Danny Amor's Online Library/Danny Amor's Online Library - Volume 1.iso/html/startrek/old-incomplete/anotherdream.p1-2

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From: [e-mail] (pat parker)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Another Dream - part one
Date: 5 Jul 93 04:54:19 GMT
Organization: Mississippi State University
Lines: 459
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
NNTP-Posting-Host: ra.msstate.edu


well, here it is - the long awaited sequel to my previous story, T'Selar.
This story is called "Another Dream," and takes place immediately after
the events in T'Selar.  If you have not read T'Selar, then Another Dream
may not be the thing to read right now.  You may consider this to be both
a SPOILER warning and a shameless advertisement for T'Selar (which you can
obtain from procyon ;-)

this story is a little experiment for me to try my hand at character
development from scratch since i have had moderate success using the
good ole standby startrek characters.  perhaps this is just a stepping
stone in my bid for complete takeover of the literary world...

nice thought anyway...


as with all my stories, comments, criticisms, flames, etc. are all
WELCOMED and REQUESTED.  Is it worth occupying the bandwidth to post the
remainder?


pat





_Another_Dream_

Part I

July, 1993

By Patrick Parker ([e-mail])


Warning:

This story contains major spoilers for my previous USENET story, _T'Selar_.
Also note that the ship in this story is not the same Savant Child as in
_T'Selar_
______________________________________________________________________________

      Dallas sat up in his bed, sweating, his fists clinched and shaking.  The
room was completely dark and he was scared as hell.  He groped for the
stability of the bedside table with one hand as he pressed the other arm
against his belly to stop the fluttering in it.  Sensing he had awakened, the
computer chirped softly and slowly increased the lighting in his room.  Dallas
looked around and recognized his surroundings.
      "Another dream," he mumbled.  Mistaking his murmur for a command, the
computer whistled to him again and a flask began to materialize in the food
slot.
      "No, I mean,"  he stopped in mid-sentence.  The computer had already
finished creating the beverage.  Staring at the pale green liquid in the jar,
he threw his legs off the edge of the bed.  "Might as well, huh?"
      He sat on the edge of his bed for a moment, allowing his heart to stop
pounding and his breathing to slow.  After a couple of moments he wiped his
forearm across his brow, then wiped the sweat off his arm onto the sheet.
Getting up, he retrieved the drink and sniffed it.  The smell of the citrus
and alcohol vapor calmed him.
      Dallas took a gulp of the lime-flavored drink and shivered, his jaw
muscles clenching in protest.  He had located the recipe for the drink during
a shore leave on Earth and it had taken him six weeks to get the food
replicators to mix the drink properly; the way they had mixed it in the rural
Texas bar.  The barkeep had told him that the drink had once been known as a
Kamikaze, but it had become so popular with Dallas that he had renamed it
'Another Dream.'
      Finishing the drink, he leaned his forehead against the wall for a
minute, then moved over to the bed and wiped his face on the sheet again.  He
picked up his black hat from its spot on the night table and plopped it on his
head, tilting the brim back from his forehead.
      The hat had its special position on his nightstand and on his head.  It
always sat on his nightstand brim-upwards when he wasn't wearing it.  Whenever
it was on his head it was pushed back, exposing his eyes and forehead to
public view.  This is the way his grandfather had taught him to wear a hat,
because it was proper; it showed people that he was a good man.  Only bad men
pulled their hats down over their eyes when they weren't in bright sunlight or
asleep.
      Unfortunately, not many of his associates understood the significance of
the way he wore the hat.  The ones from Earth thought it marked him as a
yokel, while the non Earth-born Starfleet personnel either completely failed
to comprehend why he wore it, or thought it to be a symbol of some bizarre
religious group.
      He wore it a great deal of the time, nonetheless.  He didn't
particularly care if his subordinates considered him rural, as long as they
didn't get out of line, and most of his superiors knew him well enough to know
that despite this eccentricity he was a capable officer.
      Dallas got up off the bed and went into the bathroom.  With his hat
still on, he got into the shower.  Although all officers were afforded the
luxury of real, water showers, Dallas was the only person aboard the Savant-
Child who had one.  The other officers preferred sonic showers.
      He washed his body, careful not to wet the hat too much, then reached up
and took the hat off.  Holding it outside the shower, brim upwards as always,
he washed his hair with the other hand.  After a few moments under the shower,
he called out for the computer to turn off the water, then he drew his hat
back into the shower with him.  Picking up a brush with his free hand, he
brushed his short, brown hair and waited for the shower's drying unit to
finish drying him.  As soon as he was dry, he put the hat back on.
      Leaving the shower, he dressed in his new black sweater and crimson,
open-front jacket combination.  Inspecting himself in the mirror, he thought
about how often the Starfleet uniforms changed.  Oh well, this one was
certainly a hell of a lot more comfortable than the old body-suit type
uniforms.  He was glad the regulations finally allowed him to wear the same
sweater-jacket style uniforms that the starship Captains had been wearing for
a couple of years.
      Commander Dallas Pole left his quarters.  It was still the dead shift,
and the ship was operating on a skeleton crew.  As he walked down the deserted
corridors toward the turbo-lift, his thoughts turned back to the dream.  He
could still smell the burning insulation and feel the heat coming off the
dilithium-regulated reactor as it had begun to crack.  He came out of his
reverie when the computer asked him his destination.
      "Main Bridge."  The turbo-lift hummed into motion and soon he was
standing on the bridge of the Savant-Child.  He looked around and saw exactly
what he expected.  Looie was sitting in the command chair, an ensign that
Dallas didn't know was sitting at the helm station playing a video game, and a
couple of scientists were at one of the science stations in the rear of the
bridge poring over some arcane scientific problem.  As Commander Pole stepped
off the turbo-lift, the Lieutenant jumped up and offered him the command
chair.
      "No, you keep it, Looie.  I'll be in the ready room if you need me."
Dallas swung around the corner into the ready room and sat down in a chair by
the window.  He kicked his feet up onto the window ledge and leaned back with
his hands behind his head.  He sat there watching the red and blue streaks of
light outside the window.
      "Computer," he called out, finally.  It whistled its acknowledgement and
Dallas continued.  "I want you to identify a Federation starship for me.  It
was destroyed when its main reactor cracked."
      The computer trundled through its vast databases for a couple of
seconds.  "There are eighty seven starships known to match those
specifications.  Do you wish to review those records or input more
classification information?"
      "Uh, the First Officer was named Tindoll.  It happened a long time ago,
before the Klingon peace treaty.  That's all I know."
      "The only Tindoll on record served on board the USS Archetype," the
computer replied, almost immediately.  "Captain Blake Rymos, Commanding.
Commander Nolan Tindoll, First Officer.  Lost in Sector 833 on modified
stardate 32119.4."
      "Lost?  It wasn't destroyed?"
      "Investigation of Sector 833 showed no indication that the USS Archetype
was destroyed."
      "Hmmmmm."
______________________________________________________________________________

