
our G-Warp test on the crew, and an update on the condition of
all injured personnel delivered to my Ready Room by 1400 hours."
     "Will do, sir," said James cheerfully, and Konnu made an
assenting noise in his throat.
     "Excellent.  Number One, let's go to the Bridge."  Jack
paused a moment, looking around the transporter room, and a small
smile touched her mouth.
     "It's good to be back," she said.

     Jack was in her Ready Room, looking over the Acting
Captain's logs Barnabas and Konnu had compiled in her absence,
when the door beeped.  "Come," she said, and rose from her seat
as the slump-shouldered figure of Mac Scott struggled in.  His
hands were still bandaged, and there were lines on his face that
had not been there before.
     "Captain," he said.  "May I speak with you?"
     "Certainly," said Jack.  "Please sit down."
     Mac gratefully lowered himself into the chair on the other
side of the desk, and Jack took up her own seat again.  "What may
I do for you, Lieutenant?"
     "Ah, well, I'm not quite sure where to begin."  He took a
deep breath.  "Maybe I'd just better give it to you straight,
sir.  I'd like a transfer."
     Jack's brows shot up.  "The reason?"
     He shook his head sadly.  "I'm getting too old for this,
Captain.  It's been an honor to serve on the flagship of the
Federation for as long as I have, but I've come to see that this
ship is bound to see a lot of action and get into a lot of
scrapes, and I'm not as quick as I used to be.  I thought I could
handle it, but this accident proved me wrong.  Perhaps it's best
if I step aside and let younger hands take over."
     "Did you have anyone specific in mind?"
     "Aye, as a matter of fact, I did.  Lieutenant Slike is a
fine engineer, Captain, and he's proven he can make a fine Chief
Engineer as well.  I'd like to see his good work rewarded."
     "And what will you do, Mr. Scott?"
     "Well, I had a wee chat with the new fellow, Dr. Davies, and
he said they might like a new face in the cybernetics lab at
Starbase 643.  I've always had a warm spot in my heart for
cybernetics, and it seemed to me that might be just the ticket,
at least for a while.  Maybe I'll go back to working a starship
when I've had a chance to rest, but right now I think I'd like to
keep my feet firmly planted for a while, so to speak."
     Jack smiled.  "It sounds ideal, I must confess.  Mr. Scott,
you've done a fine job on the _Enterprise_ so far, and I will be
very sorry to lose you.  Thank you for all your hard work."  She
stood up and extended a hand to the grizzled engineer, who took
it and shook it warmly.
     "Thank you, Captain.  I appreciate your understanding.  And
what of the lad Maverint?"
     "Your suggestion will have to be given due consideration,
and discussed with the First Officer," said Jack.  "But I'll tell
you frankly, I think it's a good idea."
     Mac beamed.  "That it is.  Permission to leave, sir?"
     "Permission granted."
     Jack watched him make his halting way out of the room, then
shook her head a little sadly and returned to her work.
     The door beeped again barely fifteen seconds later.  "Come,"
said Jack, surprised.
     She had thought it would be Mac returning to add some final
comment, but the officer in the doorway could hardly have been
less like Mac if she'd tried.  "Gabriele!" exclaimed Jack,
leaping to her feet.  "Come in, please, and sit down.  I've
hardly had a chance to talk to you since you came back on board.
How's your research coming?"
     Gabriele smiled, smoothing her black hair back from her face
with one slim hand.  "As well as may be expected.  Right now I'm
analyzing mitochondria in the cells of the Borg cerebrum,
attempting to figure out what role they play in maintaining the
collective consciousness.  Nikctalos has been most cooperative,
and I believe Dr. Davies is interested in the project as well,
since there appear to be cybernetic components in Borg cell
structure."
     "Good heavens," said Jack blankly.  "You don't fool around,
do you?"
     "I never did," said Gabriele.  "Not when it came to work,
anyway.  But for some reason, you've just reminded me of Admiral
Thompson.  Did you realize he's been retired?"
     "Because of you?"
     "Myself and others.  It appears the Admiral has been in the
business of 'cultivating certain officers in hopes of personal
reward' for quite some time.  When the business came to light, he
decided it was in his best interests to quietly remove himself
from the public eye, so to speak."
