Introduction to the 2015 Digital Edition

There is a Star Trek fan club called Starfleet. Once upon a time, a chapter in Lynchburg, Virginia spawned multiple daughter chapters in nearby cities such as Roanoke, Blacksburg, Hampton, and Bluefield. We all enjoyed pretending to be futuristic starship crew, and that all our chapters were part of a squadron of ships assigned to the most unusual missions. It didn’t take long at all for us to start writing fiction about these ships, and even un-subtly working in many references to our other sci-fi and fantasy favorites.

And here we are, 22 years later. These stories were written on computers with as little as 64K of memory; we couldn’t possibly have imagined today’s Internet, smartphones, and digital tablets. It took some effort even to find software that could read the old MacWrite files we slaved over, and even then they required repair and re-editing.

I won’t speak for Jerry, Beth, or Tom, but my writing is clearly adolescent in these tales. Practice at the keyboard and two decades of life experience changes a person’s writing style and perspectives. There are sentences here that make me blush. And one can’t easily make the case that there isn’t enough fan fiction out in the wilds of the Web. So, why bother to create this digital edition for the electronic book readers of 2015?

Primarily, I’m bothering because I believe we did a pretty good job. While I may not write anything like these works now, there’s plenty here I’m proud of. We all wanted to make something good, something fun; looking over this material today, I’m surprised at how nicely the stories link together, and how characters evolved over the six or seven years of time we wrote them. The work I’m doing now is heavily influenced by what I’d done here; for example, there are sly references to some of these characters and situations in “Managlitch City Underground,” the fantasy podcast you can listen to at http://managlitch.com.

I hope you enjoy these tales. I won’t pretend they lack any flaw, but no creative work is finished, just released if it’s lucky. I regret that it wasn’t possible to include any of the amazing art included in the 1993 edition, but that’s tricky in today’s e-book formats, and I’m not sure any of us has all the files. Perhaps they’ll return in a future edition.

See you in the 23rd century!

Michael O’Brien

Lifelong Star Trek fan

Introduction to the 1993 Edition

What do you when characters won’t shut up?

That’s the problem several of us ran into in the creation of this book. “Pleasure” was a nice little crossover story that let its major character meet up with another group of characters from another universe. “Past Present” did more of the same. About halfway through “Batron and the Beast” we began to see a pattern forming, which culminated in “Shadows of Starfleet” and climaxed in “Breaking the Fall”.

The funny thing is, except for “Breaking the Fall”, which was intended as a climax to the entire series, the stories were written to stand alone, although each one served as a jumping off point for another. The wildest of these is the link between “Batron and the Beast” and “Shadows of Starfleet”. “Shadows” actually takes place between two paragraphs of “Batron”, and we spent a long time deciding which should go first in this volume. Some of us thought “Shadows” should go first, some “Batron”. Oh well, you can tell us which you think after you read it.

So here you have it, a science fiction fantasy anime time travel dimension-hopping adventure montage. It’s also a bit of a story about growing experiences. As the writers grew and matured, so did the characters in the series. A lot of innocence and optimism was lost in the course of this book’s writing, but thank the appropriate deity, some of it was found again as well.

And that, after all, is what this book is about. Doing the right thing, even when it isn’t the easiest, and clinging to your belief in what’s right, and doing something about it, even when it isn’t the easiest thing to do.

Especially when it isn’t the easiest thing to do...

Our thanks to the many people who have contributed their time and support to this volume, the artists who illustrated it: David Arthur, William Cox, Steven Haines, Curt Kagel, and Ed Philibin; and those many friends who supported us in its creation: Tony Sanders, Bob Cook, Larry Timson, Mike Layne, Ken Wright, Jon Reid, and a cast of thousands. If you aren’t listed here, please don’t be upset: a complete list would probably be as thick as this volume.

Years in the writing, months, in the editing, and a mad dash in a blind panic in construction: submitted for your approval, the “Multiverse Cycle”.

Jerry Conner

Author/Editor

Repository 1

The Capitol, Gallifrey

Samlare 48, 102,773 T.L.

[Reality Code: Mutter’s Spiral 871]

The door slid slowly open, and a hand moved precisely to the switch nearby. A soft glow lit the vast, arched room. Artifacts from a thousand places and a million times sat quiet in their cases under the moody lights.

The young man tried to contain his eagerness, moving forward to lay a palm delicately against a clear plastic barrier separating him from history. “What is this place?” he asked, voice hushed.

The woman with ancient eyes replied in soft, musical tones. “On another planet, this would be a museum. Here, it is a repository for all that the Time Lords wish to forget… and cannot bring themselves to destroy.”

He barely heard her as he rushed from case to case. Ponderous, complex machines towered threateningly next to graceful works of art. Arcane devices were carefully arrayed at the feet of barbaric costumes. Each case hinted at epics untold, histories to unravel, and secrets close-kept.

He ran a hand over his close-cropped blond hair, bewildered. “This is wonderful, incredible! Why must it stay hidden?”

Her long red-gold robes rustled as she came up behind him. “This is knowledge, apprentice. Knowledge is a tool, like fire or the pen. It can be used to protect and provide, or harm and destroy.” She looked at one implement of destruction: beautiful in design and ornament, and capable of leveling mountains. “The Time Lords trust not even themselves with certain knowledge.”

Fear crept into his expression as he turned to look at her. “Why am I here?”

Her eyes bored into his. “This is part of your training, apprentice. Though, perhaps, a part your other teachers would disapprove of.” She turned, and headed back toward the door. “There is still time for you to turn back, and learn only what they wish you to know.”

“No!” His voice quivered as he ran to stop her. “I… I want to know.”

She smiled, then she faced him again. “Well then; choose. I will tell you, today, the story of any case you wish. It is your choice.”

He looked across the cavernous hall, daunted by the number of displays before him. As he began to protest, his eyes fell on one item, displayed alone in a wall case. The artifact was small, only a meter in length and a few centimeters in diameter. It was a simple silver rod, with indentations at one end suitable for the grip of a hominid hand.

“That one,” he said, pointing.

Her eyes sparkled with memory. “Ah… an interesting choice. The Mutor: a psychic amplification device. That was used by a handful of humans to save several universes from temporal invasion; not the least of which was this one.”

“I know of the parallel timeline theories,” the apprentice Time Lord said eagerly. “Is this really from another reality?”

“A man named Grin’elle Kriet brought it from a realm of magic, to his realm of science,” she intoned. “He lived in the reality coded ‘USS Enterprise,’ where humans in starships of that name spread through their home galaxy and beyond. Well, he lived there most of the time, anyway. It remains one of the more pleasant timelines, overall. One of the more important, too.”

“Important?”

“Some realities dominate the multiverse more than others. That one, with its thousands of permutations, fills more of the multiverse’s bandwidth than almost any other. Ours is of course one of the exceptions. That’s why we were invaded.”

“Tell me the story of the invasion,” he said with poorly suppressed excitement.

She paused, allowing the memories to become sharp and clear. “Kriet was a member of his race’s military, known as Starfleet. He served, at the time, aboard the starship USS Pathfinder. He had gained the Mutor in what seemed an insignificant incident, and most important of all, he owned a TARDIS.”

“A time capsule! How did he get access to one of those in his reality?”

“That is part of the story...”

Pleasure

by Michael O’Brien

USS Pathfinder

On standard patrol, Velax sector

April 23, 2288 A.D.

[Reality Code: USS Enterprise 017]

Captain Ebon D’Arque of the dreadnought USS Pathfinder read the paper and his eyes glowed. “Intership channel, Kam,” he said. “I want everybody to hear this.”

“Intership open, sir.”

“This is the captain speaking. I know our last few missions have been hazardous and exhausting. You’ve been put through situations few crews could handle, and you’ve performed admirably. Between this record and our providential position in space, it is my pleasure to inform you that Starfleet has approved shore leave for all of us - on Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet!”

The resulting cheer was audible throughout the ship.

Alien Asteroid Base

Co-ordinates unknown

“We are ready.”

“Good. And our - assistants?”

“They are preparing. We have them under full control.”

“Good. I don’t have to tell you what it means if we succeed. I also don’t have to tell you what happens if you fail.”

“We will not fail.”

“See that you don’t.”

USS Pathfinder

Quaver Rhapsody, assistant engineering chief and full-time tinkerer, entered the main Rec lounge. He overheard three crewmen discussing their shore leave plans and smiled to himself. For the last four days, he’d heard nothing else. Not only that, but most all of it was variations on one central theme: copulation. Rhaps smiled again; he intended to see what the famed resort had to offer, himself. Not everybody was as lucky as Kam and Kaz, with a partner already on board.

Suddenly the object of his search showed: Grin’elle Kriet, his immediate superior, and right now ship’s moodiness champ. “There you are! Ready for Wrigley’s?”

Grin managed a smile. “Yeah. I’m hoping it’ll take the edge off. I think I’ve been overworking myself lately.”

“Yeah, well, CEO of the Pathfinder ain’t a picnic. I’m your second; I can relate.” There was a pause. “Oh! The reason I came. Solomon Kirann is doing an overhaul on Sorcerer.”

“Yeah, I know. He asked if it would be all right.”

Quaver was astonished. “You’re letting someone else near your mecha?”

Grin’elle turned an odd look on Rhapsody. “Why not? He practically flies it better than I do.” He turned away to stare out the huge viewports.

Rhaps didn’t know what to make of it. “Yeah, sure boss. Well, I need to work on my own VT. See you Beta shift.”

He passed a giggle of female ensigns on the way out, and overheard, “-mander Kazsis is going hunting in the rough all week. Alone. No Kazar.”

There were some surprised exclamations, then an answer, “Hell, she probably wants a vacation from screwing.” The turbolift doors prevented him from hearing anymore.

Solomon Kirann used a molecular softener to smooth out a gouge in the side of the sleek fighter plane. Sometimes he felt as if the Protoculture power source inside appreciated the attention; since he boarded this ship, Kriet’s Veritech had been the best tended of all. Carefully, he applied red stealth polymer over the gleaming metal, careful to match color and polarization with the surrounding coating. He stepped back and admired the work. Good as new.

“Hey, there’s Cadet Kirann,” someone shouted. Solomon knew and dreaded the voice, that of his chief Academy tormentor. He wondered again whose idea it had been to put them both on the same ship.

“What do you think he’s gonna do on Wrigley’s?”

“Probably have them make him fifty feet tall so he can make love to that Battloid!”

The others in that group found that high comedy, and they all sauntered off. Kirann rested his head against the cool metal. They’d never understand...

“Ah. Cadet Kirann. Doing a little maintenance work, I see; not a bad idea.” Rhapsody’s voice grew conspiratorial. “So, got your week on Wrigley’s planned out?”

The response was a mechanical, “Sir. Yes, sir,” after which, not really aware of his superior officer, Kirann walked off.

Quaver gazed after him, confused. Maybe we really are overdue for shore leave, he thought.

The Pathfinder eased into the orbital drydock Starfleet maintained at Wrigley’s. There was a full Corps of Engineers crew there, to make the shore leave beneficial to machine as well as man. Kriet performed the transfer of control with full ceremony, explaining that anyone who touched any of the mecha would get a firsthand look at the insides of an operating warp drive. The Commander in charge of the facility looked confused, but agreed. Leave parties were organized, and, in groups of six, the crew deserted from Starfleet for a week.

For some, it was a bit less than that. All crewmen were instructed to check in with their department head if anything went wrong; and Captain D’Arque would be holding a meeting of the heads halfway though - “just to be sure.”

And the fun began.

Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet

April 27, 2288 A.D.

The above-mentioned meeting started with everybody present but Kammara Kazsis, Communications Chief - not surprising considering what rumor said about her chosen ‘relaxation.’ D’Arque delayed the meeting until she arrived; Dr. Chesnovica Terrail used the chance to pull Ebon and the first officer, Llandhe t’Reilri, aside.

Nova pointed discreetly at Kriet, who, since the meeting started, had not looked at anything but the table before him. “Captain, I’m really worried about him. According to my sources, he’s spent his whole leave so far wandering about the main city, doing nothing.” She often pulled double duty as a psychiatrist.

Llandhe nodded. “MY spies tell me he’s turned down offers I’d never have refused, in his place.” She caught herself and colored a bit; she’d been looking like she wanted to purr since she walked in.

Ebon didn’t miss the reference. “Yes, some of us seem to be getting more out of this leave than others.” He was joking; he’d been ‘relaxing’ with some hand-to-hand training (after signing a sheaf of releases and waivers) that made him capable of defeating Security Officer Fang. Well… maybe… if the Kzin was having an off day. Maybe.

T’Reilri interrupted that train of thought. “You know, he’s been like this since the incident with the Mirror Pathfinder. You think it had to do with when he had to kill his own double?”

“I don’t know...”

“Well, I do,” declared Nova. “Soon as we get back to the ship, he’s getting a full physical, mental, and emotional checkup.”

“Why not now?”

“Are you kidding? Trying to ‘make’ someone do something on Wrigley’s is like trying to ‘make’ Lt. Wolcait stop punning. You just can’t do it.”

The doors opened. “Hey, guys. Sorry I’m late.”

Involuntary whistles came from every male in the room. It was forgivable. Wearing torn leathers (and not much square footage, either) and a gorgeous tan, Kam Kazsis walked in. She’d entered one of the wilderness preserves three days ago with a knife and the clothes on her back. Her entrance even made Llandhe a bit envious.

Unconcerned about the attention she was getting, Kam dropped in a chair. “So. Did I hold things up?”

Things had broken up, everyone eager to return to their respective pursuits. Kaz was in the corner with Kam, trying - and succeeding, it seemed - to persuade her to let him return with her. Ebon asked t’Reilri, “Did you see where Grin went?”

“I think he said something about the Pathfinder,” the Rihannsu said. She let infrequent concern show. “I hope he’ll be okay.”

“Me too. It seems like such a waste.” The Kzinti mutant indicated the room. “How often do you get to go to Wrigley’s?”

USS Pathfinder

The Corps of Engineers had finished their work, and the Pathfinder was completely empty. Almost.

Grin’elle Kriet’s footsteps echoed through the dimly lit halls. His foot hit a piece of metallic trash left behind by the overhaul crew; as it bounced into a side corridor, the clangs seemed to fill the ship. He knew every sound that reached him, the loudest being the automation complex carrying out the tasks necessary until the crew’s return.

Grin knew he had a problem. He wasn’t sure what it was. He thought he might know what it was; but he wasn’t really ready to think about that possibility yet; so he hadn’t let it out of his subconscious.

Exasperated with himself, he practically ran down to the Hologram Training Center - what Kayleigh Anders, medtech, insisted on calling the ‘Danger Room.’ He leaped into the Veritech simulator and strapped in, hitting the switch for the Maximum level.

Working out his frustrations on the various small attack craft he faced felt wonderful. He was mildly cheered for a few moments when he beat the simulation, until the ‘brag board’ appeared, asking for his name - in second place; half a point below Solomon Kirann. He swore and typed ‘Zaphod Beeblebrox.’

“Well,” he announced to the walls, “playing’s out, and practice didn’t help. Maybe there’s some trouble I can get into?”

Alien Asteroid Base

“They are in position. Are you ready?”

“We are ready.”

“Implement!”

Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet

Teyp Wolcait had his audience in the palm of his hand. Every one in the entire restaurant was looking at him. He invited a man from the next table to check that the holography blocker was working, then pulled a communicator from the ear of the rather pretty ensign across from him. He then pulled one from each sleeve, then one from her cleavage; the red in her cheeks made it most clear that she had not expected that. Most everyone got a good laugh, and he was pleased to see that she took it very well. Maybe, he thought, later on...

- then one from her cleavage; the red in her cheeks made it most clear that she had not expected that. Most everyone got a good laugh, and he was pleased to see that she took it very well. Maybe...

- the red in her cheeks made it most clear that she had not expected that. Most everyone got a good laugh, and he was pleased to see that she took it very well...

- she had not expected that. Most everyone got a good laugh, and he was pleased to see...

He knew something was wrong but he was powerless to - everyone got a good laugh...

D’Arque swung the sword skillfully at the beast, but it somehow slipped though his guard. The creature knocked him down, and its fangs closed on his arm. Blood sprayed. The pain was intense...

- it somehow slipped through his guard. The creature knocked him down, and its fangs closed on his arm. Blood sprayed. The pain was intense...

- and its fangs closed on his arm. Blood sprayed. The pain...

“What’s going on?” he managed to cry - and its fangs closed on his arm...

With a cheerful yowl, T’Renn Vraomrell leaped to the top of the next building. As a Caitian, he had a sense of poise and balance that never failed, even in zero-G. The next building was a bit lower; he gathered himself and leaped, somersaulting through the air to a perfect two-point landing...

- he gathered himself and leaped, somersaulting through the air...

- and leaped, somersaulting...

- and leaped...

Kam was beginning to be very glad she agreed to allow Kazar to follow her this time. By glad, that meant her clothing was scattered among surrounding bushes. Kazar didn’t wear clothing on the occasions he could get away with it; it interfered with his shape-changing abilities.

Right now he was most definitely humanoid. Odd, but Kaz was a much better lover in a natural setting, away from the ship. Perhaps it was because the ship meant shipmates, even the best of whom could be a bit nosy.

She wasn’t thinking of that now, of course. As Kazar moved against her, Kam was thinking of how wonderful he was, and how beautiful the sky was, and how incredible life in general was, and - They both snapped at the same time, and they didn’t need the Pathfinder to make Transwarp...

- as Kazar moved against her, Kam was thinking of how wonderful he was, and how beautiful the sky was, and how incredible life in general was, and - They both snapped at the same time, and they didn’t need the Pathfinder...

- They both snapped at the same time...

USS Pathfinder (the TARDIS)

Grin was amusing himself by practicing microjumps; he flew the TARDIS from his cabin to the bridge to sickbay to the hangar deck to the engine room, randomly around the ship.

Suddenly he stopped. An indefinable premonition tickled the back of Kriet’s mind. Something very wrong was about to happen...

It hit, and he felt it; a distorting twist of time and space which tore at his very being. He grasped the central control console for support as waves of giddiness and nausea passed over him. The hexagonal-patterned walls appeared to stretch, as if they wanted to envelop and crush him. He closed his eyes in terror.

Nothing happened. Kriet opened his eyes; the TARDIS control room was its normal, sedate self, but waves of psychic pain still washed over him. With difficulty, he locked it away and ran a full systems check.

Grin whistled. A chronic hysteresis had enveloped the entire planet, as well as orbiting ships and satellites. The TARDIS drives were drawing enormous power in an attempt to keep him free. If the attack had been aimed directly at him -!

That explained some of the mental discomfort. Time Lords often achieve a subliminal link with their almost sentient machines, and his was trying to warn him. Grin’elle realized, however, that most of the pain was coming from the planet. He had never experienced the effects of a hysteresis on normal, unprotected minds, and many of those below were his close friends, some with tele- or empathic abilities. Kriet realized with a chill that the time loop may have caught some of them in the midst of unpleasantness, which they now relived again and again and again.

He surveyed the console, and his options. If he left the TARDIS, he would be instantly grabbed by the loop. There wasn’t enough power left in the circuits to fully dematerialize, so all forms of time/space travel were out.

“The TARDIS is a nice place,” Grin informed the walls, “but spending the rest of my life in here is not an attractive prospect.”

He ran another power check. There was one non-standard piece of equipment in the TARDIS, the Multiverse Device; the mechanism he created which made it possible to access timelines so different, they were like alternate realities. The Device drew little power while operating; perhaps there was enough left -

There was. Grin’elle considered his destination for a few moments. He would need some help tracking down the cause of all this, so his best bet would be to contact someone who was good at that kind of work.

Grin smiled, for the first time in days. He knew just the pair. He activated the Multiverse Device, locked in the settings, and executed.

He was in a long, vaulted hall, lined with doors on each side.  The hall stretched to infinity in either direction. Didn’t I see this movie? thought Grin.

It didn’t matter; he had work to do. He picked the most-likely seeming door, and opened it -

- and found himself back in the TARDIS console room. Free of the hysteresis, the power surged to normal; the TARDIS hummed with renewed vigor.

Kriet knew he had arrived at his destination. Every timeline had a different feel to it, and he had been here before.

“Time-curve circuits fully operational,” announced Grin happily. “Next stop, Earth - 2145 A.D.” The characteristic scraping moan of the timeship’s motors cut in, and the TARDIS was on its way.

Brian Apartments, Tokyo, Earth

March 5, 2145 A.D.

[Reality Code: Worlds Work Welfare Association (WWWA) 702]

Boring!!

Kei impatiently flipped through a magazine, not really seeing any of the words on the page. The nerve of some people! After she and Yuri had returned from their last assignment - a complete success, she might add - they’d been put on two weeks paid suspension. It wasn’t our fault the damned reactor went critical, she fumed.

Now it was the middle of the second week, and she was desperate for some trouble to get into. She needn’t have worried.

The door chimed. She was there before the ring stopped, shouting at the shower, “I’ll get it!” The muffled answer was unintelligible.

Kei opened the door. There was a man standing there, who she thought she remembered...

“Remember me? I’m Grin’elle Kriet. May I come in?”

In a flash, it came back to her; they had met back when that group had stolen those monopoles from the Chaos Institute, and Lovely Angel had been given the case. Kriet and friends had been after the thieves for their own reasons, and all three groups had chased each other around for a while. Grin’elle and company had finally teamed up with the women, and the thieves were caught and thrashed. It had been a good mission, but she hardly expected to see him again.

For one thing, she had her doubts about his sanity. “This is quite a surprise, Grin’elle. I thought you said you lived in a parallel universe.”

“I do; that’s not important now. I’ll level with you. I’m in a lot of trouble, and I need some help.”

Amusement flashed in her eyes. “Oh, really. Well, I guess you better come in.”

He did so. As he passed the hall, the bathroom door cracked open and a head with shampoo-covered black hair peeped out; the door slammed shut again. They sat down. “So, tell me what’s going on?”

Grin ran off the story as quickly as possible. Throughout it all, he got the feeling that the redhead was restraining a laugh; it broke loose as he neared the end.

“So, you’ve come from another universe in a time machine to seek our help? Look. Last time we met: we helped you, you helped us. It worked out. But this sort of thing - telepathic time loops - you’d be better off writing it down and sending it to Astonishing Tales or something.” She stood. “I think you’d better leave now.”

Grin’elle was dumbfounded. The best he could do was nod politely and show himself out.

Poor guy, Kei thought. Sounded like he believed his own story. And I gotta admit, if it was true, he’d need help bad!

A towel-wrapped Yuri entered the room. “Who was that?”

Kriet stood outside the door fuming. Damn woman. Still, can’t say I blame her. I’d want some proof too. And I need their help.

He thought about that a minute. All right.

“Oh, him,” remembered Yuri. “Why’d you have to be in such a hurry to get rid of him? He was kind of cute.”

“Knock it off, okay,” mumbled Kei. She broke off as a portion of air next to the wall misted over. A wheezing groan sounded as a steel pillar took shape there. The form solidified with a final thump, and Grin’elle Kriet stepped from a sliding door in the side.

Well, how about that, mused Kei.

Grin looked Kei right in the eye. “I’d like to hire the ‘Lovely Angel’ team at double rates plus expenses, for an indeterminate period, to assist in the rescue of my friends.”

She returned the look. “Assignment accepted.”

They spent some time preparing and assembling needed equipment. Kei and Yuri changed to their work outfits; snug, durable, unconstricting affairs. Grin didn’t like them much; or maybe it’d be better to say he did like them, to the point of distraction. They consisted of short vests and shorts, yellow for Kei, very pale green-grey for Yuri. Kriet’s private theory was that the strategy was to make the other guy forget to shoot.

They boarded the TARDIS. “Wild,” exclaimed Yuri. “It’s bigger on the inside than on the outside!”

“Now that the formalities are concluded,” Grin smiled wryly, “I’d like you both to stand by the console, please.”

Kei eyed the mass of controls. “We don’t have to work any of this, do we?”

“No, but the trip is occasionally bumpy, and you may want something to hang onto. This used to be a research vehicle, never did more than the occasional Sunday drive; I’ll probably install jumpseats someday.”

Kei winced slightly and took firm hold of the console. Yuri glanced sidelong at her and imitated. Kriet grinned. After that speech of hers back at the apartment, it felt nice to rattle her confidence a bit.

“Ready? I’ve programmed in the time and universe jumps together. Here goes...”

Alien Asteroid Base

“What is it?”

“Our - assistants have detected a fluctuation in the chronic hysteresis.”

“An escape attempt?”

“I don’t see how. None of the subjects should have that capability.”

“Check it out. There must be no mistakes!”

“Sir, I’ve just had news. Another fluctuation, this one weaker.”

“Suppress it completely! If you screw up -”

“This one is from a different source, sir.”

“Hmm. Keep monitoring. If it happens again, you are to go in with a nullifier and eliminate the cause.”

“What? Me? Uh, I mean, the nullifiers aren’t perfected, and -”

“You have your orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

Orbiting Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet

April 27, 2288 A.D.

[Reality Code: USS Enterprise 017]

Grin’elle held the console in a death grip, hands and feet spread for best bracing. He looked severely drained. Kei and Yuri were on the floor, semi-conscious. Yuri returned to her senses first. “What happened?”

“We materialized too close to the chronic hysteresis, and temporarily lost control. Caught in an eddy of the Time Vortex.”

“Oh,” she said, as if she understood it better than he did. “Kei, wake up!”

He operated the scanner controls, and the shield opened to show Wrigley’s. “Looks like we’ve got a safe distance, though.”

Kei said something along the lines of “Mmmblgrphlntz,” then shook her head. “Are we there?” She studied the scanner screen. “That planet looks wrong,” she declared.

Grin was caught off guard, having been studying the way the material of her jacket pulled when she twisted around like that… “Uh, yes. It’s caught in the time loop. Everyone in that field is reliving a few seconds over and over; but to the outside observer, it seems to be frozen at the last nanosecond of the hysteresis.”

“Oh.” Kei pondered that. “So now what do we do?”

“Well, first we need to figure out the cause. They do occur naturally, but only near n-naked singularities - er, that is, black holes with no event horizon… Look, would you two please put something on? At least until we see combat? The TARDIS wardrobe is out that door, first door on your left. Costumes of all cultures, all planets, all times, all sizes. I’m having trouble concentrating.”

They left, giggling, and Grin started a more powerful scan that the ones he did when caught in the hysteresis.

Shortly, Kei and Yuri returned wearing attractive outfits, each still in their favorite color. Kriet noticed the collar of the other outfit protruding from one of them and realized that the new clothes were constructed to come off quickly. Like that old Superman character, he sighed to himself. Well, you worked with ‘em before; you knew what to expect.

“That’s much better, ladies,” he approved. “Now then, there are no singularities in the vicinity. Therefore this must have an artificial cause. Now, all we gotta do is find it.”

Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet

Marine Recruit Rhiannon climbed onto the next ledge. She gazed down, at the distance she had covered; the reversed her gaze to the short bit of mountain remaining. Hand to hand may be fun, but conquering the inanimate can be pretty decent too.

She hung some pitons from her belt for the next stage; a sheer overhanging slope, where a screw-up would mean an express ride down. Halfway up, she mis-set a piton and it came loose. The rope caught - but her harness broke; and the grav-packs that would have cushioned her fall to a feather-light drift were on the harness. She dropped with alarming speed...

The time loop caught her then, but something very odd happened with each pass. Every time the loop circled to its beginning, her fall restarted from the point it had stopped last time. In this manner she made it down the cliff in a bunch of little falls, landing roughly, but unhurt.

She stood up, confused. All around her, the world was repeating itself, as if it was a broken holo-tape player. She set off for the main recreation complex.

After a few hours of hiking (her time), Rhiannon passed one of the combat training centers and decided to look inside. Everyone there was stuck in perpetual replay. At one point she tried to interfere with a pair shaking hands, but could not budge them. Apparently her immunity was very restricted.

She looked in one of the larger combat rooms and her breath caught. “Oh my God! Captain!” With each rerun the blood flowed thickly. She looked closely at his face, and realized that unlike most of the locals, part of him knew what was happening; and the look in his eyes was not entirely sane.

Rhiannon rushed from the room, and looked frantically around. There had to be something she could do!

From the shadowed end of the hall, a form that hadn’t been there before moved toward her purposefully. She called to it, “Hey! Who are you? I need some help with -” and there was a blast of light...

From the shadowed end of the hall, a form moved toward her purposefully...

- a form moved toward her purposefully...

The TARDIS

“That’s odd,” muttered Kriet.

The women were obviously feeling bored. “Oh, yeah?” commented Kei full of false concern.

Grin didn’t miss it. “No, really. Since we got here, there’s been a disturbance in the hysteresis - that’s just now stopped.”

“Heyyy, thaat’s greaat.”

“No, really.” Kriet was getting excited now. “And whatever stopped it left a trail!”