      Captain Nenia Penthos rolled out of bed onto her hands and knees,
completely unenthusiastic about the morning.  She had not enjoyed a single day
since the commission of the Savant-Child two years ago, and it was getting
progressively harder to get out of bed each morning.  Gathering her legs under
her, she stood and swayed her way toward the bathroom trying to open her
sleep-scratchy eyes.
      In the bathroom she grabbed the edge of the counter, leaned over, and
splashed her face into the lavatory.  When she felt she couldn't hold her
breath any more, she slowly let it out, letting the bubbles tickle her face.
Leaning back, she shook her wet bangs out of her eyes then ran a hand through
her short, curly hair.
      More of you guys every day, she thought.  She was holding a handful of
mostly-black hair away from her head and staring at the graying hairs.  That's
ok, though.  I have you guys' number.  She picked up an almost-empty tube of
anti-graying agent and crushed the remainder of it onto the top of her head.
She'd have to get another bottle from the replicator soon, she thought,
dropping the tube into the disposal unit.  She plopped down onto the toilet
and began rubbing the cream into her scalp, thinking about her utterly
unremarkable career.
        The Academy had managed to introduce most of the cadets to the real
world - to the rigors and dangers of space travel - but not Nenia Penthos.
She'd come out of the Academy just as she had gone in; expecting excitement
and glory.
      Instead, she had served on an undistinguished patrol ship monitoring the
trade routes in as boring a sector of the Federation as possible.  She'd
served there for seven years before receiving a so-called promotion to a desk
job on Earth.  Her stint at Starfleet Headquarters turned out to be even less
interesting than the previous duty.
      Finally, after countless requests for transfer, her big chance had come.
She'd received word that she would be the Captain of a new Excelsior class
ship.  It was not exactly state of the art, and would, in fact, be the last of
that class to be constructed, but it would be hers.  She was ecstatic until
she actually heard the assignment; patrolling colony worlds in the Welchris
Cluster.  She had taken it as the ultimate offence to her ability and
intelligence.
      Looking back, she now realized she had given the ignominy of the moment
too much credit.  It had been merely one blot in a continuing series of
perceived disgraces that had been heaped upon Captain Nenia Penthos.  The
entire service record of the Savant-Child had been unremarkable and as she had
expected, was turning out to be just as banal as her previous assignments.
The Welchris colonists needed Starfleet's protection about as much as the
Klingons did.
      Somehow, though, Nenia managed to drag herself from bed each day, so
that she could sit in her command chair watching, waiting for the excitement
that she felt she deserved.  She would wait in that command chair until the
tedium and frustration was too much for her, then she would wait some more.
      She rose from the toilet, her scalp tender where she'd been absent-
mindedly rubbing it.  Getting into the shower, she called out for the computer
to start the sonics.  She stood there for a good quarter hour, rocking back
and forth, before she got out, groomed, and dressed.  She left her room and
made her way, still half-asleep, toward the bridge.
      Stepping off the turbo-lift, she saw the same thing she'd seen every
morning for the past two years; Lieutenant What's-his-name, the third-shift
commander, waiting for her.  Looie saw her, but remained seated in the command
chair.  He knew she wouldn't want command of the vessel until she'd had her
morning coffee.  Waving half-heartedly to the Lieutenant, she turned the
corner into the ready room and saw Dallas sitting there with his legs propped
up on the window ledge.  He took his feet off the ledge and swivelled in his
chair to greet Nenia.
      "Morning, Cap'm."
      "Hot, black coffee," she replied, making her way over to the food slot
to get the steaming cup as it materialized.  She sat down at her desk, took a
sip of the coffee, then stared into it, ignoring Dallas for the moment.
Expecting this, he slowly turned back to the window to watch the low-warp
starfield effect while he waited for the Captain to wake up.  In a few minutes
Captain Penthos began to emerge from her drowsy funk.
      "You've had another dream, haven't you?"
      Dallas looked over at his commanding officer.  She would make an issue
of it, he knew.  He considered lying, but he knew that she understood why he
was frequently awake and on duty before his shift started.  He pushed his hat
a touch farther back from his forehead and answered.
      "Yes, sir."
      She looked into the depths of her coffee cup and shook her head.  "Did
you go see the Counselor?  You ought to, you know?"  As his commanding
officer, she had to make the suggestion, but when he refused, she would
naturally let the matter drop.
      "I've talked to the Counselor so many times in the past couple of years
that I have memorized his questions."  He didn't intend to be disrespectful,
but a tinge of sarcasm edged his voice.  "I could probably administer the
tests to you if you like."
      She cocked her eyes at him and he knew that he had overstepped his
bounds.  Knowing how the Captain felt about psychologists, he decided to make
a hasty retraction.
      "I mean, no sir.  I haven't."
      She stared at him silently for another moment, then slowly shifted her
gaze back to the coffee.  She knew that the mornings were a bad time for her,
and also knew how irritating Counselor Dylan could be, so she decided to let
the comment pass this time.  She swirled the coffee in the cup, then drank the
rest of it.  She set the cup down and turned her attention to Dallas.
      "What tragedy was it about this time?"  she asked the Commander.  The
subject matter of the dreams tended to be far more interesting than the daily
routine of this ship.
      "The USS Archetype.  It was a..."
      Captain Penthos perked up at the mention of the Archetype.  "A small
exploration vessel that was lost a couple hundred years ago.  Fascinating
mystery."
      "It was destroyed," said the Commander.
      "No, you've got your history all mixed up.  They searched the entire
sector.  No debris, nothing.  It just disappeared."  She sat back.  "We talked
about it in the Academy; I remember I was intrigued by the story."  She smiled
and teased him gently.  "Now we can know for sure.  Where'd the Archetype go?"
      "Its reactor cracked and the ship was destroyed.  I was Commander Nolan
Tindoll this time.  He was in Engineering when it happened.  He felt it begin
to melt.  The ship was coming apart around him.  That's when I woke up."
      "Hmmmm, strange."  Nenia frowned and rocked back in her chair.  "Are you
sure?"
      "I was there."
      "But your dreams have always followed historical facts before.  The
Archetype was not destroyed, they would have found fragments, debris -
components at least.  They couldn't have missed the signs of an explosion that
size."
      Dallas shrugged.  He was tiring of this discussion.  He'd been there and
he knew what had happened.  His dreams had never been wrong before.  He pushed
himself up out of the chair and stood in front of the Captain's desk.
      "Time to go on duty, sir.  Permission to leave," he stated in typical,
Starfleet fashion.  She nodded and he turned around to leave.  Just before he
got to the door, she called out.
      "Commander Pole, I suggest you go see the Counselor."
      He turned around, his ire showing.  Her elbows were leaned on the desk
and her hands were cupped under her chin.  She was not kidding.
      "This time it's different.  You've always been right before, so
something must be changing.  They might be able to run down the cause of the
dreams this time."
      "Awww, Cap'm.  You know that Dylan won't be able to find..."
      "I suggest you go see the Counselor."  This time, the stress was on the
word 'suggest,' but Dallas knew that it was not a mere suggestion.  He nodded
and left the Captain staring at the door, her chin in her hands.  Maybe
something really is changing.  She was hopeful.
______________________________________________________________________________

