Danny Amor's Online Library/Danny Amor's Online Library - Volume 1.iso/html/startrek/incomplete/differentstartrek.p1-7

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From: [e-mail] (LOUIS HALL)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: A DIFFERENT STAR TREK - Chapter 1 - revised
Date: 29 Dec 1994 16:30:06 GMT
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    Hey everybody! Here it is, revised and rewritten. Still unfinished
though. Please address all comments to:

[e-mail]

                    -Lou-

p.s. due to a computer malfunction, all "" and ' come out as o's. Sorry!

Chapter 1
(6869 wrds)


    It was the last meeting of the Starfleet 191 Irregulars before the
Philiconn convention. I sat at the head of the long table, and looked at my
Vice-president, Mike Kelly, half Irish, half Apache Indian sitting at the other
end. It was always hard for me to maintain my composure at such times, when I
was forced to notice the ridiculous, foam Spock ears that he wore to every
meeting. He said it helped him get into the proper frame of mind. I said it
should have helped him into a rubber room.
We were listening to the treasurerÕs report, given at each meeting by Lauren
Maurrow, the person we had stuck with the accounting duties for our little
group. Actually, she got it by default. She was the only one in the club who
had her checkbook balanced. That was good enough for us. We were currently
discussing our act for the talent portion of the convention. This is where
groups of mentally unstable individuals get up in front of the rest of the
conventioneers and act out their favorite scenes from a Star Trek movie or
episode. For the last three years, we had come in second, to a group from
upstate New York, that brought down a truck filled with props that looked like
they had been stolen from the Paramount sets. They had money, and knew where to
get their equipment built. As for us, well, weÕd been called innovative.
Humorous. Even special on occasion. But none of that added up to first place.

    ÒI say we find em, and we kill em.Ó Mike yawned, leaning back and
kicking his feet up on the table. His series shirt rode up, and he lazily
scratched his flat, hairless stomach. He said his lack of body hair was part of
his Native American genetic inheritance. I said he shaved it.

    ÒUh, thatÕs a bit drastic, isnÕt it, Mike?Ó Martin Boccacella sighed,
paging through his official Starfleet Medical Manual.

    ÒHey! Do we wanna win, or what? Christ, this year those jerks will
probably come in with a scale model of the whole damn Bridge.Ó he grumbled,
fixing one foam rubber ear.

    I smiled.

    ÒIf they do, weÕll handle it. CÕmon guys, itÕs a game. Alright, so they
have fancier playing pieces than we do. We know itÕs all in how you go about
it, not how exciting the toys are. We can outact them. Right?Ó

    ÒIÕm a lousy actor.Ó Layla Chung, our newest member mumbled.
    ÒNot any worse than me.Ó Emilio Riveras piped in, fiddling with the
compact communicator he was building. So far heÕd managed to reduce a full
forty channel, citizens band radio down to Series communicator size. He was now
attempting to reduce a walkie talkie down to Next Generation size. HeÕd almost
gotten it too, except for having the entire contraption fall apart when heÕd
tapped to trigger it.

    ÒI told you guys, if we really want to compete with those clowns in the
Vulcan Branch Academy, I can finance it.Ó Arthur Devey said, leaning forward
and scanning the rest of the group.

    I shook my head.

    ÒThen weÕd be competing as unfairly as they are.Ó

    ÒSo? WeÕd have a better chance of winning.Ó

    ÒI still think itÕs better to play the game with honor, rather than
just playing to win. The end doesnÕt....Ó

    Ò......justify the means. Yeah, yeah, Surak. We get the idea.Ó Art
grinned, leaning back.

    ÒWell,Ó Lauren said hesitantly, looking at the accounting spreadsheet
in front of her, Òwe could stretch the budget a bit more. Maybe come up with
something moderately spectacular?Ó

    ÒI think we should rely on ourselves, not technology, like Jim says.Ó
Cherie Banks said, finishing another row on the Starfleet afghan she was
crocheting.

    ÒAll in favor of breaking the budget for this convention, raise your
right hand.Ó I said finally.

    Mike raised his hand. Then, quickly lowered it when he realized he was
the only assenting member. He sighed and looked heavenward.

    ÒHeelllloooo agaiiiiin, second place!Ó

    ÒSecondÕs not so bad.Ó Eugene Elligton grunted, raising his head from
the table. ÒAt least we can say we took second on our merits.Ó

    ÒHey! We could always put Sonya on stage naked. We get first place
plus!Ó Rich Roselle said, looking lasciviously at Sonya Brava. The Brazillian
medical student was the sex kitten of 191. She didnÕt take kindly to remarks
featuring her body over her brain.


    ÒWeÕd get thrown out of the convention if we did that with you, Pig.Ó
she sniffed, turning to look away from him. That put her looking directly at
me. Not A bad thing, if you were any good with women. I wasnÕt, naturally.

    ÒCÕmon guys, lets do that scene for STII like IÕve been saying! Props
or not, I think we can win with it.Ó Benjamin Palin said eagerly.

    ÒFine.Ó David McCallister replied, in his finest Scottish accent.
ÒWould you like to volunteer to play Khan?Ó

    ÒWell, I donÕt know.....Ó the younger man said hesitantly.

    ÒI didnÕt think so.Ó the quasi-Scott replied.

    ÒAlright already!Ó I interrupted, yawning. ÒWe havenÕt decided on a
scene, and you know we have to do it based on available props, personnel,
etcetera. So, submit your idea along with everybody elseÕs, and weÕll read them
over as a group and pick the one that best fits the criteria.Ó

    ÒOOO WHOOO!Ó Mike said, lisping too effeminantly to be ignored. ÒBig
type, leadership words! God, I just love it when he talks in that commanding
tone of voice.Ó

    I glared at him in mild irritation.

    ÒBlow me, you quasi-Vulcan shithead.Ó

    ÒNow I love it when he talks like that.Ó Sonya purred.

    I turned red.







    We concluded the meeting, and got up to go our separate ways. As usual,
Mike drifted around the table and bummed a ride off of me back to his dorm.  I
didnÕt turn him down. The surprise of the evening was Sonya also bumming a
ride. She was due on shift at St. Eligius Hospital, and her boyfriend (some
jerk who played on the football team. We all hated his guts and he hated ours.
ÔNuff said.) had an away game, so he couldnÕt drive her there. That left it up
to me. Mike began to smile, lecherously as usual. I began to sweat. Us ROTC
types were used to that sort of thing, though. Sweating, that is. And me, not
for the reasons you might at first think.
    ÒSURE weÕll give you a ride, Sonya! No problem at all.Ó Mike leered,
putting an arm around the Latino bombshell. I felt my stomach starting to turn,
as I watched him go through his moves.

    ÒHands off, Gringo.Ó The green eyed, brunette growled, elbowing him not
ungently in the ribs.

    ÒFine, fine. Be that way. CanÕt even be friendly to your own club
mates.Ó the Indian sighed, shaking his head sadly.

    ÒFriendly is fine. Lechery is not acceptable.Ó she said, looking at him
with a smirk on her face. I was glad she wasnÕt really offended. It had taken
us almost a full year to start integrating women into this wacky club. YouÕd be
surprised at how hesitant women are to involve themselves with a group of over
aged adolescents living out their Starfleet fantasies.

    ÒMy behavior? Less than gentlemanly? I am hurt. Hurt and shocked that
you would intimate such a thing, Miss.Ó

    ÒYouÕre lucky she didnÕt intimate anything about that goat at your Frat
initiation party.Ó I said quietly, opening the door to my jeep. I climbed in
and unfastened the first several bits of velcro that held my dress tunic
closed.

    ÒShe wouldnÕt know anything about that little incident,Ó he looked
sincerely at her, Òwhich never happened anyway,Ó he returned a stern gaze to
me, Òunless someone broke a promise about never telling another living soul
about it upon pain of dismemberment and having salt and rubbing alcohol poured
in the still bleeding wounds.Ó

    I winced slightly.

    ÒSalt?Ó

    ÒAnd rubbing alcohol.Ó

    ÒHow about hydrogen peroxide?Ó Sonya suggested,  climbing into the back
seat.

    ÒOh, youÕre a big help.Ó I chuckled, starting the automobile and
shooting out of the small lot at the Student Union building.

    The trip to MikeÕs dorm was barely five minutes. I was not looking
forward to having to spend the next ten minutes alone in the car with Sonya.
Not that I didnÕt like her. In fact, the problem was exactly the opposite. I
pulled into a parking space in front of Wildwood Hall, the ancient, decrepit
dormitory that Mike had chosen to live in. He said he liked it. It was so run
down that almost nobody consented to live there of their own will. So the
college authorities never disturbed him there. Besides, it was cheap as hell
compared to the new dorms.

    ÒGive me a call later.Ó he said, climbing out, into the early evening
drizzle. ÒLet me know whatÕs up.Ó he indicated my other passenger with his
eyes. I nodded, and practically shoved him the rest of the way out the door,
before she saw the motion.

    ÒSee ya, Sonya!Ó He called, walking backwards, away from the jeep.
Sonya climbed into the front seat (an amazing thing to watch, as she was
dressed in a Series regulation mini-dress) and primly buckled her safety belt.
As soon as my blood pressure went back to normal, I put the jeep into gear and
took off.

    ÒWell, before you drive me in, could you stop at my place for a minute?
IÕd really like to change.Ó

    I nodded amiably.

    ÒDonÕt want your co-workers to know youÕre a closet Trekkie?Ó

    ÒNo. Actually, I think I split the back of my skirt when I got into the
front.Ó

    I swallowed, and followed her directions to her apartment. She asked me
if IÕd like to come in for a minute, but I thought it more prudent (for my own
peace of mind) to wait out in my car until she was done. It didnÕt help either,
that she made no attempt to cover her split skirt from my sight, as she walked
up the sidewalk, and into her apartment building. I only looked for a split
second. After all, IÕm only human. She was back in under five minutes, wearing
scrubs and white sneakers. She still looked sexy.

    ÒOkay, letÕs go!Ó the  woman laughed, punching me in the arm as she
scrambled into the cab of the jeep.

    We were at the hospital in just under ten minutes (I ran several
marginally red lights and did a few Hollywood stops). Pulling up in front of
the Emergency Room entrance, I stopped and waited for Sonya to hop out. She
turned, and looked at me curiously. Then she leaned close, and kissed me gently
on the lips. My eyes grew wide in shock. Thankfully, hers were closed, so she
didnÕt see the asinine picture I presented. Then she pulled away and smiled at
me.

    ÒYou have my number on the club contact sheet, donÕt you?Ó she purred
at me.

    ÒUh, yeah. Sure.Ó

    ÒI get done observing at about eleven oÕclock. Why donÕt you give me a
call?Ó
    I think at that point, I swallowed my tongue. I couldnÕt speak. All I
could do was nod, and smile weakly.

    ÒGreat.Ó she said, returning my smile. ÒIÕll be waiting. Say, would you
mind picking me up?Ó

    I shook my head.

    ÒOkay, I guess IÕll see you then at eleven. Take care Jimmy.Ó she said,
and winked, climbing out of my jeep. I pulled the door shut, and watched as she
sashayed into the hospital. I was playing way out of my league. She was in the
majors, and I never managed to make little league. I put the vehicle into gear
and roared around the lot and out onto the crowded road. Cars parted before me,
not wanting to get hit by an ancient World War Two, full ton utility jeep.
Sure, it was excessive in this day and age of compact cars and high priced gas.
But it was my only other hobby. Keeping the hunk of junk running, that is.
    My trip home was rather uneventful, as such things go, and I was home
before seven oÕclock. My roommates were all out, getting drunk as usual, I
supposed. The all wanted to be Marines. I was going to be Air Force. I hoped.
My recruiter had intimated to me that I might be a little large for being a
fighter pilot. Possibly a bomber pilot, or navigator might be a better choice.
But, at least he admitted me.
    I got out of the jeep, and walked sedately up the steps and into the
Victorian style mansion I lived in. The living room was spacious, with the
typical high ceilings of the era. Perfect for the wide screen TV one of my
house mates had ÒliberatedÓ in a drunken binge from the nearby college of
Dentistry. One of their students had done some shoddy work on RonÕs mouth in a
volunteer clinic, and he had been looking for a spectacular way to get even.
    I turned on Star Trek: The Next Generation and settled into my ancient
recliner. It was a rerun I had seen several times before. That didnÕt make it
any less captivating to me. I watched each and every character with attention
to detail. No personality mistakes, no strange character developments. It
always amazed me how well the actors had come to know their characters. Of
course, in seven years, theyÕd better learn something. I sat rapt for an hour
and watched the episode unfold. I was always captivated, even by what critics
called some of the worst episodes. It was my fantasy, to travel aboard a
starship, hundreds of years in the future. Sometimes it agitated me beyond
endurance that I would never live into the time that would see these things
become reality. I resented it greatly, being born too early to live the life I
so loved. But at least I had the dreams.
    At eight oÕclock, I turned off the set, and sat down at the kitchen
table to do my homework. True, I had no Friday, or weekend classes, but I
figured weÕd probably call another meeting and decide what scene to do for the
Philiconn. Best to get all extraneous matters, like schoolwork, out of the way
beforehand. I leaned over and began pouring over my calculus work. I hated
calculus. Daydreams of Star Trek kept clouding my vision. The original Trek. I
identified with Kirk more than Picard. Generally I thought of myself as more of
a gut instinct individual than a cerebrally oriented one. I admired the captain
of the original Enterprise more. He could count on his feelings to guide him,
not logic. Calculus. Do the calculus. Damn mathwork. I think I liked the
original Enterprise more, too. Taking your family along on what could turn out
to be a potentially life threatening journey didnÕt really appeal to me.
Rather, it should be yourself, and your crew. It was a job. But what a job.
HOMEWORK. Do the homework. Stop daydreaming. Stop falling asleep.
Stop.....stop.............stop.......................sto.....................................................

    Q smirked, standing in the kitchen, looking down at the sleeping
individual, face down in his calculus homework. He walked around the floor
space, examining everything, except the sleeping human. He poked curiously at
the stove, until it lit, itÕs intense gas flame nearly taking his eyebrows
because of his proximity to it. The alien shut the device off with a snort of
disgust. He moved over and opened the refrigerator. Curiously, he pulled out a
cold hot dog and took a bite. A smile suffused his face.

    ÒSometimeÕs itÕs simply amazing what these primitives will come up
with.Ó
he chuckled to himself. He took a can of beer, and examined it intently.
Finally, shrugging to himself, he created a hole in the top of the can,
ignoring the pull tab. He took a swig, and smiled some more. Turning, he looked
at the soundly sleeping student at the table. Appearing in a vacant seat, still
munching on the hot dog, he took one of the books before the unconscious man
and began reading.

    ÒCalculus! Ugh. A true sign of the unenlightened barbarian.Ó he threw
the book back on the table, and picked up another. ÒÔHow to Succeed at Love
Without Really Trying.Õ Hmmm.Ó

    Q stood and appeared back at the refrigerator. Opening it, he pulled
out the entire plate of leftover hot dogs, and the six-pack of beer. Humming to
himself, he reappeared at the table and looked critically at the sleeping human
as he munched away.

    ÒNot very happy, are you? Hmmm? Living almost entirely in a fantasy
world, peopled by Picard and Riker and Kirk and Spock. Disgruntled because you
were born too early, youÕll never get he chance to see if the universe really
turns out to be like your adolescent fantasies. Well, why not? Why not indeed.Ó

    The omnipotent alien rose, six-pack in one hand, plate of cold hot dogs
and the other.

    ÒOh, say, you donÕt mind if I take these along, do you? Most tasty
thing you humans must have ever invented.Ó he said, speaking to the unconscious
man.

    ÒHow would you put it? Ah, yes. WeÕre outta here, like Vladimir.Ó








    I awoke with a start, sitting upright in an unfamiliar chair. It was
almost pitch black, that much at least, I could tell through my swimming head.
My eyes refused to focus, as I strained to make out where I was. A room. High
ceiling. Round. Multi-level. Well, bi-level anyway.

    ÒWhere the hellÕs the lights?Ó I muttered. At my words, there was a
low, breathy humming, and the darkness lightened. My heart leapt in my throat,
for I recognized my surroundings. But it was impossible.

    ÒThe Enterprise....Ó I whispered.

    Standing, I looked around at the carnage on the bridge. The
workstations were utterly destroyed. The navigation console was standing, but
showed every evidence of having been severely scorched. The command chair I had
awakened in, was listing sadly to the left. Things didnÕt look anywhere near as
bad as I had assumed they would after a self destruct command. The emergency
lights were low, casting shadows that played tricks with my hazy vision. I was
alone, I could see, as I circled the destroyed area. I walked over to the
science station, and squinted as I looked at the broken and burned terminal.
Hesitantly, I sat , and poked at the controls without much hope. Almost
immediately, a light blinked, there was a beep, and what was left of damage
control began to fitfully operate.

    ÒStatus?Ó I asked hopefully.

    ÒClarify.Ó the computer voice grated, without any of its characteristic
female inflection.

    ÒShipÕs operating status.Ó

    ÒWorking.Ó the voice continued.

    ÒWhatÕs working?Ó

    ÒWorking on the question.Ó it growled.

    I waited just over a minute for the diagnostic, and wasnÕt disappointed
in my own initial assessment of the situation.

    ÒWarp drive; nonfunctional. Impulse drive; nonfunctional, weapons
systems; nonfunctional, shields; functional at 10% normal level, life support;
functional at 35% normal level. Hull breaches detected on deck 7, 9, 12, and
19. Artificial gravity; normal.Ó

    I chewed thoughtfully at my lower lip. ÒEssentially weÕre dead in the
water.Ó

    ÒStating the painfully obvious, as your race so faithfully does, I
see.Ó another voice said. I recognized it, and my blood ran cold. I turned to
face my kidnapper.

    ÒQ .Ó I said quietly, trying not to stutter.

    ÒAh! So weÕre in your pathetic dreamings also. How nice.Ó

    ÒThis isnÕt real. IÕm dreaming. IÕll wake up soon in my bed, drunk
again, and IÕll be home. Hung over, but home.Ó

    The godlike being from the Q continuum shook his head and clucked like
a mother hen.

    ÒNo, no....no. Actually, you were asleep over you homework. But that is
inconsequential. This is real. You are here. Courtesy of the power of the Q.Ó

    I was quiet for a moment trying to formulate some intelligent thought.

    ÒWhy, you may ask?Ó

    I nodded mutely.

    ÒA test. An exam, if you will.Ó

    ÒBut your race said...Ó

    ÒWe said that I may not interfere with the development of any humans
native to this universe. You, are not.Ó

    ÒIÕm from Earth.Ó

    ÒOf course, but not this continumÕs earth. You are familiar with the
concept of  alternate universes? Of course you are, you ÔTrekkieÕ  you. I am
native to this dimension. You are not. You did not originate here. In fact, it
is debatable whether or not you even existed before I called you here. So, the
restrictions handed down to me do not apply to you.Ó

    ÒI think, therefore...Ó I began.

    ÒNonsense! Your species whole concept of self is based on that phrase
and itÕs nothing but the rhetoric of a drunken theologian. Ó Q snorted, and
stepped away from the turbo lift. I noticed the doors had been blow out of
their mountings, so the interior of the lift shaft was open.

    ÒSo youÕre telling me IÕm not a real person. That I have no existence
outside of your mind?Ó

    The alien smiled broadly.

    ÒWell now. ThereÕs a insightful observation. But IÕm not going to
answer you.Ó

    ÒBecause your answer could affect the outcome of your test.Ó

    ÒBright! Very bright.Ó Q laughed, sitting carefully in the command
chair. The ancient seat promptly snapped of its base and sent the godlike being
sprawling on the floor. I was careful not to laugh. He glared at me as he
appeared at my side. It didnÕt surprise me  Q didnÕt expend the physical effort
to stand.

    ÒSo, IÕm living the TV show.Ó I ventured. He nodded.

    ÒIn a manner, yes. With a few major differences. In your ÔseriesesÕ,
Kirk and Picard donÕt die. They have to live for the next episode. You are not
on TV. If you die, you die. If you were even ever alive.Ó

    My head swam worse than when I first awoke.

    ÒI.... ah......uh....Ó

    ÒCome, come, mon ami. Spit it out. Or shall I read your meager mind?Ó

    I let my irritation fade, like the sunset of a summer day. Living
through this was going to take a cool head.

    ÒI have companions?Ó

    ÒOf course. Minimum complement to run this vessel is ten crew members.
IÕll give you eleven, just because IÕm a magnanimous soul. Your first choices
are final.Ó Q grinned, folding his arms and leaning against the deck railing.
It shuddered and fell to the floor with him. He was not amused.

    ÒUh, can I have some time to make my choices?Ó I asked, playing for
time.


    ÒOne day. Twenty-four hours. Fourteen hundred and forty minutes. Then,
the test begins.Ó and the Q vanished, and I was again alone, on the bridge of a
dead ship.



    The Enterprise, NCC 1701-D sped through space. At her helm, sat Captain
Jean-Luc Picard, the one human being in the universe who detested Q almost as
much as Q detested humanity. To say the least, Picard would not have been hurt
if he never encountered the all-power alien again. But........

    ÒAh, mon Capitan! How good to see you again.Ó

    ÒIntruder on the bridge!Ó Worf roared, vaulting the railing from the
upper deck.

    Picard closed his eyes and inwardly sighed.

    ÒAt ease, Lieutenant. What do you want Q ?Ó

    Q smiled and eyed the klingon security officer.

    ÒNow, now Mr. Worf, is that any way to treat an old and honored
friend?Ó

    The warrior glowered, but stayed silent. Picard stood and moved between
the two aliens.

    ÒWhat are you doing here?Ó

    ÒI request the pleasure of your stimulating company for a while.Ó the
man grinned, and moved to sit in the captains chair. He looked at Riker amiably
and nodded. ÒI would ask you along also, Will, but, oh well. SomebodyÕs got to
stay and mind the store, eh?Ó

    The captain clasped his hands behind his back, and turned to lecture
the omnipotent alien, like a naughty child.

    ÒYou know very well we no longer have to stand for your constant
interfering in our lives. Your own race censured you once for your meddlesome
games. Would you have them do it again?Ó

    Q continued smiling, as he stood and met the captain.

    ÒAh, but you must see how IÕve circumvented the problem. IÕm so bright
sometimes I even amaze myself!Ó  So saying , the two men vanished. Riker sighed
and lowered his head.

    ÒData, I donÕt suppose thereÕs any chance we can get a fix on where
theyÕve gone?Ó
    ÒQÕs power gives off no known energy trace that our sensors can follow,
Commander.Ó

    ÒThatÕs what I thought  you were going to say.Ó






    ÒDamnit Q! Take me back to my ship. I donÕt have time for another of
your inane games.Ó Picard snarled, whirling on the tall figure beside him. The
human tried not to feel queasy, as he looked out upon space flying by at
incredible speed, augmented by the illusion that there was absolutely nothing
between them and the phenomenon of hyperspace. Q raised and eyebrow, the half
smirk on his face making the situation all that much more annoying to the
human.

    ÒTemper, temper, mon capitan. I have a rich situation to show you. One
that I think will amused even your limited sense of humor.Ó

    The human looked sourly at his captor. ÒI doubt it.Ó

    Q nodded sagely.  ÒI also, doubt your sense of humor more and more each
time our paths cross.Ó

    PicardÕs teeth grated involuntarily.