“That is great!”

“Where does it lead?”

“Hmm. I’m not familiar with that region. Coordinates… hmmm.”

“Well?”

“I don’t know exactly what we’ll find,” and he hit the demat switch, “but here we go anyway!”

Kei gave him a searching look. Not bad. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.

The TARDIS shuddered and groaned, and entered the Vortex again.

Alien Asteroid Base (the TARDIS)

Re-materialization occurred in a familiar-looking place; a room dominated by a large alcove containing ten round pads on both floor and ceiling.

“Where are we now?” asked Kei as they looked at the scanner.

“Some kind of transporter setup - it’s a matter-transmission device,” Grin explained. “Ten stations, though; they must have a decent power supply around here. Doesn’t seem to be any one here, though.”

“How much can we find out sitting in here? C’mon, Yuri,” and Kei threw the door lever.

Numbing paralysis gripped both women; their muscles locked in mid-stride, and Kei, who had been off-balance, toppled. Kriet could still move, but as if fighting through molasses. Slowly his hand grasped the door lever, and shoved it back to closed position. The doors swung quite normally shut.

The paralysis released them all. “Well, that answers a lot of questions,” commented Grin’elle. “The hysteresis must be caused by psychokinetic manipulation of the space/time fabric in the area.”

Kei shook her head. She hadn’t thought there were any aftereffects, but Kriet no longer seemed to be speaking English. She turned to Yuri. “What’d he say?”

She furrowed her brow. “I think he meant the time loop is being caused by espers.”

He looked at her. “Espers? Ah. E-S-P. Yes, we seem to be up against some serious psionic ability.” Grin thought of something. “That’s what the fluctuations were!”

“What?”

“Several of the Pathfinder crew are… well, I guess espers is close enough. One of them probably broke free, and the trail was caused by somebody sent to check...” His expression darkened. “They better not have hurt anybody. Of course, they probably already have...”

Kei and Yuri glanced at each other. There was an unpleasant gleam in his eyes. The next moment, it was gone, and Grin was making plans.

“First thing to do, is to protect ourselves from the effects. I should have something in here.” At a touch, one of the huge hex tiles split and swung open to reveal a storage compartment, which he dug around in. Kei identified a mouth harp, a transforming robot toy, a jeweled blunt dagger, a large rock, and a wicked-looking blaster missing its charge pack, before he withdrew the object of the search and closed the doors.

“Here we go!” Kriet held up a vial of colorless liquid and a spray injector. “Alpha blocker. Developed this after the Zon nebula affair. Won’t affect our minds, but should make us invisible and invulnerable to the espers.”

“Should?” Yuri inquired.

Grin finished filling the injector. “Okay, here’s the deal. There’s enough power around here to time loop a whole planet. If they all concentrate on us, I’m not promising anything.” He quickly injected them all, stowed the equipment, and opened the main doors. “Follow me, ladies!”

Yuri glared at Kei. “And double rates was such a great deal.”

“Excuse me!” She motioned to the huge console. “Perhaps you’d like to fly us home?” Kei stalked after Grin’elle, and Yuri followed.

The TARDIS had taken the shape of a large equipment locker. Yuri felt the door lock solidly behind her as it shut. Hope we don’t have to get back inside in a hurry, she thought.

Grin’elle was examining the transporter console. He whistled. “Ten pads, power-boosted for distance and phase-shifted to reach into the time loop! They must have power to burn!”

Yuri and Kei had their guns drawn. “Awful quiet, for the enemy stronghold,” observed Kei.

“I agree,” decided Grin. “Maybe they’re all busy maintaining the loop -”

“Someone’s coming!” hissed Yuri. They ducked behind the TARDIS. “So much for that theory,” Kriet muttered.

Something tripedal stumped in, looking rather like a cross between an Edoan and a grizzly bear. A thick, heavy helmet with a face-shield obscured its features. Its three arms entered a time-delay setting, then it clambered to the platform and vanished.

They left their hiding place. “Where’d it go?” Yuri asked.

Grin checked the settings. “Tell you in a minute. I don’t suppose either of you recognized it?”

“No.”

“No way!”

“Me neither. Something completely new. Hmm.” He looked up with a slight smile. “He returned to Wrigley’s!”

“Why?”

“Perhaps we’re putting up more of a struggle than they expected!” deduced Kriet happily.

Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet

As the hysteresis slackened its hold on them, Kam and Kaz twitched violently, pushing away from one another.

Kazar reeled from sensory overload. Driven to the brink of madness, his mind reached out for a point of stability -

- and found Kammara’s doing the same thing. Though physically separated now, mentally they clung together like drowning seamen. The same over-stimulation that had freed them had almost killed them.

Slowly they returned to sentience. Kam! cried Kazar. What’s happened?

Surprisingly, she could answer him. She was a time-sensitive, aware of the eddy currents of the Vortex. Hysteresis! Time loop! We’ve been caught for who knows how long! If only Grin’elle had been here...

Oh, fine, thought Kazar.

No, you don’t understand. They were both calming. He’s got some temporal knowledge too. We could have escaped - She stopped. We have escaped!

You’re right! How?

I don’t know… She realized something else. Hey! Since when could you mind-send this well?

I hadn’t realized I was. This is great!

Don’t stop now, she cautioned. This may be the key - Behind you!

He turned and saw the three-legged form encountered by Kriet and the ladies. It seemed to be aiming something at them...

Look away! Kazar cried, and changed form, putting most of the free energy into light. Even through the face-shield, it staggered the creature. Kaz, put on the spot, had reverted to his ‘true’ Excalbian form. He swung a rock-like limb that laid out the thing.

Kam approached. “Try normal conversation, but don’t leave my mind,” she advised. “What is that thing?”

“I’ve never seen one. I don’t know if I killed it or just gave it a nap; so you take the helmet, and I’ll take the, uh, gun; and let’s get out of here.”

Alien Asteroid Base

“We have lost contact with the enforcer.”

“Does the latest disturbance remain?”

“No, sir.”

“Perhaps the nullifier helmet broke down, as he kept claiming. No matter. Continue scanning, and inform me when we are ready to close.”

“Sir!”

Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet

“So the helmet causes the elements of the loop to bypass the wearer.” Kazar was back to humanoid form, as they discussed the equipment of the strange being.

“That’s right. As a bonus, if we keep it with us, it should keep anyone with one of these tracking widgets,” she pointed to a box on the side, “from finding us by the disturbance we cause by being out of the loop. So. What does that do?”

The ‘gun’ was a mass of knotted conduits and relays that was difficult to focus on. There was a lens on the side that was apparently the business ‘end’.

“Well, I think this is a power switch, and you activate it by pushing here and here. Three arms, you know.” Kaz turned it on.

“Stop! Stop! Turn it off!” shrieked Kam.

“What?”

“I saw time currents building up around it. I think he was gonna use that thing to re-loop us.”

That thought sank in, and Kazar reflexively hurled it into the bushes. He shivered. “I don’t ever want to go through that again.” He looked at Kam. “Now what?”

She sagged. “I’m tired. Whatever our next move is, it’s gonna have to wait.”

“I’m so glad to hear you say that,” said Kazar. He reached out to her, and she shied away. He said quickly, “No. No sex. I just want to hold you for a while.”

She smiled a little. “Yes, sir.” They rested together, as, around them, reality repeatedly jumped its tracks.

Alien Asteroid Base

“Where are we?” Yuri asked.

“I have no idea,” Kriet answered.

“Oh, great! Good luck getting back,” Kei commented.

“I know that part,” Grin hissed. “Can you two put a cork in it?”

They had traversed hundreds of yards of corridor, not yet meeting a soul - assuming those hairy things had souls. Kriet had passed innumerable doors with, “No, no. That’s not what we’re after.”

This one was different. It was a heavily secured double door. Kriet looked up and down the corridor and whispered, “This is it. I can feel it. In here is the source of the time distortions.” He appraised the two women. “I think this is the part where you earn your wages. A little help with this door,” and the women pulled their pistols. “Dandy. On three. One - two - THREE!”

The locks shattered as the energy bolts hit, and the doors were kicked open. The three burst through the door -

- and into a room you could have parked the Pathfinder in.

“Intruders, sir.”

“Have our slaves hold them. I’ll deal with them later, the timing now is just too critical.”

“Sir.”

The room was circular, with a domed roof and a high platform in the center. The three stood on a balcony that ran halfway up the wall. Ranged in circles around the platform, facing it, was a multitude of contour chairs, each holding a pale, furless version of the being they had seen before. Each one wore a helmet of more complex design, and every helmet had a wire running to the center platform. All the wires obscured something brightly gleaming.

Grin realized that the creatures had all turned to face them. At that moment he lost complete control of his limbs, standing frozen on the spot. The creatures turned as one back to their task.

“Grin, I can’t move!”

“Yes,” he announced with outward calm. “They’ve got us.”

Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet

The pleasant aspects of pulling an endless stream of communicators from between a woman’s breasts had quickly palled for Teyp. Perhaps it was the look of terror in the pretty ensign’s eyes as she struggled to understand what was happening.

During each pass of the loop, Teyp only had a few moments for original thought. It was an incredible effort to pick up where he had left off every time; the loop continually made him want to start from the beginning.

He kept his thoughts as even and measured as possible, for better control; and slowly, an idea formed.

Sleight of hand.

Sleight of hand = mind over matter.

Matter = energy.

Therefore:

I can beat this rap.

For the thousandth time, he reached down. But instead of the communicator, there appeared in his hand a perfect rose.

The room froze into immobility - and Teyp was free of the hysteresis. He looked about, startled that it had worked; then, without any definite plan, he left the restaurant.

- and its fangs closed on his arm...

Ebon’s soul writhed with the pain, so great he swore he could feel his nerve ends disintegrating. Time and again, he railed against the ‘paralysis’ forcing him to repeat his motions; but the creature’s teeth in his arm prevented any concentration. Drained of will, he finally surrendered to the pain, not knowing the outcome, not caring.

The creature saw the sentience leave D’Arque’s eyes, but never felt the sword blade first separate its head from its body, then quarter its skull. Ebon D’Arque’s mind had temporarily ceased; he was free.

Finally his intelligence returned. Ebon collapsed, exhausted in every way. Knowing he shouldn’t, he turned his eyes on the ruined mess that had once been his arm. The shock was too much, and he lost consciousness.

Solomon Kirann spent his first shore leave as a cadet like any good engineer would. He was tinkering.

However, like everything else on Wrigley’s, the tinkering facilities were impressive. Using Commander Kriet’s name, he had secured a Protoculture sample from the Science labs of the Pathfinder before beam-down. He had dreamed up some VT refinements he knew Kriet would love.

Then the time loop hit. Kirann swayed, aware of a terrible attack on his reality. His outstretched hand completed a circuit between two bare terminals.

Protoculture power surged through him. An aura appeared to form around his body, expanding to fill the room. The hysteresis effect seemed to recede, as if aware that attacks here would be pointless.

Kirann stared into the colorful shapes and jagged lightning of the aura. Echoing other intelligences existing before and after his own, he nodded and cried, “Yes, yes! I SEE!”

Alien Asteroid Base

“Sir! Disturbances increasing!”

“Curse it! If we can hold out just a while longer… Send out another enforcer and go to emergency power. Suppress them! I’m ordering you!”

Kei had occupied herself by testing her bonds. Apparently, they were mental, not physical; her arteries still flowed, she still breathed, and she could turn her head and talk to the others; she just couldn’t move.

After that, she started on possible escape plans. Unfortunately, most all of them depended on some freedom of movement. Finally, her patience ran out. (She’d never had a great reservoir in the first place.) “Dammit, Kriet! Why the hell did you hire us in the first place! All we’ve done so far is knock down one door! With all these universes you say you have to choose from, why’d you come after us?”

Grin’elle hung his head and did not answer.

“Well!?!”

His head snapped up. “Sorry if this sounds sappy, but it’s probably because I’ve fallen in love with you.”

She was speechless for the longest time in her life. “You… What?”

Grin got angry. “I’ve fallen in love with you, okay? It’s not like I did it on purpose!”

Her voice softened a bit. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He looked at the floor again. “Listen. Normally, I deal with the women of Starfleet. And they’re a fine bunch, wouldn’t trade ‘em. But… so many of them seem to have something to prove. They start to act like superwomen, the best at their jobs, and they can knock around just like the guys. But for some reason, there’s not much room for intimacy.”

Grin’elle looked up again. “Then, a couple of months ago, I met you. Now, for starters, you’re sexy as all hell. But what I saw was a woman who actually is the best, and she knows it, and she’s not trying to prove it to anyone. But you’re not perfect, either. You’re allowed a mistake once in a while, such as the occasional accidental explosion. I can respect that.”

Kei winced. That hit home! Yuri was listening intently, but for once not interrupting with a cute observation.

Grin continued. “Now, everything I’ve told you is true. I really am over 200 years old. With luck, I hope to have another couple thousand. However, that means I’ll never have a permanent relationship. Everything else that lives that long is bug-eyed, or too advanced, or thinks it is.

“Nevertheless, I’ve fallen in love with you. I wouldn’t admit it to myself until now. I suppose it was my subconscious that made me decide to hire you. I probably owe you an apology for that.” He fell silent.

There was a long pause. “Apology accepted. You know, you have a hell of a dramatic streak, Grin’elle Kriet?”

He looked up, confused. She smiled a bit, and indicated the room with a shake of her head. “Telling me you love me in front of half a million BEMs who’ll kill us as soon as they get around to it?”

He smiled too. “To misquote, all the multiverse is a stage.”

Yuri sighed dreamily. Ain’t it grand?

Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet

Kam & Kaz met Teyp outside the combat center. Wolcait’s eyes hit Kammara’s form and locked on target. “Gonna practice your hand-to-hand?” Teyp teased. He sobered suddenly. “I take that back. This isn’t the time. I see you freed yourselves?”

“Uh-huh,” Kam answered. “And while we carry this, they can’t track us.”

Teyp did a double take. “Who’s ‘they’?”

“Tripedal, hairy creatures. Ugly cusses.”

“Wild. Seen anyone else free?”

“No, it’s taken us this long to hike back from the wilderness preserve. For once, I actually miss the transporter.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind my VT right now.”

Kaz had been checking the building. “Guys, you better get in here!”

They entered. “Isn’t that Rhiannon?” Kam asked.

“Later. Come on!”

They reached Ebon’s room; none of them had recovered the strength to retch. “Oh, Ebon,” Kam gasped.

Kazar had already seen it. “Teyp, your belt, quick!” He made a tourniquet for the captain’s arm; he and Kam, of course, hadn’t been wearing a stitch.

He stood up. “That’s taken care of, but I wish we could find Nova and free her.”

“Well, maybe Rhiannon can help. Come on!”

They put the nullifier helmet on her, and she broke free of the effect. There were quick explanations, then:

“So what are our options?” asked Teyp.

Rhiannon had recovered completely; anyway, this was much better than that ‘half-loop’ she had been in before. “What we really need are more of those helmets.”

“They sent someone after you, right? Then another one after you two, right? Probably Ebon or I am next.” Teyp cracked his knuckles. “Gentlemen and ladies, the next one,” and an evil look crossed his face, “is OURS.”

Rhiannon had been looking out a window. “Well, Teyp, I think this is your chance! Ugly cuss at two o’clock; matches your description to a T.”

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do. Kam, Kaz, you’ve got the easy part...”

The enforcer entered the corridor, weapon at the ready.

The only life forms in the hall were two humanoids kissing; as soon as they stopped, the loop caught them and they began again.

His instruments said that they were part of the disturbance, but - Wait. They weren’t in sync with the ti-

“Now!” Teyp shouted. Kaz kicked high, at the spot he had hit on the other one. The creature staggered back, and fell over Teyp’s crouched form; he had crawled out of one of the doorways.

Rhiannon leaped from the doorway opposite, and pinned the thing to the ground; however, she was a bit overenthusiastic, and there was the sound of bones breaking. It collapsed, quite dead.

Teyp thought of Ebon and felt no remorse. He ripped the helmet off the enforcer. “Shall we go find Dr. Nova?”

Alien Asteroid Base

“Sir, we’re losing it. The fine control is already gone!”

“Boost the signal! This can’t fail! If the Pathfinder escapes us -”

“But, sir, there’s danger of feedback -”

“Do it!”

“Signal boosted! No! Wait! Sir, it’s overloaded at the other end! Feedback -”

“Arrrrgh!!!!”

An explosion rocked the huge room. That suddenly, the three were free.

Below them, the creatures stiffened, then relaxed. Some of them stood and milled aimlessly. There was a clamor of voices from them; Grin’s Time Lord abilities couldn’t translate, so he suspected it was mindless babble.

“What’s happened now?” Yuri wondered.

“I’ve been thinking,” Kriet said. “Maybe that’s a slave class. Their only purpose would be to use their power for the benefits of the elite. Once the control on them is relaxed, they’d have no guidance.”

They walked around the balcony, trying to get a better view of the central platform. Suddenly, the wires all shriveled and fell away, revealing - nothing.

“Were we seeing things? I would have sworn there was something there.”

“There probably was. But now, their focus is disrupted.” Without realizing it, he’d been talking loudly to carry over the noise below. Suddenly he realized the noise below had stopped.

“Grin,” Kei said, “I think they’ve found a substitute.”

For some reason, no power was turned against them; instead, the creatures swarmed toward ladders leading to the balcony.

“Run!” Grin yelled.

Kei grabbed him. “No! Someone had to be running this show. You’ve got to find them and take them out! Go!”

“But you -”

“This is what you hired us for! Go!” With that she spun around, squeezing off five quick shots and nailing five of the crazed beings.

“All right! Meet you at the TARDIS!” But it was too late. The creatures were behind them, blocking any escape route.

Soon each of them was nearly overwhelmed by massed attacks. Kei and Yuri pulled the triggers of their pistols as fast as the mechanism would allow. Kriet, unfortunately, wasn’t carrying a ranged weapon; but he made do, disabling creatures with Venusian Aikido. (It has nothing to do with Venus, or Aikido, and is usually performed by humanoids with four arms; but he was well practiced.)

Without warning, a grenade flew from Yuri’s hand, and a wide swath of aliens was cleared. “Grin! NOW!” He sprinted, hurdling a couple late arriving tacklers, and dived through the door. Yuri and Kei set about making sure that he wasn’t followed.

Grin’elle ran down the corridor. Instinct told him to follow the sound of the earlier explosion.

He entered a large control room. It was blackened and burnt, with dead six-limbed life forms all over. Still-operating vision screens showed Wrigley’s, the Pathfinder, and charts and graphs that he could barely understand, even as a Time Lord.

The room struck Grin’elle as horribly wrong. Compared to the ordinary, probably pirated Federation technology of the rest of the base, this place held incredibly advanced equipment. Something was definitely off here.

Grin walked in, and looked at the carnage for a moment. “Well,” he said, “I guess that covers things, as far as mop-up.”

He accessed a computer database that was somehow still on line. Apparently, these beings had formed a special task force meant to destroy the Pathfinder. They had been paid a vast amount of money by… No, the remaining memory locations were burnt out. He thought, Damn. This means something, and somehow I know it’s important.

He filed it away; he’d think about it later. One remaining reading, a chronometer display, made him smile widely: a smile that froze as a growl behind him grew. He spun to see one of the charred bodies lunging at him. There was a sharp blast, the lunge switched off in mid-air, and the alien smashed to the ground, really dead this time.

Kei held up her overheated pistol. “You were taking long enough.”

USS Pathfinder

“ - like to thank you both for your help,” Ebon said from his bed in Sickbay.

Kei smiled. “Oh, we’re being well paid for the work, Captain. But I appreciate it anyway.”

“I just wish there weren’t so many mysteries left, sir,” Kriet said. “The most important - who were the real masters behind this attack. I get the weird feeling they’re not finished.”

“Yes, I see what you mean.”

“And another -” Kriet whirled on Yuri. “How the hell can you pick a TARDIS’s molecular lock?!”

She radiated innocence. “Well, I wasn’t gonna wait for you two all day.”

Something else bothered Grin’elle, though he didn’t mention it. Solomon Kirann had been acting different since his return. Grin hadn’t seen him up close yet, but was sure there was something wrong with Kirann’s eyes. Maybe a psych check was in order.

D’Arque seemed to be thinking on similar lines. “Some of the crew are gonna have to stay at the med facilities on Wrigley’s. Not all of them came out of this with whole minds and bodies.” His own eyes darkened a bit; but his arm had been saved, and was under cellular regeneration now.

He shifted uncomfortably in the bed. “Hell of a way to end a shore leave.”

“Oh, that’s right! You probably haven’t seen a chronometer since they brought you up, have you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“When the time loop self-destructed, there was a kind of… fallout. It’s now two weeks ago.”

“What!! What about meeting ourselves, and all that? Now what do we do?”

Kriet tried to calm him. “Don’t worry, sir, I’ve taken care of all that. You know that I’m somewhat experienced with these matters.” Ebon subsided. “I’ve recommended to Acting Captain t’Reilri that those who wish… be allowed to return. To recover from their last shore leave.”

D’Arque was speechless a moment, then, “Hell, why not? Makes as much sense as the rest of this. You all get out of here. Your captain needs his rest.”

“Yes, sir!”

Ebon could hear them as the walked away...

“So! Kei. How would you feel about taking your fee in an two-week paid vacation on Wrigley’s?”

“You know… I think I’d like that.”

“Good! And Yuri, I’ve arranged for you too. There’s this ensign -”

Repository 2

The Capitol, Gallifrey

Samlare 48, 102,773 T.L.

[Reality Code: Mutter’s Spiral, 871]

The apprentice gave the librarian a keen look as she paused in her story. “This Kriet was a Time Lord? What was he doing in the other universe? I thought you said he lived there.”

“No, Kriet was not really a Time Lord. Not in any official way; but in any way that truly matters, he was. And yes, he was born and bred in the Enterprise reality. Those secrets form the next part of the story.”

He considered her words. “You did not mention the Mutor at all.”

“Ah, but the Mutor was only the herald of the invasion. It did not figure in all the incidents. The device was given to Kriet by a being who knew the story of many frames; and who claimed none as his own. Though he appeared to die in passing the Mutor to its next keeper, some say his presence remains with us still.”

“Who was he?”

“The next part of the story does not directly involve that artifact, either. No, the invaders now knew of Kriet, and prepared a strike against him.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he pleaded.

“And I will not. To continue: Solomon Kirann vanished mysteriously, after risking the lives of several Pathfinder crew in an incomprehensible ‘experiment.’ The incident was more than enough to drive the mysterious alien attackers from Kriet’s concerns; among other things, he received a glimpse of his timeline’s future, by meeting the crew of the starship Enterprise-D in a time corridor malfunction Kirann caused. Kriet had avoided such knowledge in an attempt to lead a normal life.

“To add to his troubles, Kriet’s brief romance did not succeed. By our reckoning, he was still but a child, and they both had separate lives. Nonetheless, his Starfleet career improved as time passed. Soon, his best friend and blood-brother Ty’elle Dujhar moved from command of a small research vessel to the captaincy of a starship, and offered him an important post aboard. However, before he could reach a decision, cunning whispers in the ears of the Time Lord High Council itself put his life in jeopardy once again… here, on the planet Gallifrey.”

Past Present

By Tom Monaghan and Michael O’Brien

USS McKay

On standard patrol, Spinward sector

May 14, 2288 A.D.

[Reality Code: USS Enterprise 017]

“Systems check positive. Boards are green… ready to roll!”

The Protoculture power systems of the Veritech aerospace fighter came on line, and the craft throbbed with power held in check. Captain Ty’elle Dujhar, of the science scout McKay, often wondered which seat was more fun: the center seat on the bridge, or the pilot’s seat he was in now.

The Veritechs were part of the dreadnought Pathfinder’s mecha experiments, and these particular ones had been a gift to the new captain at his ship’s commissioning party. They had served the Q-ship well as recon and auxiliary defense.

Ty was looking forward to some flight time - alone, just him and his mecha. He remembered an obscure Terran song quote, “If you’re feeling low, driving’s the cure!” He grinned. What would that singer have thought of this drive?

He kicked in the afterburners, and the plane shot from its storage slot. The wings and tailerons unfolded - not that there was air for them to use, but the alien devices which allowed the plane to handle so well in space still needed the aerodynamic surfaces for some reason or another. Perhaps Grin’elle understood it better.

Dujhar picked the closest interesting celestial object, and the ‘501 Blue’ arrowed toward it. The last image anyone on the McKay would have received was of the VT doing barrel rolls into the heart of the newborn Spinner Nebula.

USS Pathfinder

On standard patrol, Farreaches sector

May 15, 2288 A.D.

Aboard the aforementioned USS Pathfinder, much later, a few people were getting very worried. Captain Ebon D’Arque and Chief Engineering Officer Grin’elle Kriet stood in the cramped Hangar Control room. They looked over T’Renn Vraomrell’s shoulders through clearsteel windows out behind the ship, where T’Renn was reeling something in with a tractor beam.

“We can’t see it yet, but judging from mass, dimensions, etc., I’d almost say it was one of the Veritechs,” commented the Caitian.

“All of ours are accounted for,” said Kriet in answer, “but these instruments are receiving Protoculture emanations.”

“Who else in Starfleet, besides the Yeager and the McKay, would have one?” D’Arque asked.

“Only the Blade & Blaster special missions group. It might be one of theirs,” Grin said doubtfully.

“Sirs, it’s coming into visual range.”

A blue plane with gold trim was pulled into view. Next to the Starfleet symbol on the nose were the numbers 501.

“It’s Ty’elle’s!”

“It doesn’t seem to be damaged, but there’s no one inside.”

“Maybe he parked it and went to do some shopping.”

Ebon grimaced. “Very funny.” He hit the intercom. “Captain to bridge -”

“Bridge here,” answered Kam Kazsis’ voice. “I was just going to call you, sir. The USS McKay is an hour out and requests a rendezvous.”

D’Arque was a bit startled, but answered calmly, “Confirm, and send them my regards. Hangar control, out.

“Yet another interesting coincidence,” he mused aloud. Ebon set his jaw. “All right then. C’mon, Grin, I want to talk to you private before the McKay gets here. T’Renn, carry on.”

“Sir.” He continued the task of guiding the VT into the hangar. As the doors slid closed, T’Renn muttered, “More trouble. With a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for Pathfinder.”

D’Arque and Kriet stared at each other for a few moments. Finally Ebon spoke.

“Grin, it’s time for some answers. We both know that weird things have been happening to this crew since the first of us took command of the shuttle Nimitz. But ever since that disastrous shore leave at Wrigley’s, things have gone from bad to worse. Now, for all we know, Ty’elle has disappeared into thin air.”

Ebon waved at the port on the conference room wall, getting very worked up. “That’s a 10 million credit investment floating out there; and we’re just parsecs away from the frontier! You know what kind of trouble there would be if the Klingon High Command got hold of a VT?”

Grin’elle tried to calm him down. “Look. There’s no point in wondering until we get more facts. Why don’t we wait until the McKay rendezvous and find out what they know?”

There was sarcasm in the Kzin’s voice. “You don’t mean to tell me you had nothing to do with this? You always seem to know what’s going on before anyone else does.”

Kriet was hurt and angry. “I don’t know anything more than anyone else. I didn’t choose to be in the position I am today, any more than you did! If you think your early career was colorful, maybe I should tell you about mine someday!” He quieted suddenly, as if he’d said more than he intended. “If you don’t want me as part of your crew anymore, sir, I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”

D’Arque settled, and for a moment Grin saw his old captain - the captain that hadn’t had an arm chewed almost off. “No! - no. Grin’elle, I’m sorry.” He put a hand over his face. “I should be getting used to this. But I’ll tell you, I can’t help feeling that there’s a reason why we always get into these situations.”

Kam’s voice again sounded. “Bridge to Captain D’Arque. The McKay has drawn alongside; Commander Barrington has requested permission to beam aboard.”

“A two-by-four,” attempted Kriet weakly. Ebon flashed him a scowl - one that concealed a slight smile. “Confirm; I’ll meet him in the transporter room. D’Arque out.”

Just before Grin and Ebon reached the doors, they opened to reveal assistant CEO Quaver Rhapsody. “Oh, good. I’ve been looking for you, Grin’elle.” Quaver had never stood on formality. “We’ve picked up a massive energy surge coming from your cabin. It didn’t come from ship’s power.” Rhapsody nudged him. “Been doing a little tinkering up there, huh?”

The look on Kriet’s face was neither sheepish nor jovial; in fact, he seemed stricken. Without a word he headed toward the turbolift, his strides getting longer and faster with each step.

“You okay, Grin? You need some help?”

The engineer turned to face them as the lift doors opened. “Maybe you were right after all, Captain. It seems that the past does haunt one ceaselessly - no matter what one does.” He stepped into the lift, and it whisked him away.

Quaver stared at Ebon. “Bad timing?”