      The Galaxy class starship, Enterprise, lay in space beside the smaller
USS Gyakufu.  For a few moments, the two ships paused in the void, the running
lights of their engine nacelles flashing in rhythmic counterpoint, their blue-
white lights illuminating their insignia on their saucer sections.
      On the larger of the two ships, Captain Jean-Luc Picard awaited the
visitors.  Standing in the transporter room, he smoothed his olive sweater and
tugged his berry-colored jacket into place.  The room was filled with the hum
of the transporter, and the captain of the Gyakufu appeared.  He stepped down
from the platform to shake hands with Picard just as the transporter engaged
again and two security officers materialized.
      "I assure you, Captain Henley, that a security team is not required,"
said Picard, clasping the other Captain's hand.
      Henley's moustache twitched.  "I think it is, Captain Picard.  I think
you realize how much I dislike having to act as chauffeur for your defector.
Romulans are dangerous and untrustworthy."
      Picard looked down and nodded.  Having just come out of a conflict in
the Neutral Zone with four Warbirds, he knew precisely how dangerous the
Romulans could be.  "Nonetheless, I'm sure you will find this particular
Romulan quite agreeable.  Without her assistance, the Enterprise would have
likely been destroyed and our two chief medical officers kidnapped by the
Romulans."
      "And you still allow her free access to the Enterprise?"
      "Not complete access, no.  However, I would suggest you keep in mind
that she has been granted amnesty by the Federation, and treat her as a guest
until you arrive at Earth."
      Henley laughed, dismissing Picard's lecture.  "Don't worry.  I'm not
going to have her gagged and chained, if that's what you're worried about.
However, I will certainly make sure she doesn't have run of my ship."
      Picard scowled and opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment the
door whooshed opened and the Romulan defector, R'annec, strode in.  She was
accompanied by Commander Riker.  She walked up to the two Captains and smiled.
      "Captain Henley, Commander Riker has told me many things about you, all
of them complimentary,"  R'annec greeted the Captain in a manner that would
have charmed almost any person.  Henley was not impressed.  He nodded and
turned back to Picard.
      "We will be leaving now, Captain Picard.  It has been a pleasure to see
you again."  Henley's voice was strained and Picard sighed as Henley mounted
the transporter platform and moved to the side.
      R'annec noticed the tension between the two captains and hesitated,
looking to Picard and Riker for reassurance.  Picard smiled at the Romulan
defector, and held his hand out toward the transporter pad.
      "It has been pleasant having you aboard the Enterprise, and again, we
are deeply appreciative of your helpfulness.  Captain Henley will make certain
you are comfortable during your trip to Earth."
      R'annec hesitated a moment longer, then nodded to Picard and turned to
step onto the platform.  Picard glared at the Gyakufu's Captain while
R'annec's back was turned, but replaced the scowl with a pleasant smile as
R'annec took her position, flanked by the two guards.
      Strange behavior from humans was not surprising to the Romulan.  During
the two weeks she had been on the Enterprise awaiting transport to Earth, she
had seen a wide range of reactions.  Very few of the Enterprise crew had been
comfortable having her aboard.  They had shunned her for the most part, except
Riker, Troi, Data, and Picard.  She smiled at Riker and Picard as she began to
feel the tickling of the transporter beam.  Before she was completely gone she
caught Riker's attention.  There was a twinkle in the Commander's eye.
      Riker was replaced by a short, clean-shaven man as R'annec materialized
on the Gyakufu.  He had a severe look and stepped forward as the group stepped
off the transporter pad.  Captain Henley half turned to R'annec and gestured
toward the stern-featured man.
      "Engineer R'annec, this is Commander Wright.  He is head of security on
this ship.  He will show you to your quarters."
      R'annec did not miss the abruptness of the introduction, but she was
determined to be pleasant.  She smiled at the Security Chief and then at the
Captain.  Stepping toward the door, she noticed a plaque on the wall.  It was
strategically placed by the door to impress visitors.  As she neared the door
she paused to read the plaque.
      The plaque had the name of the ship and its date of commission.  Above
the inscription was a depiction of a human in a robe.  He was holding a sword
above his head and fending off a sword-blow by a winged, manlike being with
talons for feet.  Running her fingers over the outline of the winged creature,
R'annec turned to the Captain.
      "This is fascinating, Captain Henley.  What manner of being is this?"
She was trying desperately to be congenial with the brusque Captain.  He
impatiently stepped over to the emblem and pointed to the creature.
      "It is a demon - an ancient Earth legend.  Some people called them
Tengu."  Henley pointed at engraving of the robed man and seemed to begin
enjoying the telling of the tale.  "This is a warrior named Yoshitsume.  He
lived about eight-hundred years ago, and was alleged to have learned his
amazing sword techniques from a Tengu on the top of a mountain.  It is from
one of Yoshitsume's techniques that the name of this ship was derived.-
Gyakufu, meaning Cross-Winds."
      "Fascinating," breathed R'annec, pleased that she had found an interest
of Henley's.  Maybe the trip wouldn't be too bad if she could find things to
talk about with the humans.
      For a moment, the Captain seemed lost in thought, remembering the
legend.  Then he snapped out of his daydream and stepped away from the
Romulan, placing his hands behind his back.  "Mr. Wright, would you show her
to her quarters?"
      R'annec sighed and followed the Commander of Gyakufu's security forces
out the door.
______________________________________________________________________________