    ÒHere is the situation. You are aware of the existence of alternate
timelines?Ó

    ÒYes.Ó

    ÒVery well. I have plucked a group of people from the past, in one of
these ÔalternateÕ timelines. To them, our universe is nothing more than an
adventure series they watch every week on something  they called ÔTV.ÕÓ

    ÒUmHum.Ó

    ÒSO, IÕm giving them a ship, and a mission. It will be up to them to
succeed or fail.Ó

    ÒQ . As I understand it, youÕve taken these people and put them into a
situation they have no hope of coping with. Of course theyÕre going to fail.
There is no validity to such a test. This is just more of your inane meddling
in human affairs.Ó


    ÒAh, but the beauty of the situation is, these ÔpeopleÕ are debatably
not human. They are humanoid, but they did not originate in this universe.
Therefore, are they actually human?Ó Q asked, leaning up against nothingness.

    ÒOf course they are human!Ó Picard spluttered, ÒAlternate dimension,
timeline, the distinction is inconsequential! Their genetic makeup is the same
as mine. They are as human as I!Ó

    Q nodded thoughtfully.

    ÒI can see your point. But it is a matter for debate. And by the time
my people debate it, the test will be over. Whatever censure they might decide
to deal out, if, and only if they find me at fault, I will be more than willing
to deal with.Ó

    ÒYou are willing to lose your power again?Ó

    ÒOh, come captain! That was a drastic situation. A once in a lifetime
punishment, if you will.Ó

    ÒWhose lifetime?Õ

    It was QÕs turn to look sour. But the mood and facial expression passed
quickly.

    ÒIn any event, back to the situation at hand. Their position is not
impossible. They will simply have to rely on their accumulated knowledge
gleaned from entertainment series.Ó the alien laughed.

    The human shook his head.

    ÒYou split hairs over whether or not these people are human, you lord
over beings you do not understand, cannot understand. And you laugh at them. Is
that truly a wiser, more knowledgeable race?Ó

    QÕs smile faded.

    ÒCareful, captain. My patience extends only so far.Ó

    Picard snorted in disgust and turned away.

    ÒAh, and here we are at our destination. I think you should be familiar
with the ship IÕve supplied them with.Ó

    The human turned and stopped, dumbfounded at the sight before him. The
Enterprise NCC 1701 sat majestically in orbit around a dark moon. Her once
white hull pitted and scarred by the effects of the self destruct command
issued over a century ago. Huge chunks of the hull were missing, and one engine
nacelle was bent down at a forty five degree angle. Picard could see several
maneuvering lights still blinking half heartedly, as the hulk revolved slowly
in its orbit.

    ÒImpossible. A trick....Ó

    ÒNothing is impossible to me, Picard. That ship is exactly what it
appears to be. Your forerunner by five generations.Ó

    ÒThe original Enterprise was destroyed by command crew. The ship
plunged into the atmosphere of a world that no longer exists, called Genesis.
It impacted on the surface and was destroyed. IÕve seen the klingon tapes of
the incident. This ship cannot be what you claim.Ó

    ÒWhat if I told you, you are partially correct? Yes, James T. Kirk did
order the destruction of his own ship. Yes, the self destruct device did
detonatate, sending the Enterprise hurling into the atmosphere of the Genesis
world. But it never impacted on the surface. As it entered the atmosphere, the
fluctuating gravity wells, coupled with the planetÕs rotation, served as a
giant slingshot. The ship entered, traveled across the event horizon, and was
thrown back out into the coldness of space. A one chance in a billion
occurance, I agree.The anitmatter fire was arrested, due to elements in the
planets upper atmosphere, acting like a giant fire extinguisher. Probably had
something to do with the proto-matter David Marcus used to create Genesis. The
Enterprise survived her attempted suicide. Much worse for the wear, but in
large part, intact.Ó Q smiled again, and folded his arms, insufferably pleased
with himself.

    Picard leaned back against the nothingness of space, digesting the
ridiculous story the being had told. Not that it was impossible, just
incredibly doubtful Q would have gone to all of the trouble of finding the ship
and bringing it to this place. It would have been much easier for the alien to
simply create a facimile. Which, he decided, was probably what this ship was. Q
shook his head.

    ÒOn your own sainted motherÕs grave, Picard. This ship is the original
Enterprise.Ó

    ÒLeave my mother out of this. Your vows mean nothing to me. The concept
of honor is as alien to you as is humanity.Ó





    On board the mostly non-functioning hulk of a ship that shouldnÕt
exist, I sat at what was left of the navigation console, and stared out at the
stars. I needed crew. A group of people that were as much a bunch of Trek heads
as myself. My only hope was the club. Starbase 191 Fleet Irregulars. Twelve men
and women living a fantasy game 90% of their lives. Well, this was going to be
the end of the fantasy. Welcome to reality. A reality in which we might not
have any right to exist. I hoped we did have it. I hope we could exist.

    ÒIÕve made my decision.Ó I said, with a calmness that I didnÕt feel.

    ÒLovely! Lovely. And they are?Ó Q smirked, appearing next to me.

    Looking at him in mild irritation, I replied.

    ÒYou know who they are. You knew who I was going to chose before I ever
made the decision.Ó

    The alien nodded agreeably.

    ÒTrue. But wasnÕt it good of me to allow you the illusion of self
determination in the matter?Ó

    ÒOh youÕre all heart, for sure.Ó

    ÒThank you. Well, say hello to your new crew.Ó

    Mike Kelly leapt up and clapped his hands to the sides of his head.
Those silly vulcan ears he wore to every meeting and convention event, were now
a part of him. The other stood, looking around both bewildered and scared.
Lauren Maurrow saw me first.

    ÒJames, what the hellÕs going on?  Whereare we anyway? It looks almost
like.......Ó

    ÒIt is. The bridge of the Enterprise.Ó I sighed.

    ÒUhhh, what?Ó Mike asked, still pulling at his now flesh-and-blood
pointed ears.

    ÒNice touch, donÕt you think?Ó Q murmured, leaning  towards me.

    ÒYouÕre on board the Enterprise, NCC 1701.Ó

    ÒNo bloody A, B, C or D.Ó David McCallister said, with his best brogue
in full effect.

    ÒNo. I mean, yeah.Ó

    ÒI leave you to your new crewÕs tender mercies, and unending
questions.Ó Q grinned like a troll.

    ÒWait! You still havenÕt said what weÕre supposed to do here.Ó

    ÒOh, donÕt worry. IÕll return later to let you know.Ó and with that,
the alien man vanished. My friends stared at the spot where he had disappeared
for several moments, before breaking out into uncontrolled babbling.

    ÒOkay, okay. Hold it down. IÕll tell you what I know.Ó

    ÒI know IÕm at home, in bed. IÕve had a bad flareup of Lyme disease and
IÕm hallucinating.Ó Med student Sonya Brava moaned.

    ÒNo. YouÕre not. I already tried that excuse. This is, unfortunately,
real.Ó

    ÒUnfortunately?!Ó Rich Roselle shouted, his usual bubbly enthusiasm
spilling over, lightening the glowering countenances of those around him.

    ÒUnfortunately my butt! Look at this. WeÕre on the bridge of the
Enterprise! The real Enterprise! Not a studio set, weÕre not filming a series
or a movie. WeÕre really here! ArenÕt we?Ó

    The club members looked at me. I hated being the leader.

    ÒAs far as I can tell, yes. Q brought me here and dumped me, and told
me to pick a crew. WeÕre going to be his guinea pigs for something, and IÕm not
going to be overly happy til I know what that is. And probably not then,
either.Ó I grumbled.

    Sonya wandered up and put her long, tan arms about my neck. I never
understood why a woman as beautiful as she, hung out with a bunch of infantile
fantasizers like the 191 club. I looked into her green eyes and shuddered.
Dealing with women was another suit that certainly wasnÕt my strongest. Nope,
no shade of Captain Kirk there.

    ÒUm, yes?Ó

    ÒAny orders.....Captain Caine?Ó

    ÒWHOA now......Ó I started  to protest.

    ÒNope.Ó Mike Kelly growled, sitting back at the club table. ÒNo
arguments. You got us into this, you get us out.Ó

    ÒUh, Jim?Ó Martin Boccacella asked, in his usual calm quiet tones.

    ÒYeah Marty.Ó
    ÒAre we in any danger, just sitting here like this? I mean, this ship
is definitely post-Genesis. ShouldnÕt we try to make some repairs ?Ó

    I shook my head.

    ÒMarty, you tell me how to make repairs on twenty-third century
technology with twentieth century know-how, and IÕll be glad to pitch in and do
something. But IÕm not sure if weÕd be doing more help, or harm to try fixing
anything, without any knowledge of what weÕre doing.Ó

    ÒWhat about the main computer?Ó Kelly piped up, still tugging at the
tip of one pointed ear.

    ÒWell, it seems to be functioning, sort of....Ó I hesitated.

    ÒComputer...Ó David McCallister intoned, his brogue rolling thick and
hearty off his tongue.

    ÒWorking.Ó the harsh, flat voice responded.

    ÒWhat is your operational status?Ó

    ÒThis unit is functioning at twenty-two percent capacity. Ó

    ÒOh shit.Ó

    ÒComputer, pinpoint source of systems failure.Ó Mike Kelly ordered.

    ÒWorking.Ó

    ÒWhat the hell good will that do? We still donÕt know how to repair
it.Ó I sighed.

    ÒComputer damage located.Ó

    ÒReport.Ó Kelly said.

    ÒHull breach on K deck, level 11.Ó

    ÒUh, lesse. ThatÕd be....Ó David mumbled.

    ÒDocking area. Base of the saucer section. Also contains an airlock for
EV activities.Ó I said absently.

    ÒComputer, what exactly is the problem down there?Ó Kelly asked,
getting comfortable at the Science Ops console.
    ÒA major portion of the computer core on Level K was vaporized in the
matter-anti matter destruction effect.Ó

    ÒAnd this tub has been functioning for the last century or so since the
destruct order was given?Ó Art Devey asked, moving into the conversation.

    ÒGood question. Computer, what has this shipÕs status been over the
last ten decades?Ó I asked.

    Ò...................Ó

    We looked at each other as the burst of static came from the speaker.

    ÒQ .Ó I sighed.

    ÒComputer, do you have the capability to fabricate the parts needed to
repair the malfunctioning systems?Ó David asked.

    There was another short silence as the computer considered the problem.

    ÒAffirmative.Ó

    ÒGreat. Then IÕll take a few people and get started on that problem.
Maybe you and Mike can coax a list of what else needs to be done out of that
thing.Ó David grunted, gesturing at the half destroyed computer console.

    ÒDave, you get the parts, great. What are you going to do with them?Ó I
asked.

    ÒComputer, can you guide us through a step by step repair procedure?Ó
the quasi engineer asked, his fake brogue never cracking.

    ÒAffirmative.Ó

    ÒThank you very much!Ó he yelled throwing up his hands in triumph.








    ÒTo what end, Q ? These people have no more chance of getting that
wreck moving than I have.Ó Picard snarled at the entity.

    ÒReally captain, you should be more careful of your blood pressure.
What if you had a heart attack?Ó the alien replied with obvious amusement.

    ÒYouÕd enjoy that, wouldnÕt you?Ó the human said, moving in disgust as
far away from the Q as possible.

    ÒEnjoy isnÕt quite the word I would chose.Ó

    There was a silence of several moments, as the captain puzzled over
what to do next. He had yet to even ascertain exactly what QÕs plans were for
the timelost group of people. Knowing the alienÕs propensity for causing hell,
whatever the plan was, Picard was sure it wouldnÕt be nice. Most probably it
was deadly.

    ÒWhat have you got them here for, Q? What amusement could such
ÔprimitivesÕ afford you?Ó

    ÒStrange you should ask that question Picard, for I just happen to have
an answer for it.Ó the alien and his human captive vanished, and reappeared
aboard an alien ship. One that the captain recognized all too well.

    ÒQ! Are you mad? Get us out of here!Ó he whispered, ducking behind a
huge piling which lofted far and away into the darkness above his head.

    ÒRelax, captain. As long as you stay near me, the Borg will take no
notice of you, as they do of me.Ó Q grinned and cut a caper in front of a
marching Borg warrior, barely avoiding a collision with the cyborg being.

    Picard slowly stepped out from his hiding place and moved next to the
wildly jigging alien.

    ÒNyah Nyah, Nyah Nyah! You canÕt even see me!Ó

    The human shook his head, and warily watched the borg soldiers.

    ÒQ , a bit of decorum, if you please.Ó

    ÒKilljoy.Ó

    ÒWhy are we here?Ó

    ÒWell, this is part of my little test. You defeated the Borg so handily
in your last confrontation, that it made me think. Do your technological
advances give you an unfair advantage over these emotionally and
psychologically stunted waifs?Ó

    PicardÕs jaw worked in disbelief as he listened.

    ÒThese beings have destroyed and assimilated countless civilizations,
and you try to cast an aura of pity upon them? Q , you are more ludicrist than
I had ever given you credit for.Ó

    ÒNo, really!Ó the alien argued, ÒThat is one of their handicaps. The
borg are not original thinkers. They donÕt invent anything on their own.
Whatever technologies they have, they have acquired over the centuries from the
races they have assimilated. WouldnÕt you consider the lack of  a creative
drive a handicap in one of your own people?Ó

    ÒIn one of my own, yes. But theyÕve made quite a convincing go of it.Ó

    ÒItÕs the technology thing. TheyÕre intimate with it. It is a part of
them.Ó

    ÒAgain, what does these have to do with the people on the old
Enterprise?Ó

    ÒThey have an inferior grasp of the technology and machinery that is so
much a part of your twenty fourth century life. I intend  to find out if this
is one of the advantages or disadvantages of being human.Ó

    PicardÕs eyes narrowed.

    ÒHow?Ó

    ÒBy pitting them against the Borg.Ó

    ÒYou cannot be  serious!Ó the captain exploded, ÒMy ship was nearly
destroyed in each encounter with the Borg. That reprobate youÕve saddled them
with, and their own inexperience will get them killed almost instantly.Ó

    Q shook his head.

    ÒCome, come Picard, give me some credit. Whatever else I may be, IÕm
not a butcher. IÕll give them a fair chance. IÕll provide opportunity, but they
must make their own way.Ó

    ÒHow? How are they supposed to do that? TheyÕve no knowledge of the
equipment, no tactical battle skills, no knowledge of the Borg. This isnÕt a
test. ItÕs simply another game for you, an excuse to meddle. Nothing more.Ó

    Q shrugged. ÒTake it as you will captain, I want you here merely to
observe. You may offer some interesting insights to both human and Borg
nature.Ó






Path: tivoli.tivoli.com!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!cs.utexas.edu!swrinde!howland.reston.ans.net!newsserver.jvnc.net!gboro.rowan.edu!news
From: [e-mail] (LOUIS HALL)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: A Different Star Trek, Chapter 2 revised
Date: 3 Jan 1995 20:08:05 GMT
Organization: ROWAN COLLEGE OF NEW JERSEY
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Xref: tivoli.tivoli.com alt.startrek.creative:4119

    Here's Chap.2! Sorry about the punctuation again! Enjoy!

all comments to:

[e-mail]



Chapter 2




    ÒJesus, Caine, this bridge is a mess.Ó Eugene Elligton mumbled, poking
at the navigation console. I watched sadly as a portion of it caved in at his
touch.

    ÒYouÕre telling me.  Kirk authorized Ôdestruct zero.Õ I guess weÕre
lucky thereÕs anything left at all.Ó I replied, finishing my repair of the
command chair. If I had to be in charge of this mess, I damned well wanted a
stable place to sit.

    ÒWasnÕt that Ôdestruct zeroÕ sequence supposed to fry the main
computer?Ó Cherie Banks asked, brushing debris from the communications console.

    I shrugged, stood and gingerly parked my butt in the chair.

    ÒAs far as  IÕve read, yeah. What we should have here is a shell of a
starship, with no guts left. Well, weÕre got a bit of guts. We should be
grateful.Ó

    ÒOh, I am. I am. WouldnÕt want to have appeared inside a ship with no
atmosphere or anything . Explosive decompression is a real bitch.Ó the petite,
black woman laughed.

    ÒHey! Anybody awake up there?Ó Mike KellyÕs voice crackled over the
ship intercom.

    ÒRight here, Mike.Ó I replied, stabbing the talk button on the armrest.

    ÒMan -o- man, you should see the mess down here! Holes in the god-damn
hull, holes in the deck, holes in the walls! It looks like a bomb went off.Ó

    ÒUh, several did, actually.Ó

    ÒDaveÕs, in an EV suit, working on the computer core, so as soon as I
know anything else, IÕll call.Ó

    ÒWhyÕs Dave in a suit?Ó

    ÒCause thereÕs no air in the room weÕre in. Most of the outer hull is
gone and the whole place is exposed to space.Ó


    ÒGreat. Anybody got any welding experience?Ó I called, looking over the
nav console. One  head popped up.

    ÒAcme Tech. Trained as an arc welding specialist.Ó

    ÒItÕs all you, Emilio.Ó I gestured towards the open lift tube.

    ÒOn it.Ó the big Latino replied, striding across the bridge and
starting the long climb down the turbo shaft.

    ÒOh, and Mike?Ó

    ÒYeah, boss?Ó the voice hissed and popped.

    ÒSee if you canÕt get one of the bridge lifts working.Ó

    ÒGotcha.Ó

    ÒEmilo Riveras is on his way down. Knows some welding. Get him to work
on sealing up that hull breach.Ó

    ÒWill do. Kelly out.Ó

    I leaned back in the creaky chair, and swiveled to face the weapons
console. Diligently cleaning this post was our own resident gun nut, Layla
Chung. A tall, long legged oriental woman, with waist length black hair, tied
back in a ponytail, Layla was the daughter of a military man, and had been
around bases and weapons all of her life. She was also the newest member of the
191 Irregulars. With a single minded intensity, she cleaned the console of
dirt, grime, and broken bits and pieces. Clad only in a ÒTen ForwardÓt-shirt
and a pair of STII dress pants, the oriental woman used her dress jacket to do
the cleaning.

    ÒAny hope?Ó I asked, getting up and crossing to stand behind her  at
the station.

    She shrugged and continued scrubbing.

    ÒMaybe. Hard to tell with so little power available.Ó

    ÒComputer.Ó

    There was a measurable silence before the machine answered my summons.

    ÒWorking.Ó

    ÒInstitute a level one diagnostic of the weapons systems.Ó
    ÒNot possible at this time.Ó

    ÒUh, why?Ó

    ÒSufficient memory not available to do task of advising computer repair
team and institute level one diagnostic.Ó

    ÒAh. Please inform me when sufficient memory is available.Ó

    ÒAgnowledged.Ó

    ÒSorry.Ó I shrugged, looking at the still working woman.

    ÒThanks anyway. This part will take a while anyway. I wonder if there
are any hard copy manuals we could use for affecting repairs?Ó

    ÒGood question. I bet there are.Ó

    She looked up briefly at me, and smiled.

    ÒGreat. How about finding me one, Captain?Ó

    The stress on that last word definitely didnÕt make me happy. I nodded
curtly and walked away, going to the open turbo shaft. I looked down and
paused, chewing thoughtfully at my lower lip. It was one hell of a drop. Plus,
I had never actually been where I was going. I started  down into the darkness.
I climbed to deck F and began my journey in the dim lighting, back to where the
main hull met the primary hull, then I could continue my down ward climb. I was
nervous, that sooner or later, I was probably going to run into a deck that had
been sealed because of hull breach. F deck seemed to be mostly clear, except
for the sort of mess one would expect if you picked up a multi-ton starship and
shook it violently. I peeked into an open doorway, seeing some poor crewmanÕs
personal effects strew about the room. All the rooms I looked into were
basically in the same condition ; trashed. I continued my journey around the
saucer section, sometimes having to crawl over furniture and doors that had
collapsed and a couple sections of inner bulkhead that had been distorted into
the hallway. Finally, after a journey of some twenty minutes, I had made my way
to where the two hull sections joined. There was the open turboshaft.  I
stepped in, to continue my downward climb. Eight decks later, I saw the letter
N painted on the inside of the lift shaft. Warp engineering. If hard copy
manuals exsisted, IÕd find them in here. I had to pry open the lift door, not
thinking that it might be sealed for a reason. Luckily, the room had an
atmosphere, so I swung myself out of the lift shaft and onto the deck. It was a
disaster. McCallister was not going to be a happy puppy about this. I picked my
way across the mess til I reached where the Repair Part Storage room should
have been; if Mr. ScottÕs Guide to the Enterprise was accurate. Inside,
everything lay in a jumble on the floor. Hard copy manuals included.
Cheerfully, I started gathering them up, realizing that I was going to need
something to carry all of the information. I leaned out of the door, and opened
the Radsuit locker. I pulled out one of the protective garments and started
stuffing paperwork inside. Not pretty, but effective enough.





    ÒNext, plug board circuit 2c into drive slot 10. The next one
over....one more....correct. Jump aux board 9L and continue on to section
D........Ó the computer droned.

    ÒChrist, this is worse than sitting through Algebra class again.Ó
Benjamin Palin groaned, passing parts to David McCallister.

    ÒTough it out, boyo, weÕre almost done.Ó

    ÒThen what? WeÕve got a functioning computer thatÕs going to realize we
have no clearance to be aboard this ship. ItÕll probably shut itself down to
avoid tampering, and weÕll be back to square one again, a dead wreck.Ó the
younger man sighed.

    ÒMaybe. But weÕve got to do something. If we just sit here, weÕre not
helping ourselves at all, are we?Ó McCallister chuckled.


    ÒYeah. I guess.Ó the other blinked, looking sheepishly through the face
plate of the EV suit he wore.

    ÒHow goes it with the welding Emilio?Ó the quasi-Scot asked,
maneuvering gloved fingers, ever so delicately in the interior of the computer
core.

    ÒCanÕt complain. The tools arenÕt familiar, but weÕre makinÕ do.Ó the
big man said as he heaved another patch plate into place and motioned for Mike
to buttress it while he welded it over the rapidly diminishing hole. ÒAnother
couple of minutes and we should be able to re-pressurize this section.Ó

    ÒYeah, weÕre almost done this too. Then the damn thingÕll be able to
tell us what else we have to fix.Ó

    ÒHey!Ó Mike grunted and belched, leaning against the hull plate, ÒIt
gives ya something to look forward to, donÕt it?Ó

    ÒYou make a lousy Vulcan, Mike.Ó

    ÒThanks Ben. Appreciate the compliment.Ó
    ÒComputer.Ó David asked.

    ÒWorking.Ó the smooth dulcet, female voice answered.

    ÒAlright!Ó Ben whooped.

    ÒWhat time is it?Ó

    ÒIt is 03:30 hours, ship standard time.Ó

    ÒGreat. Well, I think weÕre done.Ó he said, stepping back and closed
the access panel. ÒLetÕs give Emilio a hand.Ó

    ÒOh shit. We never got to the lifts.Ó Mike moaned, as the other two
came over.

    ÒComputer, are either of the two turbo lifts operable now?Ó Dave asked.

    ÒPortside turbo lift is operable.Ó

    ÒGreat. WeÕre outta here.Ó

    Together, the men finished the task of welding the hull back together
in minutes. Then, they stood back and admired their handiwork.

    ÒLooks like a patchwork quilt sewn together by a blind woman.Ó Mike
muttered.

    ÒComputer, pressurize this section.Ó Emilio glared at the first
officer.

    ÒWorking.Ó

    In seconds, the welcome hiss of in-rushing air filled the room. Emilio
carefully checked his welding beads for leaks. Finding none, he gestured for
them to take off their suit helmets.

    ÒGentlemen, our first success.Ó the big man grinned, high-fiving the
little group.






    ÒNot bad, Picard.You must admit that.Ó Q said, watching the proceedings
in the computer core with exaggerated interest.
    ÒNot spectacular either. One small victory doesnÕt win a war.Ó

    ÒPessimist.Ó

    ÒRealist. TheyÕve managed to increase the computerÕs functional use.
ItÕs still an eighty year old computer.Ó

    ÒIÕve taken that into account. So have they, IÕm willing to bet.Ó






    ÒQualor Two.Ó Art Devey grinned.