“Understatement.”

Grin Kriet stared at his cabin door, thoughts chasing madly through his head. He reached out to touch the white-on-gold stripe beside the numerals 03 which identified the suite as that of the Pathfinder’s Engineering Chief and Second Officer.

After he agreed to leave, they had agreed to leave him alone. It had taken him years, but he had rebuilt his life. He hadn’t broken the deal! What right had they to do this?

He calmed. There was no proof. Recent events could be due to any number of things; and there was only one good way to find out.

His finger broke the door sensor field; and it hissed open. Grin’elle Kriet, Time Lord, stepped slowly into the completely empty stateroom. It was bare to the walls. Now, he was a true exile.

D’Arque and Rhapsody had entered the transporter room, where Chief Jeffrey Matthews was preparing to beam aboard the McKay party.

“T’Renn told me that he’s confirmed it’s VT 501. He also asked what the doll in the red mandarin dress is for?”

Quaver didn’t get it, but there was mirth in Ebon’s eyes: a rare event in recent times.

Matthews’ attention was drawn back to the board. “Ready for transport, sir.”

“Energize.”

Three figures formed and clarified on the platform. The first one, wearing commander’s bars, stepped forward. He looked stiffly at the large Pathfinder insignia on the wall; the man just behind him felt his face, checking to make sure it had all arrived; and “Hate transporters,” the third figure’s translator said as they all descended.

Commander Montor Barrington strode toward the unmoving D’Arque with all the arrogance of his high Avalonian birth. “Permission to come aboard, lord sir.”

“Granted. Er, these would be vice Exec James Dunson and your Security Chief...” Ebon always had trouble dealing with the appearance of that officer; he wasn’t even vaguely humanoid, being instead a horizontal cylinder rimmed with sharp discs.

“Raul Lax, sir.”

“Ah, yes. It has been a while. This is ACEO Quaver Rhapsody, and Transporter Chief Jeffrey Matthews. Shall we go to the briefing room? I need to talk to you about your CO.”

“Exactly the subject on our minds, lord sir.”

Grin’elle sat on the floor beside his closed cabin door. He stared motionless at the stateroom. Everything he owned was gone: his holovid tapes, custom-designed tools, even his planet-side hat was gone.

Far worse was the loss of Indiana Jones. A small, golden-furred native of the planet Zarathustra, the Fuzzy had been adopted by Grin when the little thing had sneaked aboard and circumstances made him impossible to return.

“They’ve caused the illegal transport of an unwilling sapient being - that’s a serious charge,” he said to the walls. That thought brought back painful memories, which Grin was trying to shut out when a knock scrambled his thoughts.

He slapped the door button, and Quaver entered, having escorted the McKay party to the briefing room. He stopped dead, dumbfounded by the suddenly empty room. All he could think of to say was, “Traveling light, now?”

“Just not my day, I guess,” answered Grin in a monotone. “First Ty, now this. 200 years of a lifetime, erased.” He looked at a bewildered Rhapsody without seeing him. “Once, long ago, I was ripped from everything I knew and held dear. This is as bad.” Abducted… The word echoed in his mind.

Quaver lifted his superior to his feet. “I don’t know what’s happened, but the captain requests your presence. We can take care of this later; right now we need to see about Ty’elle. He better not be playing some tanjed joke; the captain’s ready for murder now anyway.”

The door slid closed. Kriet faced it again, blankly. “I don’t know what I’m going to do...” he said quietly.

Quaver was starting to get even more worried. “Grin’elle? Commander!!”

The unusual military address from Rhapsody snapped Kriet back to reality. He shook his head. “Thank you, Rhaps. I’m not feeling myself today.”

Quaver almost made a ribald comment, but thought better of it - another first. They headed for the turbolift.

“Well, Commander?” Montor Barrington turned eyes like twin phasers on Kriet as he sat down. Grin’elle was taken aback by the hostility. “We think it must have been pirates. What we don’t understand is why they didn’t steal or damage the 501 Blue as well. Any ideas?”

Kriet got tired of the look and returned an equally intense one. “I don’t think it was pirates,” he said quietly.

Dunson looked uncomfortable. “Ty’elle has been involved with… certain unsavory elements… in the past. Perhaps they held some grudge...”

“It’s not them.”

“Well then, my good lord,” sarcasm ate holes in the table, “who the hell is it?”

“My theory is that some old acquaintances of mine are using him to get to me.” Grin looked for a moment as though he was about to break into hysterical laughter, then it subsided and he was deadly serious.

He turned to Ebon. “I don’t have all the facts yet. However, there’s no way of getting him back right now. They’ll let us know what they want when they’re good and ready,” he finished.

Unnoticed, Llandhe t’Reilri, the Pathfinder’s Exec and Security Chief, had been standing in the door for those last speeches. “Grin’elle, what ARE you getting at? When who’s good and ready?”

“The Gallifreyans.”

“Do you know these people? Can you tell us how to find them?”

“I know them very well. The problem is, he’s been taken to another dimension. One which no Starfleet officer has ever visited - except myself.”

“What fantasy!” exclaimed Barrington. “Do you write tenth-credit novels when you’re off duty?”

“You may yell at me all you like; it’s not going to help.”

“In that case, I don’t even see why we should listen to you.” He turned to D’Arque. “Captain, you don’t think -”

Ebon overrode him. “Gentlemen, I think we’re all a little strung out. I recommend an adjournment, while we consider options.”

A round of ‘seconds’ followed. The captain caught t’Reilri eye, and made ‘I want to see you outside’ motions. The rest filed out, except Dunson, who grabbed Kriet’s arm.

“What do you want?”

James waited until all were gone, then motioned for Grin to seat himself.

“I’d like to hear more.”

“Oh, really? I was just getting used to the rampant hostility.”

Dunson winced. “Yes, well, I’d like to apologize for my superior. I don’t think he was quite prepared for command on such a possibly permanent basis.”

Kriet mellowed somewhat. “Yes, well, our own Exec had a similar problem recently.”

“Which brings me to my first question. What the hell is going on with all you people? Half of you looked ready to kill the other half.”

“Yes, I know.” Grin took a deep breath, then tried to explain. “This is the latest in a series of bizarre things that have happened to the Pathfinder lately. It’s kind of getting to all of us.”

“I see.” He didn’t, really, but forged on regardless. “Well, try to understand my position. I’ve grown to know Ty’elle Dujhar pretty well. By extension, I feel I know a lot about you. I can tell there’s more here than meets the eye.” He leaned back in his chair. “Forgive some philosophy, but you two have been together for some time. I don’t think it’s your destiny to be permanently separated at this point. It’s an abstract logic, but I trust it.”

Grin’elle abruptly tuned away. “I appreciate the support, but, if I’m correct - of which I’m quite confident - he’s in another reality right now; a different timeline. Half an hour ago, I had the means to rescue him. Now...”

James studied his fingernails. “Ever heard of the ‘Infinidrive’ project?”

“Sure. According to Ty, it’s a powerful time/space engine which every respectable scientist in the galaxy has laughed at.” He shrugged. “Never understood the concepts myself.”

Dunson was finding his fingernails even more interesting. “Well, I’ve read Ty’s personal files on it.”

Kriet was shocked. “You -”

“Yes, yes, I know. Court-martial me later, okay? I was searching for any clue to his disappearance. Anyway, I found his personal notes - with all the technical details he never let anyone else see.” He passed a folder to Grin’elle. “After reading all that, I think I actually understand it now. It really could work. Ty just couldn’t explain it in non-tech terms.”

Grin had been speed-reading, with the occasional “Ahh!”, “Ah-ha!”, or “I see!” He flipped through the pages. “I can’t believe it! All that mumbo-jumbo of his actually made some sense!” He looked up. “Ty’elle was brilliant, but sometimes he couldn’t explain the working concepts of a salt shaker.”

“He had a prototype well hidden in the lower decks, too. Fascinating construct. Now, further on in that file, is the concept of the ‘Ultrainfinidrive’ motor!”

“The - what?”

“The Infinidrive is based on a dual universe. After you guys discovered the multiverse system, he scrapped the ID and began work on the UID -”

“‘- which is a drive that could travel among all universes, and not just the ‘biniverse’ earlier theorized.’” read Kriet. He looked up and continued. “Or perhaps a birth control device.”

“What?” Dunson was caught off guard. “Oh! Those. Very funny. No one’s used one of those for two centuries.”

“Just checking to see if you were awake.”

“Wonderful. Anyway, if we can get his prototype working… of course, then, we’ll have to figure out which universe he’s in...”

Cold satisfaction filled Grin’s face. “Leave that to me.”

Ebon D’Arque’s door buzzer sounded. “Come.”

Grin’elle entered the captain’s cabin, not knowing quite what to expect. D’Arque spoke without looking up. “Sit down.” He had a rather effective tone of pleasant, polite command, and he used it now. Grin sat.

Ebon flicked the privacy switch. Effectively, only a red alert could reach his quarters now. Suddenly, he fixed Kriet with steely eyes.

“Grin’elle, I’ve known you for several years now, and throughout, there’ve been little bits and pieces I never understood. Out of professional respect, I’ve kept quiet all this time. But now the disappearance of a starship captain is involved, and I’ve run out of patience!” He continued in a calmer tone. “Now then. What is a Time Lord, where is Ty, and why is your cabin empty?”

The engineer gave him a long look, then made a decision. “It can’t go beyond this room.”

“Unless it becomes necessary for Ty’elle’s safe return.”

Kriet released a long sigh. “Fair enough. You know, it’ll be nice to tell it. You’ll be one of the few people in the universe who knows this. I’ll warn you, it’s complicated.”

“I’m listening.”

“There is a reality where the galaxy - Mutter’s Spiral, as it is known to the advanced races - is divided equally between Daleks, Movellans, Rutans, and Sontarans. Ruthless warrior races, all of them. And Humanity is caught in the middle.

“There is another civilization there, a peaceful race, which technically confines itself to one planet. The scientific caste on Gallifrey has tamed a black hole for the purposes of time travel, to power their special machines. They call themselves Time Lords.

“Now, Gallifreyan society has stagnated. They are afraid to advance any farther, because advancement means risks. However, a few Time Lords reject this policy, and flee or are ‘permitted’ to leave. These are the renegades.

“Some of the renegades are selfish, evil men, others do-gooders; some just wander, attempting to collect the sum total of universal knowledge.

“All Time Lords have the power to completely renew their bodies, if near death, twelve times. This is regeneration. The thirteenth body, however, is a Time Lord’s last, and he needs to make the best of it.

“Now, Sherman, set the Wayback Machine to about a decade ago. On the planet Camazotz, in this universe, two hybrid Camazotian-Terran boys - one orphaned and living with his friend’s parents - have become men, and are trying to decide what to do with their lives. They are incredibly close.

“One night one of them is out alone, in a park near his house, thinking about life, the universe, and everything. Suddenly, a steel pillar zaps in next to him! It door opens, beckoning with bright light; our hero, having seen all nine Star Wars movies dozens of times, naturally enters.

“Inside is a renegade Time Lord, near the end of his last body. His final wish is to truly put one over on the High Council that exiled him. Our hero is not given a choice over his participation.

“With incredibly complex medical equipment, he alters the boy’s already confused innards to read as a Gallifreyan’s on any scanner. Then, he inserts psycho-hypnotic compulsions so deep our hero is not completely rid of them to this day.

“The boy is entered in the Prydonian Academy on Gallifrey. He spends decades getting the same training as the real Gallifreyans; his new innards apparently give him a Time Lord’s lifespan.

“Just after his graduation, and entrance into Time Lord society, he is discovered - part of the now-dead renegade’s plan to embarrass his peers. The time afterwards is unpleasant and we will not go into it.

“Finally, he is exiled to his own, original, universe. It is the evening he was abducted. The pillar, a sophisticated time/space machine, is still there - empty - the renegade’s parting gift to his pawn. But our hero is changed, and though he and his adopted brother eventually enter Space Force Planetary Defense together, then Starfleet, Grin’elle Kriet never again feels quite as close to Ty.”

Ebon sat back heavily. Finally, he broke the silence with, “That’s quite a story.”

“Isn’t it.”

“So. That’s why the time machine, the regeneration, everything.”

“Yes. Now the Time Lords are after me again; and they’re doing it by kidnapping Ty’elle.”

“And there’s no way to go after them.”

“I thought that until an hour ago… but it might not be true,” revealed Kriet. “You may have heard about Dujhar’s failed Infinidrive theories.”

“Of course. Made him a laughingstock for a while.”

“Well, there’s a practical application of a variant of that, which he has recently been working on. Some of his crewmembers and I wish to finish his work, and use it to rescue him.”

D’Arque thought long and hard on that. “How long will it take?”

“About a week to finish the prototype. If the actual mission is a success, it won’t take any time at all.” He smiled. “I’ll have my TARDIS back.”

“You’re going for double or nothing, aren’t you?”

The grin faded. “He’d do the same for me.”

Ebon sighed. “Commander Kriet, the doubts run as long as my new arm. Nevertheless, I’ll let you try. Good luck.”

“You won’t be sorry.”

“I had better not.”

“Hey, Grin! Wait up!”

Grin’elle spun about, as an Excalbian in human form raced after him. Kazar puffed a bit as he drew even. “Need some help?”

“What?”

“Well, your TARDIS has disappeared -”

“How did -”

Kazar overran the interruption. “Along with Indy Jones -”

“That’s not -”

“Whoever kidnapped Ty is behind it -”

“That’s only -”

“And you’re going after them with some fool contraption of Dujhar’s.” Kaz beamed triumphantly. “Trust me pal, you need my help.”

Grin sighed. “How did you find all this out?”

“You know. ‘The only thing faster than Transwarp -”

“- is starship gossip.’ Right, right. I know when I’m beaten. Yes, I do need your help. I can use a astrophysicist to help me assemble Ty’s Legoland space drive.”

“Good. Besides, Kam’d kill me if I didn’t go. Her Fuzzy is screaming to see Indy.”

USS McKay

May 17, 2288 A.D.

After the dust had settled, only nine people remained on the McKay. Of the original crew, only Barrington, Lax, Dunson, CEO Barten Banzai, and helmsman Scott Elson stayed aboard; the rest had been relocated with little explanation. Kriet, Kaz, and Rhapsody made up the Pathfinder contingent; and Phaser, Kammara’s Fuzzy was along, adamant about accompanying the rescue.

Most of them stood in McKay’s Engineering section, gazing at a hopelessly tangled mass of technology. In places, it seemed as though crystal-state circuitry was hooked into ancient lengths of lead piping.

“That’s gonna take us to another dimension?” exclaimed Banzai, an incredulous look on his face.

Kazar seemed to agree. “Looks more like Unicron’s intestinal regions than a space drive.”

“I can’t help that.” Kriet didn’t exactly seem to brim with confidence either. “His theories make sense, and this is the practical application.”

“Are you sure you mean ‘practical’? Choose your words with care.”

Grin’s reply was cut off by Phaser’s emergence from the guts of the device. “Finish, Pappy G’in,” he said as he climbed to Grin’elle’s shoulder.

“Very good, Phaser,” he congratulated. “I don’t know how Ty figured on finishing this thing by himself. He’d have had to install that last circuit by remote control.”

“That sort of thing never bothered him much,” observed Dunson.

Rhapsody approached. “I’ve hooked that thing into the warp drives. You’ll have everything two standard FWB-class engine pods can give.”

“And we’re tied into the helm; so we’re ready to roll.

“All right. To the bridge, everybody! Rhaps, you and Barten stay here and monitor things. We’ll keep a com line open.”

Barrington took the center seat; Grin’elle occupied a flag officer’s chair erected behind and to the right of the captain’s chair. Elson took the helm, and Kaz handled navigation and communications next to him. Dunson took his sciences station.

Raul Lax rolled from one turbolift. “Ship secure, sir. Awaiting orders.”

“Open a channel to the Pathfinder,” requested Kriet. D’Arque’s face appeared on the main screen.

“You people are crazy, you know that?” said the mutant Kzin resignedly.

Montor didn’t seem to hear. “Captain, we will move to a safe distance, then activate the Ultrainfinidrive. If the mission is successful, we will return immediately.”

“Very well. Although you are captain of the McKay during Ty’elle’s absence, I am appointing Commander Kriet Mission Commander, for his familiarity with Gallifrey and Captain Dujhar.” That didn’t sit well with Barrington at all. “Good luck to you all. Pathfinder out.”

Montor glanced back at Kriet. “Well. Mr. Elson, take the McKay out to 1500 kilometers, where we will activate the UID.”

Grin hit the intercom. “Rhaps, are the formulae in the UID control computer?”

“Near as I can tell, boss.”

“Good. Kaz, you have the coordinates for Gallifrey, once we enter that reality?”

“Right here.”

He sighed deeply. “Ty, I hope you were right!”

“1500 klicks, sir.”

Barrington took a deep breath. “Activate!”

USS McKay

Kasterborus sector

Dirfal 11, 101,215 T.L.

[Reality Code: Mutter’s Spiral 871]

To Kriet’s eyes, the first to appear were the structural members of the bridge. The hull plating faded in; then the bulkheads formed. Vision screens and controls coalesced; then the living occupants returned.

Phaser was wrapped tightly around Kaz’s leg. Elson’s eyes were unfocused, and Raul definitely looked ill - somehow.

Grin’elle found voice first. “We damn well better get my TARDIS back,” he said through a dry mouth. “I’m not doing that again.”

“Did we arrive?” Kaz croaked.

Scott was still having some difficulty. “How the hell should I know?”

“Oh, we’re here,” assured Kriet. “I’d know the feel of this timeline blindfolded.” He wiped sweat from his brow. “Captain, I suggest a rest before we proceed to Gallifrey.”

“Not like. Not like at all,” Phaser kept repeating. Grin agreed wholeheartedly.

“Wise advice, I think,” conceded Montor. “Scott, put the computer on automatic station-keeping. And set it to alert us if anything bigger than that Fuzzy approaches. I think I’ll be in the sauna.”

He spent a short time there, then he went to the main Rec hall, where he found Grin’elle making light-patterns on the vitronic-B game board. He approached, but Grin was completely absorbed.

“Ahem.”

Grin looked up. “Oh. Hello,” he said warily.

“I think I owe you an apology, Kriet. It all worked after all.”

“I don’t blame you. To be honest, I didn’t think it would work either. If it had run off of faith, I doubt it’d have found fuel anyplace on the ship.”

He was quiet for a bit. “There is, aahhh, something else. My fitness for command may not be at its peak; I had a hallucination… why are you smiling?”

“I’m sorry. You don’t need to worry; it always happens when you move between realities. The exact type of vision depends on the circumstances. If it’s not too personal, we usually compare notes afterward.”

“Well, I saw captain’s bars, just floating before my face. Does that mean Ty is dead, and I’m going to get them?” He didn’t sound cheered by the prospect.

“Maybe it means Ty is alive and we’ll see him soon.”

“I like that idea better. Uhh… What did -”

Kriet anticipated him. “I saw a woman. Very beautiful, with hair darker than space. Could mean anything, including the fact that I haven’t had any in a while.”

Barrington frowned at that, and Grin changed the subject. “Kaz says two children appeared to him - a brown-haired girl and blond boy. He thinks they’ll be his children!”

“Offspring of Kammara and Kazar? The next generation had better batten down the hatches!”

“No kidding.”

“Well. Maybe I’ll believe you next time.” He stood up. “We ought to be getting a move on.”

“Okay.”

“We’ve reached the coordinates given by Commander Kriet, sir… and there’s nothing there.”

“Somehow, I’m not surprised. Now what, Grin’elle?”

Kriet walked over to the helm panel. “Maintain this flight pattern,” and he entered in a course.

“That’s an orbit around empty space,” Elson objected.

“Not really. Kaz, open hailing frequencies, please.”

“Open.”

Kriet seemed to grow an inch or two, and there was a new timbre in his voice - one almost arrogant.

“This is Jaxmegorocnoctil of the Prydonian College. I ask an audience with the High Council of the Time Lords to discuss the matter of the disposition of my Time Capsule and the occupant within.

“Kaz, close hailing frequencies.”

Barrington stared at Kriet. “Did I suddenly stop understanding English? What was that nonsense?”

“Probably the only way we’re getting home. Look, I really don’t have time to give you the story right now; and since there’re parts that I still don’t believe, I’m sure you’d have trouble.”

The space detailed on the viewscreen shuddered, then a large planet faded into being. Its surface was mostly desert wasteland, with tight knots of civilization here and there.

“Eeeuh,” commented Elson.

“No kidding. Earth barely avoided ending up like that,” Kriet said.

Kaz was squinting at the screen. “It looks funny. Like those tapes you made of Wrigley’s caught in the time loop.” He repressed a shudder.

“Well, there’s something similar involved. Gallifrey is surrounded by a transduction barrier. The entire planet is a few seconds ahead of the rest of the universe. Very little gets in without permission.”

Unconsciously he lowered his voice. “Except - perhaps - Ty’s new drive. If we get into too much trouble, you might be able to use it to get us out.”

“Might?”

“Well… we’ll just try to stay out of trouble.”

“When have I heard that before?”

Any reply Grin’elle may have made vanished in the thunder of the bridge speakers coming on at full volume. “GRIN’ELLE KRIET; YOU AND TWO OF YOUR COMPANIONS HAVE PERMISSION TO PASS THROUGH THE BARRIERS.”

That was all. After his hearing returned, Montor said, “They called you Grin’elle instead of Jacksupercallifragwhatever.”

Kriet looked sour. “Yes. They refuse to admit to my existence as a Time Lord. Nothing new. Montor, I’d like you to come along. A little disbelief once in awhile will keep my feet on the ground. Aaand… Quaver, I think.” He smiled. “A secret weapon. One thing few Time Lords can understand is frivolity. Kaz, try to get a reading on the barrier when they open it?  If I yell, it won’t be Wolf.”

“Sure thing. Good luck.”

“I’ll need it. Mr. Lax, would you do the honor of beaming us down...”

The Capitol, Gallifrey

The three rematerialized in the Panopticon - the main ceremonial hall of the Capitol on Gallifrey. Facing them was the Castellan, leading a group of the Capitol Guards.

“I believe it is ‘Commander’ Kriet?”

“Correct. Quaver Rhapsody; Montor Barrington; this is the Castellan, the head of the Guards.” Grin assessed the Castellan’s escort. “I’m flattered. Surely you couldn’t think three Starfleet members could cause that kind of trouble.”

“We have dealt with renegades before, Kriet.” He turned, and the escort reformed around the Batron members. “We have prepared quarters for your stay. The Council will hear your petition soon.” He led them from the Panopticon.

Barrington moved in close to Grin’elle. “I don’t get this,” he murmured. “That guy is definitely acting strange - even considering what little you’ve told us.”

“They’ve got a real problem,” Grin answered. “They’re torn between typical polite, ritualistic behavior - hammered into them from day one - and complete disgust for me and what I stand for. We’ll certainly have to play our cards close to our jerkins on this jaunt. A push either way could ruin things.”

They turned a corner and entered a large suite of rooms. “Remain here until you are contacted,” ordered the Castellan, and left with the escort. The door slid shut.

Rhapsody tried it, fully aware of what results he would get. “Locked, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And no windows, either,” commented Montor.

“No. This whole city is like a large, complex building. Most Time Lords don’t even know that there’s an outside.” Grin flopped onto a couch. “Things are sure to get exciting; I recommend rest for all of us.”

“But what if they call us?”

“Time Lords live for thousands of years. They don’t hurry. We have plenty of time.”

“But don’t we have a plan? What about Ty and your Fuzzy?”

Kriet sat up. “Look. They know about human impatience. They’ll be assuming that if we do something rash, it’ll be soon. So if we don’t, they’ll relax; and that’s when we’ll do something rash. Trust me, I feel the same way as you; but I know these people.” He dropped back. “Now get some rest. That’s an order.”

The others traded glances, then found couches of their own. Soon they were all in uneasy catnaps.

The sounds of combat woke them. Grin’elle was astonished. “Combat? In the Capitol? What’s going on?”

The chaos grew nearer. Montor grimaced at Kriet. “Really brilliant idea, coming down unarmed.”

“You’re right. Next time, we’ll do it different.”

“Next time?!”

“Shhh.”

The door shook with hasty thumps. “Open, in the name of the Prydonian Chapter!”

Rhapsody’s jaw fell. “The lock’s on their side!” he hissed. Grin’elle motioned at him and Barrington to flank the doorway. Grin did something strange to the door control, and it popped open.

“What can I do for -” and Kriet fell under a staser blast.

He regained consciousness to find Ty’elle standing over him. The initial welcomeness was displaced by Ty’s sour expression.

Dujhar shook his head. “Well, if it isn’t Grin’elle Kriet, trouble magnet for the entire Orion arm. Hanging around you is a dangerous pursuit. One minute I’m minding my own business doing Immelman turns in a VT, next minute, I’m looking at the inside of yet another frickin’ jail cell. So fill me in; what have you done this time?”

Kriet had trouble focusing. The staser was built by Gallifreyans to use against their own people, and it affected him worse than most stun weapons. “Agl...”

“Oh, come on.” Ty’elle heaved him from the floor onto the single bunk. Grin’elle squeezed his eyes tightly shut, then opened them again. “Believe it or not,” he started, “this one’s not my fault. Uh… this is gonna take a while. You see, first we found out you were missing; then they stole my TARDIS and Indy Jones. We used the Ultrainfinidrive to come and get you. But, I think they came and got us...”

“Who’s they?”

Kriet launched into the story. By the time he began to wind up, Ty was looking a little more friendly. “You know, I’m not even going to ask why you never told me this. I don’t think I could have in your shoes.”

Grin relaxed some. “I’m glad you understand.”

Ty’elle was already elsewhere. “You say the UID works, do you?” Immense self-satisfaction filled his face. “Those tork-choppers at FIST were wrong, and I was right! Oh, wait ‘till I get back...” Kriet said nothing. Ty’s battles with the Federation Institute of Science and Technology were legendary.

A woman walked into view on the other side of the cell force field. “Jaxmegorocnoctil. I always knew you’d end up like this.”

Kriet stiffened at the first word from that particular throat. A computer could have managed more emotion as he said, “Ty’elle Dujhar, meet Time Lady Carralasiretomin. Carrala, Ty’elle. Slumming, Carrala?”

Her mouth twisted. “There’s no need to act so upset, Jax. You may not credit this, but I bear you no ill-will. In fact, I’ve come to see if I could help you.”

Ty gave the woman a long look. She had rich brown hair, of a style and length he knew Grin admired. Her face was an odd mix of the childlike and the regal.

Grin’s tone warmed a bit. “After that tearful separation scene, I’m surprised you’ll even associate with me. As far as the High Council is concerned, I’m poison.”

Ty’elle had been lost a few sentences ago. “Separation scene?”

“Yes. Until I was revealed as a mutated Camazotian, Lady Carrala was my fiancée.”

“… You love those conversational bombs, don’t you, Grin?”

“There’s worse, Mr. Dujhar. Your pedigree is the least of the Council’s problems, Jax. You see, I was the one who ordered your abduction from the guest chambers. You are talking to the head of the Revolutionary Council of Gallifrey.”

There was a pause. “The what?”

“There’s much to tell you. May I have your word not to do anything stupid? We can adjourn to more comfortable surroundings.”

They readily agreed; whatever happened later, for now they wanted to hear more. Carrala took them to a well-furnished office, decorated by artifacts from many planets - Terra and Camazotz among them.

“I see you’ve been to the Starfleet frame,” Grin commented.

“It goes with the job,” she said. “I wasn’t the first, either. I think you’ll want to sit down.”

“Okay. Why?”

“The first leader of the RCG reached the end of his final regeneration about 250 years ago, Gallifrey time. He had no successor, and he wanted to keep the High Council off balance until one appeared. His plan was - well, now it would be considered rather cruel - but it did work. He decided to put a false Time Lord through an Academy - arrange for his installation on the High Council - then reveal the fraud. Every race in Mutter’s Spiral is too well known… so he took a young sentient from a similar reality...”

Grin’s teeth clenched until they seemed about to pass through one another. “You mean -”

She couldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m sorry, Jax. After I saw what the High Council did to you, I dithered for a few years, then joined the RCG myself; then I found out that it had been our idea all the time...”

He fell back in his chair, uttering a single, sharp, “Well.”

The urgency came back to her mood. “But there’s worse. The Hospital had your cell-samples on file; after they got rid of you, they changed their minds and grew a clone of you. His job was to retrieve you and replace you; if the RCG ever tried to contact you again, he would notify the Capitol. Unfortunately, their frame-crossing techniques weren’t quite as good as ours; they lost touch with him, and nobody knows what happened.”

Grin let out a laugh of tired astonishment. “I do. He’s no longer anybody’s worry. He died in an attempt on my life.”

“The Mirror Pathfinder,” Ty exclaimed. “I wondered how you could have a double in that reality when you barely come from our own.”