     Jack smiled wryly.  "A prudent decision.  So what does that
mean for you, now?"
     "Well, just last night I was offered command of the
_Sirocco_."
     "Really?  Gabriele, that's wonderful!  Are you going to take
it?"
     Gabriele shook her head.  "I've already turned it down.
Working these past few weeks in the lab has reminded me that
biology is my first love.  Now, if somebody were to offer me an
administrative research posting on some starbase, *that* I might
consider.  But I'll have to wait and see."
     "You know," said Jack, "when I first came on board this
ship, I had no idea things would turn out this way.  But I'm glad
to see you're happy."
     "I am, you know," mused Gabriele.  "It's strange, but I am."
She was silent for a moment, then looked up at Jack.  "You seem
different, too.  More relaxed -- no, not just relaxed.  Glowing.
Your holiday seems to have done you good."
     "If I told you about my holiday," said Jack, "you wouldn't
believe it.  But when everything was added up, I would have to
say that I did have a good time, after all."
     "Well, you're in for a little more holiday just about now,"
said Gabriele.  "Your shift's nearly over."
     Jack glanced up at the chronometer.  "You're right, you
know--and I'm supposed to be down on the holodeck."  She rose
from her chair.  "Gabriele, I'm glad you dropped by, and I hope
you do find that research post you're looking for.  I'll
definitely keep my eyes and ears open for you."
     "Thanks," said Gabriele.  "I appreciate that, Captain."
     "Oh no," warned the red-haired woman as her former
commanding officer turned to leave.  "To you, I'm Jack."
     Gabriele smiled.  "We were a good team, weren't we?"
     "We certainly were," said Jack.


From:  Commander (Dr.) Gwyn Davies

     Roxanne sat at the open window, working embroidery with
nimble fingers.  Her russet tresses were drawn away from her face
and plaited in a soft crown atop her head, leaving only a few
smooth curls to tumble down upon her white shoulders.  The
afternoon sunlight shining through the window streaked her hair
with fire, gleamed richly on the sumptuous folds of her gown of
golden silk.  She sang softly through half-parted lips:  "Je suis
seul, et je ne pense qu' a toi..."
     Watching her through the half-open door, Cyrano found his
heart pierced anew by hopeless desire.  For a man in his unique
and grievous position, such longings could only end in grief:  he
knew that now.  Yet he must speak to her, though reason itself
cried out against so rash a deed.  He lifted his hand and
knocked.
     "Yes?" she said, turning toward him.  He stepped out of the
shadows, letting the light fall upon his face, and saw her blue
eyes widen in surprise.  Almost she laughed--but quickly bowed
her head to hide the smile, and when she lifted her face again
her expression was serene.
     "Dear cousin Cyrano," she said.  "What brings you here?
Please, enter and make yourself at home.  I am only working at my
embroidery; the company of your wit will be a most pleasant
relief."
     "I have no wit today," he said, gazing sadly down the length
of his preposterous nose.
     "No wit!  My dear friend, what can be wrong?"
     He did not answer.  With measured steps he approached the
window, leaned against the casement and gazed through the glass
at the teeming streets below.  He heard the dry whispering of her
skirts as she rose from the chair, but he did not move until he
felt the gentle pressure of her hand upon his arm.
     "Please," she said, "tell me, what is it?"
     "I was attacked today," he said.
     "Attacked!"
     "Yes, most foully."
     "Where?"
     "In my own room, as I sat at my desk."
     "Are you wounded?"
     "In the heart.  But no," he said, half-turning, "it is not
fatal."
     "Who would do such a thing?"
     "It was a sonnet," he murmured.  "A most cunning and
pernicious creature, and it fell upon me unawares.  Here, examine
the evidence for yourself."  He pulled a piece of paper out of
the inner pocket of his vest:  she took it from him in silence,
and turned it over in her fine-boned hands.
     As he listened to her silence it suddenly became very clear
to him that this would be a good time to count the bricks around
the fountain in the square.  It was hard at this distance, of
course.  Perhaps he had better go and do it from some better
vantage point.  He turned toward the door, but her fingers had
curled around his sleeve so tightly that he could not break away.