    ÒThe space junkyard from The ÔUnificationÕ episode of Next Generation.Ó
I mused.

    ÒSpare parts galore. All we have to do is get her there.Ó

    ÒTHATÕs going to be the hard part.Ó

    ÒWell, how about an engine diagnostic?Ó

    ÒNeither Impulse nor Warp engines are working.Ó I turned to the weapons
console and looked at he woman sitting on the deck there, reading a book and
leaning under the console to replace the occasional part. Carrying the suit
back to the bridge, while filled with the manuals, turned out to be more than
an incredible task. I made it back to the bridge, more than two hours after I
left.

    ÒWell, letÕs get cracking.Ó Dave said.

    ÒIn the morning. I think weÕve had a long enough day. Uh, everybody
find yourself a cabin and crash. Set the alarms for eleven a.m. and weÕll get
going again.Ó

    I watched as the crowd of people entered the one working lift and
vanished into the bowels of the ship.

    ÒComputer.Ó

    ÒWorking.Ó the female voice said, punctuated by a hiccup, a belch and a
burp. ÒPardon.Ó it finished.

    ÒPlease make sure the turbo lift doesnÕt open onto any breached decks.Ó
I added as an important afterthought.
    ÒComplying.Ó

    I settled back in the command chair and looked at Layla, still laboring
over the weapons console.

    ÒHey! Chung! EnoughÕs enough already. Take a break like the rest. Get
some sleep.Ó

    ÒAlmost done, Jim. Give me a minute. There!Ó

    The computerÕs voice rolled pleasantly across the command deck.

    ÒMain phaser banks now operable at thirteen percent.Ó

    ÒIncredible, Layla! Computer, shield status?Ó I said, leaping from the
command chair.

    ÒShield operating at fifty percent.Ó

    ÒAll we need now is impulse power!Ó

    ÒThatÕs going to be tough.Ó the woman said tiredly.

    I whirled excitedly away and crossed back to the command chair.

    ÒComputer, I want a full diagnostic of the impulse and warp drive
systems, including the feasibility of fixing them here in free space. Have that
for me at 11:00 hours tomorrow morning.Ó

    ÒComplying.Ó

    ÒWell,Ó I grinned, leaning against the chair, Òcan I escort you to your
cabin?Ó

    ÒUhhhh, no funny business, right?Ó Layla asked, standing to her
impressive height of just under six feet. The fact that the woman could
probably break me in half made it all that much more exciting.

    ÒN..no! Of course not!Ó

    ÒGood.Ó she yawned, ÒCause IÕm too tired to fed off any untoward
advances this late at night.Ó

    *Oh hell.* I thought, walking into the lift behind her, *Was that a
pickup line?*





    ÒVery well. TheyÕve got minimal shield and weapons, the computer will
serve in a pinch, but thereÕs simply no way theyÕre going to be able to fix
those engines. Q , the starboard nacelle is twisted at a forty five degree
angle. They will need major drydocking facilities to even attempt repairs.Ó

    ÒTwisted? Twisted where?Ó Q gestured at the ship, and the human watched
in amazement as the bent and broken engine silently moved back into its
original position.

    ÒQ ,Ó Picard said quietly, Òyou just helped them.Ó

    ÒIf you ever tell anyone I will most certainly deny it.Ó

    ÒQualor Two is quite a distance from here, is it not?Ó the captain said
cagily, folding his arms.

    ÒOh, not in the galactic scheme of things.Óthe alien smiled, not rising
to the bait.

    ÒTheyÕll never make it. Let them go home Q . ThereÕs no reason for
them to die so meaninglessly.Ó

    ÒHave a bit of faith, mon ami!Ó Q said, a tinge of disgust in his
voice, ÒIÕm giving them a better than average chance. What more can I do? Would
you rather IÕd given them your ship for this excursion?Ó

    ÒIÕd rather you had not started this nonsense at all.Ó

    ÒThatÕs not one of the choices. Besides, itÕs no fun.Ó

    ÒFor a being from a race that claims to be so much more developed than
we lowly humans, your distinctly infantile yet dangerous attitude towards fun,
seems a contradiction in terms.Ó

    ÒWrong! Our sense of humor is highly developed. ItÕs your limited human
mind that perceives it in an infantile manner.Ó

    Picard shook his head.

    The superior being stuck out his tongue in reply.



    The door to the captainÕs quarters was jammed shut, which I guess I
should have expected. It took me almost twenty minutes to gain entry. I left
the doors open, after I got in. With my luck, if IÕd closed them, theyÕd stay
that way.
    IÕd dropped Layla off down the hall, in another officerÕs bedroom. I
figured, why not? The normal crew complement for this ship was well over four
hundred. With only twelve of us on board, there was no reason to cram into the
regular crewÕs quarters. OfficersÕ accommodations for all! Plus, that meant
nobody would have to room with anybody, unless they wanted to. If they wanted
to, I didnÕt want to know about it. Romantic entanglements historically gave me
migraines.
    The room was a wreck, as I thought it probably would  be. I walked
around the little room, setting James KirkÕs personal effects upright. Much was
broken beyond repair, and I had little hope of ever knowing what some of the
delicate artwork had looked like. His trademark antique weapons hung on the
wall, where I carefully  replaced them. An interesting collection. Alien knives
hung next to old revolvers and black power pistols. Strange that a man so well
read as James Kirk had seemed to be so fixated with weapons and war. But not so
strange. His view of the galaxy had been more down the barrel of a loaded gun
than even the view in this century. The only person that should have been more
of a warmonger, well no, I should say the time would breed the man. Me. I was
bred in a time of war and general discontent. So were the rest of the crew, my
friends. I didnÕt know yet whether this would be an advantage or not. The
probability was that I was not as level headed even as Kirk, let alone the cold
and calculating Picard.
     I carefully placed the ancient volumes of books that he had, back onto
their shelves. Some real classics. Stuff that I had read in high school. I
spent some more time straightening up before I decided to flop on the bed. It
had no sheets. I trudged through the bathroom and into the walk-in closet,
praying that there might be a clean set of sheets left. By some miracle of God
(or Q?), there was. Gratefully, I trudged back out and made my bed. I fell into
it, and fell asleep, almost immediately.






    David McCallister laboriously made his way to the shattered
engineering section. He looked, aghast at the destruction and devastation that
had been wrought upon the legendary ship. Debris was everywhere. Girders had
fallen, whole banks of controls had pitched onto the floor. The
matter/antimatter intermix chamber was dark and silent, the whole room, cold.
The young man rolled up the sleeves of his first generation uniform and dug in.
    Born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, life had not always been
pleasant for the quasi-Scotsman. He was an inventor of sorts, mainly turning
out devices which were so useless that even Ronco wouldnÕt sponsor them. An
automatic hair cutter/ lawn mower, a car engine made up entirely of hardened
cream cheese (it got 150 mpg), and a transporter system that could take you
apart, but not quite get you back together were just a small sampling of some
of his more successful inventions.
    David Scott McCallister wasnÕt a very lagre man, just above average
actually, at five foot ten and one hundred seventy five pounds. He had firely
red hair and brown eyes that leaned towards amber in the right kind of
lighting. Women found him mildly intriguing, and he found most of them
terminally irritating. His last steady date had been almost three years before
and had lasted for only two months. He preferred to ignore them nowadays,
instead concentrating mostly on getting his graduate degree in engineering from
Drizzel University. Women did not figure in as particularly important in his
scheme of things.
    He had attained his undergraduate degree from Hilander College in
Scotland, when he was twenty years old. One of the greatest thrills of his life
had been stepping off of the plane onto the homeland of his ancestors.
Contentedly he had lived off campus, about five miles from school, in an
ancient wreck of a castle that had been in his family for generations. There
had been no McCallisters living there in the past two centuries. To say it was
a handy manÕs special would have been an understatement. The roof was half
caved in, interior walls had fallen, staircases made of stone were crumbling
from age and neglect. It took him the better part of his freshman and sophomore
year to make the place liveable. His neighbors had helped quite a bit, seeing
as technically he was the heir to the manor. Centuries ago, his people had
ruled over the lands benevolently, and the people didnÕt forget. Even though
they were no longer serfs and beholden to the lord of the lands, they held such
traditions in great respect. It tickled them pink that one of their own had
returned to live in the old castle.






    ÒRelax, he canÕt hear us.Ó

    ÒOh darn.Ó the captain said mildly.

    ÒWell, what do you think?Ó

    ÒHe repaired the computer, so he obviously has some talent.Ó

    ÒBut the computer walked him through the repair process.Ó

    ÒBut itÕs twentieth century education dealing with twenty-third century
technology. The man still has to be more than exceptionally bright.Ó Picard
turned on Q , ÒUnless you are augmenting his natural abilities.Ó

    ÒNo, no, no. They have to make it on their own. I am helping out
minimally at best.Ó

    ÒBut you admit to forcing things along, if it keeps this facade
moving.Ó
    Q frowned and sauntered over to where McCallister was struggling to
move a particularly heavy piece of fallen equipment. He leaned around the
struggling human, and gently nudged the obstruction with his foot. The young
man staggered as the panel broke free and moved easily.

    ÒNever.Ó

    ÒWhy is this boy still working? The rest of his friends are all
asleep.Ó
    ÒHeÕs an insomniac. Handy, eh?Ó

    ÒWhat do they do, on their world?Ó Picard asked thoughtfully.

    ÒWell, if you believe their world really exists, this one is an
electrical engineering and computer science student at a little college in New
Jersey. The one playing captain is in the Army Reserve Officer Training Corps.
The one running sick bay is a medical student.Ó

    ÒIt seems, after first glance, that you have picked individuals
singularly suited to the challenges presented here.Ó

    ÒIt wouldnÕt have been any fun just to pull a crew of twits off of the
street, Picard. They would have been killed instantly. ThereÕs no challenge in
that, now is there?Ó

    The captain of the Enterprise nodded. For a moment, he didnÕt feel
quite as ill-disposed towards the meddlesome alien as he usually did.

    ÒCaptain, give me a chance. There are parts of the plan I havenÕt
divulged yet.Ó

    Picard rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly realizing it had been a
long day for him also. When Q had kidnapped his off of the bridge of his own
Enterprise, he had been at the end of his daily shift. That meant he had been
here, observing with Q for another five or six hours. He was tired.

    ÒSay nothing captain. I can see the thought in your face. ItÕs back
home with you.Ó

    ÒExcellent.Ó he growled, Ò IÕll have to be back on shift in a few
hours.Ó

    ÒNo, no. This little experience has been out of time for you. When I
return you to your ship, no time at all will have passed.Ó

    ÒYou realize, of course, that I am going to  find these people and help
them.Ó he replied seriously.
    ÒCertainly. I wouldnÕt expect anything less of you. But, you donÕt know
where you are, or how far away they are. Just to make it a bit more
interesting, mind you.Ó

    ÒThank you for the challenge.Ó Picard said sourly, looking back at the
young man working alone.

    ÒI wouldnÕt set it if I didnÕt think you were capable.Ó

    ÒYou confidence is most heartwarming. Take me home.Ó






    ÒCaptain!Ó Riker said, leaping up for the command chair.

    ÒNumber One.Ó Picard said, standing, hands clasped behind his back,
beside the communications console. The trip had been instantaneous. One second,
engineering on the old Enterprise, the next instant, the bridge on his own
ship.

    ÒAre you alright, Sir?Ó Troi asked, standing.

    ÒI am fine. Staff meeting as soon as I sleep eight hours.Ó

    ÒCaptain, are you sure Dr. Crusher shouldnÕt take a look at you?Ó the
first officer said, crossing to stand beside the older man.

    ÒQuite sure Will. I just want to rest for a while before tackling this
latest game Q has laid at our feet.Ó

    ÒVery well, Sir.Ó

    ÒCarry on.Ó Picard yawned, heading for the lift, and rest.





    I awoke the next day feeling more rested than I can remember having
felt in quite some time. I stretched, went into the bathroom, figured out the
sonic shower, shaved and applied the ever famous beard suppressant to my face.
A nifty invention. Sure could have used it in my own time. I was forever
getting in trouble with my CO over shaving. I would shave in the morning when I
got up, and be fine for first inspection by the sergeant, but by second
inspection, which was conducted by the company captain, I had a nasty 5:00
shadow. The man constantly accused me of not having shaved that morning. HeÕd
berate me, then berate the sergeant. Finally, Sarge came in and stood beside me
one morning, watching me shave. That afternoon, when the Captain decided to go
off on me, Sarge stood right beside me and told the Captain (respectfully) that
he was full of crud. The next morning, I had Sarge and the Captain standing
beside me in the barracks bathrooms. After that, I never had any more trouble
with the man. Well, not over personal toiletry anyway.  He did however mention
electrolysis as a means for more stringent control of my beard. I said IÕd do
my beard, if heÕd do his pubic hair. Electrical shocks to the face were not my
idea of fun. After brushing my teeth, the clothes processor was next on the
list.

    ÒComputer.Ó

    ÒWorking.Ó the cheery, female voice answered. It sounded better than it
had when I went to bed the night before. No more burping, anyway.

    ÒI need a change of clothes.Ó obviously, standing there in the middle
of the captains quarters, naked as the day I was born. Thankfully, life support
seemed to be working at a hundred percent. Otherwise I would have had
goosebumps on my.........uh, goosebumps.

    ÒSpecify items required.Ó

    ÒUnderwear, socks, pants, shirt and dress jacket. Oh, and you might as
well throw in a new pair of boots.Ó

    ÒStyle?Ó

    ÒUh, Starfleet regulation as of um, oh hell. Whatever the latest
standard issue uniform is in your memory banks.Ó

    ÒSizes?Ó

    I went through the litany of sizes, feeling some annoyance start to
build.  In minutes, I had a fresh, clean, uniform on. It fit perfectly, though
the heavier duty materials seemed strange to me. Our fan club was used to
making uniforms out of whatever material was on hand. The one thing was, it had
to be the right color. So, we ended up with some very strange uniforms. Nothing
ever matched exactly, between any two persons. It was very hard to present a
uniform appearance at the conventions, but we tried our best. With one of these
fabricating devices, we would have one the costume prizes, hands down.
    I left my quarters, propping the door over the entrance. IÕd have to
get some tools and fix that. Better that I do it than pull someone off of the
all important work of restoring mobility to the ship. The turbolift was there,
waiting on me as I rounded the last curve. Layla was also heading into the
lift, wearing a fresh  new uniform. Same style as mine, STII. Somehow, it
looked a lot better on her, though.
    ÒHey! Hold the door!Ó I called as she stepped in.

    ÒHolding.Ó the tall woman said, smiling as I trotted into the
turbolift.

    ÒThanks.Ó

    ÒNo problem, Captain.Ó

    I winced at that, realizing that the computer had automatically
provided me with the correct uniform color for my department, the right rank
pins and service bars. Another gift, curtesy of the ever-helpful Q. I was
labeled as a first year captain. Layla was labeled as a Lieutenant junior
grade, in the security section. According to her service bars, she was a five
year veteran.

    ÒI think it took into account, my traveling years with my father.Ó she
said.

    ÒAh. Bridge, please.Ó

    The turbolift coughed, wheezed and lurched into action. We rose slowly
to the saucer section and finally to a stop. The doors ground open and let us
out onto the bridge.

    ÒGood morning all!Ó I yawned, looking at my friends studiously
repairing their stations.

    ÒMorninÕ Jim.Ó Mike Kelly replied, looking up, very bored from the
science station.

    ÒStatus report, Mr. Kelly.Ó

    ÒWell, weÕve been working on a lot of the cosmetic work up here. It
looks real good. Not much actually runs, but it sure looks good just sittinÕ
there.Ó

    ÒThe computer left this on the damage and repair station this morning,
uh, Captain.Ó Lauren said, looking at the service bars on my uniform and
handing me a sheaf of paper.

    ÒThanks Lauren.Ó I smiled, managed to look slightly embarrassed and
took the papers to my seat.

    The prognosis was not good. Major portions of the shipÕs superstructure
had suffered severe shear related stress fractures in the self destruct process
and incidental incursion into GenesisÕ atmosphere. Warp drive was out of the
question until major hull repair was completed. Impulse was possible, there was
supposedly sufficient cohesion of the dylithium crystals remaining to make the
journey to Qualor Two. At least somebody had checked and handwritten it in his
report. It looked like McCallisterÕs handwriting, which was basically
chicken-scratch. Sometimes I thought the man had missed his calling. He could
have been a doctor.

    ÒUh, Jim?Ó Martin Boccacella said, stopped by the command chair.

    ÒYeah, Marty?Ó

    ÒSince the main bridge is trashed, why donÕt we check out the Auxiliary
Controls?Ó

    ÒLevel Seven, G deck!Ó McCallister shouted, entering from the turbo
lift. ÒAlready done.Ó He was covered in grime, dust and what I assumed to be
engine coolant.

    ÒUh, hi Dave.Ó I said, spinning the command chair to look at the wild
eyed redhead.

    ÒHi yerself, bonehead.Ó he looked at my uniform and grinned. ÒExcuse
me, Captain Bonehead. Auxiliary Control is one hundred percent, and we have
full impulse power. Within reasonable limits. I wouldnÕt use full power for any
extended length of time. The superstructure wonÕt take too much abuse.Ó

    ÒHow the hell did you manage it?Ó

    He shrugged.

    ÒWorked all night. The computer kept me company, told me what the hell
needed being done. Then, I dood it.Ó

    I turned back to the rest of my Ôcrew.Õ

    ÒOkay! Anyone have any actual navigating experience?Ó

    ÒSpace invaders or Asteroids count?Ó

    I slapped my hand to my forehead.


Path: tivoli.tivoli.com!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!cs.utexas.edu!swrinde!howland.reston.ans.net!newsserver.jvnc.net!gboro.rowan.edu!news
From: [e-mail] (LOUIS HALL)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: A Different Star Trek; Chap.3 revised
Date: 5 Jan 1995 19:22:49 GMT
Organization: ROWAN COLLEGE OF NEW JERSEY
Lines: 662
Distribution: world
Message-ID: <3ehgu9$[e-mail]>
NNTP-Posting-Host: saturn.rowan.edu
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Xref: tivoli.tivoli.com alt.startrek.creative:4157

    Hey everyone! Here's chapter three. Again, sorry about the punctuation.
Someone has agreed to help me with this, and I will repost the corrected
chapters later on. Any feedback on the actual story would be most appreciated.

[e-mail]

    -Lou-

Chapter 3


    Picard was dreaming about his familyÕs winery. He walked between rows
and rows of the finest vintage grapes grown in France. He was at peace.
Jean-Luc could see, at the end of the row he was walking, a huge wooden tub,
and the family pouring fresh picked grapes into it. Inside was a man stomping
the grapes out, pressing their juices through a little spigot into barrels that
would be taken in to age and mature over time. He got to the end of the row,
walked up to the tub and prepared to empty his load of fruit into it. Then, for
some reason, he looked up at the man pressing the grapes. It was a wildly
grinning Q. Picard threw his grapes at the entity.

    ÒGet out of my dreams! Have you no common courtesy whatsoever? This is
my rest time. I am supposed to be able to get away from you!Ó

    The alien looked hurt.

    ÒCaptain. Really now, IÕm disappointed. I would never willfully invade
your consciousness. You must be dreaming about me on your own. Actually, IÕm
rather flattered that IÕve made that much of an impression.Ó

    With a sigh, the starship captain sat on the ground, raising a small
cloud of dust.

    ÒQ, if I was not such an even tempered, stable individual, you would
most certainly drive me mad.Ó

    ÒNot on purpose of course. ThatÕs just the way your human mind would
perceive the situation.Ó

    ÒAnother of our limitations youÕre trying to say?Ó

    Q shrugged.

    ÒItÕs your dream.Ó

    Picard growled to himself.

    ÒAlright, alright! If I upset you that much, IÕll leave your little
dream world.
Hmmph. Talk about hospitality.Ó

            *********************************************
    ÒMoving out and heading for Qualor Two. Estimated arrival time, four
days, fourteen hours and........Ó Mike Kelly intoned.

    ÒWe get the idea. Art, take us out of orbit.Ó

    ÒGotcha, Captain.Ó

    I held my breath as the pilotÕs hands moved slowly and carefully across
the controls, hesitating here and there, while he tried to figure out exactly
what he was doing. Then, the ship shuddered, and the main viewscreen showed us
turning away and pulling out of our orbit around the dead moon.

    ÒGoing to one quarter impulse.Ó

    We seemed to leap forward, the stars cruising past us. I gripped the
arms of the captains chair in auxiliary control, and watched my small bridge
crew. Nervously, I tapped my armrest.

    ÒEngineering?Ó I asked quietly, pressing what I hoped was the correct
switch.

    ÒMcCallister here.Ó

    I sighed inwardly.

    ÒEverything copacetic down there?Ó

    ÒCould be better, but we arenÕt going to explode anytime soon.Ó

    ÒStill working on the warp drive?Ó

    ÒAs much as we can. The dilithium crystals are a total disaster. Hope
to hell theyÕve got replacements at Qualor.Ó

    ÒDo what you can, Dave.Ó

    ÒAye.Ó

    I settled back in my chair, chuckling. DaveÕs real accent was Brooklyn,
one so thick you could just about cut it with a knife. Now, he was speaking in
tones so Scottish, a native would have been proud. Another one of QÕs little
improvements.

    ÒGo to one half impulse.Ó I said, trying to get comfortable in my
cramped surroundings. Auxiliary control on the Enterprise  D had looked small.
On this ship, it was little better than a shoebox with a bunch of buttons and
readout on the walls.

    ÒGoing to one half impulse.Ó
    There was a slight tremor, and I thought I could hear an increase in
the background noise of the old shipÕs operation. Dave didnÕt call, so I
assumed it was my imagination.

    ÒCherie, keep your ears open for any ships in this sector. I want to
stay well out of anybodyÕs way til we get to our destination.Ó

    ÒEasy as pie. This setupÕs not as hard as it looks.Ó the black woman
smiled sweetly, spinning back to her communications console.

    ÒEverything okay on the main bridge?Ó I asked, pressing another button.

    ÒRight on up here.Ó RichÕs voice came back.

    ÒSo far, so good.Ó I murmured. Then, ÒGo to three quarters impulse.Ó

    Art nodded and fiddled with the controls.

    ÒThree quarters impulse.Ó

    There was another slight tremor as the ship worked her way up to speed.
I held my breath until it stopped. As much as I would have wished otherwise,
this was no game. We were flying a vessel we had no hard knowledge about,
through a medium we had never traveled in before. I only hoped we could make it
to someone who was better equipped to help us than we were to help ourselves.

    ÒFull impulse,  Art.Ó

    ÒYou got it.Ó

    There was no tremor this time, but I definitely could hear the engines
working now. There was a low humming that vibrated the deck plates beneath my
booted feet. But we were doing it. We were heading for Qualor Two at our best
speed. But, what the hell would we do when we got there? I thought I remembered
seeing Enterprise class vessels present in some of the backround scenes in
ÔReunification,Õ but if I had been wrong, we had to hope for compatible parts.
Then, how were we actually going to appropriate parts and supplies to refit the
ship? We had no money. Pehaps Q had already taken care of this. Somehow, I
wasnÕt too confident.
    We cruised along silently for hours, with no hint of problems other
than the ones we were already well aware of. Until Rich Rosselle called out
what most certainly had to be our doom.

    ÒJim, I think IÕve got something on long range sensor scan.Ó

    ÒAre we close enough for an I.D.?Ó
    ÒYeah. On screen now.Ó

    On the main viewscreen, a tiny blip seemed to grow slowly larger in the
middle of the screen.

    ÒMagnification.Ó

    ÒGoing to maximum magnification.......now.Ó Lauren said.