Carrala waited until it was obvious they weren’t volunteering more. “Well, he had another mission. Apparently, in your home frame, there was to rise soon a young, brilliant inventor who would revolutionize space-time theories there. He would cobble together a new drive system exceeding the capabilities of the newest, latest, TARDISes; it even would cross between reality frames with ease.”

Ty sat up. “You’re kidding. You mean to tell me -”

“That’s right. The High Council sees your Ultrainfinidrive as the first threat to their control of the Time Vortex in millennia.

“So, this was our plan; we kidnaped Ty and your TARDIS, Jax, in order to draw you and the UID to Gallifrey. You two and your machines are the key to the final overthrow of the High Council!”

Ty’elle shook his head, and broke the surprised silence. “Ja- Grin, I think I owe you an apology. Looks like ‘trouble magnet’ applies to more than one person in this room.”

Grin’elle’s eyes hardened slightly. “What about Indy Jones?”

“Uh… oh! The short, golden-furred creature. We’ve taken good care of him. He’s in perfect health. Quite a attractive primitive, actually. I wouldn’t mind having one.”

“I’ll want to see him.”

“That’s fine. We’ll arrange it. Now, Jax, what about my proposal?”

There was cold mirth in his eyes. “I’ve heard that line somewhere before.”

Carrala leaned over her desk and locked eyes with Grin’elle. “I’m even willing to start over in that respect, if you want. We need your help.” She glanced at Ty. “We need both of you!”

“You can’t buy me that way.”

The Time Lady lowered her eyes. “I didn’t really mean it like that… I’m making an honest offer. When I found out you weren’t a ‘real’ Time Lord, I was repelled. Now, it’s the ‘real’ Time Lords that repel me… and I begin to see why our first leader did what he did. It was an awful thing - but the alternative could be even worse.”

Grin rubbed his eyes. “Every cell in my body is screaming warnings, but… Yes, Carrala, I will help you. As to the other - we’ll take it up later.”

A voice shouted, “Right! That’ll be enough. All of you, remain where you are!”

The door vanished in the beam of an energy weapon. Grin shot a betrayed look at the woman, but here eyes were wide with horror and surprise. Staser beams enveloped them all.

Rhapsody hissed, “All right, Monty, where are we now?” He and Barrington were crouched in a service tunnel which they’d been forced to duck through during the fighting at the guest quarters. The Capitol Guard had been involved, as well as another, unknown group, and the Fleet officers had used the confusion to bug out. It had seemed to take hours for them to get as far as they had.

“If I remember correctly, we should be heading back toward what Kriet called the Panopticon. And if you call me Monty again, I’ll kick you in the teeth.”

Quaver and Montor inched forward for another eternity, finally running against an intricate grillwork. In front of them was indeed the Panopticon. Just blow them, Ty’elle and Carrala were under close guard, and on a small raised platform, surrounded by dozens of dignified-looking Time Lords, was Grin’elle. He was listening with disdain to a proclamation made by one in especially ornate robes; the Chancellor.

“- and having been forbidden under pain of immediate termination to return to Gallifrey, the accused did so nonetheless, and proceeded to mock our leniency by conspiring with dangerous dissident elements.”

“You mean you’re actually admitting to dissidents?” interrupted Kriet. “Boy, you’ve really loosened up since my last visit.”

“Therefore, at this time, we will carry out the too-long suspended sentence. Grin’elle Kriet, do you have anything to say before your termination begins?”

He considered. “Actually, yes I do.” Grin took a deep breath, then screamed at the top of his lungs, “Rhapsody! Get the fuck in here!”

A dangerous smirk appeared on Quaver’s face. “I think that was an order, Commander.”

Montor actually smiled. “I think you’re right.”

The grill exploded outward, and the two landed on Ty’s and Carrala’s guards. Ty’elle didn’t allow himself the luxury of surprise; instead he spin-kicked the other guardsman, while the Time Lady snatched a fallen staser and began stunning everything in sight.

Grin was as surprised as anyone. “Now, that’s what I call following instructions,” he told Rhapsody as his bonds were cut.

They gathered themselves together. “Jax,” Carrala breathed, “I know where we put your TARDIS!”

“Good thought, Lady. Do we have the whole tour? One - two - three - four - good. All right, everyone, stay close to the guide!”

They dashed through the corridors of the Capitol. Carrala took care of some further opposition, and soon they all had stasers. After what seemed like miles of more corridor, they rounded a corner, and a few hundred yards from them, Grin’s TARDIS sat in an alcove.

“All right,” gritted Kriet.

Then the corridor was wracked with explosions. Much of the roof headed toward them; they managed to duck into a storeroom before the hall became blocked.

The dust settled, and Montor peeked out. He reported, “The debris must be several meters thick, in both directions.”

Ty raised his staser, but Carrala interrupted. “It won’t work. Staser beams only affect organic material.”

Montor continued, “We’re pinned down for the moment. I’ll call for a beamout.”

Grin grabbed his arm as he pulled out the communicator. “No good. They’ll have the transduction barrier at full power by now. The McKay would be lucky to hear us, much less beam us out.”

Ty raised an eyebrow. “Transduction barrier?”

“Yeah. A time shield, powered by a quantum black hole, called the Eye of Harmony, at the center of the planet. Not even a supernova makes it through unless the High Council wills it.”

The room rocked with further explosions. Carrala was seething. “Those idiots!”

“Do you know what’s going on?” Rhapsody asked.

“Yes, I do,” she said venomously. “The damn Revolutionary Council is making a full-scale attack. I’ve been holding them back, because they’re liable to make Gallifrey a cinder unless the High Council surrenders - which it won’t. But I’ve been written off, and now there’s no one to stop them. Fools!”

Grin gave her a puzzled look. “How can they fight the power of the Eye?”

“We’ve been tapped into it for a long time, Jax. How do you think we ran our TARDISes? We’ve got as much energy at our disposal as the High Council. I don’t think any of us will see another regeneration.”

Suddenly Ty’elle grabbed the communicator from Barrington. “Transduction barrier,” he muttered, thinking furiously. “Eye of Harmony. McKay, come in, do you read? Come in!”

A faint, static-y voice answered. “Captain! Is that you?”

“Damn straight, Scott. Tell me you brought Barten along.”

“Sure, hold on.”

“Moshi moshi?”

“Banzai - thank god. Listen. Did you people hook up the Ultrainfinidrive exactly as in my notes?”

“Of course! It made little enough sense the way you had it; I wasn’t gonna mess with it any.”

“Okay. Now go to the main console, and do exactly what I tell you. Set the subspace power draw to 18 terawatts. Realign the projection mechanism to describe a radius of 500 megameters around the nearest singularity. Deactivate the Hawking overload cut-outs and switch in the gravity tension overdrive. Got that?”

“Got it.”

“Good. Now get someone to the transporter, and the moment I tell you to execute, get us up there.”

“Hai!”

“Execute!”

There was a subsonic throbbing, and the lights dimmed, then went out.

“What did you do?” Carrala asked.

“Threw a little Infinifield around the Eye of Harmony. Shortly, nobody and nothing will be getting power - not even the Barrier.”

There was one last, loud explosion. The ceiling of the storeroom, already weak, began crumbling down over the five pillars of energy which vanished just before the roof caved in.

USS McKay

Grin stood up and assisted Carrala in getting off the transporter. “Travel by Mixmaster; see the whole universe - at once!” he muttered.

Ty walked over to where Barten Banzai was shutting the machine down. “You cut it awful close, there,” he admonished.

Banzai shrugged. “Sorry, Captain. We’ve only got a skeleton crew; I had to run all the way here from Engineering.”

Grin was fidgeting at the door. “Come on; let’s get to the bridge.”

Exactly as he said that, the room began vibrating in an ominous manner, and an alert siren went off. Barten swore and ran to Engineering; the rest of them followed.

Ty’s invention sat near the intermix column, smoking, glowing and shuddering as if possessed. All but Ty, Grin, and Barten were mesmerized by the sight; the three engineers ran at the machine.

The artificial gravity wobbled, and Grin found himself airborne. Ty clung to the main monitoring board, head down, stabbing at switches. Barten could not be seen. Time and space split apart, and Kriet decided that he might finally get his chance to complain to his Maker about recent events.

With the same suddenness, the universe returned. The Ultrainfinidrive was a smoking mess, and the occupants of Engineering didn’t look much better. “Holy -! What happened?” moaned Barten.

Everybody picked themselves up from the floor. Ty’elle grimaced. “Mmm, I hoped this wouldn’t happen. The UID field fed back through the Eye. Any minute now, Gallifrey will be getting its power back.”

Carrala imitated his expression. “And the fighting will resume.”

Grin’elle was thinking with lightning speed. “I could have told you - saving civilizations isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Carrala, how long do you figure until the Barrier is up again?”

“Perhaps ten minutes...”

“We’ve got to get back down there. Ty, is the rest of the Fighting Fifth ready for flight?”

“Yes...”

“Can you quickly put a dual cockpit on one of them?”

“Sure...”

Soon, four deceptively primitive-looking metal shapes arrowed into Gallifrey’s atmosphere. Grin radioed to Ty, “The Barrier must not be back up yet. We’re still here.”

Ty didn’t reply. He was still trying to remember how he’d been talked into this in the first place.

Carrala heard something in Grin’s tone she didn’t like. “What are you planning?”

“I’ve decided I’m really tired of this crap - so I’m going to help you people put a stop to it.”

“Ground level in five minutes, Grin,” reported Quaver.

“All right, people. Prepare for mechamorphosis to Guardian mode on my signal...”

“Now!”

Four hands pulled four levers; and four fighter planes began to swap parts about...

The Capitol, Gallifrey

The fighting was going badly for the High Council. The Revolutionary Council was willing to sacrifice anything for their ideals, which gave them an advantage; the Capitol Guard was slowly being forced back. Dead and wounded Gallifreyans littered the halls of the Capitol. Some were Time Lords, others ordinary citizens; renegades stood and flee next to leading Councillors. The only party winning the battle was Death.

Finally, the Capitol Guard made its last stand in the cavernous Council Chambers; but man by man, they were losing the fight, as the remnants of the revolutionaries rallied for a final push.

Dimly, the combatants became aware of rhythmic thunder growing ever louder over the crackle and zing of staser fire. The high-pitched whine of alien energy weapons echoed through the corridors, underlaid by the grinding judder of automatic heavy projectile weapons. The battle slowed, as men and women listened in wonder.

With a titanic crash, four human-shaped fifty-foot machines in blue and gold colors came through one wall: Veritechs in Battloid mode. One of them pointed a massive handheld Gatling machine gun at the ceiling and fired. Kriet’s voice came from external speakers, saying “All right, schmuckoids; enough’s enough. Throw down your arms or we’ll wipe out the lot of you!”

There was utter silence. Then one revolutionary ran at the mecha, screaming and ineffectually firing his staser at it. Kriet gently kicked him into the nearest wall.

“Have I got everyone’s attention? Good. Now then: somebody wants to speak to you, and she’s got a little proposal to make...”

Carrala’s voice resonated from the giant shape. “Peoples of Gallifrey! Hear me! Cease your self-destructive actions, for you bring your own deaths upon you. Gallifrey has reached a time of change, and it will take both sides to assure that the change is beneficial rather than fatal.” The Battloid’s head came forward, and her seat rose from the back of the mech. Carrala stepped onto the mechanical hand Kriet offered, and he gently lowered her to the ground.

“The commanders of both sides will come forward,” he announced, casually waving the Gatling from side to side. Two men approached from their respective forces, walking nervously, but with heads high.

“A cease-fire is in effect as of this moment,” Kriet continued. “Order your troops to lay down their arms!” The leaders glanced at one another, and complied. The huge robot head shifted its sensors to Lady Carrala. “My Lady, I expect the President will have moved to the protection of his private quarters. I’m sure that you can convince him to grant you an audience.” She nodded regally, and swept from the hall.

Dujhar addressed the remaining combat teams. “Guys, I don’t know much about Time Lord politics; but you’ve caused thousands of unnecessary deaths today. Your services don’t appear to be needed anymore; perhaps you should leave now, and take time to consider what you’ve done.” Casually, he changed clips in his Gatling. “Now.” The soldiers dispersed.

Rhapsody climbed out of his borrowed mech. He stood on its shoulder waving his captured staser, and shouted, “Made it, ma! Top of the world!”

Kriet and Dujhar stood in front of a slightly different High Council. Carralasiretomin and her chief lieutenant now occupied seats at the table; and the room, despite hasty repairs, was still in sad shape.

“- you are both granted full pardon, on the following conditions;

“One. You never return to Gallifrey. And this time, do not take this directive so lightly.

“Two. Ty’elle Dujhar, you will cease all work on the Infinidrive and Ultrainfinidrive projects. They are a menace to civilizations of all frames.

“If these conditions are not met, the Combined Councils of Gallifrey will be forced to take drastic and unpleasant action against the violator and those who would aid him.

“Have you anything to say?”

Kriet was gaping. “Yes, I do.” Ty cringed, remembering last time; but Grin simply said this.

“This civilization is one of the most arrogant, uncaring group of beings I’ve ever encountered. You who refuse to interfere, you play chess with peoples’ lives constantly without need or care. No apologies, for sending someone to kill me; no apologies, for blaming me for the actions of your own renegade, or for kidnappings, or staser blasts - you must think you are gods.

“Well. If I was the Doctor, I’d stay and reform your bloody culture whether you liked it or not; and if I was the Master, I’d be ruling you by now. But as Jaxmegorocnoctil - Grin’elle Kriet if you like - I’ll leave you to stew in your own inertia. You need not worry about my ever setting foot on this planet again.”

He stormed out. Ty’elle planted his fists on his hips, and said, “I don’t think I can follow that up.” He flipped them a salute that somehow turned into an obscene gesture, and left the room after Grin.

Carrala ran past him, chasing Grin’elle. “Jax -” she began.

“Don’t bother, Carrala. You’ve got your Council seat; and if I stay here five minutes too long, I’ll have a staser hole where my navel was. There’s just no point, is there? I hope you find a real Time Lord someday. Me… Well, it’s going to be a long twelve regenerations.” He entered his TARDIS, which had been moved to outside the chambers. Ty looked at her shrugged, and followed. The scraping noise began, and the TARDIS faded away.

One solitary tear rolled down Carrala’s cheek; then the moment vanished, and she returned to the Council chambers, ready to dive back into the battleground of politics.

The two Camazotians stood at the TARDIS control console. “I’ll materialize around McKay, and use the Multiverse Device to get us home. Frankly, Ty, I’m just as happy not to be using your drive. It worked, but it wasn’t fun.”

“Mmmmm.”

“I think, when we get home, I’m gonna take a little leave of absence. There’s a lot I’ve got to think about.”

“Grin - I know this isn’t much, but - thank you for coming after me.”

There was a pause. “You’re welcome. Maybe it’ll be your turn one day.”

Indy Jones ran from the inner door, trailing a twenty-foot, multi-colored scarf. “Pappy G’in! Look what Indy got on Ga’frey!”

Grin’elle picked it up. There was a note pinned to the other end.

I couldn’t stop this one; I don’t quite have access to battle robots and starships. Thanks to you, we both have a future. Well done.

The Doctor

He stared at it for quite a while; then ripped the note off, stuck it in a pocket, and stuffed the muffler into a storage locker.

Ty looked at him with concern.

“Let’s go home,” Kriet said.

END

Repository 3

The Capitol, Gallifrey

Samlare 48, 102,773 T.L.

[Reality Code: Mutter’s Spiral 871]

“Lady Carralasiretomin! She teaches my class in parallel timeline theory!” the apprentice exclaimed.

“Correct. And you now know of some of her qualifications.”

“I’ve never heard of any of this...” he breathed softly. “I mean, our history describes the change of power back in 101,215; but it doesn’t mention any of the fighting, or Kriet’s role in it.”

“No. That could lead to disrespect for the High Council, and unrest among the populace. That must never happen.”

He was silent for some time. “You scare me, Lady. I’m not sure it is proper for me to know these things.”

“You asked, and I told. There are wheels within wheels within wheels, apprentice; these secrets only empower you to serve our society.” She looked intently at him. “Without Kriet, where would the Time Lords be today?”

“I take your point.” He again ran a hand over the display case containing the Mutor. “Tell me: when does this artifact enter the tale?”

“Almost immediately. Kriet felt battered by winds he could not control; he soon decided to use his TARDIS to take a sabbatical, and to try and come to a decision about his direction in life. However, his enemies were angered at their failures to silence him, and attempted a bold stroke that would eradicate his friends and him with them. It wasn’t hard to find a hopelessly lethal situation in the realms multiversal, and even easier to entangle him in it...”

Music From the Heart of Space

by Michael O’Brien

Previtar, in the Dalton Kappa system

September 2, 2288 A.D.

[Reality Code: USS Enterprise 017]

The colony world of Previtar was a beautiful place. A few of its cities were as heavily populated as some of Earth’s, but they were much more pleasant; the inhabitants had made a conscious effort to become part of the local ecosphere instead of dominating it. The planet had both the perfect distance from its sun and the perfect axis tilt to carry Terran late-spring / early-summer temperatures for most of its year. The trees may have been shaped strangely, but it wasn’t an unpleasant effect; and the oxygen content of the air was high enough to make a visitor feel 20 pounds lighter.

The colonists of Previtar were desperately worried that the galaxy in general would find out about all this; the planet would never see a moment’s peace again.

Basically, though, it was a good place to heal mind and body, which is why Starfleet officer Grin’elle Kriet was spending some leave there. His mind was in need of a good bit of healing. At present, that function was being carried out by a very sexy woman who was cheerfully dancing on an outdoor stage in front of a packed crowd and belting out a 300-year-old Beatles song.

She appeared to be a human female in her late twenties, tall but not skinny, with a heart-shaped face and wide eyes that always seemed to be lit with friendly laughter. The singer was dressed in a gray-blue leotard shot with silver threads and split to the navel, and a gauzy, translucent skirt which hung intentionally cockeyed on her hips; but her most striking aspects were her hair and her voice.

Her unbelievably dark hair was cut asymmetrically; on her right, it curved away from her face and dropped to just below her shoulder, while on her left it swooped low over her forehead, partially obscured her left eye, then cascaded down both in front and in back before stopping just above the skirt line. Black as night, it carried little pinprick highlights, and would have made the most ground-bound being want to visit space.

Then, there was the girl’s voice. It seemed to slip quietly past one’s eardrums and go directly to work on one’s neurons and back muscles. The effect was a glow of excited well-being which, combined with Previtar’s environment, would have made a Klingon want to hand out lollipops. She could have made Vogon poetry entertaining; as it was, she made Paul McCartney compositions sound better than they had since 1970.

Her name was Nebula. Kriet had first heard of the singer when she had toured with a band called Artificial Intelligence. AI was composed of four biologically unlikely aliens who played tunes only a deaf person would call music; yet they played to packed houses, especially when Nebula sang. The band was currently separated; rumor had it that one member had joined Starfleet, another was considering evangelism as a hobby, and the other two had signed with a major marketer to produce plush toys of themselves. They had been quite a group; but Nebula’s talents were in no way diminished by solo work.

Too soon, she had finished her last number, and ducked into the complex of storage and dressing rooms just behind the stage. Kriet’s transportation sat in the parking lot - where a few thousand people were heading right now. He decided to wait a bit before heading there.

Nebula sat in her dressing room, absently brushing her hair - a major undertaking in itself. She was staring into the mirror but not really seeing anything. The wry gleefulness usually in her expression was gone, as she stared into her own past.

She was older than she looked, though not excessively; and her mind was an odd mix of optimistic naivete and well-hidden kernels of cynicism. She tried not to let the latter get in her way, as she disliked them; but sometimes they came forward, and now they were causing her to consider her bizarre past and clouded future.

Nebula was born to one of the concubines of a petty, would-be galactic emperor on one of the seedier frontier worlds. Her father could have been any one of a hundred people employed or shown ‘hospitality’ by the small-time tyrant - Nebula thought she had ended up with fully Earth-human genes, but wasn’t sure. She was named for her fast-growing, light-absorbing hair; and she knew nothing of existence outside the dictator’s city-sized domain until her true late twenties.

He had been fond of her singing voice; still, there was a mystery to it that he found disquieting, even threatening. Then, with no warning, she stopped aging. Completely. She reached full biological maturity, and then it was if her body had decided, “This is far enough.” The autocrat became convinced that she possessed supernatural abilities, and dumped her on her own in one of the most dangerous regions of known space.

One thing Nebula did have to her advantage was spirit; and though she remained innocent about many things, she quickly learned how not to be taken advantage of. On the strength of her voice and looks, she quickly became a minor success; then in a bizarre chain of accidents, become involved with AI.

There. That was it; Nebula finally deduced the cause of her restlessness. She missed the adventure; those fun, crazy goings-on that the group always seemed to drop into the middle of. There were newspaper hardcopy clippings stuck in the mirror’s frame; records of past escapades, and of fond memories. Somewhere in her bag was a wafer with their first hit single: “When the Fusion Plant Shuts Down, We’ll Just Pack Our Bags and Glow.” She sighed. Crazy days indeed.

Among the clippings was the picture of a Federation starship: NCC-1793, USS Heimdal. The copy below recounted how the starship had made a delivery of vital medical supplies while simultaneously fighting off the outlaw raiders who had intentionally infected the colony. Nebula had been considering Starfleet lately as a possible return to an adventurous lifestyle; the only problem was that she currently was a moderately successful entertainer with a past that probably wouldn’t impress an Academy recruiter. Besides, not all successful graduates ended up on a starship; there were plenty of ore freighters to be crewed.

Nebula finished her post-performance routine, and prepared to leave. She’d made enough today to stay on Previtar for a few months; that, at least, was a cheerful prospect. She headed toward the parking lot, where her hover cycle awaited.

The door of the backstage complex opened, and she stepped out. With no warning, an arm wrapped around her neck, and a second encircled her waist. Two men appeared in her field of vision; they were both giggling in the tired manner associated with certain recreational drugs. Nebula scanned the parking lot, but she’d taken too long in her dressing room, and it was empty. One look at the eyes of the men before her, and she knew she was going to die… but, possibly, not quickly enough.

“I wonder what today’s gross profits were,” one said over a hacking cough.

The other wasn’t listening. “It’s too warm to be wearing all that clothing, girl!” He pulled out a very primitive but effective knife, and advanced on her. “You’re making me hot!” The man holding her just continued to giggle.

Her sight blurred, and her mind blanked. With robot-like movements, she focused her stare on the knife wielder. Nebula’s already unfocused pupils expanded, until the iris was almost invisible. There was a microsecond sear of heat, and the attacker was gone.

This penetrated the fogged minds of the other two. Panic slowed their already constipated thoughts, but finally they chose to just grab her bag and shove her into a metal locker that was standing against the wall. Nebula’s mindless body remained upright long enough to walk a few dozen yards (as if, somehow, the locker was much bigger inside than out) but finally collapsed.

Kriet looked up, startled. During his short meditation, the tiers of seats had emptied, and he was alone. Vaguely embarrassed, he stood and headed out.

Grin’elle was also tall, but he was definitely skinny. A crown of shaggy brown hair exceeded regulation length over blue-gray eyes which said that he knew more about the universe than you did - and would be happy to change places. He wore a flight jacket dotted with patches and pins which proclaimed, in order from general to specific, that he was a member of Starfleet - Region One, Batron 11, USS Pathfinder, Fleet Mechforces, and the ship’s Chief Engineer with the rank of Commander.

Grin was also older than he looked; he appeared to have around thirty years, but it would be more correct to add about 200 to that. He was experiencing a severe identity crisis. Born to a Terran mother and a father from the planet Camazotz, he had spent those two centuries on the planet Gallifrey, completely against his will. Kriet had just rescued an old friend from the plots of the Gallifreyans, and the escapade had fueled his disgust for those ‘superior’ beings. His genes were presently a mix of the three racial strains, and the fact did not please him.

The only souvenir of that time that he was glad to have now stood against a wall in the parking lot. It was a machine known as a TARDIS, capable of traveling through space and time - and after some tinkering by Grin, even to parallel realities. As he headed toward it, he briefly considered extending his leave; officially, he had been given four months, but a little time travel might lengthen that. He decided against it. Just this once, he would cooperate with the universe’s timeflow instead of cheating around it. He had had his rest, and was now actually looking forward to starship routine. His duties had never been that unpleasant in the first place; and perhaps the work would help settle the remainder of his mental disquiet. Kriet found himself wondering just how the dreadnought’s engineers were managing without him.

USS Pathfinder

On standard patrol, Federation border of the Triangle

September 2, 2288 A.D.

Actually, they had been managing just fine - until they began to prepare for his return. Quaver Z. Rhapsody, Engineering Chief during Kriet’s absence, was about ready to tear his hair out. The blue streak in that black hair seemed to be glowing with the effects of strong agitation.

Right now, he was yelling at Transporter Chief Jeffrey Matthews, who was yelling right back; one of the cargo transporters was throwing a fit, and it was resisting all attempts at repair.

“It’s NOT my fault, Rhaps! The descrambling sequence correlator is shot! Right now, all this transporter is good for is as a super-size blender!”

Rhapsody looked as if he’d have liked to punch Jeff in the nose - if he’d had one. Many people were disconcerted by Matthews’ noseless but otherwise average face; however, some Pathfinder crewmembers were much stranger than that.

“I don’t care, Jeff! When I need a 20-gallon Daiquiri for one of the Battloids, I’ll let you know; what I need now is a working cargo transporter!”

“If you people would just keep that damn program under control...”

“We’ve never had control of Max; it’s just that sometimes, blessedly, he calms down. Now look. I’ve got to get the intercoms fixed, find the file with Grin’s experimental intermix formula, repair a library computer console on ‘H’ deck, and figure out exactly where the cadets have stored the spare dilithium crystal mounting brackets. I’ll deal with Max Dreadnought as soon as possible.”

Jeff sighed with resigned anger. “Okay, you’re the boss. I’ll see what I can do with that damn -”

The communicator at Quaver’s hip beeped for attention. He flipped it open; Communications Chief Kammara Kazsis was on the line. “Rhapsody, we need the -”

“Kam, I’m getting to the intercoms next. We think that that’s where Max is hiding right now. I’m just going to need more time, that’s all!”

He was beginning to sound hysterical, so she backed off. “Whatever you say, Rhaps. It’s just that I curse the day when that program got loose.”

“You and me both, Kam. Rhapsody out.” He turned to Jeff, and sighed. “Sorry about the yelling. Do what you can with the thing.” He headed out.

It was a short turbolift trip to ‘O’ deck - Main Engineering. When the doors slid open, he almost wished they hadn’t; the chamber was filled with acrid smoke, and various engineers were frantically aiming extinguishers at blackened consoles.

“I don’t have the energy to get mad,” moaned Quaver. “Just tell me what’s happened now?”

Cadet Sar-Wraith Vilayet had the grace to look embarrassed. “We thought an overload signal might drive Max out of the intercom system; but he just… uh… amplified it and threw it right back at us.”

“And I’d like to kn- kn- know what I ever did to you!” proclaimed a vision screen indignantly. On the screen was a high-resolution computer image of an almost handsome man wearing the maroon jacket and gold shirt of a Starfleet engineer; an ensemble he felt somehow compelled to complement with dark wraparound sunglasses. Rhaps found the shades in poor taste; they reminded him of those two furtive ‘special missions’ officers who’d been prowling around the ship last month, looking for ‘Klingon drug-runners.’

“What you’ve done to us?!” Quaver practically yodeled. “Max, do you want the list?”

“Well, hey! With Comm- Comm- Karma Chameleon! With Commander Kriet gone, I consider it my moral obligation to keep things interesting for you fellows!”

“Well, hey!” mimicked Vilayet evilly. “We just want to return the favor, Max!”

Max understood that quite clearly. “Whoops! Subject: elf. Response: belligerence. Recommended action: orderly retreat. Think I’ll go look in the personnel files for cute yeo- yeomen!” His image disappeared, but he left a trailing message: “Don’t hesitate to call if you need -”

Quaver reached over and shut off the screen, then hit the perfectly functioning intercom. “Engineering to Bridge. It’s fixed.” He rubbed his eyes. “Cadet, I’m going to ‘H’ deck. Keep me posted on further developments.” Rhaps looked at the ceiling and pleaded under his breath, “Grin, come back soon!”

Previtar (the TARDIS)

Grin shut the main TARDIS doors, berating himself for again having forgotten to lock them when last he left. TARDIS capsules, partially due to their outwardly camouflaged nature, had a tendency to attract stowaways and accidental passengers.

The room he now stood in was huge, with four-foot white hexagonal tiles lining the walls. A large double door, the one Kriet had just passed through, led to the outside; while another, smaller door led deeper into the timeship. Through that door could be found miles of corridors on many levels, leading to sleeping quarters, workrooms, recreational areas, labs, a cavernous wardrobe, and many other chambers. The area Grin had explored would have filled a large office building, and there was more he hadn’t seen. All of this was packed into an outside form that could be as small as a 20th-century phone booth, by the advanced science of the race calling themselves Time Lords.