     "You," she breathed.  "You wrote this?"
     "It's never happened before," he said.  "A most unfortunate
accident.  Good day."  He tried once more to pull away from her,
but she would not let go.
     "No," she said.  "No, you don't understand.  This is
beautiful.  I'd thought at first it might be Donne--"
     "What?  That good?"
     "Yes.  That good.  But of course it's yours.  I know all
Donne's sonnets.  Gwyn--"
     "Cyrano," he corrected gently.
     "I'm sorry, Commander," she said, "but this has ceased to be
a game."  She pulled off his artificial nose and threw it out the
window, ignoring the immediate and noisy sensation it created in
the street below.  "I thought of a hundred reasons why you might
have asked me to be Roxanne.  You wanted someone real to play the
scene with and I was the only woman you knew well enough to ask,
I'm half French already, you always imagined Roxanne with red
hair...anything but this."
     She folded up the paper with the utmost care, slipped it
into the bodice of her gown.  With the slow stateliness
necessitated by the sheer volume of her skirts she walked away
from him.  Her head was bent, but whether in grief or anger or
mere contemplation, he could not tell.
     He followed her automatically--if he had stopped to think
about it he would never have had the courage.  "Jacqueline," he
said, catching her arm and turning her back toward him.  "Do you
really think so little of yourself?"
     "Gwyn, I am not the sort of woman men write sonnets to!"
There was a high colour in her face, and her eyes gleamed as
though she fought back tears.  "But now you've gone and written
me one of the most beautiful poems I've ever read, and what's
worse, you've never written poetry before.  Tell me, what on
earth am I to make of that?"
     That was it.  There was no going back now.  He slid a finger
under her chin, tilted her face up toward his.  "This," he said,
and kissed her.
     The kiss was brief, but effective.  He drew back, holding
her at arm's length, and broke into an involuntary grin:  her
face was as red as her hair.
     "You see," he said, "I was angry at Cyrano.  Maybe because
he and I were too much alike:  both of us madly in love with a
beautiful woman, and too fearfully proud to say so.  Finally I
told myself I was going to play this scene with you, the scene
Cyrano should have played in the beginning.  As soon as I'd made
up my mind to do it, the sonnet attacked me.  But even if it
hadn't, you were doomed, my Roxanne--why do you look so
frightened?"
     "Because I am," she said.
     Cold fear knifed his heart, sliced up his spine.  What if
he'd read this scene all wrong, and kissing her had been a
violation?  What if, like Roxanne with Cyrano, she saw him only
as a friend?  "I'm sorry," he said.  "I shouldn't--"
     "No," said Jack hastily.  "Don't say that.  What you did was
beautiful."
     "All of it?"
     "All of it."  The hectic colour in her cheeks was beginning
to subside:  she smiled, and was herself again.  "But you
surprised me."
     "I think you surprised *them* a lot more," said Gwyn, moving
back to the window.  He leaned out of it and gazed down at a sea
of white, startled faces.  "I beg your pardon, gentles all," he
called, "but has anyone chanced upon a flying nose in recent
memory?"
     Jack gave a very un-Roxanne-like splutter and collapsed into
a chair.  He raised an eyebrow at her in mock reproach before
returning his attention to the window.  "Come, come," he said.
"Has no one found my nose?  Shall I offer a reward?"
     "Here, sir," piped up a tremulous voice, and a peasant boy
emerged from the crowd, holding up the oddly-shaped piece of
synthetic tissue in one grubby hand.
     "Good lad," said Gwyn.  "Well, then, deliver!"  The child
hesitated, then tossed it up to him; he caught it deftly and
presented it to the wondering crowd with a flourish.
     "If the real Cyrano de Bergerac finds you have been
impersonating him, sirrah, you will live to rue your wit at the
end of his rapier!" snapped a red-faced cadet, glowering.
     "I am Cyrano de Bergerac," replied Gwyn.  "I assure you
there is no other.  The Blessed Virgin has delivered me of my
deformity by her miraculous powers, and now I wish to keep this
sad and swollen lump of flesh as a souvenir.  It will keep me
humble.  Good day."  He drew back, closed the window, and turned
to see Jack shaking with laughter.