    Suddenly, the image was larger than life.

    ÒOhshit.Ó Mike squeaked.

    Rocketing towards us was a Next Generation, Romulan Warbird.

    ÒDo they know weÕre here yet?Ó I asked.

    ÒUhhhh..... I donÕt know.Ó Lauren replied, adjusting her scanner.
ÒTheyÕre at about warp 5 right now. Not heading directly towards us.Ó

    I stabbed at my armrest.

    ÒEngineering!Ó

    ÒRight here.Ó came DaveÕs voice.

    ÒGet ready to kill everything on my command.Ó

    ÒIncluding life support?Ó

    ÒYeah. Art, full stop.Ó

    ÒFull stop........now.Ó

    The stars stopped moving, but the Warbird grew ever closer.

    ÒKill it, Dave.Ó

    Instantly, all power to the bridge went down, except for the viewsceen,
and minimal emergency lighting. I felt sweat bead up, and trickle down the back
of my neck. We were in no shape to fight a Romulan vessel from a hundred years
ago, let alone a modern day variant. I was banking on our worst liability, the
EnterpriseÕs own decrepit state, to save us. We looked like a piece of junk,
hopefully they would overlook us and go on there way. On the screen, the enemy
vessel came ever nearer.

    ÒCÕmon. WeÕre space trash. Go on by. WeÕre not even worth scanning.Ó I
murmured.

    The Romulan ship slowed and came to a full stop.

    I waited for the inevitable. One low power blast from that monsterÕs
weapons and we were as good as dead. It never came. For several minutes we were
intensively scanned. The Romulan ship began moving again and continued right on
by as if we were beneath their contempt.

    ÒCherie, any transmissions?Ó

    The woman at the communications console shook her head.

    ÒWhy the hell did they do that?Ó Mike rumbled.

    ÒJust be thankful they did.Ó I replied, a small grin working onto my
relieved face. I tapped on my armrest again.

    ÒYo, Captain. Ó

    ÒCrank us back up again, Dave. WeÕre in the clear for the moment.Ó

    ÒGood thing. A few more minutes and I wouldnÕt be able to hot start
this baby. Besides, it was starting to get chilly down here.Ó he chuckled.

    ÒArt, letÕs get back up to speed.Ó

    ÒA votre service, mon capitan.Ó

    We leapt forward, into the starfield again. I looked around at my crew,
my friends, and smiled.

    ÒWell, weÕre still alive, anyway.Ó





    ÒYou said the ship was in orbit around a dead moon.Ó

    ÒYes, Number One. That is the impression I received. It was very small,
and I assume, not generating a powerful gravity well, otherwise the Enterprise
would have fallen to the surface.Ó Picard said quietly, hands steepled, gazing
through his fingers out the observation window. On the table in front of the
Captain, a cup of Earl Grey tea steamed merrily.

    ÒCaptain, did you notice any familiar constellations?Ó Data queried.

    The older man shook his head.

    ÒNo. Not that I recall. Of course, that could simply be Q interfering
with my perceptions. For all I really know, we could have been in Earth orbit.Ó

    ÒAnd Q gave you no clues as to where these poor people were?Ó Dr.
Crusher asked.

    Picard lowered his head, shaking it slowly. Then, he stopped. Raising
his head, a smile began to creep across his face.

    ÒBut he did let me know where they were going to head to first.Ó





    Down in Sickbay, Martin Boccacella and Sonya Brava were busy cleaning
their department. Broken instruments and glass littered the floor. About the
only thing that worked at all, according to Sonya, was the door. The two were
engaged in janitorial duties when Emilio Riveras walked in, carrying a tool
case.

    ÒAnything major in here you want me to try fixing?Ó he asked, stooping
to come through the inner door, into the office area.

    ÒSure.Ó Martin snorted. ÒTry and get me one of those diagnostic tables
going. ThatÕd be something , anyway.Ó

    ÒOh, is there a  replicator working at all?Ó Sonya asked, as the big
Latino man squeezed past her to begin his work.

    ÒUh, yeah. The one on level eight, in the repair shop seems to work
okay. What do you need?Ó

    ÒWell, all of the hand held medical scanners and equipment in here are
pretty much damaged beyond repair. IÕd like to get some new ones, if we could.Ó

    ÒWe can sure try. Hold on a minute.Ó

    Emilio stepped to the wall and hit the intercom.

    ÒYo, anybody on H Deck, in the repair shop?Ó

    There was a momentary lapse of silence, before an actual answer came.
    ÒEEEEYESS? May I help you?Ó

    ÒBen, Sonya needs some medical equipment. If I send her down to you,
will you punch it up from stores for her?Ó

    ÒThat, and whatever else her little heart may desire.Ó he replied
lecherously.

    ÒThanks Ben.Ó

    ÒNo problem.Ó

    Emilio turned to the woman.

    ÒThere you go. Just go to Level eight, deck H. ThereÕs a repair shop
there with a working replicator.Ó

    Sonya smiled, and reaching out, gently squeezed the giantÕs arm.

    ÒThanks. YouÕre a big help.Ó

    ÒLiterally.Ó Martin called, from the other room.

    The nuclear engineer looked  puzzled and raised one eyebrow.





    David McCallister looked at the shambles in Warp Engineering and
sighed. There were Dilithium crystals. There was antimatter. But nowhere near
enough to power the silent warp drive engines. In fact, the amount and quality
of the crystals they did have,had deteriorated alarmingly in the past several
hours. The insomniac had been monitoring the shuddering and wheezing engines
ever since they had managed to break orbit. In a galactic sense, they were
inching their way across the universe at a snailÕs place. But even the
relatively insignificant speed they were travelling at was a trial for the
ancient ship. The engineer moved to a intercom unit and whacked it, rather a
bit harder than he had to.

    ÒAuxiliary Bridge, this is engineering.Ó

    ÒYeah Dave,Ó James CaineÕs voice floated easily over the speaker.
ÒWhatÕs on your mind?Ó

    ÒI made a boo-boo. WeÕve got a serious problem.Ó

    ÒWhich is?Ó the  voice came back, now sharp and concerned.
    ÒI doubt weÕre going to make it to Qualor Two. The dilithium crystals
are degrading, and IÕm not going to be able to maintain containment bottle
integrity.Ó

    ÒHow long have we got?Ó

    ÒNot sure. A few hours at best. ItÕs not like I was raised to
understand warp mechanics.Ó

    There was silence from the bridge.

    ÒAlright Dave. Keep us moving as long as you can.Ó

    ÒWill do. McCallister out.Ó

    Up on the Auxiliary Bridge, the mood had suddenly grown tense.
Absently, I bit at my thumbnail, and stared into space. Q had screwed up. We
werenÕt going to make it to drydock. Or maybe he hadnÕt. I wondered if this was
part of his plan.

    ÒSuggestions, anybody?Ó

    ÒScrew it. Shut the engines down and letÕs get piss drunk.Ó Mike Kelly
offered.

    ÒFind a closer destination.Ó Layla said.

    ÒOkay. Where?Ó

    ÒWell, where are we now?Ó

    ÒAccording to the charts, weÕre......... right on the edge of something
called.... the Delta Triangle.Ó Lauren offered, poking at her scanner terminal.

    I was blank for a second. Then, I looked at Mike in suprise. I assume
the silly grin on his face was mirrored by my own.

    ÒTime Trap.Ó we said in unison.

    ÒOh come on. Not the animated episodes. Gene Roddenberry didnÕt even
want to include them in the Star Trek continuum.Ó Art protested.

    ÒBut here we are, right on the edge of the Triangle.Ó

    ÒConveniently. A bit too conveniently.Ó Mike said.

    ÒYou have to admit, thereÕs plenty of spare parts there.Ó

    ÒYeah, but once we get in, will we be able to get out again?Ó Art
mused.

    ÒI think so.Ó I smiled. ÒMike, find me the last known co-ordinants for
that rift.Ó

    ÒThey didnÕt think it was stationary.Ó he warned, spinning back to his
console.

    ÒYeah, but they didnÕt say it wasnÕt, either.Ó

    ÒWeÕre dealing with lots of conjecture here, guys.Ó Layla said,
absently drumming her fingernails on the weapons station.

    I shrugged.

    ÒWeÕve got nothing else to go on. When in doubt, guess. Ó

    ÒGot it!Ó

    ÒETA?Ó

    ÒAt full impulse, weÕll be there in one hour.Ó

    ÒWay too convenient.Ó Layla murmured, gazing out at the stars.





    Eugene Elligton was buried to his waist in the banks of the
EnterpriseÕs M-6 backup computer banks. The portions of memory which had been
damaged or totally destroyed, could be rerouted here, but the nature of the
damage meant it had to be done manually. The natural choice was Eugene.
Computers were his life.

    ÒComputer.Ó he said cheerfully, the lower half of his body hanging out
of an access hatch.

    ÒWorking.Ó

    ÒTell me where it hurts.Ó

    Ò..........Please rephrase the question.Ó

    ÒWhere exactly is the damage? Run me a diagnostic of the system here so
I know what to do.Ó

    ÒAll backup memory is functional. Cooling system is working only on
minimal levels. To fully repair  main memory, cabling must be run from the
backup systems, to the main core.Ó

    ÒAlright. Guess I might as well start on the cooling system then, eh?
WonÕt do any good to run the wiring if itÕs not going to function right.Ó
Eugene said, jumping down from the hatch. He looked about for a moment before
stopping totally.

    ÒWhereÕs the coolant system?Ó

    ÒThird hatch to the left, on the floor.Ó Q said, imitating the
computerÕs voice perfectly.

    The small black man whistled off tune as he removed the hatch and
peered into the small area that housed the glorified air conditioning unit. Q
crouched behind him, unseen, and cringed at the tonelessness of the manÕs
pitch. Crawling into the hole, Eugene saw the problem at once. The coolant
system was crushed beneath part of the main core which had fallen.

    ÒNo wonder you arenÕt feeling well! My, my, what a mess we have here.
But, donÕt worry. IÕll have you fixed up again in no time. No twenty third
century technology is gonna stump this computer wizard.Ó

    Q watched as the young human started to intuitively repair the damaged
computer coolant system. The powerful alien found himself again both impressed,
yet disdainful of this puny, upstart race. They showed promise at every turn,
but such lack of priority of the importance of things. This man, he thought,
showed more compassion for things mechanical, than for his fellow humans.

    ÒYeah, thereÕs no computer ever made that I canÕt get to work, one way
or the other. Shame itÕs not the same with people.Ó

    The alien cocked his head to one side, and sat at the hatchway
entrance, listening to the manÕs dialogue with himself.

    ÒA computer with a decent diagnostic program can tell you exactly
whatÕs wrong with it. No muss, no fuss, no beating around the bush. A direct
approach and a direct repair, thatÕs the way to go. At least my uncle Dan said.
But itÕs not so easy with people.Ó a hand reached out of the hatchway, groping
for some tool that had been left just out of the repairmanÕs reach. Q gently
nudged the piece into range, just as EugeneÕs searching hand closed on it.

    ÒWith people, thereÕs feelings to think about, and that means a lot of
beating around the bush, before you can find out whatÕs really up.Ó Q nodded
emphatically in agreement. ÒThen, itÕs not a hands on job, you have to talk it
through. That means choosing the right words, being careful how you phrase
something ; generally a lot more crap you have to deal with. Even then, maybe
you just canÕt fix whateverÕs wrong. No way with a computer. Yeah, reliable,
solid, dependable. With a little care and preventive maintenance, that is. So I
can see why youÕre feeling down. No work for so long, no one to care for you.
IÕd be feeling pretty neglected myself. Well, no need to worry about that
anymore.Ó

    Q sat silently. Here was a human being, with true compassion.
Compassion for something that others didnÕt consider  having feelings about.
Maybe the computer didnÕt, couldnÕt care.......then again.......maybe it could.
Standing , he phased through the ships walls, heading for the computerÕs
central core. Absently, Q changed his perceptions, to see as a machine would
perhaps see. He entered the core itself, transforming his essence into a
million tiny impulses that raced through the wounded system. He saw blinking
lights, the machineÕs thoughts, perhaps? They seemed....weak, sporadic. The
alien saw it was because of the damage done, years ago, when Captain Kirk
initiated the self destruct sequence. The ship was ailing badly, and had been
alone..... so long. James Kirk had been right to thing of this ship as his
mate. For, in a way, it did have itÕs own life. This surprised Q indeed, that
so primitive a device could actually take on some spirit that could be called
unique unto it. So the human was right to talk to the old vessel. For she could
hear. Without hesitation, Q reached out, in his non-corporeal form, and fixed
an ill. Then another. And another. In seconds, he raced throughout the core
system and repaired all the hurts. The fog lifted, as if a human in a coma had
finally revived. Systems that had been down for decades suddenly came back on
line. On the bridge, he could imagine the confusion, as auto systems took over
for struggling humans.

    ÒThere we go. ThatÕs all IÕm going to do. CanÕt give them too much of
an edge.Ó Q pulled back and admired his handiwork. ÒOops. One more thing.Ó He
cast a thin layer of energy, which seeped in, and permeated the entire ship.
Now those pesky crystals would last until they got to Qualor Two. Q grinned and
turned his attention and his person to a problem far across the galaxy.





    ÒWhat the hell?!Ó  Dave McCallister murmured, looking at the lights on
his engineering console. Suddenly, three quarters of ships systems were back on
line.

    ÒComputer.Ó

    ÒWorking.Ó

    ÒWhy the sudden increase in on-line system functions?Ó

    ÒThose systems on-line in the last thirty second have been repaired.Ó
    ÒFrom where were these repairs made?Ó

    ÒH deck. Auxiliary computer memory.Ó

    The red haired, young man stabbed at the intership communication
console.

    ÒBridge here.Ó Michael KellyÕs voice intoned.

    ÒYou should have just registered a jump in shipÕs systems.Ó

    Ò.............. Yeah. We got it.Ó

    ÒAre you reading weÕve got everything but warp capability?Ó

    ÒUmhum. ThatÕs what I have.Ó

    ÒGreat. The one thing we could really use, more speed, and instead, we
get everything else.Ó

    ÒCÕmon Dave. You really donÕt want to take this heap into warp space
with all the holes in her, do you?Ó

    McCallister sighed.

    ÒGuess not. The end result might not be too pretty, eh?Ó

    ÒExactly. Imagine every atom in your body flying in opposite directions
away from your core simultaneously. Anyway, good work on the rest of it. IÕll
tell Jim weÕre as good as weÕre gonna get without drydock.Ó

    ÒRight. McCallister out.Ó

    The matter/antimatter intermix process baffled him completely. He knew,
that in all probability he would never understand it. All of his knowledge was
geared towards twentieth century science. There had been fundamental changes in
the very foundations of these sciences. It would probably take him half a
lifetime just to learn the changes, let alone the actual mechanics that were
affected by them. David sighed to himself, and checked a computer readout. This
was all he could do. Count on the auto systems to tell him when something was
wrong, and then pray they could tell him how to fix what was wrong. Lord help
them if there was ever a full computer failure. TheyÕd all end up dead.

    ÒWe will be at last know rift co-ordinants in thirty second.Ó Mike
said, gazing nervously into his scanner.

    ÒJesus, I hope this works.Ó Art murmured, fine tuning their course.
    I entered the Auxiliary bridge and slid into the captainÕs seat.

    ÒWell?Ó

    ÒWeÕre here. Intersect in twenty seconds.Ó

    I poked the no familiar intership button on my armrest.

    ÒAttention. WeÕre about twenty seconds away from entering a spatial
rift in the Delta Triangle. Everybody brace yourselves, we donÕt rightly know
whatÕs going to happen. Caine out.Ó

    ÒAt coordinates........now.Ó

    A hazy glow appeared about the Enterprise as she winked out of real
space. Inside the ship, vibration shuddered the whole bridge and the crew was
disoriented by what seemed like mass vertigo. I seemed to remember the same
thing happening in the animated episode.

    ÒOh Jesus, I think IÕm gonna hurl.Ó Art gulped, covering his mouth with
his hand.

    ÒHold on, the effect canÕt last too much longer.Ó I said, gripping the
arms of my chair tightly, trying to prevent my own stomach from coming out my
ears.

    ÒUmmmph! Trash can! Trash can!Ó Mike gagged, rolling out of his seat
and onto the floor. Normally, I would have told him to get the hell off the
floor and back to his station, but, under the circumstances I figured IÕd cut
him some slack. As suddenly as it had started, the phenomenon stopped. I closed
my eyes and swallowed repeatedly, trying to calm my upset stomach.

    Ò Okay. Are we there yet?Ó Layla asked, slumping weakly in her own
seat.

    The main viewscreen was a panorama of lifeless ships. It was one thing
to see such a graveyard depicted as a cartoon. It was another entirely to see
it in real life. It was bigger that the Qualor Two depot. Much, much bigger.
There were ships everywhere, as far as my straining eyes could see. I leaned
forward, forgetting about my stomach problems, and looked at the vast panorama
of ship spread out before us. It was incredible.

    ÒMike ,Ó I whispered, Òscan for any source of power besides us. That
will be the Elysian seat of power.Ó

    The quasi Vulcan climbed unsteadily back into his seat, looking a
distinct shade of green.

    ÒWorkinÕ on it.Ó

    I punched up engineering.

    ÒMcCallister here. Fun ride, eh Jim?Ó

    ÒOh yeah. A regular roller coaster of laughs. HowÕs everything down
there?Ó

    ÒI was just getting ready to ask the computer that myself.Ó

    ÒPay special attention to any indication of further dilithium crystal
degradation. The ship had a big problem with it last time they were here.Ó

    ÒHold on....................uh, not only do we show no
degeneration.......... youÕre not going to believe this, I think the crystals
are regenerating.Ó

    ÒTheyÕre not supposed to be able to do that, are they?Ó I asked.

    ÒUh, not as far as I know.Ó the engineer replied, sounding consummately
confused. ÒGet Emilio down here, where ever he is, he specialized in nuclear
engineering. Maybe heÕll have a better idea than me.Ó

    ÒYou got it.Ó I switched to all-call. ÒEmilio, report to McCallister in
warp engineering.Ó

    I turned my gaze back to the main screen. The number and design of the
different starships was simply staggering.

    ÒJim, I got those power readings you were looking for.Ó Mike said,
tuning in his scanner.

    ÒArt, take us to those co-ordinants. Ahead, one-quarter impulse.Ó

    ÒAhead, one-quarter impulse.Ó

    We moved forward, slipping between the dead ships, heading towards
Elysia.


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From: [e-mail] (LOUIS HALL)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: A Different Star Trek, Chap.4 - revised
Date: 9 Jan 1995 16:23:54 GMT
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    Still working on the ascii problem. Bear with us. :)

                    -Lou-




Chapter 4



    Ò Arrival at Qualor Two estimated in four hours forty-four minutes.Ó
Data intoned, looking out at the warpfeild.

    Picard sat silently in the command chair, staring off into nothingness.
In his mind, the problem of the people on board the old Enterprise revolved.
If, as Q stated, these individuals didnÕt exist before he called them into
being in this universe, then he wasnÕt sure exactly how he could deal with the
alien. If QÕs own people wouldnÕt censure him in this case, there was certainly
no way Picard could.

    ÒCaptain?Ó Troi said, standing beside the older man. He started and
looked at the counselor.

    ÒYes, Counselor?Ó

    ÒCan I speak to you in your ready room?Ó

    ÒCertainly. Number One, you have the conn.Ó

    Picard rose and lead the way to the side of the bridge and into his
small office.

    ÒNow, Counselor, what may I do for you?Ó

    The half Betazoid smiled and sat easily on the couch against the wall
and folded her hands.

    ÒWell, I sense great apprehension, and a certain amount of indecision
radiating from you. I wondered if you might like to discussion what may be
bothering you, since these feelings are not normally part of your makeup.Ó

    The captain coughed and looked down for a moment, before speaking.

    ÒCounselor, though my gut instinct tells me to help these people, I not
sure IÕm on solid ground with this one. If we can believe Q , these people
donÕt really exist, or didnÕt until he called them here. So, if they are
created entities, constructs of QÕs bent mind, do we really have the right to
help them? Should we? Do they even need our help? What if this is just another
of QÕs preposterous goose chases? I donÕt believe, IÕve ever faced such a
dilemma, morally or otherwise.Ó
    Deanna Troi nodded and listened intently til he was done speaking.
Then, she gathered her thoughts and began.

    ÒWell, I donÕt believe this is Q manipulating us again, simply because
weÕve seen how his own race punishes his transgressions. I think he may be
banking on whether or not we decide to press this case against him with his own
kind. He may feel he will be able to justify his decision to bring these people
here, by saying they arenÕt real anyway. Then, our job would be to prove that
they are. That would mean, they have as much right to exist as us, and Q would
undoubtably be censured again.Ó

    Picard nodded thoughtfully, finally moving to sit behind his desk.

    ÒVery well. But how do you suggest we try to make contact with his own
kind?Ó

    ÒWell, they say they are omniscient and almost omnipotent. Perhaps they
are already watching. Why not just ask thin air?Ó

    ÒAh. But would we not run the risk of bringing up our Q that way? He
also already has reason to be watching us. Would it not annoy him that we are
in effect, attempting to go over his head in this situation?Ó

    ÒPossibly. But I expect he already knows we would attempt it.Ó

    ÒAgreed.Ó

    The counselor looked at Picard, as they silently sat and looked at each
other.

    ÒWell?Ó she said finally, breaking the silence.

    ÒAh. Ahem. Excuse me, but if any members of the Q continuum are
listening, might I speak with one?Ó

    ÒYes?Ó Picard jumped as the Q appeared from nowhere, sitting on the
edge of his desk. It was a member that they had encountered before. Q Two, more
or less.

    ÒQuite a speedy response.Ó

    ÒWeÕve been monitoring your ship since QÕs last episode involving your
people. He really isnÕt a bad being, just needs a lot of guidance and
discipline.Ó

    ÒThen you know why weÕve asked for you to come?Ó Troi asked, moving to
stand before the alien.

    ÒOh certainly. IÕve already filed a request for a ruling on your
behalf. IÕm afraid your initial assesment may be right, though. Whatever Q is
up to might be over and done with before the ruling comes back.Ó

    ÒYouÕre a Q , isnÕt there anything you can do directly, to help us?Ó

    Q Two shook his head. ÒNot really. Any help I offer would be
interference in your development, as surely as QÕs meddling.Ó

    Picard looked sourly at Troi.

    ÒSo, we must deal with the situation as best we can.Ó

    The alien shrugged and smiled sadly.

    ÒSorry. ThatÕs the best I can do.Ó

    The human stiffened formally and stood.

    ÒWe thank you then, for your time and attention.Ó

    ÒI wish I could do more. Good luck Jean-Luc, Deanna.Ó the entity
smiled, a bit sadly and vanished as suddenly and as silently as he had
appeared.

    ÒWell, at least weÕve followed one option to exhaustion. There must be
others.Ó Troi said, sitting on the spot the Q entity had just vacated.

    ÒIndeed. I just hope we have the time to pursue them.Ó

    ÒCaptain Picard to the bridge.Ó RikerÕs voice came over the intercom.

    ÒOn my way number one.Ó

    As the captain and the counselor stepped out upon the bridge, they were
stuck by the image on the viewscreen. A Romulan Warbird sat in space before
them.

    ÒNumber One?Ó

    ÒThey decloaked before us and waited til we came to a full stop. WeÕve
tried hailing them, but thereÕs no response.Ó

    ÒAny indications of weapons powering up?Ó

    ÒNone. Nor shields.Ó

    ÒTheyÕve come quite far into federation space for some reason, so weÕll
have to assume itÕs important.Ó

    ÒCaptain, incoming message from the Romulan vessel.Ó

    ÒOn screen Mr. Worf.Ó

    A severe, Older Romulan appeared on screen. He sat silently for a
moment, as if waiting for Picard to address him first.