Grin’elle regarded the six-sided control console, which sat in the center of the room like a waist-high technological mushroom. With a sigh Kriet started operating the scores of buttons, switches, and levers necessary to bring the timeship to its rendezvous with the space-time coordinates occupied by the starship Pathfinder. Grin circled the console, pouncing on controls at seeming random, then suddenly stopped. He was looking at the panel that contained his own custom addition - the Multiverse Device. This machine changed the function of the TARDIS engines, making it possible to visit other realities - timelines that imitated his own, sometimes with insignificant differences, sometimes with vast ones. Kriet’s hand hovered above the data input board, but with an effort, he moved on. All he wanted to do now was to go home.

He finished the preprogramming, and threw a large lever. The engines engaged, making a horrible wheezing and groaning sound that most technological societies would consider evidence of a major malfunction. In a parking lot on Previtar, the metal locker that currently was the TARDIS’ existence in Einsteinian space faded away, as the timeship gathered it in; and the ship began its transit through the Time Vortex.

Interplanetary space, Sol system

June 15, 2495 A.D.

[Reality Code: Megazones 539]

It couldn’t be called a room; it was more of a void. The shape and size of the area, if they existed, were completely obscured by the lack of light. There was an instinctive sense of being underground, but that may well have been an illusion.

Suddenly two figures, lit by unseen sources, appeared from unknown entrances. Both were quite human, but of the indeterminate ancestry that was already being seen in the large Terran cities by the end of the nineteen hundreds. The girl was young and pretty, with waist-length pale hair that at times seemed faintly blond, faintly silver, or even a faint pastel green; and she was afraid. The man was not unhandsome, being tall, muscular, and blond; but the danger that his mad eyes added to his huge size gave him an ugly look.

The girl spoke first, in a voice filled with apprehension. “Have you changed your mind?”

He spoke curtly. “Of course not. You know very well that this has to happen.”

Her tone became tinged with panic. “I don’t know that at all! This is crazy! What could have given you these ideas?”

There was almost a religious intonation to his next words. “I have seen the truth. I know now how to protect us all.”

“This isn’t protection; it will destroy us all! Why can’t you see?”

He drew back, looking at her. “You’ve changed… You never argued in the past… It doesn’t matter. Soon it will all be over.” In a blink, he was gone.

She ran to the spot where he had stood. “Wait! Come back!” There was no answer. She slid to the floor, tears running down her cheeks. “Oh! What can I do? What’s going to happen now?” She hugged her knees to her chest. “Why isn’t there someone who can help?”

The Time Vortex

All times, all places

[Reality Code: Megazones 539]

The structure of the Time Vortex crumpled slightly. The nadir of the spinning, turbulent cone twisted, sending sympathetic vibrations throughout the not-matter, not-energy that gave it its shape.

Grin’elle Kriet’s current theory of why his Multiverse Device worked (for he still wasn’t quite sure) held that each timeline carried its own light cone: an area which defines reality, and of which a TARDIS rides the fringes. Each Vortex touched the others at its generation point, providing a gateway among them to those who could apply the science.

Using that model (for it is as convenient as any,) the fabric of one cone was changing, undergoing metamorphosis. If the change was completed, that universe would never be the same; but the fabric of time was resisting, fighting an ethereal conflict. The side effects of that battle cannot easily be traced; but one such effect, by chance or intent, did indeed reach to that universe where a race called humanity rules itself with a Federation and protects itself with a Starfleet...

The Time Vortex

All times, all places

[Reality Code: USS Enterprise 017]

The rhythmic moan of the TARDIS drives deepened, and slowed in tempo. Their gentle, subliminal vibration changed to a violent juddering. Kriet broke out of the meditative pose he usually adopted during transit. Tested reflexes took over, and he quickly was braced against the console with one hand and against the floor with spread legs.

His free hand gave orders, and the machine responded as best it could; something was deflecting the capsule from its set course. The force was trying to add itself to the push of the engines, and give the timeship a new direction.

Grin could get no firm reading on the interference. The vibration was caused as the engines fought, then relaxed, and fought, and relaxed; as if the distortion repeatedly vanished, then returned; as if the forces both did and did not exist...

He saw it then. Kriet abandoned his hold, and leaped at the controls of the Multiverse Device. Readouts and displays awakened before his fingers could touch them; the TARDIS gave a mighty shake, as if it were a wayward railroad car settling back into its rails; and Grin’elle was flung head first against the wall. He slid to the floor, motionless.

White. That seemed to fit; Nebula thought she remembered seeing white, before she passed out.

She sat up abruptly. She wasn’t quite sure where she had passed out, but she didn’t think that this was it. The white she remembered was hexagonally-tiled walls. This corridor had walls that emitted a soft, pale glow. Vague differences of intensity outlined a doorway ahead; for lack of anything better to do, she passed through it.

Without warning, she was surrounded by thousands of people. Nebula was standing in the center of a huge circular amphitheater, and there was no sign of the entrance she had emerged from.

When the shock wore off, she realized that the figures were not real people, but incredibly lifelike statues, all of a tall, rather pretty girl with long, space-black hair...

Herself.

Nebula reeled again. She felt near to sensory overload. Some of the statues were small children, others outwardly her frozen age but with eyes that measured time in centuries. They wore all manner of clothing: the dress of her planet of birth, stage costumes, drab work fatigues, and evening gowns. Their expressions formed a range from passionate hate to loving kindness; impersonal apathy to burning interest. The worst part was that some of the bodies bore scars: small scratches or ugly mutilations. She was sickened, but could not stop looking.

They all looked directly at her. Nebula somehow felt as if some power had summoned forth her entire life, to perform some sort of dispassionate judgment. She began to back away.

And leaped a foot in the air as she backed into something that hadn’t been there before. Nebula turned; it was another figure of herself. This one wore the maroon jacket and black miniskirt she would expect on a female Starfleet officer. The face and pose showed relaxed peacefulness. In a way, this one’s hair looked even more like space; surely those were miniature suns gleaming in the depths?

Nebula leaned closer, to look; and she found that she could not arrest her motion. Forward she fell, into that not quite empty void...

She pitched forward and landed, hard, on the metal floor. The tiles were back. Nebula tried twice to stand, then gave it up as a bad job. She collapsed, and slipped mercifully back to unconsciousness.

Interplanetary space, Sol system (the TARDIS)

June 18, 2495 A.D.

[Reality Code: Megazones 539]

Grin’elle returned to life, almost thankful for his unplanned rest. Use of the Multiverse Device often inspired powerful visions in travelers; and while harmless, they could on occasion be extremely unpleasant. In his unconscious state, he seemed to have avoided them.

Grin was very disturbed. The Device simply should not have behaved that way; it required a living mind to operate it, and complex as the TARDIS’ computer brain was, it fell short of sentience. Nonetheless, from these readings, it was as if something had called to the timeship; and the TARDIS computer had cooperated with it to bring him here.

He took the best stock he could of his surroundings. There was no way of determining where the Device had taken him; there were no decent reference points for that kind of travel. In the past, his voyages had always used dead reckoning. Grin could, however, establish his approximate location in this reality’s time and space.

The temporal readout, translated into human reckoning, placed him in the late 25th century (which brought fleeting thoughts of old Buck Rogers stories.) Kriet knew that that information might or might not be helpful in this frame, but it was a start.

He received a surprise when he checked his spatial location. According to this, he was in Sol system, between the orbits of Terra and Mars. That was a cheering thought. Grin’elle was hardly a xenophobe, but he felt at his best when dealing with humanoid races, and Terrans certainly qualified.

Instrument readings never compensated for a good look-see, in Kriet’s book. He decided on a quick once-over with the visual scanner before he attempted to discover his reason for being here. He touched the correct switches, and the screen lit up.

It showed the completely average streets of the North American city of New York, say perhaps during the late 1980’s.

The TARDIS’ chameleon circuit had given it the shape of a beautiful white sailing ship, moored at one of the city’s many piers. Grin’elle reminded himself to lock the door this time.

On the way down, he noticed a small brass plaque screwed to the gangplank railing; it read “S.S. TARDIS - Grin’elle Kriet, Captain.” He couldn’t repress a smile.

Well. All he had to discover was this: what had gone wrong with his locators, who had brought him here, why said party had done it, what he was expected to do, whether he would do it (assuming he was even capable of the action), and how the hell he was going to get home. He’d been in worse trouble. He just couldn’t immediately remember when.

Add to that the fact that Grin’elle wasn’t even sure how to start finding these things out. Luckily, he had an emergency routine for these situations, which he referred to as Time Lord Contingency Plan A: Start wandering about. Something usually turned up. He picked a direction at random, and set off.

This time, Nebula’s attempts at standing upright were much more successful. She noted thankfully that it was the hall with the hexagons; she wasn’t perfectly sure that she wasn’t still dreaming, but this at least seemed like a level of (un)reality she could accept.

Powerful engines hummed insistently below her feet, their strength held temporarily in check. It seemed a good bet that this was a spacecraft of some sort; and a spacecraft must have a pilot, biological or mechanical; so Nebula decided that the best idea would be to find him/her/it and ask very politely what was going on. She looked around; the corridor stretched out of sight in both directions. On instinct she chose the direction that seemed to head away from the engine sounds.

Shortly, the corridor ended, with one door directly ahead and one on the right wall. She dithered, then chose the side door first.

It opened onto a huge sort of closet, filled as far as the eye could see with neatly stored clothing. Uniforms, fancy dress outfits, tropical garb, spacesuits, and any other type of dress Nebula had ever heard of; and that was just a small percentage of the room. Most of it, she’d never even seen before. This one right here was a scanty outfit of a sturdy, pale green polymer; Nebula could only describe it as a (weird as it sounded) combat bikini!

Well, at least this appeared to confirm that the unknown pilot was humanoid. Come to think of it, Nebula wondered if he’d be interested in a traveling companion. Any woman who wouldn’t kill for a wardrobe like this needed medical attention.

Her eye was drawn to one section, near the door, which held easily recognizable Starfleet uniforms. She examined a gold shirt with braid on the sleeves that was 20 years out of date by her reckoning. Next were a few of the ‘monster maroon’ outfits that she thought of as current; but there were more after that - a series of jumpsuits and minidresses in black with red, blue, or gold inserts. The Fleet insignia on those was distorted, the arrowhead now in silver on a gold oval.

Obviously this ship was somehow associated with Starfleet - but it certainly didn’t look like any Federation starship she’d seen. At least the inside didn’t. She somehow doubted that the outside would either. Something very strange was going on.

Finally, she left the room and tried the other door. This one let her through to a smaller, but still sizable room dominated by a large, six-sided, central console. One of the sides, one with a large red lever in the center, faced large double doors on the wall. Directly opposite those doors, near her entrance, was a large scanner screen.

Surprised, Nebula recognized the screen picture from photos in history books. If that was really a shot of the outside - than she must have traveled in time! And she’d have laid money on the owner being out there on some unfathomable errand. Finding said owner, however, was another proposition entirely...

She looked at the busy streets, then at the revealing stage costume she still wore. Nebula grimaced ironically, and wondered if there was anything in that wardrobe that might fit her.

Her face brightened. That gave her an idea...

The object of her quest had slowly worked his way into the city. He hadn’t dawdled, but it was a long walk from the shore to Times Square, which was his present location.

Grin’elle was enjoying himself. The late 20th century was a period unmatched by any before, or since; prosperous and happy, but with that exhilarating tinge of danger lurking around the corner. Nuclear war, climactic changes, civil unrest, and many other disasters could have wiped out humanity; it was a wonder his mother’s ancestors had lived through it all. Despite his parentage, he had never seen much of Earth in any century. Though he wouldn’t have wanted to live here, it did seem to be a nice place to visit.

None of this, however, was helping any. Grin hoped something would happen soon; he didn’t relish the thought of searching an entire unhelpfully low-tech city for one distressed mind (or group thereof.) Things got worse when he considered the possibility that it could be somewhere else on the planet.

Loud but pleasant music interrupted his thoughts. Hanging high on the wall of one building was a huge video screen. Kriet seemed to remember that on the Earth he knew, they had used something somewhat less advanced until the late 2030’s; colored lights, or something. The transmission itself was a familiar type, though. The art form known as ‘music video’ was still popular in the 23rd century that was Kriet’s home. A caption appeared:

Eve Tokimatsuri

“Sentimental Me”

Music From the Heart of Space

©1988, Sheaffer Records

Eve was an attractive girl, reminding Grin’elle somewhat of the singer he’d watched only hours ago. Her hair was more symmetrical (though only slightly shorter) and of a pale color Grin found hard to pin down; and her voice was no less pleasant.

“When my heart is cold and tired, then your eyes will light my fire

Shining like the night will never end,

Then, your smiling profile beckons to me,

Love me do, love me do, love me do,

Bare skin in the red lights glowing, noises of the city flowing

No more must the two of us pretend,

Ah… ah… isn’t it grand?

It flutters in the breeze, like a carnival, flags flying high,

On that day, all our passion burst out bringing springtime again...

I - now - will - start anew, to fall in love with you,

Sentimental me

Wings will surely grow where the sorrows use to flow,

So let’s fly away - into the blue...

We soon will wish - “

Grin’elle felt as if he was falling into a trance. With an effort, he pulled his eyes and attention away from the song, bewildered. Yes, it was nice, but what was so compelling about it?

He thought for a second, then tried something. Grin relaxed, slipping into that faintly meditative but alert state he had practiced so often. He focused his eyes and ears on the screen again, but blocked out the obvious messages, and searched for hidden ones.

His hunch was right. At the lower limit of audibility and sight, there were sensations that should not have been there. Vague emotions, half-formed phrases… It was a technique Grin had heard of, but never directly experienced: the song was sending subliminal messages. They continued to attempt to affect him, but now that he was aware of them, they remained harmless.

This was a lead! In all likelihood, it was a red herring, the work of some unscrupulous record promoter; but it was something to check out. Grin waited for the video to end, and the caption reappeared. ‘Sheaffer Records,’ it said. Grin seemed to remember a 1980’s device for locating places; a book with long lists of addresses and comcodes - no, not comcodes, phone numbers! A phone book! Then Kriet remembered something else about the frequent behavior of adolescents in big cities, and decided to get quickly to work. Finding an intact phone book in New York might well prove to be his hardest quest yet.

The door lever was the largest lever on the TARDIS console, and one of the few that produced immediate results without the operation of six or seven others; so Nebula found it rather quickly. (Unlocking the doors again, which was ironic but later proved fortunate.) She stepped out onto the deck of the ‘S.S. TARDIS,’ wearing a command uniform used by Starfleet 100 years after her birth. A sophisticated transporter-like system had subtly, gradually altered its fit as she examined it, and it fit her perfectly.

She, of course, wasn’t aware of its origin, and simply assumed it was luck that had provided the fit. A handbag she had dug up contained the emblem from the breast, as well as a few other useful items she had discovered while searching the wardrobe.

Nebula was surprised at the outward appearance of the timeship. She’d always assumed that most ocean vessels didn’t come equipped with spacewarp engines. Then she noticed that the cabin visible through the portholes was not the control room she’d just left; and she deduced the reason for the camouflage. She didn’t suppose she’d want to land here in a flashy spaceship either.

Nebula noticed the brass plaque, and stored the name away for future need. She knew that the apostrophe e-l-l-e (pronounced ‘eye’) was a construction used in the names of Camazotian males (she had dated one once), so that seemed to help pin down the identity of the pilot. Now, where would be the best place to start looking for the mysterious Kriet? A good start might be to narrow the search area. She scanned the skyline for several moments, then set off in the general direction of the twin skyscrapers of the World Trade Center.

Sheaffer Records certainly seemed to be a growing concern: the company occupied an entire sprawling building of several stories. The walls had several posters advertising albums and concert tours of the girl Eve, who was obviously their hottest property. Grin’elle pushed through a revolving door into an impressive lobby, filled with live plants, thick carpeting, and plush furniture. A serious but pleasant looking woman sat at a reception desk, casting an inquiring look in his direction.

Most of the history files of the Pathfinder had been copied into the TARDIS computers; before he entered the city, Grin had drawn on the combined information for several sets of useful identification. He had already decided which one he would use as he entered the building. These particular papers claimed that he was a member of, if memory served, one of the most influential organizations of 20th century America...

The woman took his card with a smile and read, “Glenn I. Kriet, Internal Revenue Service. Oh my. Is there something we can help you with?”

Okay, Nebula admitted it; she was impressed.

She’d not been to many large cities of her own time. And even 300 years ago, New York had been big. From her vantage point, the city seemed like a model from a well-made science fiction film; but this was a model that stretched as far as the eye could see… and beyond. It was a good thing that she’d immediately discarded the idea of a foot search; finding one specific person who was probably also moving around was almost an infinite improbability.

Luckily, she was smarter than that. Nebula walked around the Center’s Observation Gallery until she had found a spot free from tourists, then removed a tricorder from the handbag. The device brought back memories of when one of the members of Artificial Intelligence had taught her its use. Since a human throat could not have managed his name, he was known to everyone as ‘Fuzzy.’ Coming back to the present, Nebula hoped the device had enough range, as she scanned the streets below. She was looking for advanced alloys and power sources; technology unknown to the 20th century, but that Kriet may well have been carrying.

She frowned, and fiddled with the tricorder’s fine tuning. She was getting background readings that were patently impossible, as if, at the edge of scanning range, the abnormalities she looked for were everywhere: under the buildings, streets, ocean, and even in the sky!

She masked those out, hoping the compact device wasn’t broken. Wait… there was Kriet’s spaceship, just there at the shoreline. (The unlocked doors were allowing detection of the TARDIS’ true nature.) And there… there was another reading… dilithium crystals being used as a power source, trititanium casings… that was technology Nebula was familiar with.

She switched to video pickups and magnified the image, using the ‘corder as a small telescope. Assuming the reading was Kriet, which seemed a good bet, he was presently located at a… record company.

Nebula did a double take. Was the timeship’s pilot adding to his rare recordings collection? It seemed unlikely. Though her curiosity surged, it really wasn’t any of her business at the moment; She just wanted to find this Kriet, and have him take her home! This primitive culture was beginning to make her paranoid.

She used the tricorder to record distance and bearing; the little machine didn’t have enough resolution to read street signs, as she’d hoped. Nebula headed back to the express elevator down, considering options. He might well have left by the time she arrived, but he wouldn’t have gotten far; she’d be able to scan for him again without as many buildings and people in the way. If he was headed back to the timeship, she might even be able to get there first...

It was just an open door. There was no reason to keep staring at it. True, doorways boldly marked ‘Do Not Enter!!’ were not usually left open, but… Anyway, she had good reason to head downstairs quickly and intercept Kriet… Oh, the hell with it. Nebula glanced around and peeked inside. It almost seemed as if something was drawing her, stimulating her curiosity.

The door led to a stairwell. Several flights of stairs led up and down… which puzzled Nebula. The tour guide had said that the Observation Gallery was on the top floor, and that all there was above was roof. She started climbing the stairs… just to take a look, of course.

Five flights later, the hair on the back of her neck was standing up. Something felt wrong, much more wrong than just a few extra floors on a building. She brought out the tricorder, then sneezed. There was a thick layer of dust on everything up here, which added to her sense of wrongness. Now Nebula’s spine was really beginning to crawl.

The tricorder revealed no immediate threats. The singer continued up the steps. Five more flights ended in a landing, and a heavy door with a complicated electronic lock. The dust here was just as thick, as if the door hadn’t opened in a lifetime. She tentatively wiped a finger across the lock, revealing a display panel which suddenly lit as a voice announced, “Insert magnetic ID card for further passage.”

Nebula almost hit the ceiling. When her heart rate had returned to something near normal, she began making minute adjustments to the tricorder’s controls, using a trick that she and the band had once used in the recovery of their own paychecks. The lock made some very strange noises which sounded like the result of electronic tickling; then the original voice returned, proclaiming, “Access approved.”

She was in, inside a small room - no, not a room, an elevator car. There were only three buttons. Since she’d been heading consistently upwards so far, she pressed the highest one. Nebula had a hunch that ‘getting to the bottom of this’ meant getting to the top.

The car moved into a quick, smooth acceleration. Though the ‘public’ express elevator she’d recently been in had behaved well, this felt more like a high-tech Federation turbolift. There was no floor indicator, just continuous motion upwards. She leaned back against the wall to wait.

Several minutes passed, and Nebula was extremely confused. Some vague calculations indicated that she should now be approaching the upper stratosphere. That couldn’t be right! Then again, today she’d seen a potential rapist vanish into thin air, and traveled in a building-sized time machine which looked like a large tool locker… Wait. The car was slowing down. Nebula stood straight, holding the tricorder out almost like a shield, and made sure that the hand phaser she’d ‘borrowed’ was quickly accessible. The car stopped. The doors opened; and suddenly, a few of the pieces slid into place.

Through the doors, across a corridor, and through a thick transparency, there gleamed the lit pinpricks of distant stars, shining only as they did when the viewer was in deep space.

At that moment came a sound not unlike the detonation of a small moon, and a river of flame slapped across the window. Nebula tried to burrow into the wall behind her. The flame was the engine wake of a large spaceship that hurtled past; she didn’t recognize the design, but to anyone of humanoid ancestry, the shape would have inspired fear and loathing.

She gained the courage to leave the elevator. Nebula crossed to the viewport, trying to get a better look at her surroundings. She seemed to be in a building set in the midst of a vast plain of both worked metal and rough, natural-seeming stone. Other buildings stuck out here and there: small pillboxes, sprawling complexes, and squat towers. Most of those towers were spitting spears of lights at more, and more, and MORE of those ships. So many! Most of them were variants on the same shape, but they were all sizes… and all deadly, returning powerful shots of their own.

She stood there for several moments, hypnotized by the furious fight. Then one of the larger ones was stuck down as it passed close to her vantage point. A stereotypical fireball formed, throwing debris in all directions. Some plowed into the metal expanse, and the world seemed to shudder. That broke the spell, and Nebula’s courage; she leaped back into the elevator, jabbing repeatedly at the bottom button. The twin doors slid placidly shut, as another explosion pressed against the window.

Grin’elle alternated between charm, intimidation, and dazzling fast talk, seeking the enigmatic Eve. It was beginning to look as if she led an life of extreme privacy, and it was a rare event for her to be seen in person by anybody, including her own agents and managers. But Grin had learned his way around the bureaucracies of the Time Lords and of the Federation; Sheaffer Records was inarguably small potatoes in comparison.

He was almost at his goal now. Eve had just done some recording this day, and was resting in a private suite before leaving. A reasonably important flunky with a sentence-sized title led him down an airy, windowed corridor to a closed door, where he picked up the receiver of a primitive videophone.

“Miss Tokimatsuri? There’s a man here from the IRS. He’s convinced us that it’s important that he see you.” Grin gave him a sidelong look - that was a pretty accurate description of Kriet’s actions - but there didn’t seem to be any submerged meaning there.

Eve’s young face appeared on the screen. She barely looked at the man, but her eyes searched Kriet’s intensely. He tried to appear as though someone had made a simple mistake and that he was sure it would be ironed out quickly. His face muscles weren’t up to that.

However he appeared, she saw something in his face which disturbed her. The screen blanked, and Grin prepared for rejection; he was surprised to hear instead, “Send him in.”

The door slid aside, revealing a well-furnished comfortable living room. Eve stood in the center of the room, staring at Kriet with an indecipherable expression. “This will require some privacy, won’t it, Mr. Kriet?”

“Er...” But the flunky was gone; it wasn’t as if Grin’elle had wanted him there, but he had a habitual distrust of such convenience. He returned an odd look at Eve.

The door latched, and Eve suddenly flashed him a look of… terror? hope? pleading? He was struck by her drastic shift in attitude.

“Who -” It stuck in her throat; she tried again. “You’re not one of us… who are you?”

“Grin’elle Kriet,” he answered automatically. The slip seemed unimportant for some reason. His thoughts were disjointed; this was happening too fast! “I, uh, don’t -”

Eve made as if to step toward him and away at the same moment. She grabbed a chair to steady herself; the knuckles of that hand were white, and her face was little darker. “I have to...”

She almost fell over. Kriet moved forward to support her; and the entire city shuddered painfully. He lost his balance, and fell forward, on top of her...

But he didn’t. Before his eyes, she vanished; her whole body disappearing like her face had on the video screen just outside. He landed awkwardly on the plush carpet.

The vibration settled, and Grin climbed to his feet. The door rocketed aside, and a towering, heavily muscled man stood there, wearing an expression Kriet had only seen before on the faces of Starfleet Marines.

“Ah… so that’s what you scum look like,” he intoned. He smiled unpleasantly. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your life up to here; because this is the end of the road.” He advanced on the Starfleet officer.

Grin’elle’s mind was overloaded with trying to sort this all out. He clumsily dodged a thrown punch, then grabbed for his phaser. He made a perfect shot - but the brute was no longer there, like the girl previously. Grin sensed a presence to his rear, and tried to turn around; a fist hit the back of his neck, and he lost consciousness.

Nebula ran, and ran, and ran. She was too scared to think; she’d completely forgotten about Kriet, and only wanted to find comparative security and familiarity - the TARDIS.

Another ‘quake’ shook the street. Frightened citizens were running everywhere, but Nebula envied them; they weren’t aware that the shaking was caused by the attacks of huge, hostile spaceships. A potted tree in front of her fell over, shattering a storefront; Nebula tried to dodge, slipped, and fell. A piece of glass slit the jumpsuit’s chest open; Nebula was unharmed though, and figured that she had bigger problems. Besides, she’d worn stage costumes that exposed more.

The store sold television sets; ancient, two-dimensional video devices. The image of a pretty young girl seated at a newscaster’s desk suddenly replaced the various pictures, as the tremors faded somewhat.

“Attention, everyone. Attention, please! A series of earthquakes is shaking the Greater New York area. There is no danger! The tremors are not expected to become severe enough to cause serious damage. Please, remain calm, and return to your usual activities.” Then the broadcast cut to the video Kriet had seen earlier.

“Wings will surely grow, where the sorrows used to flow...”

Nebula glanced about; a crowd had gathered around the screens. The terror in their eyes was fading, faster than it had any right to; and the group was beginning to disperse, as members walked calmly away.

This was crazy! Then Nebula’s eyes narrowed. The pedestrians had begun to relax just as the music started. She seemed to remember a shady deal someone had tried to talk her into...

Subliminals! Messages hidden under more normal broadcasts! That meant that mind control on a large scale was being practiced. And that meant… that Nebula was in a lot of trouble. She continued to the TARDIS, slowing her original speed not a bit.

She slammed the door lever over, and leaned against the closed doors, puffing. Spaceships. Laser battles. Elevators of impossible length. Mind-controlling rock videos. Time machines. Evaporating criminals. Nebula remembered her wish for more excitement; well, she’d certainly got that! She looked at the bewildering array of controls before her, then at the ceiling, which she finally spoke to.

“Okay. You got me into this; now help me out.” She paused again, then walked to the console. Nebula closed her eyes, circled the console a few times, then slapped randomly at the panel. Her hand hit a button with a complicated emblem engraved on it; a golden compass rose, and a winged torch. The button clicked, and a nearby light flashed; there was a pause, then several of the readouts on the Multiverse Device lit.

Nebula peeked at what she’d done. She hadn’t figured out any of the controls except the door lever; but something was happening, and it looked promising. She addressed the ceiling again. “Thanks. Let’s hope it works.” She left the control room, returned with an oversized T-shirt covering the rip in the jumpsuit, and settled down to wait.

USS Pathfinder

On standard patrol, Federation border of the Triangle

September 3, 2288 A.D.

[Reality Code: USS Enterprise 017]

Back in the universe that Kriet and Nebula knew as their home, there was an area bordered on one side by their Federation; on the other two by its sworn enemies, the Klingons and Romulans; and filled with pirates, mercenaries, and activities illegal to all three major governments. By mutual agreement, they all called it the Triangle. It was Nebula’s birthplace; and a dangerous place to be.

Five Federation starships cruised leisurely through this area on what was to them an average patrol. Two were heavy cruisers: Heimdal, and a model dating back to the old uniforms in the TARDIS wardrobe: Maat. One ship was one of the newly-designed science scouts, with unmatched detection abilities: John B. McKay. One was a high-firepower frigate of the type made famous by the Genesis affair: Yeager. At the core of the formation flew one of the rare dreadnought ‘muscle ships’: Pathfinder, Kriet’s ship. These five formed the exploratory / battle squadron known as Batron 11.

The dreadnought’s captain was once one of the fierce, catlike race known as Kzinti; but a psionic biofeedback accident had given him almost human appearance. Nevertheless, it was still unwise to anger him...