     "Well," he said archly, "I was technically correct, wasn't
I?"
     "So I'm the Blessed Virgin?  I was only just getting used to
being Roxanne."  She wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes.
"You are a fiendishly clever man, Gwyn Davies."
     "I thought I'd outclevered myself for a moment there," he
said, moving to her and kneeling down by her side.  "I'm glad to
see I wasn't mistaken about you after all."
     "No," she said.  "You weren't mistaken.  But--" she drew
herself up in the chair, and was Captain Picard again-- "we'll
have to work this out, you and I.  It would be best if we could
keep this from the rest of the crew.  Not that we need to lie
about it, but--"
     "--to refrain from volunteering information," finished Gwyn.
"I understand completely."
     "Good.  And of course, our work and our relationship should
be kept strictly separate.  Fortunately I don't have you under my
direct command, so there shouldn't be any conflict of interest,
but when we're on duty--"
     "--no kissing in the turbolift?"
     Her mouth formed a straight line.  "Gwyn, are you intending
to take this seriously or not?"
     "I am absolutely serious," he said, taking her hand and
kissing it distractedly.  "I'm just not particularly sane at the
moment.  Go on."
     "I can't go on when you're kissing me like that."
     "Oh.  Well, then, don't go on."  He rose slowly, drawing her
up with him, and pulled her into his arms.  She didn't resist,
though she did give a sigh of exasperation just before his lips
found hers.
     Kissing Jack was easy--too easy.  It could become habit-
forming.  He let her go reluctantly, and watched a slow smile
curve her mouth as she reached up to smooth back the strands of
his French wig.  "It's a good thing I was already in love with
you," she said.  "Because you look absolutely awful in that
thing."
     "Even without the nose?"
     "Even without the nose."
     "I'm wounded."
     "Good.  You pout so beautifully."  She slipped out of his
arms and turned to face the far wall.  "Computer, exit program."
     "Are we done already?" asked Gwyn as the door materialized
and slid open to reveal the corridor beyond.
     "I'm afraid so," said Jack.  "I've got a Rihannsu lesson in
half an hour, and I'm sure it'll take me at least twenty minutes
just to get out of this gorgeous confection.  Do you have any
idea how uncomfortable whalebone corsets are?"
     "I'll tell you what," said Gwyn.  "Next time, *I'll* play
Roxanne."
     She was still laughing when they left the holodeck.


From:  Captain Jacqueline Picard

CAPTAIN'S LOG, STARDATE 59844.8:
The _Enterprise_ entered Earth's orbit at approximately 1400
hours.  The President and other delegates attending the signing
of the Federation-Romulan peace treaty have beamed aboard and
been assigned to their quarters for the journey.  Tomorrow we
will set course for Starbase 65, to rendezvous with the U.S.S.
_Paladin_ and the Romulan Warbird _Kordan Vos_, and from there to
Romulus for the signing of the treaty.  According to our newly
appointed Chief Engineer Maverint Slike, the _Enterprise_ is once
more operating at peak efficiency, and no further technical
difficulties are anticipated...

     The door twittered.  Jack uncurled herself from the sofa and
rose to answer it.  "Come," she said.
     "...they told me," replied a familiar voice as the door slid
open, "Pa rum-pa-pum-pum."  Gwyn flashed her a smile, glanced
both ways down the corridor to make sure nobody was watching, and
slipped into her quarters.  When the door had closed again behind
him he said, "Did I interrupt you?"
     "I was just finishing my log.  What with the President and
all those inquisitive Admirals on board, I hadn't had time to do
it during my shift."  Jack began to yawn before she could stop
herself, and quickly covered her mouth with one hand.  "Sorry.
It's been quite the day.  Are you sure nobody saw you coming
here?"
     "Quite sure.  And listen--I've had a little chat with my
doppelganger."
     Jack was instantly awake again.  "What?"
     "Moriarty.  Yes, he told me what he'd done.  But when we
talked on the holodeck he was at least good enough to choose a
different form:  there's nothing more awkward than talking to
oneself."  Gwyn walked lightly behind her, kissing her cheek
as he passed, and sat down on the sofa.  Jack followed, curled up
beside him and leaned her head against his shoulder.