      With a start, Dallas realized he was falling asleep.  He jerked himself
awake and the rarely-used couch squeaked with his motion.  Looking around, he
saw that the Counselor still hadn't arrived.  A psych ensign had gone looking
for Counselor Dylan, and Dallas had almost fallen asleep waiting.  He slapped
himself on the back of the neck a few times, trying to wake up.  He blinked
and began looking around the psych ward.
      It was a ward in name only; really more of a large office.  The couch
sat against one wall with an armchair beside it.  A desk sat near the opposite
wall with a huge viewer on the wall behind it.  Currently the viewer was
acting as a window to the outside of the ship, since the medical section was
located in the center of the ship.  On another wall there was a row of
computer terminals giving access to the psychiatric computer subsystem.
      Captain Penthos had almost blown a fuse when Dylan had put in the
requisition for the extra computer equipment in order to do psychiatric
research.  This had confirmed the Captain's suspicions that Counselors were
useless; they just sit around doing research instead of actually helping in
some way.  The Savant-Child wouldn't have had one, except for the recent
Starfleet general order that all ships with complements of greater than two-
hundred were to be accompanied by a Ship's Counselor.
      Dallas could still see the Captain's face when she'd seen the orders to
have her ship put in at Starbase Welchris for the psych-computer installation.
Her bob of curly hair had been shaking and she had turned a dark, furious red.
The Commander grinned at the memory and shifted on the couch.
      You know, this couch is pretty comfortable, thought Dallas, if only it
wouldn't squeek when you moved.  He wiggled, evoking another squeek, then
grabbed the arm of the couch and started bouncing on the couch and shaking it
from side to side.  It convulsed with an assortment of groans, creaks, and
moans, before it settled into a quiet rocking motion.  Dallas gave the couch
one more shake and smiled when there was not so much as a peep.  He was just
settling back in the couch when the Counselor called out from the door to the
ward.
      "Enjoying yourself, Commander?"
      Startled, Dallas looked up to see Counselor Dylan standing in the
doorway with a data-pad.  Dylan pushed a couple of buttons on the data-pad and
stepped into the room.  Dallas was almost embarrassed for a moment, but he
suppressed it, bringing up indignation instead.
      "You must be busy today, Counselor."
      "Busy?"  Dylan pushed a couple more buttons on the data-pad absently.
"Yes, in fact, quite."
      "You have been out of your office for a long time.  Has there been an
outbreak of mental illness on the ship?"
      "Hardly.  I have been occupied with," the counselor paused and looked up
at Dallas.  "other aspects of my duties."
      "Your couch is so out of use that it squeaks, Counselor."  The Commander
emphasized the word 'counselor.'
      The Counselor frowned, his thin, grey moustache bending downward.  He
put the data-pad down on a table and stared at the Commander for a moment.
There was no lost love between the command and medical divisions on board the
Savant-Child.  Finally, Dylan plopped down into the chair beside the couch and
slung one leg across the other.
      "Well, Commander, what is it this time?  Another dream?"
      Dallas leaned back on the couch and looked away from the Counselor,
toward the viewscreen of space.  He still didn't want to be here, but he had
all but been ordered to see Doctor Dylan.  He didn't like Dylan, but he didn't
want to push the Captain.  "Yeah, another dream."  He didn't volunteer any
more information.
      Counselor Dylan waved his hand, trying to prompt the Commander to
continue.  "Well, what was it this time?  Another ship blew up?  An
earthquake?  Perhaps the demise of another civilization.  I know!  An
epidemic?"
      Dallas glared at the Counselor, who seemed impervious.  "The USS
Archetype.  I dreamed about its destruction."  He looked back to the
viewscreen, waiting for the Counselor's surprised expression.  It didn't come.
      "Well, that's good.  I think that this pretty much follows the trend of
your previous dreams and doesn't really present us any new data, so if that's
all, you can log the dream with the computer yourself, and I can get back to
my research."
      Counselor Dylan stood up and picked up his data-pad.  He waited for the
Commander to leave, and began to grow irritated when Dallas didn't move.
Dallas just sat there, stunned by the Counselor's blatant dismissal.  He
considered leaving, but the Captain would just send him right back.
      "Something else?" the Counselor asked, tapping one foot impatiently.
      "The dream was wrong.  According to history, the Archetype was not
destroyed, but lost, but in my dream I saw the reactor core cracking and felt
myself - Commander Tindoll, that is - dying.  The ship was clearly destroyed."
      Dylan was intrigued.  He stood for a moment, thinking and absent-
mindedly tapping the data-pad on his chin.  He was looking at Dallas, but his
thoughts were far away.  He raised his head and called out.
      "Computer, display all historical information concerning the USS
Archetype."  He turned around and sat back down in the armchair as the space-
view was replaced by a three-dimensional image of the ancient ship.  The two
officers watched as the computer displayed the pictures of the crew and began
summarizing the Archetype's service record, concluding with its being lost in
duty, no sign of it to ever be found.  The computer whistled, indicating that
the summary was complete, then placed the revolving image of the Archetype
back onto the screen.
      Counselor Dylan sat quietly watching the ship rotate.  After a moment,
he turned to Dallas.  "So, what has happened to affect the accuracy of your
dreams?"
      Dallas shrugged.  "That's what I'm here to find out."





Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!darwin.sura.net!nntp.msstate.edu!Ra.MsState.Edu!plp1
From: [e-mail] (pat parker)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Another Dream - part two
Date: 6 Jul 93 06:37:41 GMT
Organization: Mississippi State University
Lines: 455
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
NNTP-Posting-Host: ra.msstate.edu


here is the second installment of Another Dream.  i hope that it doesn't throw
anyone into an anxious, expectant frenzy, because the third and fourth (and
fifth?) installments will be a bit slower coming than the first two.

as always, you are free to criticize, comment, or flame me regarding this.




_Another_Dream_

Part II

July, 1993

By Patrick Parker ([e-mail])


Warning:

This story contains major spoilers for the previous USENET story, _T'Selar_.
Also note that the ship in this story is not the same Savant Child as in
_T'Selar_
______________________________________________________________________________

      R'annec was relieved when she got to her room.  Associating with the
humans was difficult, and she was glad to be left alone for a while.  She lay
on her bed, thinking.  She found herself thinking about the Tengu on the
plaque.  It really was an interesting legend, showing the Romulan a bit about
human history.  They were not as one-dimensional as she'd been taught.
      The teaching of Romulan children was ruthlessly controlled.  They were
taught that they were the best race in the universe.  Government officials and
scientists carefully monitored their development.  Unfit children were not
allowed to live, and the healthy ones soon knew where their strengths lay and
were placed into the programs that suited their individual talents.
Additional education made them more well-rounded; martial arts and physical
development classes, political education, and appropriate-prejudice training.
      The humans are so different, thought R'annec; so undirected.  The unfit
children are allowed to live, children begin their lives in chaos instead of
rigorous order, they study whatever strikes their impressionable minds, yet
somehow some of them grow up to be productive members of society.  One would
never have dreamt it possible.
      R'annec thought back to the recent events that had so drastically
changed her point of view and caused her defection.  She'd been serving on the
Warbird Retribution as Chief Engineer.  She'd had a good chance of rising into
a position of real power because the Captain of the Retribution had been her
lover.  She had planned to use him to advance her career.
      All changed when the Retribution captured a Federation shuttlecraft
carrying two Federation doctors, Beverly Crusher and Selar of Vulcan.  It
turned out that Selar was dying from mating season sickness; a slow and
maddening death.  R'annec saw Selar's condition, and in an inexplicable moment
of tenderness, mind-melded with the Vulcan to strengthen her.
      She had not counted on the adverse effects of melding with a mind in
such a traumatized condition.  Confused by Selar's raging madness, the Romulan
Engineer killed the captain, sabotaged the shields of the Retribution, and
helped the doctors to escape.  It all happened so fast she had almost no time
to think about consequences.
      Confusion wasn't the only effect of the mind-meld.  During the traumatic
mind-meld she had been presented with a view of the workings of the universe
totally contrary to her training.  She had personally experienced the basic
ideologies and ethics of an alien and her own ideas of right and wrong, good
and evil, had been subtly altered.
      Selar had been furious; mind-rape she'd called it, even though it had
saved her life.  Considering the consequences, R'annec wondered who actually
was raped and who was the rapist.
      Branded a traitor by her people, R'annec was granted political immunity
by the Federation.  During her few weeks on the Enterprise she met humans that
were surprisingly insightful.  Picard, the Captain, lover of literature and
music.  The amazingly sensitive Counselor Troi.  R'annec had no idea how a
human such as Troi could be so completely receptive to a Romulan's emotional
needs; part of being a psych doctor, R'annec had finally concluded.  Then
there was William Riker.  R'annec lay on the bed smiling at the thought of
Will Riker.
______________________________________________________________________________

      Henley stood leaning against the rail of the bridge, staring at the main
viewer, lost in thought.  He was mentally abusing himself for allowing the
Romulan woman to distract him so easily.  Still, Romulans are tricky; good
with mind games.  The Captain frowned.
      As Henley stood there admonishing himself, the turbo-lift doors opened
and Wright stepped out.  Henley came out of his reverie and turned toward the
Security Officer.
      "Well?"
      "She's in her quarters, sir.  I had a pair of guards posted near her
door."
      "Good.  Be sure to monitor her access to the computer and replicator.
Let her get food, but keep her away from dangerous supplies and information."
      Wright nodded and Henley continued.
      "I don't like having her on board.  Something bad is going to happen; I
can feel it."  Henley and Wright looked each other in the eye.  The Security
Chief didn't share the Captain's superstition, but he would do his duty and
watch the Romulan carefully.  As they looked at each other, a beep sounded
from one of the sensor stations, underlining the Captain's premonition.
      "Captain," the helmsman called out.  "there is an object drifting in our
path."  He paused for a moment, tweaking his controls.  "It is a log buoy;
Federation class sixteen."
      Henley nodded to Wright and moved over to the Helm station to look at
the instruments himself.  "What ship is it from?"
      "Unable to determine, sir.  The buoy is very old and its transponder is
damaged."
      Henley moved back toward his command seat.  Very old indeed.  The class
sixteen buoys had not been used for over a hundred years.  He leaned back in
his chair and stared at the tiny object on the screen.  This definitely bears
investigation.
      "Helm, move us to a range of twenty-thousand meters, then have the buoy
transported into cargo bay-one.  Engineering, I want a team down there to look
at the thing.  Find out where it came from and what happened to its ship to
cause them to eject it."
      They waited for a few moments as the Gyakufu drew alongside the drifting
capsule.  It looked close enough on the screen to reach out and touch, then it
disappeared.  The Helmsman nodded to Captain Henley.  "We've got it, Sir."
      A moment later the report came from cargo bay-one.  "Sir, it'll take a
few minutes to get the buoy's logs operational, but as to whose it is, well
the insignia is still visible.  NCC-0322.  USS Archetype."
______________________________________________________________________________