    ÒI am Commander Sellok, of the Deverek . Normally I would never think
to stop in the middle of a mission and talk to a federation starship, but
circumstances being what they are, I felt this deviation was justified.Ó

    ÒCommander Sellok , I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation
starship Enterprise. You are quite a ways out of your home territory Commander.
I hope you have a good reason.Ó

    The Romulan commander coughed into one hand and looked at the Captain
suspiciously.

    ÒI consider a supposedly destroyed, Federation ghost ship a very good
reason, Picard.Ó

    Riker sat forward in his seat and glanced at the captain.

    ÒWhat ship would that be, Commander Sellok?Ó the older man asked
easily.

    ÒThe Enterprise. NCC 1701. No letter designation.Ó

    ÒThat ship was destroy by her captain over eighty years ago.Ó

    ÒSo were we lead to believe. But I have footage of this ÔdestroyedÕ
vessel, hanging silently in space not more than four hours journey from here.
My question to you, Picard is this; what type of game are we playing here?Ó

    The Enterprise captain lounged back in his seat, looking unconcernedly
bored.

    ÒAnd this is what you cross the Neutral Zone for and risk an
interstellar incident? Come Sellok, I am not a fool. You were here for some
other reason.Ó

    ÒIf it is any of your business, we are transporting a diplomatic party
to Starbase 57.Ó the Romulan frowned, looking stiffly at his counterpart.

    ÒAh. I assume if I contact Starbase 57, they will confirm that?Ó

    The Romulan leaned towards the viewscreen.

    ÒYou would not be questioning my truthfulness, Picard, would you?Ó
    The captain stood, and walked towards the viewscreen, a slight smile on
his face.

    ÒWould I be doing my duty if I did not, Sellok?Ó

    The Romulan commander appeared taken aback by this answer. Then, the
slight smile was returned.

    ÒNo, Captain Picard, I think you would not. But still, what trap is
this ghost ship meant to be?Ó

    ÒI know of no Ôghost ship,Õ as you call it. If you would care to
download what information on the incident you have, I can assure you we will
look into the matter with all due haste.Ó

    Sellok looked chagrined, and then nodded.

    ÒAs we are in your territory, by your governmentÕs invitation, very
well.Ó

    ÒThank you, Commander Sellok. Your helpfulness, and desire for
co-operation will be duly noted.Ó

    ÒIt had better not!Ó The gray haired Romulan snorted, ÒI would lose the
respect of my peers if they found out I gave information to the  enemy
willingly. Sellok out.Ó

    Picard turned and looked at Riker.

    ÒWeÕve got our information.Ó

    ÒData, when the information comes through, note the DeverekÕs position
and the old EnterpriseÕs position and orientation relevant to the Romulan
ship.Ó

    ÒYes sir.Ó

    ÒWill, you have the conn.Ó

     The younger man nodded and moved to fill the command seat. The
EnterpriseÕ captain moved to his ready room and sat behind his desk. Within
minutes they would be able to confirm the old EnterpriseÕ destination and
estimate how long it would take them to get there. Picard smiled inwardly. Q
would be more than a bit surprised when they showed up to befoul his
experiment. He had no doubt that Q Two would stand with them when it came down
to incurring QÕs wrath.

    ÒCaptain...Ó DataÕs voice.

    ÒGo ahead, Mr. Data.Ó

    ÒThe Enterprise was indeed headed for Qualor Two. Assuming that they
have full impulse power, theyÕll make the journey in about a week.Ó

    The captain mused for a moment.

    ÒSet a course for Qualor Two, at warp seven. Alert Surplus Depot
zero-one-five. WeÕll meet them when they arrive.Ó

    ÒAye, sir.Ó

    ÒMr. LaForge.Ó

    ÒHere captain.Ó

    ÒHow is your knowledge of Constitution class starship engineering?Ó

    ÒNowhere near Mr. ScottÕs, but I can get by.Ó

    ÒWe will be intercepting a Constitution class vessel at Qualor Two. I
would like you to get together what supplies you may need to enable the ship
for a journey to Earth.Ó

    ÒEarth? ThatÕs quite a ways, Captain. What kind of shapeÕs the old girl
in?Ó

    ÒAs far as we know, her captain triggered destruct one. There are major
portions of her hull plating gone, warp drive capabilities are nil. The rest,
IÕm afraid, youÕll have to find for yourself when we get there.Ó

    Down in engineering, Geordi sighed and smiled ruefully.

    ÒWell Captain, IÕll do my best.Ó

    ÒAs you always do. Picard out.Ó

    And that was it. By the time the reached the Surplus Depot, they would
be prepared to handle any situation. Q would be nullified, the ship would be
repaired and towed back to Earth, to be placed on display at Starfleet
CommandÕs museum, and hopefully, Picard could convince Q Two to return the
people on board to their own dimension. If not, then at the very least, he
would be able to offer them sanctuary on Earth and a chance to start new lives.




    ÒArt, how are we doing?Ó I asked, looking out at the multitude of ships
which we were slowly moving between.

    ÒUhhhh.... okay. Just keep me pointed toward the power source.Ó

    ÒYouÕre right on course.Ó Lauren said, carefully reading proximity
between the Enterprise and the dead ships.

    ÒJesus, this is like threading a camel through the eye of a needle.Ó
Art murmured, a trickle of sweat sliding down the side of his face. I noticed
we were all quite warm.

    ÒDave.Ó I said, punching up engineering.

    ÒYeah Jim.Ó

    ÒTurn up the air a bit will you? ItÕs getting kinda close up here.Ó

    ÒNo problem. Seventy degrees coming up.Ó

    A breath of cool air from the exhaust vents hit me, and I saw Art relax
just a bit. On the forward screen, a group of dimly lit ships, clustered
together in a rough circle. Slowly we eased forward.

    ÒJames, weÕve got an incoming message.Ó

    ÒLetÕs get it on screen.Ó

    A Romulan appeared on the screen, looking at us with both curiosity and
hopefulness.

    ÒGreetings......Enterprise? Is Captain Kirk aboard?Ó

    ÒNo Xerius,Ó I chuckled, and watched his surprise at my calling him by
name, ÒthereÕs a lot we should discuss. Could we meet?Ó

    ÒCertainly, Captain......?Ó

    ÒJust Jim. Jim Caine.Ó

    ÒJim. Very well. The ruling counsel of Elysia will be awaiting your
arrival.Ó

    ÒOh, one moment please Xerius.Ó Quickly, I punched up Dave again.

    ÒYo.Ó

    ÒHave we go transport capability, Dave?Ó

    ÒUh, I think that theyÕre okay, but damned if IÕd want to try working
one of Ôem. Might lose you.Ó

    ÒXerius,Ó I coughed as I turned back to the screen, Òwould it be
possible for your people to transport us over?Ó

    ÒCertainly. Are you having problems with your transporters?Ó

    ÒAh, no. We donÕt have anybody that knows how to use them. ThatÕs one
of the things I would like to discuss with you.Ó





    ÒWhere the blazes did they go?Ó Q gaped.

     He had turned his attention but for a few short minutes to PicardÕs
Enterprise to see how he was coming with his end of the puzzle. Sure enough, as
he had thought, Picard was on his way to Qualor Two, where he would attempt to
stop QÕs test. Meanwhile, the older Enterprise should have been chugging its
way across the star system, also heading for the Surplus Depot. But they
werenÕt. They werenÕt anywhere that he could find. He traced them to a point,
one sixth of the way to where he had intended to lead them, and then, all trace
of them vanished. It concerned him immensely, for it meant that at least one of
his own hand taken a hand in the game, against him. This was hard for Q to
fathom, seeing as how the majority of his race were  pacifists.
    They hadnÕt been destroyed, for there was no debris. They had been
spirited away. The question was, where? Q sat down and looked thoughtfully at
nothing.

    ÒProblem,Q?Ó Q Two asked.

    ÒNot at all, Q . You have provided me with only a minor setback. The
test will continue.Ó

    ÒWe have not interfered with your Ôtest,Õ though in all good conscience
I  must inform you that a protest has been filed, and a counsel of your peers
is going to make a speedy decision in the matter.Ó

    Q was puzzled.

    ÒIf you have not moved my property, then, who has?Ó

    ÒHmmmm. We cannot really say. Perhaps this is your test?Ó and so
saying, Q Two vanished as silently as he had appeared.

    ÒWho? WHO?Ó Q snarled.





    Xerius sat at the long conference table and looked across at the group
from the Enterprise. As enlightened as the Elysians were, they were having a
rough time following what we were trying to get across to them.

    ÒOver eighty years? But, ....It seems like only weeks since Kirk and
Kor piloted their vessels from our midst. We were both excited and mortified
that the actually managed to leave. We could have left with them, yet we chose
not to try. As a result, weÕve been trapped here for......eighty more years.
And now, so are you.Ó

    ÒNot necessarily, Xerius.Ó Devna, a beautiful Orion women interjected.

    ÒAccording to our sensor scans, their power source isnÕt degrading.Ó

    The Romulan turned to me in some surprise.

    ÒHas the Federation developed a new type of shielding, then?Ó

    I shrugged.

    ÒDonÕt look at me. As far as we can tell, weÕve just got a plain old
Constitution class starship. WeÕve had a bit of luck with her, but basically
sheÕs a floating disaster area.Ó

    Ò........And you came here with the intent to cannibalize our ships to
repair your own.Ó a Gorn hissed, folding clawed hands and looking intently at
me.

    ÒNot without your permission. In fact, I was going to offer to take
anyone out with us who desires to go.Ó There was silence from the Elysians down
the length of the conference table.

    ÒKirk offered us this same opportunity. We doubted his ability to
escape this trap that we have called home for so long. Shall we dismiss the
opportunity again? Shall we stay another ten centuries before such an chance
comes our way?Ó Xerius demanded, rising from his seat, the fire building in his
eyes.

    ÒWhoa, whoa........whoa.Ó I said, holding up one hand. Suddenly, the
entire assembly, their eyes were upon me. ÒYou donÕt know the whole story yet.Ó
I said tiredly, ÒWe barely know how to run this crate. WeÕre only a bunch of
fan club members, most of us havenÕt even completed a twentieth century college
education. IÕm not sure if we can get you out. ItÕs going to take all of us,
working together, to make the Enterprise safe for warp speed travel.Ó

    The delegation of aliens murmured among themselves, mulling over my
words. I saw Romulans sitting with Klingons, Andorians and Orions, Gorn beside
Tellurite. A truly multinational, peaceful civilization. Here, there was no
war, no violence of any sort. I was going to take them right back into the
middle of a battle, probably with a more savage race than any of them had ever
encountered, in a vehicle that was so hopelessly outmoded that we were doomed
to almost certain failure. Oh, what the hell........

    ÒLadies and gentlemen, are you at all familiar with a race called Ôthe
Borg?ÕÓ




    On board the Enterprise, David McCallister was leading a select group
of Elysians through warp engineering. Some would say, it was like the blind
leading the blind.

    ÒWell, ladies and gents,Ó the human said, his brough rolling out like a
beer barrel down a gangplank, Òthese are the Warp engines, the main means of
propulsion on the Enterprise. Unfortunately, they donÕt work. I do not have the
necessary technical knowledge to repair them. Or the parts. Any suggestions?Ó

    The group of six Elysians stood thoughtfully, watching and thinking. An
Andorian, a Klingon, a Tholian, a pair of Bynars (fraternal, of course), and a
Vulcan looked around considering the damage to, and the unfamiliarity of, the
equipment.
Finally, the Andorian spoke, slowly and distinctly.

    ÒWe can rebuild them.Ó

    The Bynars nodded in agreement. ÒBetter.Ó

    ÒStronger.Ó the Klingon added.

    ÒCertainly faster than they were before.Ó the Tholian finished,
hovering above the deck plates, seeming to gaze intently at the silent
machines.

    ÒGentlemen, I suggest we requisition more help, decide which ships to
cannibalize and begin this project immediately. Seeing as the Enterprise is not
subject to the energy degenerating fields which disabled our own ships, this
vessel is indeed the best hope, for those of us who wish to return to our
homes.Ó the Vulcan said.

    The Klingon grunted in response.

    ÒIndeed Korvok, but those of us here, are totally unfamiliar with this
technology. We were all imprisoned over two centuries ago, more or less. The
advances are beyond our knowledge, and this engineer states this ship itself is
hopelessly antiquated. How do you suggest we deal with these disadvantages?Ó

    The Vulcan bowed his head in thought. But it was the Andorian that
ended up answering the question.

     Ò.......... the inhabitant of the Sigma Draconis system. Did he not
speak of a device his people had invented to mechanically impart information to
the living brain? Could we not use such a device in conjunction with the
information from some of the more advanced shipsÕ computer systems, to teach
ourselves how to repair and possibly even improve this craft?Ó

    If a Vulcan could have smiled, Korvok would have been doing it.
Instead, he nodded and complimented the Andorian.

    ÒExcellent thinking, Thelin. I believe the individual you are
suggesting is ..........Marta. He should be more than willing to help us.Ó

    ÒUh, he might not be too anxious to get home, though.Ó McCallister
said, a memory stirring fitfully at the back of his mind.

    ÒFor what reason David?Ó the Tholian asked, hovering closer.

    ÒWell, I think the Enterprise was to the planet your friend came from.
The civilization collapsed millennia ago. ThereÕs still people there, but as of
around a hundred years ago, the men and women were separated, one group living
on the surface, like animals, the other, underground and neither knew anything
about the civilizationÕs technologies.Ó

    The little group was silent for a moment. Finally, Bordax, the Klingon,
spoke.

    ÒWhat a horrible situation to return home to. To find all that you knew
and loved.....gone. David, is there anything else you might tell us? Have any
of our peoples met with such a fate?Ó

    ÒNo Bordax. The Klingon empire and the Federation are now allies. The
Vulcan people still are the guiding force of civilization in the galaxy.
Tholians, as far as we know, are still alive and well, and still pretty much
unwilling to talk to humans. Or anybody else, for that matter. The Andorians
thrive, the Bynars are making a killing off of their superior computer skills.
YouÕre all doing well enough, I suppose.Ó the human said, leaning against one
of the silent machines.

    A certain sense of relief passed through the little group, each being
happy, in their own way, that their people still survived.

    ÒI suppose, that some of us, who have been here the longest, have this
prospect to look forward to. Some of the elder races are long lived to begin
with, and having their life processes slowed in the manner that this dimension
does, has probably enabled them to outlive their collective peoples.Ó the
Klingon mused.

    Again, the sad little silence. Then just as abruptly, the mood passed.

    ÒWell, letÕs get to work then.Ó Thelin said briskly.





    ÒNo Enterprise, we have had no ship contact us within the past week.
Excepting for yourselves.Ó Klim Dokachin, said, speaking to Captain Picard in
his usual brisk manner. ÒIn fact, you are the first contact weÕve had from the
outside universe, in some time.Ó

    ÒAh. I see. Would it be permissible for us to scan your depot, to
determine if these individuals have secretly gained access?Ó

    The quartermaster of the Surplus Depot hesitated, then smiled.

    ÒCaptain, there was a time, not all that long ago, when I would have
refused such a request. But having worked with the crew of your ship before, I
have no reservations. Please feel free to...... Ôpoke around,Õ as you people
put it, as much as you like.Ó

    ÒThank you Mr. Dokachin. Your cooperation is much appreciated.Ó

    ÒYou are welcome Captain. Oh, if you would......Ó

    ÒYes?Ó

    ÒPlease send my warmest regards to your Counselor Troi. Such a
delightful woman.Ó

    Out of the corner of his eye, Picard saw Riker bridle.

    ÒWe most certainly shall. Enterprise out.Ó

    It didnÕt take long for the first officer to speak.

    ÒWarmest regards to Troi?! I take it the rest of us donÕt rate.Ó

    ÒNumber One, whatever gets the job done. Ensign Ro, please begin a scan
of the Depot. Identify any ships of the Constitution class in the yard. You may
narrow the search from there.Ó

    The Bajoran nodded. ÒAye sir. The scan will take approximately four
hours to complete.Ó

    Picard nodded.

    ÒNumber One, my ready room. Mr. Data, you have the conn.Ó

    The two men walked across the bridge together and vanished into the
captainÕs office. Almost gratefully, the older man walked to his seat, behind
the desk and sat. He sighed and propped his arms on the desk.

    ÒWell, what do you think, Will?Ó

    ÒSir?Ó

    ÒWhat do we do with a legendary ship, and a group of individuals who
may or may not exist outside of the imagination of a Q mind?Ó

    ÒAh. The Enterprise, if that is truly what this vessel is, should
definitely go to the Starfleet museum. The people....... I guess any decision
on them has to rest first in the decision on whether or not they are living
beings, and not simply constructs of QÕs warped mind.Ó

    The captain nodded.

    ÒMy sentiments exactly. Though I must admit, watching them work, the
wonder and delight in their eyes, it is quite hard for me to think of them as
anything other than living beings. They were too natural, I think, to be
constructs.Ó

    ÒA simulation, Captain. Our own holodecks can create some amazing
things. People included, and IÕve had experience with that, thanks to the
Bynars.Ó

    ÒAgreed. But the feeling was different. ThereÕs a certain feeling when
you interact with a holographic program.Ó

    The younger officer nodded.

    ÒI think I can understand, Sir.Ó

    Picard smiled briefly, and then thought about Q again. The smile faded.

    ÒI just hope we live long enough to do these wonderful things.Ó



    Xerius took it upon himself to help refit the Enterprise. I was mildly
surprised to learn that on Romulus, he had been a man of science.

    ÒMy ship was one of the first that ventured into this sector. We didnÕt
even have warp drive then. It was a theory, far off in the future of our
people. I have familiarized myself with the principles behind warp technology,
and the mechanics of it. Now, I shall have the chance to applied my theoretical
knowledge.Ó

    We were aboard an alien starship. One of the ones that were unfamiliar
to us, and to most of the rest of the people of Elysia. Some of the vessels had
been here for millennia. There was no sign of their crew complement, they were
just.......gone. It was here that Xerius, the Andorian Thelin and myself had
come. We were making an inspection to see if there were compatible parts, or
whole technological wonders that we might adapt to the Enterprise. The Andorian
was doing most of the actual work. In his spacesuit, he was on the floor, head
inside an access hatch. We stood on what must have passed for the bridge on
this vessel.

    ÒSame as the rest. No power. If we could somehow bring power to the
computer, we might be able to boot it up and process the information through
the new computer system the Bynars are installing on board the Enterprise.Ó he
said, sliding out and standing. It was had for me to think of some of these
people as being centuries old, for here, time didnÕt seem to touch a person.
Thelin had confided  that he was well over three hundred years old. Such was
not the typical lifespan of his people.

    ÒA Dynamic Mode Converter.Ó I murmured.

    ÒPardon?Ó

    I smiled.

    ÒA portable power source. We could bring it over and jury rig it into
the system. Being outside of the protective field of the ship, it probably
wonÕt work that long, but itÕll work long enough for us to get the job done.Ó

    ÒExcellent! Shall we beam back to the Enterprise and get one of these
ÔConverters?ÕÓ Xerius said, smiling broadly. He did not fit the cartoon
pictures I had seen of him when I was a child. He seemed more robust, more
vital. Of course, that may have just been the prospect of escape that we
offered, raising his hopes. I prayed that we could make good on our claims of
begin able to get these people out.

Path: tivoli.tivoli.com!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!cs.utexas.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!gatech!newsfeed.pitt.edu!hudson.lm.com!news.pop.psu.edu!news.cac.psu.edu!newsserver.jvnc.net!gboro.rowan.edu!news
From: [e-mail] (LOUIS HALL)
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Subject: A Different Star Trek; CHap. 5-revised
Date: 19 Jan 1995 18:15:42 GMT
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Chapter 5






    The Borg ship hurled through space, approaching the coordinants their
hive mind indicated as their next conquest. Assimilation was assured, with
little or no resistance. Soon there would be more voices added to the hive
mind. The drone would increase as the numbers grew, and the day would come when
all of creation droned with the same voice. The cube-shaped ship hurled onward,
its date with destiny.





    Marta worked quietly, making quick work of the many connections between
the Enterprise computer and the Draconian teaching device. The chair and
computer system fit nicely into one corner of the auxiliary memory bank system,
where the quiet, little man worked. Eugene Ellington watched intently,
marveling at the differences in technology between two so genetically similar
races. He had informed Marta of the problem of retention that Dr. McCoy had had
during the time when he had been forced to try returning SpockÕs brain to his
body. The alien scientist and technician surmised it had been the age of the
equipment, and not any insurmountable difference in genetic make-up that had
caused the problem. Eugene volunteered to be the test subject.

    ÒAlright Hugeen,Ó Marta said, in his strange accent, a show of how far
back he had been separated from his race. Òif  yu air cumfortable, whee meh
begeen.Ó

    ÒIÕm ready, Marta. Let me have all  my brain can handle.Ó

    ÒOtay. Heer way go.Ó

    The Teacher wound up, sounding like a jet engine on overload. Marta
watched nervously, tending the ancient machine, making adjustments and
observing EugeneÕs reactions. His eyes closed, the young, black man looked as
if he were asleep. I entered the room and stopped, looking at the proceedings.
Moving over to Marta, I smiled nervously.

    ÒEverything going alright?Ó
    ÒChayse. Thees ees eh good taste fer thee Taychair. Eef thees werks,
wee cain treye teu transfor commend knolege teu yer brain.Ó

    I nodded and leaned against the wall to wait. The wait was quite long.
Eugene opened his eyes almost an hour later. There was a gleam in them that was
almost frightening. Marta unhooked him from the Teacher and helped him up.

    ÒWheel, hoe deu yeu fail?Ó

    ÒLike a million bucks! I feel like I could fix anything! Let me at the
computer, IÕm gonna download every ship in this Sargasso!Ó

    ÒUh, Gene, we may not have time for that. Why donÕt you see about
fixing the Enterprise first?Ó I suggested gently. Marta had said there might be
a period of adjustment, before the implanted knowledge becomes settled and
comfortable inside a personÕs head.

    Eugene snort derisively.

    ÒIÕll have this birdÕs systems at peak efficiency in twenty minutes.
After that, IÕd still like to try my plan. If weÕre going up against the Borg,
maybe one of the ancientÕs ships would have some information we could make use
of.Ó

    I mulled it over for a second.

    ÒSure, Gene. Go ahead. You know our time constraints as well as anybody
else.Ó

    ÒThanks, Jim.Ó the black man smiled quickly and ran off. Marta looked
at me and then at the Teacher. I, cautious man that I am (read as, coward!),
declined.

    ÒGet the tech personnel up to speed first. I can wait. Besides, one of
those shipsÕ captains out there may have had an idea how to fight these
bastards. IÕll wait for Gene to download a few of those computer systems.Ó

    ÒAss yeu wheel, Yames.Ó the prim, proper man from the Draconian system
grunted.

    I bowed slightly, and turning, quickly exited to the lift. The ride up
to the main bridge was much smoother and quicker than it had been. In the scant
few hours we had been trapped, our new, multi-ethnic crew had improved shipÕs
status more than our few days of intense floundering had. We were rapidly
becoming fully operational. The equipment being stripped from some of the alien
vessels that surrounded us was foreign in nature, and probably foreign to our
concept of physics too. Not that any of us (except Eugene, now), had much of an
idea of how this ship operated anyway.
    The lift came to a stop, and I stepped out into a maze of activity. It
almost made me want to leave again and run to my quarters and hide. But I
didnÕt. Instead, I straightened my dress jacket, and walked calmly to my seat.
As I sat, I noticed Mike Kelly look out from beneath his science ops station.
The tips of his pointed ears were flushed bright green. He smiled and rolled
his eyes.