     "Why did you talk to him?" she asked.
     "Because he's the only one who can possibly keep our
relationship from becoming public knowledge.  If anybody suddenly
wants one of us when we're off duty, and happens to ask the
computer where we are, what are the odds that we'll be in the
same place?  That could be awkward.  So I petitioned Moriarty to
help us keep our little secret."  He slid his arms around her
waist almost as an afterthought, and put his chin on the top of
her head.  "He was surprisingly obliging.  In an absolute crisis
situation, of course, he might have to break the promise, but
that's a risk I'm afraid we'll have to take."
     "Even at that, it's a great deal better than I'd even
thought to hope for," said Jack.
     "At least," said Gwyn reflectively, "we wouldn't have to
worry about them finding us in bed together.  Which is more than
could be said for any other clandestine relationships which might
exist on this ship."
     Jack felt her face grow warm.  "I didn't think of that."
     "I wish I could say the same," said Gwyn, and Jack's cheeks
grew hotter still.  Hating herself for doing it, but knowing at
the same time that he would understand, she slipped out of his
arms and moved to another chair.  He looked after her resignedly,
and a little smile touched his mouth.
     "Sorry.  I won't stay long; I'm not that foolish.  Besides,
I have a date with Gabriele in a few minutes; she wants me to
look at her mitochondria."
     Jack burst out laughing.  "Is that the xenobiological
equivalent of etchings?"
     "Mercy, I hope not," said Gwyn, and the smile became a grin.
"Speaking of scientific discoveries, I just remembered
something."
     "What?"
     "Remember how the Rhysans flatly refused to believe we'd
seen a feyralen in that cave?"
     "Yes, and we couldn't think of any way to convince them."
     "But we did have a way."  Gwyn rose to his feet.  "Mind if I
look in your closet?"
     "Why on earth-- oh!"  Jack's eyes widened.  She leaped to
her feet and ran past him into her bedroom.  Yanking open the
closet, she pulled out the long blue skirt she'd worn during
their ordeal.  It was tattered and filthy, and should have been
thrown out long ago, but she had kept it by way of a souvenir.
She reached into the pocket and pulled out the soft white
feather, running a finger along its iridescent rachis.
     "Mythical beast indeed," said Gwyn softly from behind her.
     "'There are more things in heaven and earth, Rhysans,'"
quoted Jack, "'than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"
     "And that applies to a good many things more significant
than feyralens," Gwyn observed.  "Sometimes I'd like to shout
that from the rooftop of Federation Headquarters."  He reached
over her shoulder and took the feather out of her hand.  She
half-turned to watch his frowning face as he studied it.
     "I think," he said at last, "that we should leave the
feyralen in peace.  Let the Rhysans think we were just
hallucinating."
     "I think so too," said Jack.  She took the feather back from
him and laid it carefully on her bedside table.
     "Yet another of our shared secrets," Gwyn said as they
walked back into the main room.  "But surely not the last."  He
moved to the door, stopped, and turned back to face her.  "Good
night, Jacqueline," he said.
     "Good night," said Jack, closed her eyes as he kissed her,
and when she opened them again he was gone.  Slowly she walked
over to the couch and sat down again, her face turned this time
to the large viewport and the stars swimming by in the darkness
outside.
     It seemed hard to believe that less than half a year ago she
had been a lonely, frustrated newcomer to this ship, finding in
those same stars nothing more than the reflection of her own
uncertainty.  Now she saw comfort, and promise, and a wealth of
possibilities.
     "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord,"
Jack quoted softly, "'plans to prosper you and not to harm you,
plans to give you hope and a future.'"
     That future might or might not lie with Starfleet, she knew,
for it might not be long before the faith she and Gwyn shared
made it impossible for them to remain.  That thought would have
terrified her once, but now she accepted it freely.  If and when
that day came she would move on, and look for new opportunities.
But until then, Jacqueline Picard was Captain of the
_Enterprise_, and--impossible as it had once seemed--she was
happy.
     Jack uncurled herself from the sofa, dimmed the lights, and
padded off to bed.

                           THE END