      "I don't know what it's supposed to look like, and if you ask me, this
is the stupidest test you've come up with yet!"
      "Well, Commander, I didn't ask your opinion on the validity of this
particular test.  I simply asked you what you thought the image resembles."
      Dylan stood beside the couch, watching Dallas over the edge of his data-
pad.  The Commander was tired of sitting down and was getting flustered at the
incessant goading from the Counselor.  They had performed all the standard
psych tests in record time and now the Counselor was dredging up more inane
games.
      "A horse."
      "A horse, Commander?"  The psychiatrist's voice sounded dubious.
      "Yeah, a damned horse.  Can I go now?"  Dallas pushed his had back and
leaned forward on the couch.
      "No, you may not, Commander.  Computer, display Rorschach Image Eight."
      Dallas groaned and leaned back as the computer placed another red
splattering on the viewscreen.  He rubbed his temples.  "Where did you dig up
this test, Dylan.  Do you not have anything better to do with your time than
sit around inventing these idiotic pictures that don't look like anything?"
      Counselor Dylan lowered the data-pad and eyed Dallas critically.  "I did
not invent these.  They were invented by Dr. Hermann Rorschach, and were
considered a valuable diagnostic tool for years."
      "Oh, now I remember; the Rorschach test.  I think I remember having a
dream about the Rorschach test - it drove one of Dr. Rorschach's patients
insane!  He wound up strangling the poor doctor to death, didn't he?"
      Dylan raised an eyebrow and mashed a button on his data-pad.  Ignoring
Dallas' ranting, he took a deep breath and turned his attention toward the
screen.  "Alright Commander, this is image eight.  What does it look like to
you?"
      "Blood."
      "Hmmmm, blood..."  The Counselor made a note.
      "Yeah, yours."
      Dylan sighed and put down the data pad.  "We are obviously not getting
anywhere today.  You're getting tired and aggravated."
      No shit, thought Dallas.  "Well, in that case, I'll be going."  The
Commander got up off the couch and made his way toward the door.
      "You are not fit for duty, Commander."
      Dallas turned around, his eyes wide.  "What!"
      "You are mentally drained from the psych evaluations.  I'm taking you
off duty for the rest of the day.  Go get some rest."
      Dallas stood there, jaw drooping, for a moment.  Then without a word he
turned and left.  The Counselor stared after Dallas, tapping the arm of his
chair with his data-pad.
______________________________________________________________________________

      Tap.  Nenia was absent-mindedly tapping a pencil on the arm of her
command chair.  Tap.  She looked down at the pencil, realizing what she was
doing.  Developing nervous habits, she scolded herself.  First sign of
impending mental collapse.  Tap, tap.
      She looked at the pencil again.  Fascinating - a real wood pencil;
painted yellow, hex-shaped cross-section, red rubber eraser.  Commander Pole
had found one in a museum and had managed to get the replicator to generate a
matrix for a real wood pencil that you couldn't tell from the original.  Now
she was finding them everywhere on her ship.  This one she'd found in the
cushion of the command chair.  Tap, tap.
      She set the pencil on the arm of the chair and stood up to get away from
it so she'd quit tapping it on things.  She walked aimlessly around the
bridge, stopping at each of the stations to check on things.
      Helm was, of course, on automatic.  She actually startled the helm
ensign who seemed to be in a daze, looking at the main viewer.  He blushed and
made a show of checking the helm readings.  What is with the helmsmen on this
ship, Nenia wondered.  We don't have a single one that's worth their pay.
      *Worth their pay!*  The captain shook her head again, pondering the
effects of having a First Officer that was obsessed with history.  Now she was
actually picking up his outdated expressions.
      She made her way to the Operations station.  It was on automatic, and
unmanned - as usual.  Nenia checked the readings.  Life support - normal,
sensors - normal, navigational deflectors - normal; everything normal.  She
sighed.
      Nenia started back toward the rear science deck of the bridge, but
before she got there, the communications officer turned toward her.
      "Captain Penthos, there is an incoming message from Sector Command."
The communication officer seemed as surprised as the Captain.  For a second,
Captain Penthos' face brightened, then she put on a more Captain-like face and
turned toward the main viewer.
      "Let's see it."  The star view was replaced by the aging face of Admiral
B'mu.  He looked up from his desk and smiled at Nenia.
      "Captain Penthos, good to see you."
      Who did he expect to see as Captain of the Child, she thought, smiling
back pleasantly.  "What can I do for you, Admiral?"
      The Admiral cleared his throat and got down to business.  "The colonists
of Adler IV seem to be feuding.  We want you to go take care of it."
      "A feud?"  Nenia was incredulous.  Not only were the settlers of Adler
IV farmers; not prone to violence, but she simply couldn't believe that Fleet
would want her ship to put down a feud.  As usual, she was correct.
      "Nothing dangerous, I assure you.  The heads of a couple of the more
influential clans are having a dispute - more of a vehement discussion, really
- over the ownership of a tract of swampland."
      The Admiral shifted in his chair and then leaned forward, his elbows on
the desk.  Nenia leaned forward slightly too, waiting for B'mu to continue.
"The governor of Alder IV seems to think that the argument could polarize the
remainder of the clans into partisan groups, which would not be conductive to
the productivity of the colony.  We need you to mediate the discussions as a
Starfleet representative.  Details are being transmitted.  B'mu out."
      Captain Penthos rocked back onto her heels and stared at the blank
screen.  As she sank back into her chair the ensign at the helm turned to look
at her questioningly.  He'd already punched in the co-ordinates for Alder IV
and was waiting for permission to execute the course change.  Nenia slumped
into the chair and flipped her right hand at the viewscreen indicating that
the helmsman could feel free to proceed.  Unconsciously, she picked up Dallas'
pencil and began tapping it on her knee.
      For a moment, she watched the viewscreen as the ship swept out a large
arc and settled into it's new course.  Then she pushed a button on the arm of
her chair with the eraser of the pencil.
      "Computer, summon Commander Pole to the bridge."
      The computer made a buzzing noise, then replied.  "Commander Pole is
currently off duty.  Please confirm the summons."
      "Who took Commander Pole off duty?"  She felt her grip tightening on the
pencil.
      "Commander Pole is off duty for medical reasons by order of Counselor
Dylan."
      The pencil broke.
______________________________________________________________________________