    ÒDamn tough job youÕve laid on us, here.Ó

    ÒSorry Mike. But if I didnÕt think we could pull it off, IÕd have given
up to Q in the first place. But that overstuffed, omnipotent butthead can kiss
my behind if he thinks heÕs gonna win without a fight. How are you making out?Ó
I  fought down my growing nervousness and frustration at our situation.

    Mike shrugged and crawled fully out from his post. Standing, he walked
over to the command chair, stretching the cramps and kinks out.

    ÒWell, the Elysians are so incredibly helpful, itÕs making me ill.
Plus, they know more about my crap than I do. IÕm feeling pretty inferior, all
in all.Ó

    I smiled, and nodded my head towards the lift.

    ÒWhy donÕt you go down and see Marta? He should be able to fix you up
with at least a complete working knowledge of this boat.Ó

    Mike looked off into the distance thoughtfully, and smirked.

    ÒAh, what the hell. The worst that can happen is, he blanks my entire
brain. And hey, thatÕs never stopped me before. Be back in a few.Ó

    I stood and watched him go. Then, I looked around at the combination of
aliens and humans bustling around the crowded space. God, I was so nervous!
Some of these people were centuries (a few rumored millennia) old. Yet they
treated we misfit humans as equals. It was an impressive sight to see a
Klingon, dressed in two hundred year old military uniform, helping Layla Chung
restore full power to the weapons ops. Romulans worked shoulder to shoulder
with Vulcans. Even a Tholian, with itsÕ genetically built in tool specialties,
hovered closely and worked diligently in conjunction with Art, to rebuild the
navigation console.

    ÒCaptain.Ó the burly Klingon offered, saluting me in the fashion of his
people.

    ÒOnly in name, Sir. How may I help you?Ó

    The man blinked and smiled. A Klingon smiling is a fearsome sight.
Neither  the seriesÕ or the movies had fully prepared me for it. A credit to my
composure, I didnÕt lose control of my bowels.

    ÒThe EnterpriseÕ weapons systems are one-hundred percent operational
from the bridge. With your permission, Lieutenant Chung and myself will depart,
to help with repairs on the torpedo room.Ó

    I nodded. The Klingon saluted and turned, leading Layla into the lift.
As the doors swished shut, I caught a glimpse of her gazing strangely at the
alien warrior. Attracted to a Klingon? What the hell. This whole episode was
weird as far as I was concerned. A love affair developing between an ET and one
of us shouldnÕt surprise me in the least.





    Data gazed intently at the long range scanner read-out. Then he checked
it. Then he checked the reading again. When, after the third time, the device
gave him the same information, he ran a computer diagnostic on the senor array,
then decided to alert the captain.

    ÒCaptain Picard.Ó

    ÒPicard here.Ó the manÕs mellow, English accented voice came over the
comm system.

    ÒLong range sensor show what appears to be a Borg vessel entering
Federation space.Ó

    ÒHow far distant are they, Mr. Data?Ó

    ÒApproximately sixty hours sir.Ó

    ÒWe arenÕt capable of scanning accurately that far away.Ó the captain
said in annoyance.

    ÒIn most cases sir, you would be correct. But I have been experimenting
with a system that tracks the Borg by their particular subspace band emissions.
Using this method, I am able to state with over 90 percent certainty, that what
I am reading is indeed a Borg vessel.Ó

    ÒAlert Starfleet. Set an intercept course and give us maximum safe warp
speed.Ó

    ÒCaptain, one Borg ship destroyed an entire fleet in the FederationÕs
last encounter, is a direct confrontation advisable at this juncture?Ó

    ÒAt this point, what choice do we have, Mr. Data? Picard out.Ó

    The android turned, and looked at counselor Troi, sitting just behind
him and to his right. The look on the womanÕs face was one of worry and, almost
fear.





    ÒCaptainÕs personal log,Ó I stopped and yawned widely. I had been on
duty for almost eighteen hours before the Vulcan engineer on the bridge, a
lieutenant commander Cylar, noticed me nodding off in the command chair. He
tactfully suggested that it might be time for me to rest. I didnÕt argue. What
was the point? The man was centuries older than me. He obviously knew a humanÕs
limitations.

    ÒWork is progressing quickly on the refit of the Enterprise. David
McCallister expressed to me today, some concern about the conflicting physics
operating in engineering. Not knowing squat about any of it, I tried to
reassure him as best I could.
    Apparently, anything brought aboard the ship is encompassed in QÕs
energy field, allowing simple operation and recharging of anything with a
battery type system. Anything taken off of this ship, conversely, ceases to
function within a few hours. WeÕve had to recharge several Dynamic Mode
converters, dozens of space suit power packs, and various powered tools in the
course of the last day. IÕm not sure why Q protected us like this, but I can
only hope our luck lasts.Ó I yawned again, feeling myself start to nod off. I
shut down my computer, and stumbled over to the bed. A mattress, I thought, had
never looked so soft and comfortable.





    Eugene Elligton labored intently over the jury-rigged computer on board
the long dead Arzoaian craft. As far as the Enterprises sensors could tell, the
strange, compartmentalized vessel was the oldest in the sea of dead ships. Some
of the oldest denizens of the dimension adieu talked about the Arzoaian craft
being there when they had arrived. In some cases, that had been almost a
thousand years before. From all intelligence that the Elysians had been able to
gather, the ArzoaianÕs had been an insectoid race, physically moreso than the
Andorians. They had been very large, but very gentle. Their ship was heavily
equipped with defensive machinery, but no offensive weaponry at all. Also, it
seemed that the ship itself had been spun from a resin that the Arzoaians had
secreted from their bodies. Studies conducted by the Elysians showed the
polymer to be almost as molecularly dense as Inertron, but weighing less than
most types of paper. The young computer specialist hoped to find the formula
for the amazing stuff in the shipÕs computer banks. If they could produce it
artificially and bond it to the EnterprisesÕ main hull, a dozen Borg ships
working in concert wouldnÕt be able to punch through it. He had been working on
bringing the ancient system on line for over an hour. The technology involved
would have been incomprehensible to him, less than a day ago, but now, it was
no worse than assembling a jigsaw puzzle. Nothing more than a matter of time,
and patience. And patience, his mother had taught him, was always rewarded.

    ÒYeah!Ó he whooped, sitting up and crawling from beneath the huge
console. One by one, lights began to blink, monitors faded in and began to
display information. Eugene scrambled to his feet and triggered his suitÕs
communicator.

    ÒEnterprise, Cylar speaking.Ó

    ÒUh, Cylar? This is Eugene Elligton aboard the Arzoaian ship. Can you
set ships computers to download this vesselsÕ memory for me, please?Ó

    There was a secondÕs silence.

    ÒBeginning download. A commendable job, Mr. Elligton. To this point, we
have had scant little information on this race. What is here will undoubtably
cast a great light on the Arzoai.Ó

    The little black man smiled to himself.

    ÒThanks, Cylar. Can you have someone beam over to monitor the
information transfer from here? I want to get started on another ship.Ó

    ÒCertainly. I will send the Tholian, TÕKalk. It will need no protective
suit.Ó

    ÒSounds great. Bream me over to the Yzzix ship, will you? ThatÕs a
pretty interesting case.Ó

    ÒYes. Another ancient ship, with no ancients left to tell about it.
There are no clues as to what became of them or the Arzoai.Ó

    ÒMaybe they escaped?Ó

    ÒMore likely that they committed mass suicide.Ó the Vulcan said, dryly.





    David McCallister flew back and forth frantically in Warp Engineering.
Crews of thirty people and more had been tearing apart and rebuilding his
engines for two days. He barely had the least inkling of the original
technologies that drove the Enterprise, and now alien equipment was being
integrated into his ship. He wasnÕt sure whether to be excited or annoyed. Most
of his actual involvement was limited to scheduling people onto whatever crew
said they could use the help. It had become quite apparent to him, rather
quickly, that in an engineering sense, he was in way over his head. Feeling
inferior was not a situation he was used to, or liked. Dave had always been Mr.
Fixit. Whenever anything at home had broke, rather than call in a repairman,
his parents had given the non-functioning implement to him. His natural talent
had seemed little more than an odd gift for a youngster to have, until the TV
broke. Against his motherÕs objections, Alvin McCallister had set the broken
down, black and white tube down on the floor, in front of their seven year old
son. In less than an hour, the TV was functioning again. Now with stereophonic
sound and in full color.
    Then, in highschool, the mainframe computer that housed all the student
grades went down. Knowing David had some small way with machines, the principal
had let him stay after school and watch the repairman. Within forty-five
minutes, the ace computer repair person was sitting back and watching in
amazement as a fifteen year old boy traced circuits and lines and generally did
his job faster, and better than he himself could do it. The man hired David on
the spot to work after school, for him. There he worked, at Acme Computers for
the next three years, until he decided to go off to his ancestral home for a
vacation.

    ÒMr. McCallister?Ó the voice broke DaveÕs daydreams. He focused and
found himself face to face with a seven foot tall Phylosian. He directed his
gaze up, to the plantÕs eye-stalks.

    ÒYes?Ó

    The plant bent slightly in the area that the human interpreted to be
the waist.

    ÒI am Phloriana. I have been sent to relieve you.Ó

    ÒAh. Thank you, uh....um.....Say, are you a male or female? I donÕt
know whether to call you sir or maÕam!Ó

    The plant shook with what translated into English as laughter.

    ÒMy species is both. Or neither if you please. We all reproduce by
spores. So, thereÕs really only one sex among us.Ó

    ÒMaÕam. Yeah, you produce spores. So, maÕam is more correct than sir.Ó

    ÒYou could always call me by name.Ó the plant said, folding several
vines across itÕs Ôchest.Õ

    ÒOh. Yeah. Right. Well, anyway, Phloriana, thank you. But I donÕt need
to rest. Uh, IÕm unique among my people, in that I donÕt sleep for long periods
of the day, as they do. I can pretty much go without sleep indefinitely. When I
need to Ôrest,Õ I clear my mind of all thought and meditate for a few hours.
Then IÕm usually good for another week or two.Ó

    The plant shivered again.

    ÒI see. Well, is there any other way I may be of assistance?Ó

    ÒI take it you were an engineer on your planet too?Ó

    ÒYes. I was aboard the wooden starship that your people scanned. We
have probably been here the longest and survived.Ó

    This caught the humanÕs interest immediately.

    ÒHow long, would you say?Ó

    ÒOh, two thousand, maybe twenty-five hundred years. I try not to keep
track. Probably would lose my marbles if I did.Ó

    ÒÔLose my marbles?Õ You have a pretty good command of slang English.Ó

    ÒI should have. Your people that were on the Bonneventure taught it to
me.Ó

    ÒAre any of them still around?Ó

    ÒAlmost all, I would venture to say. They havenÕt come aboard yet,
because they donÕt think this escape attempt is going to work. Once you humans
get an idea in your heads, itÕs hard as hell to disavow you of it.Ó

    ÒI donÕt know,Ó the human said, his brogue rolling thick from his
tongue, ÒthatÕs one of the unique things about us humans. WeÕre all of pretty
different mind sets.Ó

    ÒWell, I look forward to seeing some non-depressed humans for a change.
Now, what can I do to help here?Ó the plant said, swiveling its eye-stalks to
the frantic construction and destruction that went on about them.

    ÒWell, ThelinÕs group could use an extra hand.Ó

    ÒGood. I have many to offer.Ó the Phylosian waved several vine-like
arms and turned towards the AndorianÕs work detail. Dave watched as the
plant-being moved off.





    Sonya Brava and Martin Boccacella stood back and watched as Sickbay
came alive with new equipment and workers. Medical personnel from over a dozen
different races were present, busily familiarizing themselves with the place
and re-equipping with devices designed for the myriad of species that would be
represented in the shipÕs new crew. They too were feeling out of place and
insignificant in the scheme of things. Although Martin was a full doctor, he
was still only a first year resident, and had trained as a general
practitioner. Sonya had not yet completed her coursework, and observed for a
semester at St. Eligious Hospital, where Martin was finishing his term. Neither
felt at all like they could be in control of the situation now before them.

    ÒDoctor, where would you like the flatbed scanner set up at?Ó A Romulan
said, stopping before the small desk Martin had set up for himself.

    ÒUh, over there, just on the other side of that diagnostic bed.Ó the
human nodded in the direction he meant. The alien doctor smiled slightly and
moved his team to the indicated space. Sonya came up behind the seated man and
gently lay a hand on his overly tense shoulder.

    ÒHmmm.Stressed out, arenÕt we?Ó

    Martin turned and smiled up at the beautiful, young woman.

    ÒYeah. A little. I keep wanting to get up and let somebody else give
the orders. I guess I donÕt feel qualified enough to be where I am.Ó

    Sonya nodded in agreement.

    ÒI canÕt fault you there. At least you can legally put Doctor in front
of your name. I canÕt even do that.Ó

    ÒWell, you did everything but the residence, right?Ó

    ÒYeah. The most important part of the program.Ó she grinned wryly.

    ÒI think,Ó he said, turning his chair to face her, Òthat in this case,
the hands on will be soon enough. You might as well be allowed to use the
title. The test of fire will be more than adequate to qualify you as a medical
expert. At least if Jim is right. I know IÕm not looking forward to going up
against the Borg. Especially seeing what they did to the Federation fleet last
time.Ó

    ÒWeÕve got a better chance.Ó Sonya said, sitting on the edge of the
desk. Ò A multi-ethic, racial, species, generational crew. WeÕre bound to have
a better shot.Ó

    ÒYeah, but the Elysians are non-violent. How willing are they going to
be to go against their very principles and fight?Ó
    ÒAgainst the Borg,Ó a Ferengi said, stopping by the desk, Òmore than
willing. I would almost go so far as to say, happy. Some of us had perchanced
to meet the Borg before we became trapped here. One cannot bargain with a race
that believes you inherently inferior. I believe all of us here realize the
danger they represent. And are willing to deal with the threat accordingly.Ó

    ÒEven if it comes down to being them, or us.Ó





    Lauren Maurrow puzzled over her scannerÕs lack of willingness to
co-operate. The glorified microscope had been unresponsive ever since she had
entered the small botanical lab and begun her repair work. If she didnÕt have
such a sunny disposition, she thought she actually might have become angry.
This single piece of machinery stumped her every time she had turned her
attention to it. Everything else in the lab worked, granted it had taken
several days of backbreaking labor, and that only begun after they had managed
to repressurize the hull section she was in. She was just about ready to call
shipÕs stores and have the whole assembly replaced, when the Gorn shambled in.
She started immediately and fell backwards out of her seat with a small squeak.
The next thing she knew, the huge lizard had picked her up and set her on her
feet.

    ÒPlease to forgive. Sorry I startle you.Ó the huge being rumbled,
moving back a step from the wide eyed human.

    ÒTh-thatÕs okay. IÕm sorry I jumped. Guess IÕm not quite used to
dealing with Elysians yet.Ó Lauren stuttered, moving to sit in her seat again.

    The Gorn let out a staccato hissing, that Lauren guessed to be
laughter.

    ÒNot used to humans being not used to Gorn. I am Threta. Biologist and
botonist to the Gorn ship Rykor .  Been looking for this lab, two day. Want to
help, if possible?Ó

    Lauren smiled widely at the frightening visage of the hopeful alien.

    ÒSure! Can always use some help. How are you with stubborn scanners?Ó

    The Gorn ambled over, leaned, and looked through one viewing lens.
Delicately, it adjusted several controls, then tried again. Standing straight,
the botanist looked critically at the malfunctioning instrument, then hauled
off and dealt it a glancing blow. Looking back through the lens again, Threta
gave a hiss of satisfaction.

    ÒIt work fine now.Ó





    Art Devey worked closely with the Tholian, TÕKalk, almost since the
moment the Enterprise had arrived in Elysia. Of a hive mind, the normally
Methane breathing aliens, decided as a group, that they were going to help the
Enterprise, irregardless of the Elysian councilÕs decision. Of course since the
councilÕs decision turned out the same as their own, they felt it prudent not
to go around bragging about it. Best to keep on good relations.
    The human was born of rich (filthy, stinky, dirty  ) parents, in
upstate New York. He never had to work a day in his life for anything he ever
got. Of course, there was very little that he actually wanted. The world held
no joy for a young man who had the money to buy anything. Arthur was flying
planes by the time he was eight. He flew army cargo transports in junior high.
When he turned sixteen, his parents bought him a surplus F-14 Tomcat for his
birthday. Now, at the age of twenty, he was probably one of the ten best pilots
in the world. He was by far the youngest, and the only one not in the service.
He was owner and operator of the east coastÕs largest arcade chain, and was
responsible for designing fully half of the games in his own arcades. He was
filthy rich in his own right. His one avid hobby was Star Trek. Since the first
movie, he had managed to weasel his way into every pre-release screening of the
films. He lived, breathed, ate and slept Star Trek. His uniforms that he wore
casually and to the conventions, were made by the Paramount costume shop that
made the uniforms for the series and the movies. Up to this point his ultimate
thrill had been paying an obscene amount of money to play a  walk-on part on
the Next Generation TV series. Now, he was living his fantasy, pilot and
navigator of the Enterprise. The real   Enterprise.

    ÒTÕKalk, take a look at this, will you? I think IÕve got it right.....Ó
the human said, crawling from beneath the navigation station.

    The Tholian drifted closer to the floor and tilted itself, scooting
down into the space the human had just vacated. The alienÕs eyes lit up with a
penetrating green glow, which illuminated the darkened area.

    ÒYes. The work looks correct. Though how it will work in conjunction
with the Bynars new computer system, we can only conjecture.Ó

    The human nodded and crawled back under the console, in closer
proximity with the Tholian. Art could feel the intense heat radiating from the
alienÕs body.

    ÒTÕKalk, are you cold?Ó

    ÒCold? No, not really. We realize that you humans cannot exist in the
normal heat ranges we exist in. This is fine, for we are not unduly hurt by
these lower temperatures.Ó

    Art nodded. ÒWhat about the lack of methane in our atmosphere?Ó

    ÒBearable. As long as we are able to obtain a small amount of it once a
day. Otherwise the air just smells funny.Ó

    The human chuckled and began to dig around in the confusing mass of
wiring beneath the console.

    ÒSo, how did you get involved in space travel?Ó

    ÒAll Tholians are required and prepared for their entire lifeÕs work.
We were conceived and birthed as a pilot, with repair abilities. There was
never any other choice for us.Ó

    ÒAh. I was conceived in the back seat of my old manÕs Rolls, for no
particular purpose besides his immediate gratification. ThatÕs why he married
Mom.Ó

    ÒÔRolls?ÕÓ

    ÒNever mind.Ó Art grunted, pulling out a fistful of wiring. ÒItÕd be
way too hard to explain.Ó

    Rich Roselle snorted, trying to stifle his laughter. He finally called
out from beneath the other side of the console, ÒHey! IÕm tryinÕ to get some
work done here! Can the comedy, will ya?Ó

    ÒSorry, Rich.Ó

    ÒNo Problem. Hand me the dooziwhatsis over there.Ó

    ÒPardon?Ó TÕKalk said, looking as confused as a being with no
discernible face could look.

    ÒUhhh, that wrenchy lookinÕ thing.Ó

    ÒOh. Here.Ó

    ÒThanks.Ó Rich accepted the wrench from the alienÕs strange, claw-like
appendage.

    ÒWhat about you, Richard? What drove you into space?Ó the Tholian
asked.

    ÒI guess it was my parents. They disowned me after I opened the Cruise
business.Ó

    ÒCruise business?Ó

    ÒYeah. Back home IÕm Captain of my own private pleasure ship.Ó

    ÒAh. Again this need for Ôrecreation.Õ ItÕs a reoccurring theme in the
lives of you humans.Ó

    ÒHey!Ó Rich said, gesturing with the wrench, ÒYou work hard, you play
hard. ItÕs only fair. And I work damn hard. Know what IÕm sayinÕ?Ó

    ÒNo. Not really. But IÕll take your word for it.Ó the alien replied
amiably.

    ÒWell thatÕs good of you.Ó

    ÒItÕs nothing at all.Ó

    ÒSo kind.Ó

    ÒWe try.Ó

    ÒWill the both of you shut up?Ó Art barked, ÒIÕm tryin to work here!Ó





    Q  stood in space, leaning against a convenient Quasar. He was slowly
losing his mind. Or as close to it as any member of the Q continuum had come in
recent memory. They werenÕt in known space. They werenÕt back in their own
space. They werenÕt anywhere he could think of looking. Q was pretty definitely
sure he was in big trouble. For a Q, that is. Which could be trouble on a
magnitude of several times greater than most human troubles, without still
being that serious. But this was almost surely a major trouble, even for him.
He could envision losing his powers again. It was not a thought Q much
relished.

    ÒProblems, Q?Ó Q Two said, appearing before the first.

    ÒYou did not remove them?Ó Q questioned, ignoring the otherÕs greeting.

    ÒNo, we did not.Ó

    ÒI cannot find them, Q. I cannot find them anywhere. It is as if they
ceased to exist.Ó

    ÒAh. Then you are admitting that they do exist?Ó

    ÒNo! Yes! I mean.....  oh damn.Ó

    ÒThis changes things considerably. YouÕre actually worried about them.Ó

    Q looked up in horror.

    ÒAm not!Ó

    ÒYes, you are.Ó

    ÒI categorically deny it!Ó

    ÒDenying it does not negate it, Q. You are actually showing some signs
of growing a conscience.Ó

    Q looked physically ill.

    ÒWhat a revolting thought.Ó

    ÒI congratulate you. You are finally showing some signs of maturation.Ó

    ÒI am mature!Ó

    ÒCertainly, Q . ThatÕs why you are constantly in trouble with the rest
of the continuum. ThatÕs why you constantly hunt humans to Ôtest.Õ A mature
individual does these things, of course.Ó

    The first alien looked sullen as the second verbally dressed him down.
Q never had liked being pontificated to. Somehow, it always seemed so much
better when he was doing the pontificating. Annoyances such as these were
something he never had learned to deal with very well.

    ÒYou know where they are, donÕt you?Ó

    ÒOf course. But we did not help them or interfere with their progress
in any way.Ó

    ÒTheir progress to WHERE?Ó

    ÒElysia.Ó

    Q moved to vanish, but found himself restrained by Q Two.

    ÒYou may not use your powers in any way to aid them.Ó
    ÒI wasnÕt going to anyway.Ó Q sneered.

    ÒJust making sure. Because if you do, you lose your powers.Ó Q Two said
warningly.

    The first alien stared at the second, and drew himself up to his
marginally impressive height of just under six and a half feet. Q snarled and
vanished.

Path: tivoli.tivoli.com!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!cs.utexas.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!newsserver.jvnc.net!gboro.rowan.edu!news
From: [e-mail] (LOUIS HALL)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: A Different Star Trek; Chap. 6-revised
Date: 19 Jan 1995 18:16:56 GMT
Organization: ROWAN COLLEGE OF NEW JERSEY
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Xref: tivoli.tivoli.com alt.startrek.creative:4801


Chapter 6





    ÒThatÕs it! WeÕre done.Ó Eugene said, smiling at his companion, TÕMapp.

    ÒWe find it almost had to believe that it is done. There are so many
ships. All of their sum total memory storages are now resident in the
EnterpriseÕ computer banks?Ó the Tholian said.

    ÒYeah. With room to spare. Now, if the others have done their part, and
the rest of the boat is done, weÕre outta here!Ó the human replied, gathering
up the tools scattered all about the panel the two had worked on.

    ÒTÕMapp to Enterprise.Ó

    ÒYes, TÕMapp? This is Ensign Banks, go ahead.Ó

    ÒTwo to beam aboard.Ó

    ÒTransferring you down to Transporter room Three. Emilio Riveras should
be working.Ó

    ÒAgknowledged.Ó

    The hovering alien quickly helped his more encumbered partner finish
collecting the scattered tools, and stowing them in various boxes and pockets
on the humanÕs support suit.

