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differentstartrek.ch2-p4
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Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!sdd.hp.com!math.ohio-state.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!newsserver.jvnc.net!glassboro.edu!saturn.rowan.edu!halll
From: halll@saturn.rowan.edu
Subject: A Different Star Trek,Chap.2 pt.4
Message-ID: <1993Dec1.112233.1@saturn.rowan.edu>
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Organization: Rowan College of NJ, Glassboro, NJ 08028
Date: Wed, 1 Dec 1993 16:22:33 GMT
Chapter 2 Pt. 4
The door the the captain's quarters was jammed shut, which I guess I
should have expected. It took me twenty minutes to gain entry. I left the doors
open. With my luck, if I'd closed them, they'd jam again.
I'd dropped Layla off, just down the hallway, in another officer's
quarters. I figured,why not? The normal crew compliment for this vessel was
well over four hundred. With only twelve of us on board, there was no reason to
cram into the regular crew's quarters. Officer's accomodations for all! Plus,
that meant nobody would have to bunk with anybody else, unless they wanted to.
If they wanted to, I didn't want to know about it. Romantic entanglements gave
me migraines.
The room was a wreck, as I had expected it to be. I circled the room,
setting As many of James Kirk's personal effects upright as I could. Much was
broken beyond repair, and I had little hope of ever knowing what some of the
delicate alien artwork had looked like. His trademark anitque weapons
collection was still intact, but scattered, so I carefully replaced them on
their wall. Alien knive hung next to old revolvers and black powder pistols.
Strange that a man so well read had been so captivated by the weapons of war.
Then I stopped. His view of the galaxy had been largely down the barrel of the
gun held by the Klingons and Romulans of his time. I was bred in a time of war
and tension. SO was the rest of my crew. Whether this would be an advantage or
not, was impossible to tell. The probability was, that I was not even as level
headed as Kirk, let alone the cold and calculating Picard.
I carefully placed the ancient books back on their shelves. Some real
classics. Things 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. By some miricle of God (orQ?), there was.
Gratefull, I trudged back out and made my bed. I fell into it, and fell asleep,
immediately.
David McCallister worked through the night, in Engineering. He looked
aghast as the destruction that had been wrought upon the ship. Debris was
everywhere. Support girders had collasped, controls panels had pitched to 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 Scot. He was an inventor of sorts, mainly turning out devices
so useless that even Ronco wouldn't sponsor them. An automatic hair cutter/lawn
mower, a car engine made entirely of hardened cream cheese (it got 150 mpg,
before it turned moldy), and a transporter system that could take you apart,
but not quite get you back together again were just a small sampling of some of
his more successful inventions.
David McCallister wasn't a very large man, just above average actually,
at five foot ten and one hundred seventy five pounds. He had firey red hair and
brown eyes that leaned towards amber in the right light. Women found him mildly
intriguing, he found most of them to be terminally irritating. His last steady
relationship had been three years before, and had lasted until just after he
installed the cream cheese engine in her car. Things had gone rapidly downhill
from there. 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 the scheme of things.
He had attained his undergrad degree from Hi-Lander 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 beautiful country 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 had benn a handy man's special would have been an
understatement. The roof was mostly 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 livable. 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 didn't 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.
"Relax, he can't see or hear us."
"Oh, damn." the captain said mildly.
"Well, what do you think?"
"He repaired the computer, so he obviously has some talent."
"But the compuetr walked him through the repair process."
"But it is still twentieth century education dealing with twenty-third
century technology. The man still has to be more than exceptionally bright."
Picard turned on Q,"Unless you are augmenting his natural abilities."
"No, no, no. They have to do it on their own. I am helping out
minimally at best."
"But you admit to forcing things along, if it keeps this facade
moving."
Q frowned and sauntered over to where McCallister was struggling to
move a perticularly heavy piece of equipment. He leaned around the struggling
human, and gently nudged the obstruction with his foot. The young man staggered
as the panel broek free and moved easily.
"Never."
"Why is this boy still working? The rest of his friends are all
asleep."
"He's an insomniac. Handy, eh?"
"What do they do, on their Earth?" Picard asked, quizically.
"Well, if their world truelly exists, this one is an electrical
engineering and computer sciences student at a little college in New Jersey.
They one playing captain is in the Army Reserve Officer Training Corps. The one
running Sickbay is a medical student."
"It seems, after first glance, that you have picked individuals
singularly suited to the challenges presented here."
"It wouldn't have been any fun to just pull a crew of twits off of the
street, Picard. They would have been killed instantly. There's no challenge in
that, now is there?"
The captain of the Enterprise nodded. For a moment, just a moment, he
didn't feel quite as ill-disposed towards the meddlesome alien as he ususally
did.
"Captain, give me a chance. There are parts of the plan I haven't
divulged yet."
Picard rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly realizing it had been a
long day for him also. When Q had kidnapped him off the bridge of his own
Enterprise, he had been at the end of his daily shift. That meant he had been
here, observing with for for another almost full day. He was tired.
"Say nothing captain. I can see the thought in your face. It's back
home with you."
"Excellent." he growled, "I'll have to be back on duty in a few hours."
"No, no. This little experience had been out of time, just for you.
When I return you to your ship, no time will have passed there at all."
"You realize, of course, that I am going to find these people and help
them." he replied seriously.
"Certainly. I wouldn't expect anything less of you. But, you don't know
where you are, or how far away. Just to make things a bit more interesting,
mind you."
"Thank you for the challenge." Picard said sourly,turning to look at
the young human, working alone on the huge, empty deck.
"I wouldn't have set it if I didn't think you were capable."
"Your confidence is most heartwarming. Take me home."
END CHAPTER 2, PT. 4
Eh? What? Eh? - L.Van Beethoven
Tell me what you think.
-Lou-