Luckily, Ebon D’Arque wasn’t angry now. Despite some minor problems in Engineering, and that damned excuse for a sentient program loose again, the ship was running well. Everything was quiet, and that never lasted long; Ebon planned to enjoy it while he could. Besides, Grin’elle Kriet was due back from leave soon, and that generally ensured a ruckus of some description. He hadn’t even taken a normal leave; no, he had to fly off in that frickin’ supertech time machine he’d pinched...

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Kammara Kazsis peering myopically at one of her readout screens. He stiffened. Now. It was going to happen now.

“Captain,” she said, and he almost felt as if he could say the words along with her, “this sensor is picking up some kind of subspace distortion. It’s so faint, I almost can’t be sure it exists...”

“Is it a natural emission, or an artificial signal?”

Kam fiddled for a moment, then admitted, “I’m just not sure, sir. It’s bloody unusual, either way.”

“Computer enhancement?”

“None of the usual algorithms are doing much good. There’s very little to work with.”

To no one’s great pleasure, the display screen next in line lit up, showing the smug visage of Max Dreadnought. Ebon found his hand reaching with animal instinct for a phaser he wasn’t carrying.

“Oh, frick,” Kam groaned.

“No- No- No- Nothing to work with? That’s my special- special- special- al- alty! My specialty!” Max appeared to take a deep breath, as his computer-generated uniform was replaced by a similar wetsuit; then his image dropped from the screen. There was a splashing noise, and the graphic on the first screen appeared to ripple.

Most of the bridge crew seemed undecided whether to giggle or groan, until D’Arque’s glare advised they do neither. “One more week, and I’m going to start tearing the circuit banks apart with my bare hands!” He meant it; normally retracted claws were unconsciously exposed.

Kam attempted a neutral shrug. “He does know things about computers that none of us do. It might help.”

“Yeah, and the Klingons might ally with the Federation.”

Max reappeared, ‘dripping.’ Something immediately stuck every member of the bridge crew; Max’s ever-reliable grin had vanished. With possibly the first solemnity he’d ever displayed, Max reported, “It is indeed a subspace communication, coming from another frame of reality by an unusual transmission process. It consists of coded pulses, forming the word ‘sirthaa.’”

Kam looked at the captain. “The Camazotian ritual cry for help.”

D’Arque sighed. “Grin’elle Kriet’s emergency distress signal.”

Four people sat distributed around a briefing room table. Kammara sat next to her husband, Science Officer Kazar; they were quite a pair, one a blond Algorin time-sensitive and the other an Excalbian metamorph. She could alter, with special focussing crystals, the flow of events directly around her; he could alter at will the physical, chemical, and genetic makeup of his body. How they managed a married life was a question Ebon couldn’t answer.

He was the third attendee. The fourth was Doctor Chesnovica Terrail. Unlike many of her comrades, Nova possessed no radical physical, mental, or emotional ability. What she did carry was an obsessive desire to heal that served her well when dealing with the single most varied starship crew ever assembled. Many of the short redhead’s medical colleagues envied her job while simultaneously thanking fate that they didn’t have it.

The fifth and last member was just now entering the briefing room. Marine Comtech Rhiannon came to attention as she found herself faced with this array of brass. “Captain, sirs; reporting as ordered.”

“Sit down, Ensign,” said D’Arque. “I need your help; we’ve got a real problem.”

“How can I help?” the albino asked cheerfully.

“Commander Kriet is in trouble.”

Her expression cooled noticeably. “What does that have to do with me, sir?”

“Grin’elle has managed to become trapped in an alternate universe.” He explained that no farther; the existence of the TARDIS was an open secret among important crew, anyway. “To rescue him, we’ll need to find him. Your personal record gives you the highest psionic ability currently aboard; and you should be familiar with his mental patterns. You did spend some time together.”

Rhiannon’s voice retained respect, and not much else. “Captain, that is private - and over.”

Ebon let kindness enter his tone. “I’m aware of that; and you should know the power of starship gossip by now. But you’re our best hope.” He paused and drew a narrow leather bag from under the table. “You are authorized to use the Mutor.”

Her eyes fixed on the bag with a mixture of feelings. Much was rumored but little was known about the device; the captain and some of the department heads had accidentally acquired it while on a shore leave. It was a slim wand, about an inch thick and a foot long, made of a silvery metal. To the eye, it was a perfect cylinder, but one end felt sculpted into a hand grip. When it was gripped there, depending on the hand holding it, the Mutor tended to turn into one of a bewildering array of exotic weapons. It also tended to amplify psionic abilities. Many of those who’d experimented with it were convinced it had more powers, so far unrevealed.

The silence in the briefing room stretched out. Finally Rhiannon closed her eyes, whispering, “I’m sorry, sir. I really want to help you, but I can’t. Whenever I open my mind… her cries are still there.”

The Kazsises didn’t understand, but Ebon and Nova did; they were allowed access to Rhiannon’s personal files. Her family had ruled their world for centuries, until the most recent ruler had been abducted by raiders: probably Klingon. That matriarch had also been Rhiannon’s mother. The girl had joined Starfleet in hopes of finding her one day, and of finding revenge. Now D’Arque knew why the marine was so reluctant to use the powerful abilities she was gifted with.

There was another long silence. Kam and Kaz shot inquiring looks; Nova shook her head. Finally, Ebon cleared his throat and started to say something, but was cut off by the strange, distant look in Rhiannon’s eyes as she raised her head.

“Let me see it.” She motioned to the Mutor.

D’Arque protested even as he handed it to her. “Are you sure?”

Her gaze was locked on something no one else could see. “Something’s wrong… Kriet is at the center of a titanic struggle… It draws me...” The others restrained surprised questions; she wouldn’t have heard them anyhow.

Rhiannon drew the Mutor from its soft leather sleeve. It retained the polished rod appearance for a moment, then with a blink, it was an ornate but vicious jeweled dagger. Ebon recognized it; a royal symbol of her home planet. On a few occasions, the original had been more than a symbol.

The silence grew loud, and there was the sensation of strange energies building. They all watched as an infinity seemed to form behind her pupils. No, it was more than an infinity; there was a gateway there to other ones...

Rhiannon’s gaze was locked on to the weapon. She’d never handled the artifact before; her paranormal abilities suddenly felt refined to new sharpness. Her lids closed, but she could see the Mutor perfectly. Though the wound of her mother’s pain was there, it seemed distant, as if she was temporarily under some form of mental protection.

Bright light burned in the jewels of the dagger’s hilt. It was a soft radiance at first, but then took on a sharper edge. The intensity increased until she could hardly keep her attention on it. The light bled out from the gems, obscuring everything else; the dagger, her peripheral views of her friends, the room...

Suddenly none of the five could move; the air itself seemed a solid thing, blocking any motion. All heard a nearly subsonic hum; but whether it was real, or in their minds was unanswerable. They gasped -

The light… the light! It mercilessly attacked their optic nerves; eyelids made no difference. It impacted the cells of their skins, becoming heat, burning into them all, even through Ebon’s jet skin. Nervous systems became networks of red-hot wires; skulls became ovens in which brains baked. With the last moments of his senses, Ebon looked at the hundreds of people in the unfamiliar city streets about him; all were screaming as they died the same death. As his retinas burned out, he looked up, up at a fireball that might have been a sun, except that it covered half the sky...

A loud clang brought him back to his reality; the Mutor had slipped from Rhiannon’s nerveless fingers. She had slid from her chair to the floor; the others were all slumped in their seats, sweat soaking hair and uniforms. There was no other aftereffect - besides a memory he was trying not to think about.

Nova had roused, and she had knelt next to the albino’s unconscious form. “I think she’s gone into shock.”

“Me too,” mumbled Kazar, who’s eyes still hadn’t focused. Somehow, Kam had made her way to his lap, and they were wrapped tightly together.

“I’m calling for a stretcher, the doctor continued. “You better have got what you needed; she won’t be doing this again soon.”

Kammara licked dry lips. “Uh, if Grin is somewhere in that mess, alternate universe or not, I think I could find him blindfolded.”

Ebon nodded. The scene was engraved on all their minds, and he almost felt that he could do the same. It only remained to translate that instinct into a practical method.

“We’re going to need a way to get there; Grin’s TARDIS and Multiverse Device are obviously unavailable.  You two contact the other ships, and request any help you need.”

“Uh, sir?” Kazar gave him a plaintive look. “Could that wait just a few minutes? We’ll probably be time-traveling anyway, and, uh… I think Kam and I could use a few minutes to… recover.”

D’Arque felt disgusted for a moment; the two seemed to indulge in their habit at the most inconvenient times. Then he looked at their haggard faces, and the way each still gripped the other’s hands tightly, and took pity on them.  “All right, but please don’t be long. Even with time travel, it is still possible to be too late.” Kaz nodded, freed an arm to put around Kam’s shoulders, and headed toward the door. Ebon almost felt a twinge of jealousy, but repressed it.

As they went out the door, he called, “Let me know when you’ve come up with something; I’ll be calling a Captain’s Briefing.”

USS Heimdal

On standard patrol, Federation border of the Triangle

September 4, 2288 A.D.

[Reality Code: USS Enterprise 017]

The yeoman read, “Captain’s Briefing aboard USS Heimdal, stardate 1429.7. Representing Heimdal, Commodore Linda Neighbors; for Pathfinder, Captain Ebon D’Arque; for Yeager, Captain Jerry Conner; for Maat, Captain Blair Willcox; for McKay, Captain Ty’elle Dujhar. Subject: the rescue of Commander Grin’elle Kriet.”

“Thank you, yeoman,” smiled Neighbors. “I hereby call this meeting to order.” She sighed, and looked around the table. All present, as well as Kriet, had served on her ship; and she thought of them very much as family. She also worried about them a lot. Under present circumstances, it seemed a reasonable attitude. “So Grin’elle’s in trouble again?”

“That, as those who know him are aware, is an understatement. But we have worse problems. The only way we’ve found to rescue him will involve three starships, and put them all at great risk. We think it’s justified, though. During his rescue, we hope to save the lives of a few hundred thousand others.”

Her eyes widened at that. “Explain.”

Ebon related the story of their ‘psychic search’ for Grin’elle. Though abilities like those were uncommon in the Federation, many Batron members carried them, and those around the table took his story in stride. “This is the kicker,” he finished. “Rhiannon said, after she recovered, that she received the distinct impression that our presence could avert the disaster - whatever it is.”

Linda looked around the table. “Opinions?”

“I say we go for it. I owe him one.” Ty’elle was Grin’elle’s adopted brother; the Gallifreyans had just used him as bait to trap Kriet. Grin had managed a rescue, but it was that complex event which had caused him to request the leave. A leave which, it now appeared, he could not return from. “Camazotians stick together,” Ty concluded with a wry smile.

She assimilated that. “Jerry, what do you think?”

The solidly built starship captain smiled. “Well, I’m not from Capricorn, but Grin is family nonetheless. You’ve got my vote.” He paused. “Besides, I’m sick and tired of the milk runs we’ve been getting lately.”

D’Arque looked sidelong at him. “Wish I had your problems,” he muttered.

“Blair?”

Blair Willcox was the most quiet, restrained human most of them had ever met. He’d remained silent for nearly the whole meeting; but Ebon always felt that there was a recorder behind those eyes that missed nothing, should any of it be needed in the future. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his sandy hair, and showed a small grin. “I know better than to try to argue with these people,” he said with cheerful resignation.

Linda furrowed her brow. “We can’t just drop patrol in the middle of the Triangle; nothing short of chaos would erupt. Hmm.” She looked up. “Blair, if you’re willing, I think we can hold the fort with just the two heavy cruisers for a while; Starfleet says that they intend to send us another dreadnought soon, as reinforcement. I’d think that would be enough. Just please don’t dawdle.

“Can you work with just Pathfinder, Yeager, and McKay?”

Ebon smiled. “Actually, I was hoping that that would be the conclusion you’d come to, because that’s what we planned for. May I?”

“Certainly.”

D’Arque hit an intercom switch. “Okay, guys, your turn.” In walked Kam, Kaz, and Mike Layne (Yeager exec and Starfleet technowhiz), with report folders that they passed around the table.

Kammara was first to speak. “Assorted sirs; Captain D’Arque gave me the assignment of devising a way to bring Starfleet vessels to the alternate frame of reality where Grin’elle is now trapped. We coordinated the Sciences and Engineering departments of all five ships, and believe we have come up with a practical solution - which may have interesting future possibilities.

“Some of you know that I come from the planet Algor, a planet restricted from Federation contact. Only certain individuals of each culture are allowed passage between them. This is because the Algorins possess an advanced technology, which both sides believe may bring great harm if combined, uncontrolled, with Federation technology. Nevertheless, it is with one such combination that we hope to rescue Grin’elle.

“One thing both technologies share is the use of dilithium to regulate their power sources.” She set a translucent red dodecahedron on the table.

Willcox leaned forward, for a closer look. “That’s no dilithium I’ve even seen,” he objected.

“It is Algorin dilithium, Captain. The same mineral, except that the molecular crystalline matrix is rotated 90 degrees from standard.”

“So?”

Mike Layne stepped in. “The helical crystals of dilithium are arranged very precisely; it is an arrangement which gives them the special property of channeling anti-matter power into the first stages of warpfield generation. The unusual arrangement of the helixes in Algorin dilithium will change the characteristics of a warpfield.”

Ebon stared. Somehow, he had understood that; but it had been an effort. He resisted the temptation to lean over and ask Jerry whether the man was a closet Vulcan.

Kazar took up the thread. “Some philosophers have referred to normal warp travel as moving ‘sideways’ in space. Well, looking at it that way, the effect of the different warpfield should be to move us ‘sideways’ in time; motion across probability lines and into other frames of reality.

“As I’ve mentioned to the captain, we feel that three ships will be needed for this. I recommended the following three: Pathfinder for its heavy energy output, Yeager for its high power-to-mass ratio, and McKay for the powerful computing systems only a science scout carries. You see, the three ships will need to work together to produce… well, a combined warpfield at Warp 15.”

The room fell perfectly silent. Ty’elle found his voice first. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Not a bit.”

Ebon, the only one of the captains who’d expected this, sat back with a resigned expression. “I did say great risk.”

Jerry shook his head. “We’re not backing out, Ebon. But… if anything goes wrong...”

“Oh, yes; we will need quite a bit of luck to pull this off,” agreed the mutant Kzin.

Dujhar nodded sharply. “McKay is still in.”

“So is Yeager.”

Linda asked, “Are you sure you can find the correct timeline?”

“Oh, yes!” Ebon and Kam and Kaz all said with rueful confidence.

She raised an eyebrow. “All right.” She stood, and all followed suit. “You have formal authorization to carry out this rescue attempt. Dismissed. Ebon, will you stay a moment?”

Everyone else headed out. Linda crossed her arms and exhaled loudly. “Ebon, of all the addlepated -”

“I know, I know. Believe me, you don’t need to say it. Look, you get my weekly reports. This is just an average day on the Pathfinder.”

“I know. Many of your crew served on my ship… Just be careful. Okay?”

“Always,” he said with heavy irony.

The TARDIS

June 18, 2495 A.D.

[Reality Code: Megazones 539]

“Grin’elle Kriet, are you there?...” Concealed speakers in the hexagon-patterned walls of the TARDIS came to life with Eve’s voice.

“Grin’elle Kriet! You must be able to hear me. Please answer.”

Nebula, seated on the floor against one wall, jerked out of her uneasy doze. “Wha-?”

“Grin’elle Kriet, answer please! I need your help. Are you receiving this transmission?”

The space-haired woman remembered: ‘Kriet’ was the name on the brass plate. She stood and looked at the scanner behind her. The cityscape had been replaced by Eve’s scared, desperate face.

“You must be in possession of equipment that can receive this signal. Can you hear me? I have to talk to you!”

Nebula studied the maze of controls, but couldn’t find anything marked ‘Push to Talk.’ Defeated, she turned, saw the tricorder she’d been carrying, and brightened. It was time for another Artificial Intelligence survival trick.

In a few moments, she’d jury-rigged its sensors into a simple transceiver. She pressed one button, and Eve’s voice came through both the TARDIS speakers and the small sound chip inside the ‘corder. “I’m sending on every frequency not controlled by the aliens. The situation is serious. Can you hear me?!?”

She pressed another button, and held the ‘corder close. “My name is Nebula. I am Kriet’s companion.” Truth and long explanations later. “I don’t know where he is now. Can I be of assistance?”

Eve paused, gathering courage, then, “I must know… Are you space travelers?”

That, at least, Nebula was pretty confident about. “Yes.”

Hope showed in the girl’s face and voice. “I must meet with you. Are you familiar with the building in this city known as the World Trade Center?”

She was, but wasn’t in a big hurry to go back there. Still… “Yes.”

“All right. Here’s how you may find me...”

USS Pathfinder

September 5, 2288 A.D.

[Reality Code: USS Enterprise 017]

Rhapsody had seen many colors in dilithium, depending on the mines it came from: clear white, sickly yellow, bright orange. The light filtering through the dark red Algorin dilithium, however, made Engineering look like the set of a secondary school production of Paradise Lost . Finally, though, every piece of equipment was installed, every equation balanced. He thumbed the intercom.

The arm of Ebon D’Arque’s chair lit. Quaver’s voice echoed, “Okay bridge, we’re rarin’ to go!”

“Confirmed,” answered the Kzin. He next signaled McKay’s engine room. “USS McKay, report status!”

“Yoi no dekita!”

Ebon sighed. “And in Standard?”

“We’re ready.”

“Thaank yew,” he drawled sarcastically. “Yeager?”

“We’rre nae rready, but do it anyway.”

D’Arque covered the mike and asked the air, “Do they all come out of the engineering courses that way?”

Another aspect added to the unreality of the situation. Max Dreadnought had copied himself into Yeager and McKay long ago; ‘Max Frigate’ and ‘Max Science Scout’ were just as troublesome, if not more so, as the original. However, once wind of the mission had reached them, they had temporarily ceased their anarchic activities and solemnly offered their assistance. As Kam had said, the Maxes did have a special affinity for computers; and so, for once in their existence, the programs were being truly helpful, keeping watch over the computer links between the three ships.

Vilayet sat at the helm, counting seconds. “Captain, all ships at Warp Eight… now!”

Ebon gripped the arms of his chair tightly. “Go to Red Alert! All ships, prepare for warpfield match!”

USS Yeager

The attractive woman at Yeager’s communication console responded to a similar order issued by Captain Conner. “All decks now reporting Alert Condition Red, sir.”

He settled back in his seat, and closed the restraints. “Thank you, Jeustine. Steady as she goes, Helm.”

One of the screens at T’Saan’s science station showed a schematic drawing of three starships surrounded by concentric circles. Two of the ships drew close together, and the circles around them merged to form indented ovals. “McKay has warpfield match with Pathfinder.”

From another screen, Max Frigate chanted, “Max One and Max Three report warpfield distortion steady at 101.52 meters.”

The ship-to-ship channel crackled. “Coming on three-way match, Yeager.”

“Confirmed,” Jerry answered. “All decks secure for warpfield disturbance.” He remembered a quote he’d heard: Match maneuvers were only attempted by the talented, the foolish, or the desperate. Jerry tried to decide which category he was in.

Traveling at 512 times the speed of light, Pathfinder and McKay neared the Yeager. Mike had to hold the ships to the exact same speed and to courses which just barely intersected, or the differing inertias of the ships and their fields would clash rather than blending. The result would not be pretty.

The fields met, and the ships shuddered as each one’s bubble of subspace warred for supremacy. The contest was a three-way tie; with a jolt, the warpfields came together like soap bubbles in a pool.

Jerry’s chair creaked under his mass, but held. A Marine who’d been sure he wouldn’t need a seat landed on his ass.

There was a spluttering from the ‘com. “Ye’ll be hearrin’ frrom me lawyerrs!”

“Shut up, Ken,” Jerry said with a smile. “T’Saan, since we’re not splattered all over the quadrant, I assume it worked?”

“Yes sir,” the Vulcan woman said. “Combined warpfield working perfectly.

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Stand by to run her up to Warp 15 and switch to the Layne-Kazsis Process.”

USS McKay

The McKay’s smaller bridge was tense. None of the three ships could attain Warp 15 alone, but the science scout couldn’t even come close. If something went wrong, they would get the worst of it.

Unconcerned as ever, Max Science Scout droned on. “Imbalance in triple-field lobes three, four, and seven compensated. Computers set for delivery of full power to drives.” He looked out of the screen at them. “Hi, kids! Isn’t this fun?”

Scott Elson was trying to concentrate on his helm, but his palms kept getting distractingly moist. He wiped them off, remembering another trip four months ago. “I think this is worse than the Captain’s Infinidrive,” he said to no one in particular.

His Captain heard him. “You volunteering to go back to Gallifrey and ask the Time Lords politely to let us start using it?” Dujhar sneered. The kidnapping had brought his opinion of that group to an all-time low.

Elson mumbled an apology, and Dujhar relented. “Don’t feel too bad. This is getting to me too.”

“Twenty seconds,” someone said.

That was the perfect moment for Wagner’s ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ to come blasting over the channel. The stirring but cliche-ridden passage brought surprise, then sniggers throughout the ships.

James Dunson was desperately restraining loud laughter. “Now I know why Captain Conner says life should have a soundtrack,” he got out.

Ty’s spine uncoiled somewhat, and he punched a button on the seat restraints. “Kam, if that was you - thanks; we needed that!”

“ - three - two - one - Warp 15! Activate dilithium shunt!” Max sang. Conduit junctions clunked as they made new connections; and the Algorin dilithium gave forth the light of matter / anti-matter annihilation.

USS Heimdal

On the starship Heimdal, Commodore Neighbors stood silently, watching the main screen. As they sped away, the magnification was increased again and again, until their image no longer appeared.

Linda turned to her Andorian first officer. “Are they out of range, Mr. Iroctociv?”

“Well, since no one’s yet invented a sensor that scans other realities… yes, I’d say so.” Sometimes, Andorians could be more literal than Vulcans.

“Right.” She added, only to herself, “I hope they’ll be all right.”

“You think they’ll return?” he asked.

She said lightly, “Well, they are ‘Starfleet’s finest.’”

Yinnek solemnly repeated his question. “But do you think they’ll return?”

Linda gave him an unfathomable look. “If I may be permitted a poor pun: Time will tell.”

Interplanetary space, Sol system

June 18, 2495 A.D.

[Reality Code: Megazones 539]

Nebula was in another elevator, headed this time in the opposite direction. This one was similar to the first: fast, smooth, and definitely not a possible product of the 20th century. The trip dragged on.

It was a mixed relief when the doors finally slid open; she had begun to feel closed in, but wondered if that might not be preferable to whatever awaited her. Phaser at the ready, Nebula tiptoed out. This elevator terminal was part of some kind of reception room, with couches, a desk, another large window, and a couple of heavy doors. She went to the window, looked, and gasped.

‘Miles’ was a poor word for the dimensions involved. A titanic cavern loomed before her, spherical in shape and large enough to fly starships in. The sphere’s interior was city, grassland, forest and ocean; all was quiet and empty. Even the area directly above her head, where details were lost, seemed deathly still. A monolithic hourglass-shaped pillar ran from the ground near her to the ‘ground’ that arced high above. Nebula knew that almost all starships used artificial gravity, but not on this scale! With that thought, she suddenly knew where she was.

“Hello.”

She spun, strangling the phaser, but the nervous, withdrawn figure with the timid voice hardly seemed a threat; just a pretty teenager looking extremely vulnerable. It was Eve.

Nebula recovered her poise and nodded her head coolly. “A colony ship. A space-going city.”

Eve was taken off guard by the woman’s sudden self-assurance. “That’s right. Its builders called it Megazone One-Nine.”

The dark-haired woman’s eyes widened. “There are nineteen of these?”

“No… The numbering doesn’t quite work that way. There are, or at least were, others.”

“New York in space… and not one of the inhabitants knows!” Sarcasm mixed with awe tinged her words. “Keeps the cabin fever down, I suppose.”

Eve became defensive. “It was necessary, if millions of people were to survive a five-hundred-year voyage. After all, it is taking the real Earth centuries to recover from the unbridled activities of humans - such as nuclear war!”

Nebula was stunned. “You mean… we did it. We actually went and did it?” She knew by now, at least subconsciously, that she was no longer in her own timeline. But Earth was still the home of humanity; the home of her ancestors. In this frame, the unthinkable had happened.

“You did,” Eve said sadly. “This ship may be mankind’s last hope… if we live long enough to return.”

Nebula sat down heavily, then looked up. “You said… What do you mean, ‘You did?’ Aren’t you human?”

The girl’s face grew longer. It’s all part of the story; and you’d better know it all, if there’s to be any chance that you or Kriet can help us.” She sat down as well. “Let me explain...”

“The last war fought on Earth occurred over five centuries ago. Uncounted millions were killed, first by the war, then by climate changes. Man’s science was at least good enough to start repairing the damage; everything from bacteria to blue whales could be and was genetically tailored to survive, and even to help the planet back to its natural state. Everything but man himself, that is. Humanity was not willing to have itself permanently changed in order to survive.”

Nebula remembered the Eugenics Wars of her own history. “I understand what you mean.”

“Giant colony ships were built, called Megazones. They were planned as generation ships, with their own ecologies and self-sustaining environments. They even carried extra room, to handle the (hopefully) increasing populations. Each Megazone was based around one of Earth’s major cities, in order to preserve the cultural diversity of man: London, Moscow, Paris, Tokyo, Cairo, others… and New York. It was decided to keep the inhabitants unaware of their true situation, to prevent disastrous discord; it was also decided to fix the societies to the time period of the late 20th century. That was a comparatively prosperous time for mankind; and that way there would be no need to explain the lack of advances in technology, science and other areas. Though there have been some nonetheless...

“The ships were put under computer control; giant systems meant to oversee every detail of the Megazone. You can see the Main Computer - the Bahamoud, in the language of the Japanese technicians who designed it - out the window. Figuratively and literally, it is the core of the Megazone.”

She stared at the huge pillar for a moment. “You asked me if I was human. I am not. My body is a hologram over top of a human-shaped force field.” In an instant, she blinked out, reappearing behind the older singer; then she was immediately back. “My mind is one of the control programs of the Bahamoud. E.V.E.; Environmental Video Emulation. I control the illusion of life in the Megazone. I have access to programs which allow me to take this human shape, to control the weather, to project the sun, moon, and stars of New York’s sky, and even to use my music to subliminally hypnotize the people - filling in the gaps I can’t cover.”

“Like an attack by alien spaceships?”

“Please… I’ll get to that.” Eve paused, trembling slightly, and Nebula again felt embarrassed. Reflexively, she reached out to take the girl’s hand. It was warm, soft, and very real. Eve seemed to relax a little, drawing breath.

“There is one other important program in Megazone One-Nine’s Bahamoud. Though he uses it rarely, his public identity is Adam Capek. His filename is A.D.A.M.” She managed a slight smile. “I don’t know what his acronym means. He controls the actual ship, keeping it on course and monitoring its many support functions. He also handles the ship’s defense. That function has become more important than the designers knew...

“This is where the aliens came in. The attacks started about three centuries ago. They are called the Gorig, but that isn’t their name; no one has ever seen one, talked to one, or even had any contact at all with them, besides that which is delivered by missile fire.

“We don’t even know what their motives are… at this stage, I suppose it doesn’t matter much. It was about that time when Adam and I lost contact with the few other Megazones that we knew of; during the first attacks.”

Eve got up and walked to the window. “And this is their legacy. Don’t strain your eyes; you can’t see it from here, but half of Megazone One-Nine has been destroyed, or made uninhabitable. These empty streets were meant to be occupied by the offspring of those whom the Gorig have killed.” She returned to her seat, covering her eyes. “As far as we know, those on the surface - just a few hundred thousand of the millions intended - are the last remnant of the human race.”

There was nothing for Nebula to say. The girl’s voice was choked with emotion, and her hands twitched restlessly. Eve looked desperately at the older woman as she continued.

“Even with all of that, there might still be cause for hope. But the final nail in the coffin came when the Gorig managed to damage the Bahamoud: specifically, Adam’s memory banks. His higher reasoning centers and program procedure files were affected; he has started claiming that the only safety lies in the ‘cleansing fires of Earth’s sun,’ as he puts it - and he plans to take the entire Megazone with him!”

Her eyes widened at the faint sound of another explosion outside the ship. “Assuming we survive that long… You see; Adam just can’t defend the Megazone as well as he did before… Oh! I just don’t know what will happen!”

There was terror in Eve’s eyes and Nebula understood something she’d known for several minutes now. “You weren’t supposed to be self-aware, were you? You’re not just a program anymore… how did it happen?”

The girl turned away. “I - I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’m not sure, but I think you are right; this is some sort of accident. All I know is that several years ago, suddenly I was thinking about my instructions instead of just following them… but it was already too late to change things by then. I just held on, hoping...