    ÒHey! Emilio.Ó Eugene barked into his communicator.

    ÒRiveras here.Ó

    ÒEnergize us.Ó

    For a second, there was nothing, then, the disillusion and nothingness.
But it was only for a millisecond. To Eugene it seemed as if someone had shut
off the only lightbulb in the room for a split second. Then, they were in the
transporter room aboard the Enterprise. Intact.

    ÒGood job, Emilio! WeÕre still in one piece.Ó
    ÒOh well. If you want, we can try it again and IÕll split you into
several.Ó

    ÒThat is quite alright, Lieutenant Riveras. We are satisfied with our
present state of being.Ó TÕMapp interjected, slipping rather quickly from the
transporter platform.

    ÒHow are repairs coming?Ó Eugene asked, stepping down, to allow Emilio
to help him remove the cumbersome space suit.

    ÒGood. TheyÕve found a way to synthesize that polymer from the Arzoaian
ship. ThereÕs one big surprise though. Xerius figured the stuff is sort of
alive.Ó

    ÒAlive?Ó

    ÒYeah. It bonds itself to the existing hull plating and becomes part of
its natural molecular structure. Then it grows, covering and repairing the
holes in the hull with the same material.Ó

    ÒAlive. Is it intelligent? That might cause some problems.Ó the Tholian
muttered, hovering closer to the men.

    ÒNot sure. Xerius, Cylar and a few of the other bigwig science guys are
working on it. In any case, itÕs too late to stop now, because the process is
all done. The hull is complete. One seamless, rivitless skin. Kinda looks like
teflon, if you ask me. Weird. A non-stick spaceship.Ó

    ÒIf it grows, what the hell is it feeding on?Ó

    ÒApparently, ambient energy.Ó

    ÒWhat ambient energy?! Nothing operates in this damn dimension! There
is no ambient energy!Ó

    ÒWell, there must be some, because itÕs living and growing. I donÕt
understand it. Ask Cylar.Ó

    ÒWhatever.Ó Eugene grunted. ÒWhat about the engines?Ó

    ÒMcCallisterÕs losing his mind. A lot of the machinery thatÕs being put
in down there conflicts. It doesnÕt particularly want to work together.Ó

    ÒThey better be getting it together. Maybe I should go down and lend a
hand.Ó

    ÒDonÕt bother. DaveÕs had MartaÕs full treatment. His headÕs so full of
engineering specs he doesnÕt know which end is up yet. ThatÕs part of the
problem. Because his information dump was so large, itÕs taking longer to
settle in and become really useful to him.Ó

    ÒThanks for the help, Emilio.Ó Eugene said, wadding the suit up into a
compact ball.

    ÒNo problem. Oh, Jim called just before you came over and he asked if
you could see him up on the bridge.Ó

    ÒRight. Thank you too TÕMapp. I expect weÕll be working together again
soon.Ó the young black man said, smiling at the Tholian.

    ÒThe pleasure was also our, Eugene Elligton.Ó the alien replied.

    The human turned and strode quickly and purposefully from the room. In
all the time Emilio had known the computer geek, the young Hispanic noted, he
had never seen Eugene stride anywhere.





    ÒTime til interception of the Borg ship?Ó Picard asked, trying to keep
the nervousness he felt out of his voice.

    ÒTen hours, thirteen minutes, forty seconds at our present speed, Sir.Ó

    ÒThank you, Data. Number One, are we prepared for our coming
tet-a-tet?Ó

    The big man scrunched himself up, and stretched as he shrugged.

    ÒAs ready as weÕll ever be, Captain. I still wish we could wait for
backup.Ó

    ÒThere was no other ship of the EnterpriseÕ class available for almost
a weekÕs travel time. We must rely upon our own abilities.Ó

    ÒI just hope theyÕre enough, Sir.Ó

    ÒMr. Data, scan for any ships between us and the rendezvous point.Ó

    ÒI have been doing so, Captain. According to the limited ability of the
sensors, there are no artificial bodies of any sort between the Borg and
ourselves.Ó

    ÒDamn.Ó Picard muttered. ÒHave the Borg detected our approach yet?Ó



    ÒUnknown, Captain. If they have, there has been no signs of it. Of
course, the likelihood of the Borg altering their plans to avoid a
confrontation with this ship seems exceedingly thin.Ó

    Riker sighed.

    ÒYouÕre always a breath of fresh air, Data.Ó

    The android turned to the human sitting behind him.

    ÒThank you, Commander.Ó





    Q appeared on the bridge of the Enterprise at about the same moment as
Eugene stepped out of the turbo lift. The entire bridge crew turned and looked
as the two beings toppled to the floor, hopelessly entangled. I was the first
one to lend a hand getting them straightened out. Then I wondered, why didnÕt Q
simply do it?

    ÒBecause I canÕt, thatÕs why!Ó he growled, reading the puzzlement in my
face.

    ÒWhat do you mean?Ó

    ÒI mean IÕve been censured again. Rather than sit around waiting to see
you get yourselves destroyed, I used my last bit of power to come here and
help. Satisfied?Ó the formerly omnipotent alien grumped.

    ÒWell, Q ...... I donÕt know quite what to say.....Ó I began.

    ÒWell I do!Ó Cherie Banks said, getting up from her communications
console. ÒIt serves you right, you bully! Going around picking on people weaker
than you. If you were a human, your parents would have spanked you growing up,
for that kind of behavior.Ó

    Q looked at me totally bewildered.

    ÒA spanking? Spanking!? You are barbarians! Spanking?! I came here to
help! I didnÕt have to do that, you know. I could have stayed where it was nice
and safe and let this little drama play itself out, but nooooo! I had a twinge
of sentimentalism. I show up to lend a hand, using the LAST of my power to get
here and what do I get for it? A SPANKING. Barbarians. The lot of you.Ó

    ÒSomehow Q ,Ó I replied to his emotional outburst, ÒI canÕt see your
motives being purely altruistic. You just arenÕt made that way. IsnÕt it more
like, you came to help because you realized, you were already in trouble, but
youÕll be in much more, and much more permanent trouble if we die?Ó

    ÒNo.Ó Q replied bluntly , ÒWell, not you anyway. I should have never
gotten Picard involved though. A stupid concession to vanity on my part, IÕm
afraid. What IÕve been censured for, is the NCC -1701DÕs involvement in this
little game.Ó

    Now it was my turn to be confused.

    ÒPicard was here with me in the beginning, watching you struggle to get
this ship to work. Being the moralistic individual that he is, his Enterprise
is racing across the galaxy at this moment, searching for you, to offer aid.Ó
the alien turned away from me, and rubbed the back of his own neck in
frustration, a singularly human gesture, I realized.

    ÒWhat he doesnÕt know, is that heÕs running straight into a battle
meant for you people. Well, you human people anyway. I hadnÕt really
anticipated that you might actually find a full crew compliment, James Caine. I
must congratulate you, at least on that.Ó

    I nodded, rather numbly.

    ÒIn any event, if the Enterprise D is destroyed in this little drama,
then, according to my people I have again interfered in human affairs and
development. THAT will lose me my power for good.Ó

    ÒWeÕve got to stop them.Ó I said, turning back to the rest of the
bridge personnel.

    ÒIt may already be too late to stop them. ÒQ said, in an aggravated
tone, ÒWhen I came here, they were a scant few hour away from the Borg ship.
The best you may be able to do, is save them.Ó

    The entire crew stood facing me. The bridge fell silent. I walked
slowly to the command chair, and sat.

    ÒEngineering.Ó I said quietly.

    ÒThelin here.Ó the voice came back.

    ÒWe need warp power. Now.Ó

    ÒImpossible, Captain. We are still having problems getting the
equipment to speak to each other.Ó

    ÒPerhaps I might be of some assistance?Ó Q asked, standing behind me.
    ÒI thought you lost your powers?Ó Eugene said, before I could.

    ÒI lost my powers, yes.Ó the tall alien stated, almost indignantly,
ÒNot my mind. I still possess superior intellect and intelligence.Ó

    ÒMaybe you should act like it sometime.Ó Cherie replied, sotto voice.

    ÒGreat. Thelin, a member of the Q continuum will be coming down to help
out. Put him to work. I need warp speed yesterday.Ó

    ÒUnderstood.Ó

    I turned back to Q , looking grim.

    ÒAlright. YouÕve got your chance. Make it count.Ó

    The alien saluted smartly and vanished into the turbolift.

    I again tapped on the armrest of my seat.

    ÒMarta?Ó

    ÒChase?Ó the alien replied, in his heavily accented voice.

    ÒHave you correlated and streamlined the command experience modules?Ó

    ÒEye heave yust feenished eet. Eef yeu wheel coma down teu auxeeleeairy
compewtair control, we may beegeen.Ó

    I took a deep breath.

    ÒOn my way. Commander Bordax, you have the conn.Ó the KlingonÕs eyes
grew wide in amazement as I stood to leave. Obviously, he believed himself to
be the last person IÕd leave in command of the ship. He wonÕt underestimate me
twice.





    ÒThis becomes more and more interesting.Ó Q Two said, watching intently
as the Enterprise D drew closer and closer to the Borg vessel.





    ÒTwenty minutes to intercept, Captain.Ó Data intoned, calm and cool as
ever.

    ÒThank you, Mr. Data. Attention, crew of the Enterprise. Battle
stations please. In approximately twenty minutes we will be engaging a Borg
vessel. The saucer section will detach and remain at this distance. We will
engaged the Borg in the battle section. Picard out. Mr. Worf, you will be in
charge of the saucer section.
If we are defeated, you are to make your best possible time to the nearest
Starbase and broadcast a warning to all ships in the Borg vesselÕs calculated
path.Ó

    The Klingon listened to the captain, and nodded gravely. Through
previous experience, he knew better than to argue with Picard about staying
with him through the battle. The captain considered him a competent commander,
and trusted him explicitly with the lives of the women and children that lived
aboard the saucer.

    ÒMr. Data, Number One, Command LaForge, Ensign Roe to the Battle
Bridge, please.Ó Picard stood.

    ÒCaptain!Ó Worf said, as his commander made to leave.

    ÒYes, Mr. Worf?Ó

    ÒGood luck, Sir.Ó the huge man said.

    The older human smiled.

    ÒIn all probability Mr. Worf, that is exactly what it will boil down
to.Ó





    Q stood in Warp engineering, hands on hips, looking critically at the
hodge podge of equipment thrown together as a Warp drive unit. Inspired lunacy.
Some of the machinery was not even designed to work in the dimension that the
Enterprise was originally from.

    ÒWell, any suggestions? I canÕt figure out why the bloody hell it wonÕt
start.Ó Dave snarled, giving a nearby computer bank a hefty kick.

    Q made a study of looking intently at the monster that the engineering
crew had created. Then, he moved forward, to the intermix control console.
Twisting a few dials, and nudging a series of switches, he surreptiously pumped
power into the intermix chambers. The matter/antimatter reaction came to life
with an ugly hiccupping bark.

    The engineering deck cheered wildly, and pounded Q on the back. Half
smiling, have incensed, Q hit a nearby wall communicator.

    ÒBridge here.Ó

    ÒYou have warp speed. Get me out of here.Ó he hissed.







    ÒCaptain Caine to the bridge, Captain Caine to the bridge!Ó Bordax said
into the armrest.

    ÒUh, IÕm pretty sure heÕs occupied right now, Commander. Why donÕt you
do the honors?Ó Mike Kelly said, spinning his science console seat to face the
grim Klingon.

    ÒThis is not my ship! I am not authorized to do such a thing.Ó

    ÒIÕm sure under the circumstances, heÕs not going to mind. Every second
counts and he wouldnÕt want you to waste any time waiting for him.Ó

    The Klingon commander sat grinding his teeth for a moment. Then, he
slammed his fist down on the armrest of the command chair.

    ÒLieutenant Roselle, Ensign Devey. Execute preprogrammed escape
maneuvers.Ó

    The two men spun to their consoles. Behind them, the commander glared
intently at the viewscreen.

    ÒEnsign Banks, put me through to the whole ship.Ó

    ÒYouÕre on, Commander.Ó

    ÒThis is Commander Bordax. We are beginning escape procedures. Stop all
unnecessary activity and secure yourselves to something immobile. We do not
expect this to be a smooth transition. Bordax out.Ó

    ÒPrograms ready , Sir.Ó Rich Roselle called out.

    ÒEngage.Ó the Klingon growled, gripping his seat tightly.

    The Enterprise shuddered and moved slowly forward, heading on the
course that would take it back through the singularity she had come through.
Majestically, the ship maneuvered her way between the dead armada and increased
speed, heading for open space. In seconds they were at warp speed.

    ÒShip reaching warp three, Commander.Ó Roselle said, carefully
monitoring the computer program that was driving the Enterprise through itÕs
escape procedures.

    ÒWhateverÕs out there isnÕt happy weÕre trying to leave. Ambient
radiation levels are increasing geometrically. I reccommed raising the
shields.Ó Mike Kelly sang out, gripping his seat with one hand and the science
ops viewer with the other.

    ÒMr. Roselle. Shields.Ó the Klingon said firmly.

    ÒUh, shields coming up, Commander. Only on forty percent on the first
level of shielding though. Engineering indicates the strain of moving through
this pea-soup space phenomena, doesnÕt allow the engines to spare any more
energy than that,Ó

    ÒThen it will have to do.Ó

    A low moaning built up as the Enterprise continued to pick up speed.
Bordax had heard that sound once before; two hundred years before, when their
ship had originally vanished from real-space into the nowhere that itÕs
inhabitants called Elysia. He had never thought to hear the sound again. Now it
was reverberating through the walls of the old ship. Crew members on all decks
cringed at the rising howl and covered their ears to escape it. But there was
no escaping it. The enraged cry was everywhere.

    ÒJust topping warp six commander.Ó Rich called, bracing himself as best
he could against the navigation console. The vibrating was rapidly becoming
full blown shaking.

    ÒAccording to Mr. SpockÕs original calculations, we should burst
through the barrier when we reach warp eight.Ó Mike said, now just holding onto
his seat for dear life.

    The moan had grown and intensified into a wail, almost sounding like a
being in mortal agony. Bordax liked it to a glommer mourning the death of its
mate. A more heart tugging sound he had never heard. But this wail was an angry
one too. Angry that something was escaping its eternal embrace.
    The viewscreen showed the rapidly moving, but distorted star field. The
Klingon ground his teeth some more, realizing that he was probably going to
have to have dental work done after the escape was completed. He sat up
straight and tall in the command chair, watching with his seemingly perpetual
grim expression, as the crew clung to their consoles and prayed for a miracle.

    ÒWarp eight, Commander!Ó Art Devey said.

    And then, there was a sharp crack, like distant thunder. The wailing
faded and the star field returned to normal. The entire bridge complement
started to cheer. Even Bordax found himself cracking a smile.

    ÒEnsign Banks, all call.Ó

    ÒYes Commander.Ó

    ÒCrew of the Enterprise, citizens of Elysia. Welcome home.Ó the Klingon
said, the smile breaking fully across his craggy features.





    Down in warp engineering, the crew went wild. People hugged and danced
wildly. Seeing as some of them had been trapped for upwards of twenty five
centuries, Dave McCallister couldnÕt really blame them. He felt like dancing
himself, if he wasnÕt so busy working with Q to bring the rest of engineering
systems on line. They had warp eight at least, but there was every indication
in some of the computer records gleaned from the derelict ships, that the
Enterprise should now have much more. So, he and Q were crawling over the
massive engines with a fine toothed comb. Dave would check, Q would double
check. Q would tinker, Dave would hold his breath and pray. Finally, they were
to a piece of machinery that made Q stop.

    ÒWhere did you get this?Ó he demanded, intently examining the large
piece of equipment.

    McCallister looked at the machine, and checked his electronic
clipboard.

    ÒUhhhh...... that came off of.... say, we donÕt know. Why, is it
dangerous?Ó

    ÒNo. It was made by my people. But so long ago. I havenÕt seen a
Shivasht Warp field amplifier in......... millennium.Ó

    ÒWarp field amplifier?Ó

    ÒYes. This is why your power has been limited. ItÕs not installed
correctly.Ó

    ÒWell, letÕs do it right, then.Ó

    On the bridge, everyone was engaged in busily running a complete
diagnostic of ships systems, to see if everything had come through their escape
intact. Commander Bordax was mildly pleased to find out all systems were
working at maximum efficiency. Of course, shortly, they would all have to
change their definition of maximum.

    I stepped out of the turbo lift, with Marta right behind me. I was
still kind of dazed by the information rattling around in my head. The little
alien scientist had suggested that I go to my chambers and rest a while before
attempting to return to work. But I knew I could have none of it. So, I was
back on the bridge of.........my ship. In a real sense, it was my ship. I had
been the first aboard. I did the first bits of repair. I had chosen those would
would comprise most of my command personnel. She might not be pretty, but she
was mine. Then, as I looked at the viewscreen, I saw her.
    There was a man in a suit, outside the ship. He was doing a manual
inspection of the hull, to see how it had held up to the stresses of warp
flight. The enterprise was now black. A black so dark, that it seemed more an
absence of light than an actual color. And then, the running lights came on.
The whole ship glowed softly, as if exposed to a black light. The ships name
and registry numbers stood out starkly on the black hull, now looking as if
they were painted in a blindingly bright chrome color. With a start, I thought
that we looked like a negative image.

    ÒCommander Bordax, status report please.Ó I said calmly, stepping down
from the landing, to stand behind the command chair. The Klingon stood stiffly
and saluted, looking for all the world like someone had just stuffed a hot
poker where it didnÕt belong.

    ÒWe have broken free of the time/space trap, Captain. The ship has
sustained no damage. We are functioning at our peak efficiency at this time.Ó

    I smiled and sat down.

    ÒThanks commander.Ó

    The Klingon bowed and moved to stand behind my seat, slightly to the
right. I hit my comm console.

    ÒEngineering.Ó

    ÒPhlora here.Ó came back the smooth, even voice.

    Phlora?

    ÒIs Lieutenant Commander McCallister, or Q available?Ó

    ÒOne moment please.Ó
    I waited several seconds, looking around the bridge at the activity.
Everybody was busy. Why?

    ÒMcCallister here.Ó

    ÒDave, how soon can we get underway again?Ó

    ÒNow, if you like. But give us fifteen more minutes and weÕll have a
surprise for you.Ó

    I paused.

    ÒI donÕt really like surprises.Ó

    ÒOh, youÕll like this one!Ó Q yelled in the background. I could hear
shouting and scrambling in the background.

    ÒOkay. Do it. Fifteen minutes.Ó





    ÒCaptain, the Borg vessel is in visual range.Ó

    ÒOn screen.Ó

    The image of the huge, cube-shaped vessel almost filled the viewscreen
on the battle bridge of the Enterprise D. Picard sat tensely, looking at the
image.

    ÒEnsign Roe, open a hailing frequency to the Borg ship.Ó

    The Bajoran officer worked on the communications console for a moment,
then looked up.

    ÒChannel  open, Captain.Ó

    ÒBorg vessel, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation
starship Enterprise. You are in Federation space. Please turn around and return
whence you came.Ó

    Barely a moment went by before the screen lit up with the reply. The
familiar figure of the half human, but mostly machine Borg appeared. It started
to say something, but paused when it saw Picard.

    ÒLocutus.Ó
    ÒI was Locutus. Made so against my will by your people. But I am
Captain Picard again. So I must repeat, in view of your past actions, you are
not welcome within Federation borders. Leave.Ó the Captain said firmly, showing
none of the extreme nervousness he felt. The Borg representative digested that
bit of information, and spoke finally, in its flat, ineffectual tone.

    ÒPrepare to be boarded. Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated.Ó

    The transmission ended.

    ÒShields up!Ó Riker barked.

    ÒRed alert. Prepare photon torpedoes.Ó Picard said, remaining quiet and
calm.

    ÒCaptain, the Borg vessel is probing us.Ó Data interrupted.

    ÒMr. Data, is that program ready?Ó the older human asked, staring
intently at the viewscreen.

    ÒYes, Captain.Ó

    ÒPlease institute on my mark.Ó he said, pausing to wait several
seconds, for Data to bring the requested program function on line.

    ÒNow, Mr. Data.Ó

    ÒProgram running, Captain.Ó the android announced. ÒScanning now for
any signs of immanent systems shutdown on Borg ship.Ó

    Data was silent for a moment before announcing,

    ÒBorg ship powering up phasers.Ó

    ÒEvasive action Mr. LaForge!Ó Picard barked.

    The great ship turned on its axis, attempting to evade the piercing
beam of energy which speared out at it. The Enterprise almost made it. The Borg
phaser impacted on the port side, aft, near the shuttlecraft bay. The crew was
shaken by the impact, but no one was injured.

    ÒFire aft torpedoes.Ó Picard said calmly.

    Four streaks of light arced from the Federation vessel, impacting
brilliantly on the Borg shipÕs defense screens.

    ÒThe Borg are not damaged Captain. They are currently moving in
pursuit.Ó
    ÒTurn us about, Mr. LaForge. Full power to the phaser banks.Ó

    The Enterprise turned on its axis again, and leap forward, towards the
closing vessel.

    ÒReady Sir.Ó

    ÒFire at will.Ó

    Intense beams of energy stabbed out, licking at the other shipÕs
shields. The sections where the phaser beams impacted, glowed dull red and
faded. The Borg vessel returned fire. The Enterprise rocked, taking the full,
head on, brunt of the attack.

    ÒDamage report.Ó Picard said, holding onto his seat.

    ÒShields down fifteen percent. Phasers down ten.Ó Roe replied. ÒBetter
think of something quick, Captain, I donÕt think weÕre going to win this one on
our good looks.Ó

    The human glared at the Bajoran in annoyance.

    ÒMr. Data, is there any sign of that subspace computer program link
taking effect?Ó

    ÒNegative, Captain. It seems as if they have indeed changed the
frequency that their subroutine programming operates on.Ó

    ÒIs there any change you can find the frequency and make another
attempt to shut them down?Ó

    ÒGiven time, of course. But I do not believe they intend to allow us
the time, Sir.Ó

    ÒTry, Mr. Data.Ó

    ÒBeginning scan, Captain.Ó

    ÒMr. LaForge, how log can we continue this battle at current power
levels?Ó

    ÒWell sir, if we donÕt take too many more hits like the last one, we
should be good until help can arrive. But a few more like the last hit, and
weÕre going to be in real trouble.Ó

    ÒSomehow,Ó Picard sighed, ÒI was afraid you were going to say that.Ó

Path: tivoli.tivoli.com!geraldo.cc.utexas.edu!cs.utexas.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!gatech!newsfeed.pitt.edu!godot.cc.duq.edu!hudson.lm.com!news.pop.psu.edu!news.cac.psu.edu!newsserver.jvnc.net!gboro.rowan.edu!news
From: [e-mail] (LOUIS HALL)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: A Different Star Trek; Chap.7-revised
Date: 19 Jan 1995 18:18:07 GMT
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Chapter 7





    ÒTry it now.Ó Q said gleefully, looking up from where he lay beneath
the warp field amplifier.

    ÒStarting intermix process now.Ó Dave replied, manipulating the
controls on the main board.

    The lights came on fully, several pieces of equipment came on line that
had not been working previously. But most immediately telling, were the shield
generator controls. The triple redundancy option was fully on line. That meant
three separate levels of energy shielding that could operate fully independent
of each other, or in conjunction to present an impenetrable barrier (this was
EmilioÕs contribution, care of the Diane Carey novel, Dreadnought!  ).

    ÒWell? Well?Ó Q asked impatiently, hurrying to the human to look over
his shoulder.