      Captain Henley stood watching the engineers attempt to get the
Archetype's log buoy working.  They had extracted the memories from the
damaged playback computer and constructed a makeshift interface to enable them
to be read by the newer Gyakufu computers.
      After a bit of image manipulation, they managed to get a fuzzy picture
on one of the terminals.  The Archetype's bridge was beginning to fill with
smoke and sparks were flying from a panel behind and to the right of the
Captain - Blake Rymos.  A couple of bodies were slumped over burned-out
control stations within the range of the viewer.  Captain Rymos was shouting
something into the recorder, but the Gyakufu engineers had not yet gotten the
sound chips working.  Henley watched the grim scene as the engineers fumbled
with the chips.  Finally the sound kicked in.
      "...is Nolan?"  Rymos was shouting at someone out of the range of the
viewer.  He turned back to the screen as an explosion somewhere on the ship
rocked the bridge, throwing Rymos out of his seat.  He crawled back toward the
chair and pulled himself up.  "Communication is out.  Nolan has gone to
Engineering to try to stabil..."  He was cut off by a burst of static.
      Rymos looked to his left again, toward where he'd been shouting earlier.
then he turned back to the screen as the sound came back in.  "...is dead, as
are over half the crew ... so swift ..."  another explosion rocked the
Archetype and the sound and video went out for a moment.  When they came back,
Rymos was floating above the command chair.  "Still don't know where the hell
we are ... evacuating to the nearest habitable planet.  We will..."  The video
went out for the last time and the Gyakufu engineers shook their heads at the
possibility of dredging more information from the ancient chips.
      "Well, what do you think of that, Captain," asked Commander Wright.
      Henley stood thinking for a moment.  "They didn't know where they were,
and they were ditching to a planet."  Henley scratched his neck.  "Where were
they reported lost again?"
      Wright shrugged but one of the engineers piped up.  "Sector 833, Sir.
An empty sector - no hospitable star systems in the entire sector."
      Henley nodded.  "That's also a thousand light years from here.  There's
no way the buoy could have gotten here from sector 833 by now."
      The Captain tapped his communicator.  "Helm, can you project the buoy's
path backwards to locate it's point of origin?"  There were a few moments of
silence before the answer came back.
      "Yes sir.  Welchris Cluster, Star system U-5227."
      "We'll be right there, Helm.  Find out if there are any ships active in
the Welchris Cluster."
      Henley and Wright made their way toward the bridge and when they
arrived, the bridge crew was busy gathering information on the Archetype, the
Welchris Cluster, and the log buoy.  It made Henley proud to see such an
efficient crew.  It made him feel unstoppable; as if they were capable of
performing anything he asked, even without being told.  He smiled as the
helmsman turned toward him.
      "Sir, there is currently one ship active in the Welchris Cluster.  It is
the Excelsior Class Savant-Child, under the command of Captain Penthos."
      The Captain nodded to the helmsman and turned toward the nearest science
station where the science officer was beckoning him.  As he got closer, he saw
a vivid looking simulation running on the science station.  To Henley it
looked vaguely like a whirlpool, with a list of numbers scrolling by it on the
right.  The science officer looked up.  He was excited.
      "I think I know how the Archetype got to U-5227 from Sector 833.  It
must have been a wormhole.  We've analyzed the buoy's shell and found traces
of components from the Archetype stuck to it - apparently from the explosion
of the ship just after the buoy was launched.  Those components show signs of
degradation similar to the effects a wormhole would have had on the hull of a
ship of that era."
      "So a wormhole destroyed the Archetype?"  Henley wasn't so sure why the
scientist was so excited - the diagnosis seemed to make sense.  People had
conjectured for years that this was what had actually happened.
      "Right, but Captain, do you know what this means?"  He continued before
Henley even had a chance to shake his head.  "It means that Archetype was the
first federation ship to have ever encountered a wormhole.  Until now,
everyone thought that the first sighting of the wormhole phenomena was sixty
years after the Archetype incident.  This discovery is of major historical and
scientific value!"
      Henley moved back toward the command chair and when he was seated he
called out for the communication officer to raise the Savant-Child on subspace
radio.  A few moments later, Captain Nenia Penthos appeared on the screen.
      "Captain Penthos, We have just made an astounding discovery."
      Great, thought Nenia.  "And what is that, Captain Henley?"  She was
fiddling with a pair of short yellow cylinders that Henley couldn't quite
distinguish from his angle.  He did notice that she seemed a bit distracted.
      "We have just picked up the log buoy from the USS Archetype.  Do you
remember that old story about..."
      "What!  Yes, of course I remember it.  Please continue."  First Dallas'
dream, now this.  The coincidence was incredible.
      "Uh, yeah..."  Henley was a bit taken aback by Penthos' sudden interest.
He shifted in his chair and continued.  "The logs were pretty badly damaged,
but we managed to determine that it was destroyed, apparently by a wormhole
which carried it from Sector 833 to a star in the Welchris Cluster; U-5227.
The logs also say that they were going to try to ditch to one of the planets."
      "Wow!"  Nenia sat back in her chair and stroked her chin.  "Excellent!"
      "There is the possibility of the survivors' or possibly their offspring
still being on that planet.  We'd go investigate it, but we're delivering a
Romulan defector to Earth.  Could you ..."
      Nenia jumped up.  "Of course we'll go investigate it.  We can be there
in a few hours.  Go on to Earth, we can take care of this."  Henley opened his
mouth to speak, but never got the chance.  "Savant-Child out."
______________________________________________________________________________