“Then Kriet came. I didn’t know how, or why. When he came to see me, I panicked; I knew he wasn’t of the Megazone, because I have access to all those files, and they’re still undamaged. Besides - like you, he was unaffected by the subliminal messages.

“But he came in the middle of an attack. Adam found him, and I think Adam decided that he was a Gorig. I don’t know what happened after Adam confronted him, but if you haven’t seen him...”

Nebula tried not to think about the fact that only Kriet knew how to get her home, and instead to concentrate on Eve’s problem. “Okay. We can’t do anything about the Gorig now, but if we can get this ship pointed in another direction, we’ll have more time to worry about our other problems. Where did the original programmers of the Bahamoud work?”

“There’s a central control room. Do you have much experience with computers?”

“Plenty,” Nebula reassured her. The woman decided not to mention the fact that they were all hacker tricks she’d learned from the band. She had to try!

But what the hell had happened to Kriet?

USS Yeager

In transit

[Reality Code: N/A]

Jerry Conner knew the trip would be rough. Several Pathfinder crewmembers had traveled the timelines before, and they had warned that one’s grasp on reality became truly tenuous during transit. Still, that was all they could tell him. It was different for every person; and it was different every time.

He found himself unable to move. The still bridge scene around him shrank, as if a magnifying lens had been removed. His viewpoint expanded logarithmically. The Yeager and the other ships were gone before he could focus on them; his vision included star systems, then galaxies, then mega-clusters; finally the universe itself was revealed to him.

Jerry marveled; suddenly, he understood it all. It all made sense, not just logical sense but emotional sense; it was beautiful, and it was right ...

It kept expanding. He could see into the multiverses that Kriet had tapped, and the infinity no Starfleet officer had seen. Now Jerry was mentally pleading for it to stop; the mental abstractions a mind uses to shield itself were breaking down under the onslaught of information. The beauty was more than his psyche could understand, and it kept expanding. Jerry Conner saw all Creation, and wondered if anything lay beyond, and if he would last long enough to find out...

There was a thunder of music. ‘Music’ was a poor description; he heard, saw, smelled, tasted and felt it at the same time; the experience was almost orgasmic. He could never remember it later, but swore the audible part was right out of Bach. It echoed through his body - a body he could once again move, as his perception collapsed back into the protoplasm that was its home.

He looked around. The same old bridge surrounded him. Crew members stared into the distance, lay sobbing in a fetal position, or grasped their consoles with bloodless knuckles. Jerry stood, and everything turned blue. He froze in place and the colors returned to normal.

Mike Layne looked back at him with wide eyes. “Speed of light’s funny,” he mumbled thickly. Mike waved his hand before his face, watching as it turned alternately blue and red. It made Jerry vaguely ill. “Hmm. Dopplering while you watch.”

They were still at Red Alert, but Conner sounded the klaxon again. His crew snapped back to themselves, trained reflexes engaging.

“Everybody okay?” he asked, not rhetorically.

“We seem to be alive,” T’Saan commented, focusing her gaze with an effort. “Even if we’re not sure we want to be.” She knew that was what Terrans called humor, but at the moment, she didn’t care.

He sat down. The main viewscreen was off. “Somebody get me a picture.”

“It would do you no good, Captain,” the Vulcan answered. “The data our sensors are receiving is impossible for the humanoid brain to process.” She looked at him. “We’d see nothing - and it would only disturb us more.”

Jeustine spoke up. “Captain, a transmission from the Pathfinder.”   “Put it on audio.”

Kazar Kazsis’ voice sounded. “We’re reaching the end of the psychic trace Rhiannon detected. I’ve set the Max programs to simultaneously disconnect the Algorin dilithium on the three ships.” He paused. “If anybody screws up… well, let’s just don’t.”

“We’re ready.”

“Kam’s relaying that to McKay… All right. Thirty seconds to disengage… Mark!”

At the helm, Kraiggearra Kraikginchsha gasped. “Max? Where’s Max?” The screen he had occupied was blank.

Jerry twisted around to look. “What?”

As if on cue, Max’s computerized countenance appeared. His hair was mussed, and his sunglasses askew. “Hi kids! Whoop! So th-that’s wh-what you h-humans call a h-h-hangover!”

The entire bridge crew thundered, “MAX!!”

He drew back, “Whoa, not so load. -lewd. -loud, not so loud! What’s this?” He looked down.

“Ten seconds!” Kraiggearra cringed.

“Oh, y-yeah! De- De- Doobeedoo… Deceleration! Hey, guys, don’t tell me you were worried!”

“- three - two - one - zero!”

There was a clunk, and the engine noise changed suddenly. The main screen activated, showing the distorted but suddenly beautiful stars of warpspace.

“Stand by for deceleration to Warp One!” she called. “Delta-vee one factor per two seconds. Starting… now!”

The ships shuddered, and slowed. Pathfinder and Yeager peeled slowly away from McKay in opposite directions. As they reached Warp Six, the warpfields split apart, this time with a gentle bump.

Life-support indicators on all three ships lit as everyone released their held breath at once. “It worked,” sighed Conner. “I wish I had all the money that’ll be changing hands this evening at dinner.” He rubbed his eyes. “Helm, where are we?”

“A few hours from Sol system, sir,” she said.

“Pathfinder reports that they have Kriet’s signal and wish to proceed,” added Jeustine.

“Assuming McKay agrees, let’s go for it,” Jerry said. He looked up at T’Saan, who was standing beside the captain’s chair. “What is it?”

“Request permission to leave the bridge,” she said softly.

“How come?”

The last half-hour showed in her eyes as she answered, “Sir, I believe I am in danger of becoming emotional.” She turned away and entered a turbolift. The doors closed behind her.

Jerry considered, and stood. “Mike, the con is yours.” He headed after her, saying to himself, “Me too.”

Co-ordinates unknown

Grin’elle Kriet’s field of vision was nothing but an off white-blur. He felt as if he lay on a padded couch, but his searching hand found no solid support beneath him. His hand and other extremities were clearly visible, so he decided that he at least was not blind.

Grin moved as if to sit up; it made little difference. His initial feeling of welcome tranquility was being replaced by panic. The last event he could remember was of being stuck from behind. “Hello? Where am I?”

A neuter, emotionless voice answered him, to his surprise. “Nowhere.”

He twisted around, but could find no source for the sound. Kriet tried again. “What am I doing here?”

“Nothing.”

“Who are you?”

“Who do you want me to be?”

It sounded like no one he had ever met, or expected to; yet there was a quality to it that brought terror to the animal portion of his mind.

“Enough with the games! What do you want?”

“I have granted your deepest wish, Grindall Elle Normayish Pommet Dyllmoreton Kriet. This is the rest you desire.”

“You mock me!” the Starfleet officer cried. “This is not peace, it is void! What kind of game are you playing?”

“The game of your existence.”

Kriet unconsciously bared his teeth. “My life is not some game meant to amuse bored godlings.” He closed his eyes. “You are a figment of my imagination.”

“Of course!” The voice was condescending. “As you are of mine. What do you know of your true existence? Do you know the real meaning of your life? You are nothing but a certain pattern of firing neurons in the brain of the Creator. As he is of his Lord. The path to true infinity lies that way, not in the space-time dimensions inhabited by a protoplasmic sack of confused DNA chains.”

Grin’s eyes opened. “I do know what you want.”

The speaker’s tone changed from contempt to conspiracy. “Yes, you do know. How could you not? My desires are yours. Together, we can break the chain. As matter and anti-matter combine to release incredible power, we can combine to release ourselves. From pawn to player in one move! Think on it, my friend. Think on it...”

It faded and was gone, while Kriet’s mind overflowed.

USS McKay

Interplanetary space, Sol system

June 18, 2495 A.D.

[Reality Code: Megazones 539]

“Captain Dujhar to the bridge. Captain Dujhar, please report to the bridge immediately!”

Yvonne Underhill’s intercom call brought Ty’s mind back to his body. He’d excused himself from the bridge about ten minutes ago, and was staring out a viewport in the McKay’s VIP lounge. Ty’elle doubted that he’d ever understand what he’d experienced during transit, and he wanted to, badly.

He shook it off, rushing out of the room. Science scouts tend not to be large, so he arrived quickly at his center seat. “What’s happening? Oh...”

“We’re a few days away from Earth orbit at sublight speeds,” Scott informed him. “James’ scanners have just picked this up.”

To understate; the ship was big. It was a sphere of rock and metal several miles in diameter; the main viewscreen had obligingly placed silhouettes of Batron starships nearby for scale. Sensors indicated that it was carrying almost a million representatives of Homo Sapiens ; and course projections put it straight into the heart of Earth’s sun.

That wasn’t the bad part.

Parked nearby was a ship nearly three times as long. Smaller craft issued from openings in its skin, swooping and attacking the sphere. Ninety percent of them were destroyed by shafts of brilliant light, but the remaining ten percent still made up an impressive force. The computer threw starship silhouettes next to those, and Ty’s stomach began to shudder. “You don’t even have to tell me where Grin’elle’s signal is coming from,” Montor said.

Dujhar put his hand on his chin. “Rhiannon said that these were probably the last human beings in this frame...”

T’Saan’s voice drifted from a channel someone had left open. “Captain Conner, the fighting force around that ship is approximately 7.21 times what we could reasonably expect to defeat.”

Ty’elle hit his com button. “Jerry, Ebon… We’ve all known each other for a long time. Don’t tell me that we’re gonna suddenly start acting reasonable...”

There was a short but sincere laugh. “Guess not.”

By an interesting but meaningless coincidence, three fingers pressed three alarm buttons at once. “Battle stations! All hands to battle stations!!!”

A starship’s preparations for battle are an impressive experience. Depending on the class of ship, approximately four hundred crewmembers (maybe more, maybe less) immediately drop what they’re doing and engage in solemn, purposeful activity.

The McKay’s offensive capabilities were not excessive, so its engineers prepared to channel every spare erg of power into its deflectors. The powerful scanning devices of a science scout were brought on line and hooked into equally powerful computers; through the link provided by the Max programs, each ship would have unusually superb tactical data.

The Yeager’s strength was speed. The ship could turn almost on its axis while at full throttle; it would strike, then strike again while an enemy was still trying to figure out where the first shot had come from. Its crew braced for high-speed maneuvers and sudden changes in energy demands.

The Pathfinder knew raw power. No other mobile human construct could match the raw destructiveness of the ship’s weapons. No weapon known could punch through her shields with a single shot, and an enemy rarely got a second. Unfortunately, the ship was clumsy. Its mass, and the unusual warpfield produced by three nacelles, made it slower to respond than the other two ships: less maneuverable. Knowing that, its crew readied their backup weaponry...

In the lower decks of the dreadnought, the unnatural hybrid of a warpshuttle and a courier ship vibrated with power. The shuttle Nimitz was one of a kind, a small starship in its own right; its lowest deck quickly filled with ground troops, armed and armored and awaiting command.

The Pathfinder’s Executive Officer stood on its bridge, directing sharp orders at the intercom. Llandhe t’Reilri was the child of an expatriate Romulan couple, and her temperament was exquisitely suited for this type of work. She was bawling out a deck officer one moment and delivering crisp progress reports to Ebon D’Arque the next.

Only a few bulkheads aft, even stranger machines were readied by their pilots. A quick glance by a student of Terran military history would have identified them as 20th-century F-14 fighter jets - but a closer look would have spoken volumes. The engine sections were hardly simple jets. The weaponry was the best that Batron engineers could cram inside. And there seemed to be extra equipment underneath, and in the back… and several major sections seemed to be jointed!

Communications assistant Teyp Wolcait, currently unnecessary on the bridge, slid into the cockpit of Valkyrie strike craft number 104. He made sure that his life-support belt was on standby, in case of a lifesystems failure, then strapped in. Teyp settled the specially adapted flight helmet over his head, then sealed the canopy.

All the fighter’s systems were at optimum. The air was pumped out of the small lock where the aerospace plane sat; and Teyp sat and waited for the signal that would expel his craft from the dreadnought’s skin. Oh, and there was a last detail he remembered, sliding a memory cassette into an unmarked slot. All communications and audio warnings would override it; but for some reason, all the program’s pilots performed much better to the beat of their favorite music.

Kam Kazsis turned from her bridge station, half her attention on the transdator in her ear. “Commander t’Reilri reports the NIMITZ fully loaded and ready. Valkyrie squadrons One and Two are ready for launch, and the reserve squadron is scrambling now.”

Logran Chang added from the Weapons station, “Phaser crews report ready. All photorp tubes loaded and armed.”

“All decks report readiness and Alert Condition One. Yeager and McKay confirm similar status.”

D’Arque leaned forward in his seat. “Good… very good.” He glanced at Kazar. “Any indication that they’ve scanned us yet?”

“No sir. We’ve detected no probe signals or activity directed at us. I would guess that they’re concentrating on short-range combat sensors currently.”

“All right. Before we do anything else, let’s try to contact Grin’elle.”

Main Computer “Bahamoud”

Megazone 1-9

Someone who was at once an ancient computer program and a young, frightened girl led Nebula into the monolithic computer. The hum of electricity and air-conditioning surrounded the pair as they traversed long corridors and rode elevators from level to level, threading their way toward the center.

The older woman was soon thoroughly lost, and she asked Eve about it. “Well, you see, the designers were afraid that someone would learn the Megazone’s secret, and attempt to use it for his own ends. Not only would they have to contend with this maze, but with several other security systems which I have temporarily disabled. The only other being who can enter here is Adam, and - what was that?”

Nebula jumped as her handbag beeped insistently. She dug around, and produced the discarded jumpsuit emblem. It chirped again when she touched it, then said, “Captain, I’ve located a Federation communicator! Grin, this is the Pathfinder ! Are you all right?” Static from the circuitry around them fuzzed the words slightly.

“It’s a transceiver!” she told Eve, amazed. “I didn’t think they made them this small!” She spoke into the insignia. “Hello? Am I speaking to a Starfleet ship? There’s a bit of a problem down here...”

The female voice was replaced. “This is Captain Ebon D’Arque of the starship USS Pathfinder. We’re looking for Commander Grin’elle Kriet. Are you aware of his whereabouts?”

“No… I’m looking for him, too. My name is Nebula, and I sort of accidentally stowed away on a ship called the TARDIS, and I was trying to find him, and -”

Someone broke in from McKay: an alien voice she knew quite well. “If you’re Nebula, then what was the opening song for the Artificial Intelligence performance at the Batcave?”

She was overjoyed. “A little tune called ‘How Could You Believe Me When I Tell You That I Love You When You Know I’ve Been A Mutant All My Life?’ Wiikii, have you joined Starfleet?”

“Well, the pay’s good, and I still get to play some tunes with the others once in a while, so on the whole -”

“Ahem!” Ebon interrupted. “I’m happy about the reunion, but there are more important things afoot.”

“You’re telling me!” agreed Nebula. “Captain, I’m very glad you’re here. You wouldn’t believe what’s going on...” Nebula launched into the story Eve had told her.

She drew to a close, and Wiikii threw in his support. “Captain, she wouldn’t lie about something like this.”

D’Arque hadn’t really thought she was. “It explains a lot, and it matches with Rhiannon’s vision. So we’re caught between Adam and the Gorig. What are you going to do?”

“Eve and I were heading for the computer center, to try to do something about Adam. Sir, it’s been a while since I’ve done this sort of work… Can you beam someone in to help?”

The original speaker (Kammara) returned. “It wouldn’t work, sir. I’m only receiving her signal now because she seems to be using a funny kind of communicator. A transporter beam would never reach through all that machinery.”

“More protection?” Nebula asked Eve.

“Probably.”

“We’ll think of something,” Ebon promised. “Do what you can. We’ll get you some help as soon as possible. You’ve given us some vital information, Nebula. Good luck!”

Wiikii had one last thing to say. “You can do it, Nebula. Just remember what we taught you. You’ll do fine!”

“Batron 11 out,” finished Kam.

The dark-haired woman put the communicator away and said grimly, “Well - after you, Eve.”

USS McKay, Pathfinder, and Yeager, in battle formation

Battle was about to begin.

The Batron was in a strange position. Though the very name implied fighting, its members had never been in an engagement that truly required the power of more than one ship. Even the dreadnought, a ship built against the possibility of total war, had seen few battles that tested its ability.

Despite this, despite the fact (which they were proud of) that the ships had been on ten times as many missions of peace and discovery as missions of destruction, their crews knew that one day, the lives of billions could depend on a micro-second’s difference in the reaction time of one individual.

All this is by way of saying that the crews of Pathfinder, Yeager, and McKay had not had much practice in the art of war, but they were ready, nonetheless.

“Situation!” Captain D’Arque snapped.

Kazar reported quickly. “McKay is moving close for protection. Yeager is pulling out to a flank position to give support. Excepting the large carrier, the Gorig forces range from capital ships approximately 10% larger than the Pathfinder to fighter craft somewhat smaller than the Valkyries. And, sir, they appear to have seen us. A small force has broken off from the one assaulting the large ship, and should be here in about three minutes.”

Ebon absorbed all of that. “Well, Captain Conner, you’re the one who won the Tactics trophy your senior year at the Academy. Any suggestions?”

“I think our best move is to smash our way in close to the Megazone, where it will be difficult for them to surround us. After that… Well, I’m open to ideas. I believe we’ll just have to fight a holding action, unless something better suggests itself.”

“Agreed.” He started to call Red Alert, but remembered that they’d hardly been off it since they’d entered the system. “All hands. Combat expected in ninety seconds. Weaponry crews, fighter pilots, and damage control teams stand by. Engineering, prepare for insystem warp maneuvers.”  He closed the channel. “Here goes.”

“Here they come, sir.”

“Wait for it...” Irony took over his expression. “Remember, they have to fire fir-”

WHAM!!!

The Kzinti mutant gave his impressive voice full throat. “Let’s GO!”

Bahamoud Control Center

Megazone 1-9

Eve and Nebula were now deep in the titanic pillar of the Bahamoud. Nebula shivered a bit, partly for psychological reasons, partly because the corridor was rather cool. They were surrounded by huge near-zero superconducting memory banks at the moment, and the heaters barely kept the air from being actually uncomfortable. The shudders of distant explosions weren’t helping her mood either.

Finally, a pair of double doors slid aside, and the pair was faced by a large control room. The walls were plastered with video screens, and buttons, switches, and keyboards stretched yards against the walls to the other side of the room.

The tall singer took a deep breath. “Well, let’s see what we’ve got here.” She entered. Eve hung back a moment; she had the odd feeling that she was walking impudently into her own brain. Finally she followed.

The technology was incredibly outdated - which, of course, made sense considering that it was all built in the early 21st century. “Shame I can’t take all this home. I’d be able to make a bundle on antiques.”

“Then you can handle it?”

Nebula hadn’t said that. “Err- we’ll find out.” She cracked her knuckles and finally picked a keyboard at random. This one was activated and awaiting input. It was hard to imagine that it had been waiting that way for five centuries.

“What are the security protocols?”

“You shouldn’t need any. Normally, you go through so many checks getting in here that it’s assumed you’re cleared for access.”

“Well, thank god for that.”

Nebula decided that the direct approach was best. She simply started typing.

<<request access to bahamoud program banks>>

An answer appeared in highlights on the screen.

BAHAMOUD MEMORY ON LINE

Hard copy of both lines appeared on a printer beside her seat.

“Thank god for a cooperative computer. I suppose that since Starfleet’s finest are outside working on the Gorig problem, we might as well try to steer this thing away from the sun.”

“I suppose...”

<<request access to megazone navigation program>>

NAVIGATION PROGRAM CURRENTLY UNDER EXCLUSIVE CONTROL OF A.D.A.M. PROGRAM - ACCESS DENIED

“Well, somehow I expected that. Listen, how come you never tried any of this?”

“These controls can only be operated by biological entities with a body temperature close to 98.6. The keyboard is reading your fingertips; the cold air in here makes it easier.”

“You felt normal to me.”

Eve shrugged.

Nebula frowned. “I’m gonna need to know more about this ADAM character if I’m going to get around him.”

<<request all unrestricted information on a.d.a.m. program>>

The screen paused, then filled.

PROGRAM A.D.A.M. - CONTROLLER, TRANSPORTATION FUNCTIONS MEGAZONE 1-9

STAGE ONE - APPLIED DEFENSE AND MANAGEMENT

STAGE TWO - ABSOLUTE DISINTEGRATION OF AVAILABLE MASS

MORE INFORMATION UNDER EACH SECTION

Nebula’s brow furrowed farther. “Stage One makes some sense; that’s what you told me he’s supposed to be doing now. But I don’t like the sound of the word ‘Disintegration’ in Stage Two. Let’s see what that is.”

<<request information on a.d.a.m. program stage two>>

A.D.A.M. STAGE TWO - ABSOLUTE DISINTEGRATION OF AVAILABLE MASS

AFTER FIVE HUNDRED YEAR ORBIT IS COMPLETE E.V.E. PROGRAM WILL COORDINATE EVACUATION OF HUMAN POPULATION TO SURFACE OF PLANET EARTH

A.D.A.M. PROGRAM WILL THEN NAVIGATE MEGAZONE TO LUNAR ORBIT AND LINK WITH A.D.A.M. (LUNA) WHERE MEGAZONE WILL BE DISINTEGRATED TO PREVENT LATER MISUSE

** ERROR ** A.D.A.M. STAGE TWO SECTOR FILE LINKS SCRAMBLED - ACCESS BACKUP FILE

** ERROR ** BACKUP FILE MISSING - ACCESS SELF-REPAIR ROUTINES

** ERROR ** SELF-REPAIR ROUTINES INCOMPLETE - COPY ROUTINES FROM A.D.A.M. STAGE ONE

** ERROR ** FAULT IN MEMORY PROCESSOR - STAGE TWO DATA TRANSFERRED TO STAGE ONE

** ERROR ** STAGE TWO DATA INDEX LINKS LOST - UPLOAD REPLACEMENT DATA FROM A.D.A.M. (LUNA) ONCE E.V.E. PROGRAM OBJECTIVE FULFILLED

The error statements continued, but Nebula had seen enough. “There’s your damage; you were right. The instructions in ADAM’s two files are mixed together. He thinks he has to defend the Megazone and destroy it at the same time.” She shook her head in weary disbelief.

Eve’s eyes were wide. “I’m impressed… I never managed to find out that much.”

“So, do you have any suggestions?”

“Um… not one.”

The woman sighed. “Kay. Let’s see...”

Just then, the double doors slid open as Adam Capek made another of his dramatic entrances. “You won’t sabotage me! You can’t rummage around in my files without my permission!”

Eve stood in front of him. “Adam, no! I asked her to come; she’s trying to help!” Eve did not lack bravery; still, Nebula held little confidence in that versus Adam’s madness. He advanced, and pushed the girl aside with little effort.

Nebula stepped slowly away from the console, muscles tightening. Adam stepped forward, and backhanded her against the wall. She hit hard, and her mind fogged, then faded; her pupils began to dilate, and the room grew warmer...

USS McKay, Pathfinder, and Yeager

Three Federation starships, in rock-steady formation, sped toward the Megazone; several dozen Gorig ships, of all sizes, sped toward the starships; and battle was joined.

The Yeager rocked with a hit that bounced harmlessly off the starboard top shields of its primary hull. Just above, the megaphaser mounted on the ship’s ‘roll bar’ whined twice, paused, and whined again. Two explosions missed, but the Gorig ship dodged right into the third.

A smaller Gorig swooped in low at the Pathfinder. The dreadnought’s forward phasers spat repeatedly at it, but it was always a microsecond ahead - until it flew right into the path of a photon torpedo.

The large weaponry on the starships was almost overwhelmed. That was when panels on the Pathfinder’s secondary hull slid aside, and Veritech “Valkyrie” aerospace fighter mecha were flung out. Their wings and tailerons spread wide; despite the lack of air, poorly understood alien technology in the aerodynamic surfaces enabled the fighters to make the same maneuvers they would have in atmosphere - and more.

The stars wheeled behind the head of the cyborg known as Byte. He was connected directly into the mecha’s controls, and used his plane as an extension of his body. Flashing cursors appeared on the transparent Heads Up Display before him, indicating that some of his missiles had chosen targets. He launched three. The technology of nuclear weapons might be centuries old by now, but as one Gorig became a fireball, Byte mused that in certain situations it was horribly effective.

Another Gorig fighter evaporated. A larger ship was hit on a structural stress point, and split apart before filling with fire. Another popped into the space just vacated, firing an energy weapon repeatedly. The plane it was aiming at dodged upward, activating another retro-tech innovation; a triple-barreled Gatling gun, firing 50mm shells made of heavy elements and advanced propellants that the original Gatling’s makers had never dreamed of. The Gorig ship was holed several times; secondary explosions were visible through some of the rents, and the ship tumbled away, out of control.

Two more aliens headed toward the Yeager. A Valkyrie passed under one, and did something truly astounding; its pilot pulled a special lever and imagined a certain sequence of actions. Special circuitry in his helmet picked up the images. The fighter’s engines bent in the middle and folded forward. The extra equipment mounted between them split and folded forward, mechanical hands appearing at the ends. The section holding the tail fins folded in on itself and forward, and the result looked like a cross between the original fighter and a sleek carnivorous bird with wings, arms, and legs. This form of a Valkyrie was known as a Guardian.

The mecha somersaulted, bringing the Gatling (now held like a rifle in the starboard arm) to bear; it rattled, and one alien was repeatedly punctured. The other Gorig turned to answer this new threat, and was nailed by a megaphaser burst from the Yeager.

And still they came. A Gorig corvette charged a formation of three Valkyries, determined to kill. Before it got close, the three underwent another startling transformation; the engines pivoted 180 degrees around their intakes, the arm sections folded out, and the body section folded in half. The belly turret reappeared on top as a ‘head’, with camera ‘eyes’ and phaser ‘antennae’. The pilot now sat safely in the thickest part of the ‘torso’; the entire thing looked like a 50-foot tall armored technological knight. This shape was called a Battloid.

The engine exhausts were now in the thing’s ‘feet’; they flared now, as the Battloids dove at the corvette. Without even using their weapons, the huge suits of armor kicked and punched at the ship, disabling weapons, drives, and communications links; when the ship was no more than wreckage, they heaved it at a formation of Gorig fighters. The whole mess detonated.

It was a surreal, terrifying battle. A Gorig swooped low over the Pathfinder, and was instantly pierced by phaser fire; but something that was not debris fell from the burning mass. Questing metal tentacles grabbed the hull and drilled in, seeking the heat of human bodies. Air whistled out; on G Deck, a science tech’s screen shattered as a metal snake plunged through it, then his skull. There were screams of horror and panic. A Guardian braked to a stop, pulling the device from the dreadnought’s skin; the mecha tossed it away and trap-shot it with nose-mounted phasers. The Valkyrie leaped away; the emergency hull seals activated; and crewmen prayed for the fight to end soon.

Megazone 1-9, Habitation sector

Events continued to deteriorate on the Megazone, as well. Both Eve’s and Adam’s attention were occupied by the smaller drama in the Bahamoud control room, and the defenses of the Megazone were weakening. Just as Adam knocked Nebula into the wall, the Gorig got a rare chance. A burning cruiser spun into the damaged side of the colony ship, breaking through the emergency repairs made by the Bahamoud’s robots; and several Gorig fighter squadrons slipped into the hole. There they found a large tubular corridor leading through the thick rock skin of the Megazone’s hull. Alarm klaxons sounded, and large doors were already sliding closed to seal the tunnel off; but when they closed, it was too late. The alien killers were inside.

The Gorig flew over deserted city, approaching closer and closer to the life readings ahead. This was in fact a section that Eve was scheduled to open for occupation soon; until that time she had simply told the metropolis’ inhabitants to ignore it.  However, Eve was busy now, and many men and women heard engine whine and explosions and suddenly wondered why they’d never noticed all those buildings. And more peculiar noises were coming from the other direction; they were trapped...

The Gorig were close now. Alien weaponry screeched and huge fireballs sprang up, catching many who’d been too curious or too anxious to run. The grotesque ships flew through the clouds of smoke -

- and found that the odds had changed.

“Open fire!!” yelled Llandhe t’Reilri. Overcome with bloodlust from her Romulan ancestry, she pulled at a lever on the hovering tanklike vehicle she sat atop. Stubby legs dropped from its undercarriage, and it spun 180 degrees, revealing a huge cannon that had been hidden in this mecha’s aft superstructure. A beam the equal of a starship phaser sprang forth, and the lead Gorig was subatomic particles.

Armored men on motorcycles appeared from the billowing smoke. Like the fighter plane and Hovertank before them, these seemingly ordinary machines were revealed to have surprising functions; each cycle in turn leaped into the air, wrapping like a living thing around its rider; suddenly there was a score of Starfleet Marines in the air wearing thicker armor and jet thrusters, and carrying a dozen missiles along his torso and dual particle projectile launchers on each forearm. Another Hovertank joined Llandhe’s; and Gorig began to evaporate.