    ÒI dunno. All the engine readings say we got it. But IÕm still not sure
about the structural integrity of the pylons. They werenÕt built for the kind
of stresses weÕre talking about here.Ó Dave mumbled.

    ÒTheyÕll hold. TheyÕll hold!Ó

    The human glared at Q.

    ÒMcCallister to bridge.Ó

    ÒCaine here.Ó

    ÒCaptain, fire her up and go to maximum warp.Ó

    ÒWhereÕs my surprise Dave?Ó

    ÒYouÕll get it. DonÕt worry.Ó

    ÒOh!Ó Q said, slapping himself in the forehead, ÒI forgot to give them
the co-ordinants for the other Enterprise! Hold on, IÕll be there in a minute.Ó
the alien turned and hurried into the turbo lift. As the doors slide closed,
Dave turned to the intercom and said to Jim;

    ÒYÕknow, he really makes a lousy human being.Ó

    ÒYeah. But better a lousy human than an omnipotent buttwad.Ó





    ÒCaptain, all systems are reading one hundred percent efficiency.Ó Mike
Kelly said, turning from science ops, to face my command chair. I smiled a bit.
My mind had cleared considerably in the last few minutes and I felt more than
ready to try my hand at actual starship command.
    The lift doors opened and Q flew out, scampering down to RichÕs side of
helm control.

    ÒLet me set the course.Ó He said, nudging the younger man . Without a
word, Rich rose and moved away, letting the alien take over his station. QÕs
fingers flew over the rebuilt helm console, as he expertly programed in the
course heading.

    ÒCourse laid in, Captain.Ó he said, spinning his seat around to face
mine. I nodded.

    ÒMr. Devey, ahead, maximum warp.Ó

    ÒAye sir.Ó Art grinned and started the old ship moving.

    ÒWarp 1.....2.....3......4.......5.......6........7.........9. Captain,
we are accelerating past warp nine!Ó Art said, stabbing at his controls. ÒWarp
9.5....point 6.....7....... 8........
9........94......97.........99.......993....994....995. Speed staying at warp
9.995.Ó

    ÒMr. Roselle, please return to your station.Ó  I said. Q moved out from
the helm control, a huge smile sitting on his face.

    I narrowed my eyes and looked at the still vapidly grinning Q. Then I
called engineering.

    ÒThelin here.Ó

    ÒThelin, weÕre moving faster than warp nine?Ó

    ÒYes, Captain. We are monitoring that down here too. Even though it
should be impossible.Ó the Andorian said, sounding for the first time I had met
him, truly excited.

    ÒHow are the engines holding up?Ó

    ÒNo problems. No undue stress on the pylons, either. I would venture to
say, push them harder. LetÕs see what they will do.Ó

    I nodded.

    ÒOkay, Art. You heard the man. Put the pedal to the metal, letÕs see
what the old girl can do.Ó






    ÒCaptain, aft shields down thirty percent.Ó Data stated calmly, as the
ship rocked.

    ÒEnsign Ro, get us turned around! Then, full power to the forward
shields.Ó
Riker said tensely.

    Picard sat in the battle bridgeÕs single command seat and stared at the
image of the Borg ship. He was lost in thought. The thought of  becoming a
Borg. It was not something he would ever let happen again. He was ready to die
first.

    ÒData, have you found their subspace net frequency yet?Ó he asked,
suddenly coming back to the present.

    ÒNot yet, Sir. but the search itself could take me several more hours
under these conditions.Ó the android replied.

    ÒNumber One, has there been any contact with Starfleet?Ó

    ÒOnly receipt of our message. No word of support coming.Ó

    Picard clucked dryly.

    ÒSomehow, that doesnÕt surprise me.Ó

    ÒCaptain, the Borg are probing us again. They appear to still be
looking for a hole in our shields.Ó Ro said grimly.

    ÒKeep them in front of us Ensign, and keep those shields at maximum.Ó



    The crew on the tiny bridge looked at the Borg ship as it fired and
danced around them. For all its size, the cube shaped ship danced through space
like an ugly, though graceful ballerina. ItÕs movements were flawless, precise
and deadly. The Borg were gunning for the Enterprise and were going about it in
their usual methodical, cold and calculating manner. The Enterprise rocked
again under the force of another phaser hit. This time the shaking and wobbling
continued.

    ÒWhat the bloody hell.....?Ó the Captain gasped, gripping the arms of
his chair.

    ÒCaptain, we are experiencing some sort of spacial distortion wave.Ó
Data yelled, over the sound of the vibrating ship.

    ÒAre they experiencing it too?Ó Riker asked, hanging on to the weapons
console.

    ÒAffirmative. Captain, I am now picking up an object approaching at
extreme speed.Ó

    ÒWhat speed?Ó

    Data paused, reread his controls and paused again.

    ÒMr. Data?Ó

    ÒI am sorry Captain, I was forced to recalibrate the sensors. There is
something approaching , in excess of ...........warp fifty.Ó

    ÒWhat?!Ó Riker gasped. ÒImpossible! ItÕs mass would be infinite at that
speed!Ó

    ÒThat, Commander, is exactly what I am reading. An object of infinite
mass, generating a spacial distortion wave over two hundred light years in
front of it. It is dropping from warp.............now.Ó

    They looked at the viewscreen and watched in amazement as a ship
appeared, in an explosion of light and color, between them and the still firing
Borg ship. The black craft was surrounded by a fiery halo. Her call letters
leapt out , painted as they were in a white, seemingly brighter than the light
of a nova. NCC 1701. No letter designation.

    ÒBorg vessel. This is Captain James Cain in command of the starship
Enterprise. You are hereby ordered to break off your attack and leave
immediately, or be destroyed. I donÕt care which, but choose quickly.Ó the calm
cool voice came over the Enterprise DÕs communication system. The Borg response
was typical.



    ÒCaptain, Borg ship is redirecting fire on us.Ó Kelly called out.

    ÒShields up.Ó I replied.

    ÒAlready done sir.Ó Devey grinned wolfishly.

    The Borg phasers dissipated harmlessly against our triply thick
shields.

    ÒMiss Chung?Ó I said, spinning my chair idly.

    ÒYeah, your Lordship?Ó

    ÒFire at will. Lowest setting , please.Ó

    With the first blast, the Borg ship lurched to one side, spurting
oxygen and debris into open space.

    ÒHah! Punched right through their shields!Ó the Klingon roared in
triumph.

    ÒCease fire. Raise the Enterprise D, Ensign Banks.Ó

    ÒOn screen now, Captain.Ó

    I looked into the incredulous face of Captain Picard, as he sat on the
battle bridge with the rest of his crew.

    ÒGreetings, Captain Picard.Ó I stood and smiled.

    ÒGreetings to you also, . . . . Captain. Thank you for the assistance.Ó

    I watched his face, as TÕKalk moved across his field of vision, behind
me. Disbelief spread over his face, and RikerÕs jaw dropped slightly.

    ÒAre you alright over there? Is there any other help we can offer you?Ó

    ÒAh...... Mr. LaForge?Ó he asked, deferring to his Chief Engineer.

    ÒWe tracked you as moving at warp fifty ! How!?Ó

    I smiled.

    ÒActually, we were moving at just under Warp 10. It just registers on
your sensors that way because of the massive warp field envelope we generate.
Anything beyond that,youÕd have to ask the individual who tuned our engines.Ó I
spun the command chair around and motioned to Q. Ò Get over here.Ó

    ÒNo! No! What are you doing? I canÕt let them see me like this! ItÕs
humiliating!Ó Q hissed, as Mike and Rich grabbed him and drug him into the
Enterprise DÕs line of vision. Now everybodyÕs jaw dropped. Except DataÕs. But
that was only to be expected.

    ÒQ? Q actually helped you?Ó Riker asked.

    ÒI most certainly did not...Ó the struggling alien started to protest.

    ÒYes, he did.Ó I finished for him. Behind me, I heard the formerly
omnipotent alienÕs teeth grinding in frustration.

    ÒMost interesting. DoesnÕt this violate his peopleÕs policy of
non-interference with the development of lesser beings?Ó Picard asked, finally
starting to relax to enjoy his tormentorÕs obvious discomfort and humiliation.

    ÒIt would if he had used his powers. But he didnÕt.Ó

    ÒHe didnÕt? Really?Ó

    ÒNo. Not once.Ó I said almost laughing.

    ÒI hate you all.Ó Q mumbled behind me, still struggling to get out of
PicardÕs line of sight.

    ÒMost admirable.Ó

    Suddenly, the Enterprise rocked with the impact of a Borg weapon.

    ÒShields!Ó I roared, cutting the transmission to the  larger ship.

    ÒThey were up, Jim! Whatever they just hit us with packed one hell of a
wallop!Ó Layla called.

    ÒGet us spun around before they do it again. If theyÕre hitting us, I
at least want to be looking them in the eye when they do it.Ó

    Mike and Rich had let go of Q and rushed back to their posts. Sure
enough, as we turned around, we saw the Borg vessel, already repairing itself,
closing on us. I wasnÕt thrilled, to say the least.

    ÒMike, damage report.Ó I growled.

    ÒA few people shaken up, but thatÕs about it.Ó

    ÒShield status?Ó

    ÒUp and running, full power.Ó Layla announced. We were hit again, and
rocked by the force of the blast.

    ÒTheyÕre modulating the beam, trying to match frequencies with our
shields, to punch through them.Ó the woman said, manipulating the controls
before her.

    ÒCan they?Ó I asked.

    ÒNo way. Maybe if we were just single shielded, but thereÕs no way they
can adjust their beam three ways at once to compensate for the different
frequencies weÕre operating at.Ó

    ÒWhat else can we throw at them?Ó

    ÒCaptain, the Borg ship is trying to get around us to the Enterprise
D!Ó Art said urgently.

    ÒSo donÕt let them!Ó

    A gleam came into the gunnerÕs eye. Layla spun to her console and  her
fingers flew around it. I watched on the screen as multiple phaser strikes
exploded from our ship. The Borg shipÕs shields held up for almost a full five
seconds, before they caved in and shut down. After that, it was a glorified
turkey shoot. Layla carved them up like it was Thanksgiving Day.

    ÒCease fire. Scan, Mr. Kelly.Ó

    ÒBorg vesselsÕ shields are down. Warp drive, destroyed. Life support,
gone. Powerlevels across the board are almost nil.Ó

    ÒCherie, are you monitoring their subspace transmissions?Ó

    ÒYeah. Nothing spectacular to report.Ó

    ÒIf they start transmitting on any frequency, jam it. I donÕt want the
rest of their race knowing we exist. Open a channel to their ship for me.Ó

    The little black woman nodded as the hailing channel open.

    ÒBorg vessel, this is the Enterprise. Do you read me?Ó I said in a
firm, calm voice. Shame I didnÕt actually feel that way. There was silence. A
dead carrier. I tried a second time.

    ÒAttention Borg ship, do you read me? We know you still have
communication abilities, so youÕd better speak up fast.Ó

    The screen before me flipped and fluttered, and a very grainy image of
a Borg appeared.

    ÒYou must submit. Resistance is futile. All will be assimilated.Ó it
said tonelessly.

    ÒIn case you hadnÕt noticed, it is only out of the goodness of my heart
that you still exist at all. You are in no position to be dictating anything to
me.Ó

    The Borg tried digesting this for a moment, but couldnÕt quite seem to
get the handle of being on the losing end of the discussion.

    ÒBorg weapon powering up!Ó Layla called.

    ÒHose Ôem.Ó I snarled, staring right into the machine/manÕs face.

    A single beam of energy lanced out, driving a hole straight through
their ship. The image on the screen fuzzed out and came back. The Borg was
unmoved.

    ÒDo I have to annihilate you?Ó I asked quietly, ÒIs that what youÕre
trying to tell me?Ó

    The image seemed to be struggling with itself. Finally, it spoke.

    ÒYou must all be assimilated. We cannot be defeated. Your resistance is
futile. Lower your shields. Prepare to be boarded.Ó

    I looked in disbelief at the being on the screen. Shaking my head, I
spoke.

    ÒGoodbye.Ó

    Taking that as her cue, Layla poured on the phaser fire. The Borg ship
disintegrated. There was not even any spectacular fireworks to mark the passing
of so many wasted lives. I canÕt say as I felt particularly guilty.

    ÒCaptain, Enterprise D is hailing us.Ó Cherie said.

    ÒOn screen.Ó

    PicardÕs face came up, looking grim.

    ÒYou destroyed them.Ó

    I nodded.

    ÒYeah. No other choice that I could see. We know they wonÕt give up.
You have found that out before. Accepting defeat is not part of their
programming. Giving them the opportunity to leave was also not a good idea.
TheyÕd transfer their experiences with us to the rest of their race, and weÕd
run the risk of having them figure out a way to defeat us. Not many options
available, Captain.Ó

    Picard digested my little speech. I could see in the cast of his eyes
that he agreed, but that it galled his sense of humanity and fair play to go
along with so callous an analysis.

    ÒYes, I can understand your hesitation in letting them live, but still.
To annihilate them when they had no possibility of defending themselves.....Ó

    ÒCaptain, they would have done the same to us, and you know it.Ó

    Picard looked away and nodded.

    ÒIn any event, what are your plans now?Ó he asked, changing the
unpleasant subject. ÒYou have a famous ship, and one that I venture to say is
now probably the most advanced in Federation space. You have a crew. What are
your intentions?Ó

    I was puzzled by that one.  I hadnÕt really thought about it.

    ÒWell, thereÕs a lot of people here that havenÕt seen their homes in a
long time. I think the first thing weÕll do is, return anybody to their
homeworld that wants to go. After that........I donÕt know. I guess weÕre going
to have to think on that one.Ó

    Ò I can tell you whatÕs going to happen.Ó Q said, appearing beside me.
His teleportation heralded the fact that heÕd gotten his powers back. Or
perhaps had never lost them at all. Suddenly I was nervous. Very, very nervous.

    ÒYou, meaning the humans that came from my imagination, will vanish
back into it. You never had any real existence outside of my thoughts. The
citizens of Elysia, I can afford to be magnanimous with. I will see to it that
each is placed back with his or her people. This ship, will be destroyed. It
contains technologies that your people,Ó he looked at the viewscreen, Ò and
even your people, Picard, arenÕt ready for. Happy now?Ó

    To say the least, I was not. But with Q omnipotent again, it didnÕt
make good sense to argue. Apparently, Mike disagreed with that assessment, for
he had quietly unbolted his seat from its swivel base, and as Q finished
speaking, he clocked the alien across the back of the head with it as hard as
he could. Our would-be savior went down like a ton of bricks, and stayed down.


    ÒOh great. Now what do we do?Ó I looked at Picard, who shrugged in
disbelief, but said nothing. I noticed Riker behind him, with a satisfied
expression on his face.

    ÒPerhaps I may be of some assistance?Ó Q Two said, appearing on the
battle bridge of the Enterprise D.

    ÒOh. Now you can offer assistance.Ó Picard grumbled, glancing at the
Image beside him.

    ÒYou would rather I didnÕt? I could always allow Q to awaken. ItÕs not
natural for one of us to succumb to so base a blow, you know.Ó

    ÒNO NO!Ó I interjected, ÒWe would greatly appreciate any help you can
offer. Preferably before Q wakes up and zaps us out of existence.Ó

    ÒThatÕs not going to happen. Relax. IÕll take care of Q.Ó So saying,
the unconscious man on my bridge vanished, to be replaced by Q Two, standing
nonchalantly by my seat. He looked at Mike amiably.

    ÒPretty gutsy move, Mr. Kelly.Ó

    My fake Vulcan swallowed hard and shrugged.

    ÒI couldnÕt think of anything else to do. If this was a movie, IÕd say
that would have been the place to put the barroom brawl scene.Ó

    The alien chuckled and shook his head. Then he turned to the
viewscreen.

    ÒSorry about all of this, Captain Picard. I know thereÕs no way I could
ever justify this whole episode to you, but rest assured, if nothing else, it
has played a major role in QÕs development.Ó

    The older man digested this for a moment before replying.

    ÒIÕm........ gratified that we could play such an integral part in his
ongoing education.Ó

    Q Two smiled back.

    ÒAdmirable use of sarcasm, Captain. Such a fascinating part of your
characters, that you are able to insult a superior being, with almost certain
impunity.Ó

    I looked at the alien.

    ÒOnly out of your own understanding nature. Not all beings take sarcasm
that is directed at them, so well.Ó

    Q Two moved around and sat at the vacant science ops.

    ÒIÕm just an amiable sort of guy.Ó

    I shifted uncomfortably in the command chair.

    ÒWell, where to now? What are your plans for us?Ó

    The all-powerful entity smiled.

    ÒI would say thatÕs entirely up to you.Ó

    ÒThen you do not intend to send us all to oblivion and take the ship?Ó

    ÒI donÕt know. Do you want me to?Ó

    ÒNo.Ó I said bluntly, Ònot at all.Ó

    ÒWell then, itÕs a big universe out there. I suggest you make use of
it.Ó

    As I made to reply, the Enterprise rocked again, heeling over onto her
side and throwing us pell mel about the bridge. The only one unaffected was the
Q.

    ÒWhat the hell was that!?Ó I yelled, as the ship struggled to right
herself.

    ÒFive Borg ships just dropped out of warp space!Ó Art said grimly,
crawling back up into his seat.

    I made a split second decision.

    ÒMove us over to the Enterprise D and reconfigure our shields to
protect her too.Ó

    ÒOn it.Ó Mike Kelly barked, holding one arm against his side.

    ÒYou hurt?Ó I asked.

    ÒBroken, I think.Ó he said grimly, struggling to program the
reconfiguration.

    I hit my comm console.

    ÒSickbay.Ó an unfamiliar voice said.

    ÒThis is Caine. I need a medic up here.Ó

    ÒWeÕre on our way.Ó

    ÒStatus report, Lauren?Ó

    ÒUh, shipwide injuries of personnel. No structural damage to the ship.Ó

    ÒEnterprise D now included in our shield configuration.Ó Mike said,
sitting heavily in his seat.

    ÒCaptain Picard?Ó

    The older man looked at me from the scurryings of his own crew.

    ÒYes..... hrumm. I donÕt even know your name, sir.Ó

    ÒCaine. James Caine. IÕm going to cross link our computers. WeÕll be
able to perform close quarter maneuvers in sync.Ó

    He mulled over my statement.

    ÒComputers linked, Captain.Ó Mike said, laboring over the science ops
console.

    ÒUm, thank you for the choice, Captain.Ó Picard said, ironically.

    ÒSorry, Captain. We can debate my deplorable lack of manners at a later
date. Caine out.Ó

    The channel went dead.

    ÒArt, youÕre in control. Get us around.Ó

    ÒYou got it.Ó Warp bubble and all, the two ships pirouetted and
advanced on the Borg.

    ÒLayla, fire at will.Ó

    Phaser beams lanced out at the five enemy ships, and I watched in
concernation as the Borg ships lurched and tumbled through space.

    ÒBorg shields down thirty percent but holding.Ó

    Ò So, theyÕre prepared. The one we destroyed must have sent for
backup.Ó

    ÒIt must have been before we got here. I jammed them from the moment we
arrived.Ó Cherie said, watching the main viewscreen.

    ÒImmaterial now. Just make sure they donÕt send for anymore.Ó

    ÒYou know it.Ó

    ÒLayla, pour on the firepower.Ó

    ÒRaising phaser intensity.Ó she replied gleefully.

    ÒAre you sure you know what youÕre doing?Ó Q Two finally asked, moving
to stand beside my seat.

    ÒHell no! You just keep your infantile friend out of my way until we
resolve this.Ó I grumbled.

    ÒI will do my best.Ó

    ÒCaptain, Borg ships regrouping to return fire.Ó Layla said.

    ÒFire on them first, for ChristÕs sake!Ó

    ÒAffirmative.Ó

    I actually heard the discharge of the EnterpriseÕ weapon, and on the
screen, two Borg ship vanished into their component atoms.

    ÒCaptain, remaining enemy vessels leaving the quadrant. Should we
initiate pursuit?Ó

    ÒNo. Let them go.Ó

    ÒBut what if they bring back others?Ó

    ÒSo? We wonÕt be here if they do. Art, get us the hell out of here,
warp eight.Ó

    ÒUh, the Enterprise D is still in our shield bubble.Ó Mike said, his
arm now in a sling.

    ÒShit. Cherie, open a channel to Captain Picard.Ó

    The black womanÕs hands danced on the console.

    ÒOn screen, Captain.Ó

    Picard looked startled for a moment, then stood, straightening his
shift.

    ÒCaptain Caine.Ó

    ÒCaptain Picard. As IÕm sure your own sensors have confirmed, the other
borg ships have left the sector. Rather than stay around and see how many more
show up, IÕve decided to get the hell out of here. Maybe theyÕve learned their
lesson for a while.Ó

    The balding man nodded thoughtfully.

    ÒPerhaps. At the very least, this is probably the first time theyÕve
ever had to runaway from a fight.Ó

    ÒIf you like, we can take you in tow and get you out of here that much
faster. Might be better than waiting to see how long it takes for them to
regroup and return.Ó

    At that moment, the lift doors swished open and a Romulan medic stepped
out. He quickly moved to Kelly and began waving a scanner over his arm.

    ÒPerhaps, at this juncture, your suggestion has merit. Though I think
that this episode will have future detrimental effects to the Federation.Ó

    I nodded soberly.

    ÒViolence begets more violence. That saying is as true now as it was in
my time.Ó

    ÒAgreed. Well, ...........Captain. Whenever you are ready.Ó

    ÒMr. Kelly,Ó I began.

    ÒCaptain.Ó The Romulan interrupted, turning from his ministrations over
our quasi Vulcan. ÒI must relieve Mr. Kelly from duty. He needs to be
transferred to sickbay so his arm can be properly set and knit.Ó

    Mike grinned. And wiggled his eyebrows at me.

    ÒVery well Mr.  ...........Ó

    ÒPadrek.Ó

    ÒMr. Padrek. Get our resident comedian out of here. Art, lay in a
course for....... Captain Picard, where would you like us to drop you off?Ó
    Picard half smiled.

    ÒOh, anywhere near a civilized starbase will do. I believe we have some
repair work to do on OUR Enterprise.Ó

    ÒCan I offer you any assistance? I believe weÕve got personnel
available. In fact weÕve got something of a surplus. The surviving crewmen of
the Bonneventure are pretty anxious to see their old stomping grounds.Ó

    ÒThe Bonneventure? You mean the first line ship equipped with warp
drive?Ó LaForge asked, excitedly.

    ÒUh huh. TheyÕve been stuck in Elesyia for a long time. Along with a
bunch of other folk, some from Starfleet, some not. Can you take some off our
hands? WeÕre a wee bit crowded over here.Ó

    ÒCertainly. We can arrange a transfer at your leisure.Ó

    ÒGreat! Give me a couple of hours for my people to get their things
together.Ó

    ÒVery good. Picard out.Ó

    ÒSeems like a reasonable enough sort of guy.Ó Cherie Banks said,
wheeling around at the communications console.

    ÒLucky for us. IÕm not quite sure what we would do if he demanded we
surrender the ship to Federation authorities.Ó

    ÒWe would get the hell out as fast as these supertuned 454Õs could get
us.Ó Layla rumbled, folding her arms.

    ÒHere here.Ó Art muttered, carefully monitoring his console.

    I smiled wanly.

    ÒI take that to mean you donÕt want me to give over the ship?Ó

    ÒHell no!Ó the bridge crew chorused.

    ÒOtay. Ahead Art. Warp factor 8. Oh, pick a Starbase we can drop the D
at. But not too close. The less the higher echelon sees or knows of us, the
better.Ó

    ÒWeÕre outta here!Ó Art crowed

    On the viewscreen before me, the starfield blurred and we leap away,
Enterprise D in tow.