      "Notify Fleet of our change in plans,"  Called out Nenia Penthos to the
communication officer as the slim Captain paced around the bridge.  "And
notify the section heads to be prepared for extended duty; we won't get there
till..."  She stopped by the Helm station and looked over the ensign's
shoulder.
      "Oh four-hundred hours," the nervous ensign mumbled over his shoulder to
the Captain.
      "Oh four-hundred hours."  Nenia made another pass around the bridge,
waving Dallas' broken pencil, then swooped into her chair and tapped the
pencil a couple of times on the armrest.
      The Communication officer turned half way around in her chair and called
out.  "Sir, should I summon Commander Pole to the bridge?"
      The Captain thought for a moment.  "No, leave him alone till we're
almost there - say, about oh three-hundred hours."  She was feeling generous
and Dallas may as well be rested when they got to the Archetype wreckage - God
knew she wouldn't be able to sleep.
      The Communication officer had barely turned back around to her station
when she spun back to face the Captain.  "We have a priority message from
Fleet.  Admiral B'mu on visual."  Nenia nodded and the forward viewer resolved
into the image of the Admiral.  He was not happy.  Here it comes, Nenia
thought.
      "You are not to divert to U-5227.  You are needed on Alder IV, the
Gyakufu is being redirected to U-5227."
      Nenia was devastated; almost getting an interesting assignment and
having it snatched away was worse than not having any excitement at all.  She
started to open her mouth to protest, but the Admiral leaned forward and
continued.
      "Furthermore, after you have settled the dispute on Alder IV, you are to
remain there for two weeks.  Your Counselor is doing some crucial
psychological experimentation, and needs to do some planet-wide emotional
sampling.  Assist him as necessary.  B'mu out."
      Nenia turned red as the viewer faded to black.  She clenched the pencil
nub in her hand until her knuckles began to whiten.  That infuriating Dylan is
continually interfering in the operation of this vessel.  Nenia was almost
shaking.
      She stood up and placed the two halves of the pencil on the seat of the
command chair.  As she turned to leave the bridge, she looked over at the
Communication officer.
      "Summon the third shift Commander - Lieutenant What's-his-Name - for
Bridge duty."  The last sentence was barely out of her mouth when the turbo-
lift doors pressed closed behind her.
______________________________________________________________________________

      The door whooshed open and Dallas swept in.  He was agitated at having
been taken off duty, and he paced around his table a couple of times before
resigning himself to the day off.  Making one last circuit of the room, he
finally plopped down onto the bed.
      Stretching his shoulders up and back, he placed his hands behind his
head and yawned.  Dallas looked around the room; everything was in place.
Most people would call his things junk, but they were interesting to him.
      His computer terminal was sitting on an old, wooden cable spool; the
likes of which were used by power distribution companies during twentieth and
into the twenty-first centuries.  Next to the terminal was a pint-sized mason
jar filled with bright yellow pencils.  Dallas' eyes moved over to his display
case on the far wall.
      In the case were some of his most prized possessions.  A revolver from
the late nineteenth century, a telegraph set, and a vampire killing kit
complete with cross, mirror, salt, holy water, and wooden stake.  Dallas
smiled at the thought of the legend.
      Beside the display case there was an ancient stereo system from the late
twentieth century - one that played the optically-read, metallic-substrate
discs that were popular during that period.  The engineer on the Savant-Child
had grumbled when Dallas had put in the work order to have a 110-volt
receptacle in the First officer's quarters in order to power the stereo.
      Most of the rest of his suite was furnished in the practical, modern
fashion and held little interest for him.  He completed his visual inspection
of the room quickly, ending with the replicator slot.  Hmmmm.
      "Computer, Another Dream, please."
      Dallas stood up from the bed, retrieved the drink, and sat down at the
terminal.  "Computer, show me the service record of the officers of the USS
Archetype."  Dallas sipped the drink and perused the pages of information on
the computer screen.  Exemplary record for Tindoll.  Doubtful that he would of
done anything through negligence that would have caused the destruction of the
Archetype.  Same for Captain Rymos.  The Engineer kept things in ship shape,
so it wasn't likely to be his incompetence that caused the destruction of the
ship.  Hmmmm, wondered Dallas.  How is it that the ship was destroyed and no
trace was found?  Curious.
      "How about the mission logs of the Archetype, Computer?"  He had to find
out what caused the ship to be destroyed; had to find out what mistake they
had made.  He had researched each of his dreams since discovering that they
were based, somehow, on real tragedies that he'd previously known nothing
about.  Each dream made him a bit more obsessive with performing his job
correctly.  Each one made him want to know more about the tragic flaws of
historic persons.
      After completely exhausting the records on the Archetype, he sat back in
his chair.  He looked down at the drink that he had long since finished; the
ice was melted and there was a small ring of water on the cable spool at the
base of the glass.  he took the glass to the disposal unit and went to lie
down, suddenly realizing how tired he really was.
      The Counselor was right, I suppose.  I'd be useless on the bridge after
taking all those tests.  Maybe worse than useless;  I may have done something
wrong that could have ...  The thought drifted away.  The computer slowly
dimmed the lights when it sensed that Dallas was almost asleep.

      There was blackness, but it wasn't totally black.  The streaks of
passing stars pierced the dark viewscreen.  Commander Tindoll shook his head
to clear the daze that the constant starfield on the viewscreen induced.  He
looked around.  Everything was normal - Rymos in the command chair, Helm,
Science, Communications - yes, everything was right.  So why did he have the
feeling of foreboding.  It was almost as if someone were watching him;
expecting something bad to happen.
      He stood up, stretching his legs.  Rymos looked up and smiled.  Tindoll
walked around the bridge, paused at the science station.  The science officer
was working on an experiment.  Tindoll turned away and there was a lurch.
      He was crawling - toward his seat.  He tasted blood.  His cheek was
bleeding where he had bitten through it when he fell.  The viewscreen showed a
tunnel of light, through which the Archetype was passing.  Rymos called out to
know what was happening.  Helm didn't know.  Science Officer didn't know.
Engineer didn't know.
      Suddenly something flashed past them.  It looked like a ship, but nobody
recognized it.  The computer couldn't identify it either.  It sped out of
sensor range back down the light tunnel in the direction that the Archetype
was coming from.  Then everything was back to normal - relatively speaking.
No damage to speak of.  Unknown star system dead ahead.
      Everything was not normal.  Science Officer reported energy being
drained from the reactors.  Energy swirling around the Archetype.  Reactors
overloading.  Rymos was preparing to evacuate the ship and Tindoll was in
Engineering now.  The core was still overheating; energy still being sucked
out of it.  Explosion - Engineer dead.  Tindoll was going to have to try to
jettison the reactor core.  Pulling himself toward the jettison controls.
Legs weren't working - blood everywhere.
      Tindoll looked up into the reactor chamber.  The reactor was glowing an
angry red.  Cracks appearing in the core.  He had to get to the controls.  If
he couldn't it would be the end.  He reached for the controls but he was
falling, falling.
      Falling...

      Dallas woke up when he hit the floor.  He groped for the nightstand and
pulled himself up to his knees.  He rested his sweaty head on the side of the
bed until he stopped shaking.