Many months ago, Grin’elle Kriet had used his Multiverse Device to take a trip of technological exploration. He returned with blueprints and design sheets for one-man vehicles that changed shape to handle many situations, and were armed to the teeth besides. Combining the technologies of the blueprints and the Federation, he had built prototype assault vehicles thought by many in Starfleet to be white elephants. This day proved them wrong. The few New Yorkers who hadn’t fled realized that they had allies in the Starfleet mecha, and cheered them on as the aliens began to be pushed back. Many Gorig took to the upper reaches of the false sky, only to find the Nimitz and its even more extensive armament waiting. The battle for this humanity’s future continued.

On a city street close to the shoreline, two pillars of energy solidified into Kam and Kaz. When the Pathfinder had unexpectedly gotten a few moments’ respite, Ebon had ordered them to try to find Grin’elle. No one seemed to notice their unusual entrance; but then, most of the city’s inhabitants currently had other things on their minds.

According to Max Dreadnought, the transporter was set to drop them very close to the source of Kriet’s signal. Kam brought out an old TARDIS homing device Grin had given her once, and they soon found the white ship.

Kam read the brass plate. “Well, what do you know? Max was right for once.”

“Didn’t you trust him?”

“The last time I trusted Max, I somehow ended up wearing an Orion slave girl costume onto the bridge.”

“Oh yeah… I forgot to thank him for that.”

“She pushed open the door. “Go ahead, keep it up, darling; you’ll get yours.” They entered the TARDIS control room, and she pointed to one button. “Set off the cloister bell.” She’d traveled with Grin a few times before, and had a vague familiarity with its controls.

He pressed it, and a long, drawn-out tolling sounded from the depths of the timeship. It rang several more times, and she shook her head. “Damn… he should have been here by now. He must not be on board. Turn it off.”

“Okay. Now what do we do?”

Kammara pondered for a moment. “Grin once told me that a TARDIS is kind of psychically linked to its master; it’s almost like an intelligent being.”

“So?”

“Maybe… if we could get this thing started, and told it he was in trouble, it could find him!”

“Sounds crazy to me.”

“Ebon also gave us this,” and she drew the Mutor from her uniform jacket.

Kazar smiled. “Now it’s just crazy enough to work.”

She touched it to the console, and hoped. There was a pause, then it blinked to a slimmer wand with electrical contacts down the sides. They hunted over the console, and found a matching socket.

Kaz shook his head. “Too easy… Man, that artifact bothers me. I never know what it’ll do next.”

Kam was concentrating. “Okay. Next… coordinates, I think.” She touched a switch, then drew back. “Would you please mind-link with me?”

It was an effort; they hadn’t known how to do this until recently, when they learned by accident during that disastrous shore leave at Wrigley’s. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, searching for the pattern of her thoughts.

Ha. Got you, he thought. Okay, now why are we doing this?

Time Lords have an extra brain section which they use to calculate space-time coordinates, she explained. They’re horrendously complicated. I’m afraid it’ll take two non-Gallifreyan minds working in concert to imitate the process.

Wonderful. I bet that makes him feel pretty damn special.

Oh yeah? You were on that little trip the McKay took to Gallifrey. You think he’s pleased about what they did to him?

Kazar paused. You’re right. Sorry.

Ready?

Ready.

Each of them took hold of the Mutor. Their hands moved among the switches with one shared mind controlling them; and the TARDIS dematerialized, making a sound like the bass strings of a piano being scraped by a razor blade.

USS McKay, Pathfinder, and Yeager

The furious fighting dragged on. The Pathfinder’s Logran Chang cursed, as numb, bloody fingers continued to jab at weapons controls. The High Vulcan named Vok at the Yeager’s weaponry console found that even the pent-up emotion Vulcans keep inside was beginning to lose its motivational effectiveness. And the Valkyrie pilots simply tried not to think at all. In a fighter jock, animal instinct was a much more valuable resource than logic.

The large Gorig cruisers had drawn close to the Starfleet dreadnought and frigate; Federation shields flared as they took punishment sufficient to wipe out cities. The Gorig ships had no such defenses, but for each one destroyed, there was another one waiting. The Batron’s superior technology and skill were keeping losses low, but as men tired and the enemy continued throwing cannon fodder at them, the situation became less and less sure.

Two Valkyries were hit. On one, the ejector seat computer detected the structural damage, decided it was fatal, and threw the pilot free of the fireball which formed immediately afterwards. The other man had no such chance. A passing Guardian collected the first man; though double protected by sealed flight suit and life-support belt, he was unconscious. Jeff Matthews waited for a chance to drop the shields long enough to beam him aboard.

One of the tentacled spheres attacked Byte’s Battloid. The two metal serpents that latched on to him sheared away the mecha’s left arm and punctured the cockpit, damaging his own. Another humaniform mechanical warrior rode its back thrusters in and kicked the offending weapon away, baking it with the head-mounted phaser turret. Byte looked down at the lubrication fluid leaking from his arm and grimaced. With mechanical strength he squeezed the leak closed and returned to the conflict.

The McKay had been trying to stay out of the fight. The ship was a science scout; it hadn’t been designed for war… but its captain had seen what happened to the Grissom and other sister ships, and decided to collect some favors in the Starfleet shipyards. Command had actually approved of his ideas, though they may well have been intending to use them in more devious ways...

“Moving in on the combat zone now, Captain,” Dunson reported.

Montor turned, reporting a new development calmly - and in one breath. “Captain Dujhar three fighters have broken away from Pathfinder heading this way!”

Ty inhaled deeply, and hit a button on his chair arm. “Activating ‘Concealed Weapon’!”

Panels in the hull slid aside, and suddenly the McKay was much better armed than science scouts are supposed to be. A panel of controls lit on the helmsman’s board.

“Fire!”

The phaser beams lanced out. Ironically, the little ships were too fast to hit; but as one dodged, it rammed the other two. The three disappeared in a fireball.

“All right!” yelled Lt. Maier.

Then the bridge lit in red, and the computer’s voice announced “Hull integrity breached!”

“What the -” and Dujhar rolled from his chair as a metal tentacle clove it in two. It reared up, seeking the heat of a body. At that moment, an anonymous Valkyrie brought its mechanical foot down on the piece of ‘wreckage’ which had attached itself to the bridge dome. The mecha ducked an enemy missile, then charged back into the thick of things.

“Emergency pressure seal activated,” said Barrington, still calm.

Dujhar gave him a shakily ironic look. “Good.”

Coordinates unknown

Something snapped Grin’elle out of his trance. He had entered the state to prevent ill effects from sensory deprivation; but he felt as though he might prefer the nothingness to the voice which had suddenly returned.

“Have you considered my offer?” it purred.

“Your offer is meaningless!” he shouted. “If you have nothing but that nonsense on your mind, you may as well leave again.”

“So hostile! And I offer so much.”

“You offer nothing! Even if you speak the truth, than whoever rules this plane serves in the next. There is no advantage, no gain!”

“You lie!” it shrieked. “I shall have my freedom!”

“You will simply gain a larger cage; and you will not notice, having become larger yourself. Now leave me alone!”

“Oh, no. No, Kriet. You know nothing of my plan. I will have my victory! I will have you! I Will Have You!! I WILL HAVE YOU!!!”

The voice grew louder and louder. It filled Kriet’s ears, than leaked into his mind. He curled up, trying to block it out, but the effort was futile...

“Get out of my mind!” he gritted. “Get out of my mind!!”

The screams came to a crescendo. Kriet didn’t know whether they were his or the other’s, but he felt his sanity leaving… Then, a sound. Faint, but growing. A sound he’d heard many times. A groan of tortured machinery with a rising and falling rhythm, rising and falling...

Grin opened his eyes. He was in an alleyway, uniform filthy, body bruised. There was no trace of the voice. Instead, Kammara and Kazar Kazsis bent over him with faces full of concern. Behind them stood a metal shape he was very familiar with.

“Grin, are you okay?” Kam asked. She tentatively touched his shoulder, and though Grin was hardly a powerful psionic, he picked up from her mind the tumultuous events of the past two days: from Rhiannon’s search to Nebula’s story to the couple’s successful flight of the TARDIS.

“You okay?” Kaz repeated.

Grin stood. “No. However, I shall live.” He walked toward the TARDIS. “You coming?”

“Where are we going?”

“I intend to fix a broken computer program.” Kam was unable to forget the expression on his face for a long time.

Bahamoud Control Center

“Nebula, are you okay?”

The woman blinked sore eyes, and stood up. Eve was studying her anxiously; behind the program, several datascreens were flashing red. “What happened?”

“There was this blast of heat; it overloaded Adam’s forcefield generators. His body’s been destroyed.” The girl’s expression was both scared and fascinated. “How did you do that?”

Nebula stopped short. “Me? I didn’t do anything.”

“You did! Your eyes got funny, Adam caught fire and disappeared, then you collapsed.”

The black-haired singer shook her head. “Eve, I assure you, I’m not some sorceress out of a fantasy novel. The Gorig must have damaged him again.”

Eve was unsure. “I don’t… Oh! The Gorig!” She ran back to the main console. A video screen high on the wall lit, showing the desperate battle around the Starfleet ships. A second screen came alive showing the fight in the streets of New York. Several Cyclone riders lay dead or wounded, and the two Hovertanks were badly scarred, though still fighting.

Starship bridges appeared on other screens. The Pathfinder’s could barely be seen for clouds of black smoke that washed past the camera lens. Crew ran past with fire extinguishers. On the McKay, Dujhar stood bravely beside the wreckage of his command chair, giving firing orders and pretending not to be as terrified as his crew. The Yeager’s bridge shook repeatedly with barely deflected hits. Mike Layne looked at a reading, shouted an oath, and ran for the elevator. Captain Conner was too busy even to give him any attention.

Hundreds of years watching human behavior hadn’t prepared her for this. She looked at Nebula. “What do I do? I have to stop it,” she whispered despairingly. Nebula couldn’t think of an answer.

Without warning, the bright lighting in the computer center dimmed sharply. Blue emergency lights came on, giving Nebula and Eve an unhealthy color.

“What’s going on?” the woman asked.

Eve stared at a readout as if hypnotized. “No...”

“Eve, what’s happening?” Nebula shouted, then had to strain to hear the answer.

“Adam’s back in the system. Every weapon on the Megazone is building up to overload. He must have decided not to wait to get to the sun.”

“What?” Nebula’s mind raced. “Will we disintegrate?”

“No. We will simply lose most of our outer shell - and all atmospheric pressure.” Eve looked up from the display. “The energy release and debris should also smash the Gorig ships...” She couldn’t finish.

Nebula’s horrified voice finished for her. “And the Starfleet ones.” Eve nodded.

She thought about her dreams: performing with AI, joining Starfleet, fun, adventure, fortune and glory… Nebula closed her eyes for exactly one minute, then opened them. “All right.” She picked up her handbag, and removed the phaser, carefully adjusting the setting.

“What are you going to do now?”

She took a deep breath. “Eve, do you know where Adam’s core memory is?”

“It’s right outside the doors, next to mine. Our programmers wanted easy access while they wrote us.”

That surprised Nebula. “Can you transfer your program to another address?”

“No, neither of us can. Why? What are you planning?”

“… I was going to set this phaser to overload… then leave it in Adam’s memory banks.”

“No!” the girl cried. “Several major conduits and supercoolant lines run through there! You’ll wipe out this whole area!”

Nebula turned the phaser around and around in her hand. “And if I don’t, this entire ship will self-destruct.” She looked into the hologram’s eyes, knowing they were simulated, and not caring. “Eve, either way, we are going to die. Rather, I will die, and you will be permanently erased. In my book that works out to the same thing.”

Eve sat backwards in a chair, arms wrapped tightly around the back support. “I tried to stop him… I really did...” Every mind, whether metallic or protoplasmic, has a point of collapse, and the poor girl seemed dangerously close. Nebula put an arm around her.

“Come on. We’ll save countless lives - and then it will all be over.” They walked toward the doorway.

They stopped abruptly; there was a sound, unmelodic and harsh, but which Nebula would always afterward think of as one of the most beautiful she’d ever heard. As the vibration scraped and dragged, a metal shape took form in a corner of the room; and three Starfleet officers stepped out. The TARDIS had arrived.

A wave of irrational relief swept over Nebula. “I didn’t know the Federation had a cavalry!”

Kriet recognized her. “You’re the singer from Previtar!”

Her eyes widened. “You’re the guy with the time machine!”

“Excuse me,” Kazar interrupted, “but don’t we have some more important matters?”

There were quick introductions, and a quick recap of the deep load of trouble they were all in. Kammara recorded everything on her tricorder, hoping one day to figure out exactly how all this had happened. Kriet and Kazar went immediately to the main computer console; Grin two-finger typed at blinding speed while Kaz leaned over his shoulder and made whatever comments seemed appropriate.

“So that’s the mysterious Grin’elle Kriet,” Nebula said to herself. Kam, however, picked up on the statement. “Uh-huh. He’s a nice guy - but however strange you decide he is, he always manages a few more surprises.” She turned to Eve. “I hope that you’re nothing like the only other intelligent computer program I know.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“It’s a looong story.”

Kriet let out a few expletives in a language none of them knew; however, their intent and power were self-evident. Even Eve’s projected cheeks blushed.

“Has anybody been in this system in the past hour?”

“I was,” replied Nebula. “It was the only way to discover what was wrong with the Bahamoud.”

Grin ran spread fingers through his hair in frustration. “Well, your access route has been blocked. I can’t shut down the weapon overload, contact the Pathfinder, talk to this Adam, or anything.”

Kam looked sidewise at him. “I thought you said once that you two could program your way around anything.”

“Sure,” Kazar answered. “With about two hours, and/or a full set of utility programs. Right now, the programming tool I’d select would be a large axe.”

“I’ve got a phaser,” Nebula suggested.

“It was a figure of speech. Though the idea is tempting...” he added sourly.

“How much time until the overload?” asked Kammara.

“Ten minutes and some. It varies, depending on the individual weapon’s current charge, bore temperature, etc.”

Nebula help up her weapon. “It looks like we may be using Plan A after all.”

Eve grabbed her hand. “Yes, we will; but with modifications.”

“What?” There was a hardness to her expression that Nebula hadn’t seen before.

“When that phaser explodes, my memory - my self will be destroyed. Therefore, I may as well be the one who sets it off.  The rest of you can take Kriet’s spaceship back to your ships. You can warn them and get them away; they do travel faster than light, don’t they?”

There was a silence. “Eve,” Kriet managed, “I’d like to argue with that logic. It’s plain that some machine intelligences do have souls. Couldn’t you transfer your program, perhaps to the TARDIS computer? There’s plenty of room.”

“No; I wasn’t given that ability. Perhaps you could change that, given time; but if you could do that, you could fix Adam as well. Besides, someone has to stay here and give you time to get out of range - if this doesn’t work. Now please hurry. Those ten minutes are ticking away.”

None of them wanted to leave. None of them could think of any other option. Grin bundled them all into the TARDIS before anyone could start spouting long goodbyes; and the timeship again faded from view.

Eve looked down at the phaser which would be the instrument of her own death. About eight more minutes.

The TARDIS

Grin’elle’s practiced fingers manipulated the controls almost by reflex. The TARDIS control room was completely silent; no one would speak, no one would look at another. The silence could only have been broken by the situation getting worse; right now, that seemed impossible.

Kriet suddenly did a double take, glaring at certain instruments. “I don’t believe this! Now I can’t get a channel to the Pathfinder!”

Heads snapped up. “What? What’s wrong?” Kam asked.

“Who knows?” He calmed some. “Hang on. I’ll partially materialize, and we’ll take a look.”

The horrible screech sounded again. Grin operated the scanner screen.

“Oh, my God,” Nebula gasped.

The dreadnought was scorched, dented, and scraped, its normally impressive exterior now looking pitiful. The Fleet officers knew, though, that that was superficial damage, relatively simple to fix and not threatening in itself.

What was scary was that the main bridge dome was spewing atmosphere and thick black smoke. Obviously, no one was alive in there.

“How - how are Yeager and McKay?” Kazar managed. Grin panned the scanner camera around. Though outwardly they looked little different, the two ships were obviously much more intact.

Kam didn’t see it as a sign of optimism. “We’re getting creamed,” she whispered, gaze locked on the spectacle.

Grin jolted her out of it. “You’re the communications chief. I taught you how to use this equipment. Get us contact with the Pathfinder!”

A useful task diverted her attention. She bent low over the correct panel, calculating and experimenting. Then she glanced up.

“Wait - I think - I’ve got it. Just a computer telemetry channel, but there’s something -”

The screen picture flickered, then changed. “Hi kids!”

That wasn’t the last thing Grin’elle needed just then, but it was close. “Max...” he growled almost subsonically. His voice rose. “What the hell is going on on that ship!”

“Comma- comma- kamikaze aliens in the bridge dome! Twelve scared bridge crew, see how they run! They’re setting up shop down in the Emergency bridge now, and I thought I’d fetch the P- P- Party Mix! So, what have you guys been up to?”

Kaz gritted his teeth. “Please, somebody. Let me kill him just a little.”

Max’s computerized eyes fell on the tricorder Kam had been using. “Ah-ha! Now wh- where’s my library card?” It whirred as its memory was accessed; and Max’s expression changed, for one second, to compassion. Then a sly grin took its place. Max said, “Hang on, kids! You’re going for a ride!”

“Max, what -”

The drives activated, but they sounded very strange, as if echoing from the wrong direction. Then Grin looked around and saw the main doors opening.

“No… no, that can’t happen during transit...”

The raw material of reality rushed past the widening opening; and Kriet looked down into the abyss of the Time Vortex itself.

He leaped to the other side of the console, knocking the others down. Next he wrapped his legs around its pedestal, and took a firm hold of Kammara’s uniform. “Grab hold of each other and anything else you can reach! This is not going to be fun!”

The field which protected them from the changing timestream outside was still holding, but at the expense of the artificial gravity and inertial dampeners. The TARDIS crew were brutally knocked around, as they were subjected to the rough ride of the unshielded Vortex.

“What’s going on?” screamed Kam.

“I don’t know!” he had to answer. “As far as I know, most of this shouldn’t be happening! Somehow, Max has started the engines… and our destination is not ordinary!”

Kriet’s skin started tingling, and a high-pitched whine assaulted their ears. He looked back out the doors; the chaos outside was slowing, taking shape. The sound deepened into the moan of materialization; then everything was again still.

“Where are we?” asked Nebula.

The air before the console vibrated. There was a swirling motion there, like a powder-filled liquid being stirred; and a humanoid form took shape. Blond, slicked-back hair, Starfleet uniform, dark glasses...

“Max Dreadnought,” Kam, Kaz, and Kriet said in unison.

He bowed. “Greetings and felicitations… dudes.” Only his upper torso was well defined; the rest was ghostly and hard to focus on. He was real, however, and he proved it by walking over to the control room’s concealed wall locker, and taking out an ancient, heavy-looking particle blaster. He handed it to Kriet. “You’ll need this.”

Kriet looked outside, at the dark nothingness that was now stable. An occasional blot of light flashed past, like a courier on a desperate errand. In the distance was a hint of city-like traceries of light.

Realization dawned on Kriet. He looked at the weapon, gave Max a rueful smile, and left the TARDIS.

“Grin’s had that blaster in there since I’ve known him,” commented Kam. “The charge pack has always been completely empty.”

“Not anymore.” Max turned to Nebula. “Please,” and he smiled gently. “Sing. It is very important. You must sing until Grin’elle returns.”

“Will someone tell those of us who aren’t all-knowing: What Is Going On?!” Kazar demanded.

“Soon.” Max answered. He also walked toward the doors, but stopped just before passing through. The old grin was back. “Oh. Kam? About the Orion Slave Girl outfit?”

“Yes?”

“Th- th- thanks for the mammaries!” He was gone. Kaz slowly shook his head in amused bewilderment. “Strange.”

“Understatement.”

They turned to Nebula. “I guess you’d better do what he said,” Kam told her. She stared at them for a moment, then looked aside. When she faced them again there was beautiful music coming from her throat.

“Starlit glow, sneaks through windowpane and blind

Two shadows pressed together the silver starlight finds

Words at your lips, stopped by a fear you cannot hide

In darkest night

Hopes and dreams, fighting towards the open air

Nobody dares to hope that there’s somebody who cares

I call your name, knowing you’ll find the strength somewhere

I know you’re there

I know - that you have love to share

Only tell me it’s so,

Speak desire if you dare

I know - love’s full of mysteries

Only you can save our dream

Tell me all your secrets please

Fool them all, with a stage performer’s grin

Never say anything that might show the soul within

Distant and safe, no one can penetrate your skin

Please let me in

I know - that you have love to share

Now my heart leaps for joy

At the love you now declare

I know - we’ll have some warm memories

Now that you’ve saved our dream

Tell me all your secrets please

I know - that you have love to share

Only tell me it’s so,

Speak desire if you dare

I know - love’s full of mysteries

Only you can save our dream

Tell me all your secrets please

I know - that you have love to share

Now my heart leaps for joy

At the love you now declare

I know - we’ll have some warm memories

Now that you’ve saved our dream

Tell me all your secrets please”

USS Yeager

Brief relief flooded into Jeustine Stardust’s expression. “Captain Conner, I’ve finally heard from the Pathfinder. They’ve had to evacuate to the secondary bridge, and are conducting operations from there.”

“Good.” He’d seen the alien hit, and was afraid that it had meant the end of some close friends. “What’s our current status?”

T’Saan answered. “Pathfinder is damaged but still at 90% efficiency. Yeager and McKay have taken mostly superficial damage.” Yeager rocked violently. “Correction.” Jeustine cried at the same time, “Hull breach on deck 5! Damage control teams on their way!”

“What are our current attrition figures?”

“Total Batron complement lost: 4% of total. Gorig complement lost: 15% of total.”

Jerry thought furiously. A logical expansion of those figures led to a victory for the Starfleet ships - with the loss of over a third of their crews. Jerry was already anguished about the men he’d lost so far; but they had to save the Megazone!

“Deck 5 breach repaired.” Jeustine’s voice dropped. “We lost two more who were there when decompression occurred.”

But what if the Gorig got lucky?

But there were hundreds of thousands of people down there!

“Captain!” Mike Layne’s voice crackled over a damaged intercom channel. Suddenly Jerry remembered Mike leaving without permission earlier: very unusual behavior.  Stardust switched over, and the transmission cleared.

“Mike, where have you been?”

“Never mind! It’ll work!”

“What’ll work?”

“Switch to the Algorin dilithium and fire the main phasers, captain. Quickly!”

“But -”

“Sir, we don’t have time for that!”

“But -”

“That either! Quickly, captain!”

Jerry threw up his hands. “Okay, whatever! Helm - do it!”

The Yeager’s phasers fired. The beams lanced out - into the strangely different warpfield that the frigate’s engines were now emitting. Instead of going through and out, the light-spears refracted back, forming a storm of destructive energy between the two drive nacelles.

The phasers kept firing. The lights on the bridge dimmed, as both the weapons and the warp drive drew more and more power. Vibration and noise invaded the bridge, forcing most of the crew to cover their ears with their hands. An Andorian, incapable of sufficiently shielding his sensitive antennae, fell to the floor in pain.

The lights went out. At that moment, the massed energy burst forth in a swath of annihilation, cutting into the massed reserve forces of the Gorig. The Yeager’s engines had poured almost all the energy that its matter and antimatter fuel had to give into that one shot; and it was spectacular.

Anticlimactically, the main viewscreen had failed. “Battery power!” Conner yelled at anybody; in a moment, the lights returned dimly.

His Vulcan science officer looked impassively at him from her post. “Main and auxiliary power is out, sir. However -” the main screen chose that moment to reactivate, “the enemy force is 89.215 percent destroyed.”

Jerry was stunned. “Mike did it,” he mumbled. His voice rose. “He did it. We did it!” The mood was infectious; and the whole bridge was soon cheering.

Things were somewhat disrupted by Ken Wright’s sudden entrance through the emergency stairwell. “What the bluidy heck ‘ave ye doon to me ship?” he growled.

“Defeated the bad guys, Ken,” the captain answered jovially, motioning to the screen.

Ken looked. “Well, okay,” he grumbled. “Just don’t be doin’ it often. Ye’ve scrrambled everrythin’ frrom stem to sterrn wi’ thot fool trrick.” He crossed over to the Engineering console. “Got half the crrew yellin’ at me now.”

“Captain...” He turned, hearing alarm in T’Saan’s normally unemotional voice. “We may have a problem. I’m receiving very unusual emanations from the Megazone’s defense systems… Captain!”

All eyes turned, with sudden realization and fear, to Ken. He shook his head, the accent gone. “No, sir. We don’t even have enough battery power for ten seconds of impulse. Much less warp drive...”

Bahamoud central ROM array

Eve stood staring at a wall. Behind that wall resided all that she was - and all that Adam was. She checked the monitors one last time.

“Adam,” she said to the air, “the fighting’s over. We’ve won. It’s finished. Won’t you end this strange game?”

Nothing.

As a computer program, she had a perfect sense of passing time. She knew to the nanosecond how long it had been since she’d given the others that ten-minute deadline. Some of the smaller gun emplacements had already melted. Those weren’t the ones to worry about.

Thirty seconds left. She raised the phaser -

- and cried out in defeat. The force field that gave her body its shape began to dissolve. She tried to press the phaser’s trigger, but she could no longer exert the pressure...

The weapon fell with a crack to the floor of the empty hallway.

USS McKay

Interstellar space, outside Sol system

June 20, 2495 A.D.

[Reality Code: Megazones 539]

The McKay cruised alone, through the space just beyond Pluto’s orbit. Its sensors were set to detect anything larger than a tribble that might enter with malevolent intent. Ty’elle Dujhar had ordered a small get-together in his ship’s Main Recreation Hall. Everyone needed a chance to calm down.

He walked past Jeff Matthews. “- and the doctors say that all the pilots I managed to grab will survive. It makes me feel pretty good -” But Ty felt bad, about those who hadn’t survived.

He passed Llandhe, who wore several Gorig sphere tentacles as belts and necklaces. He shuddered; but battle trophies were her nature. “- one building we found blueprints and half-finished prototypes for a new type of motorcycle mecha. Apparently they were a part of Adam’s defense plan, before he went psycho. If Grin had been there… Wow! According to the design sheets, they’re called Garlands -” But many of the mecha which had made the trip here would not be returning.

He passed Ebon, whose brand-new leg brace gave him a certain swashbuckling air. “- pulled McKenzie out of the way when the ceiling collapsed. She said that when the brace comes off, she’ll have to show me her appreciation. I’m almost afraid to find out what that means -”

Finally, his mood lifted, as he found the group he was looking for. Kam, Kaz, Grin, Nebula, and Wiikii were there, and even Eve was there, in the form of a picture on a com screen.

“Hi guys,” he interrupted.

“Hey, Ty! You said during the Ultrainfinidrive affair that you might be rescuing me soon; looks like you were right!” Kriet laughed.

“I still don’t understand what happened there, at the end of things,” complained Wiikii.

“A TARDIS isn’t even a real object,” Grin’elle tried to explain. “It’s made of something called artron energy, held together by a type of mathematics called block transfer computation. After Max learned the whole situation from Kam’s tricorder, he used those properties as an interface, to actually bring us ‘physically’ into the Bahamoud’s memory. From there, he was able to rescue Eve, and I,” his face darkened for a moment, “was able to… stop Adam.”

“What was it like?” Ty had to ask. “I mean, being inside a program bank?”

“Ever seen one of Disney’s old flicks, Tron?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it wasn’t anything like that,” teased Kriet. His smile faded again. “How can I explain? It was just like our reality… and completely different. Vast, complex, ordered...” He turned to Eve. “You know what I’m trying to say.”

“I do. It’s not something I recommend for biologicals,” she advised.

Grin took Nebula’s hand. “And I have to thank you, Nebula. Once I no longer had Adam’s simalcrum to follow, I was completely lost. It was your song that brought me back.”

She blushed. “Thank you - but I can’t take credit; it was Max’s idea.”

Grin’elle was startled. “Really… I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

“What scares me is the thought of Max Dreadnought taking the citizens of New York back to Earth. I’m not sure humanity will ever be the same,” said Eve from the video screen.

“Well, Eve, at least they’ll only have to wait about a month.” Kammara paused. “You know, we shouldn’t be calling you Eve. That’s not a name, it’s an acronym. Would you like to change it?”

The program considered. “Athene Graham.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Yes. I don’t want to be a computer intelligence anymore. It wasn’t my idea in the first place; and, for a few moments before you took the TARDIS out of the Bahamoud, I knew what is was to have physical existence. With my new name, I’ll be constantly reminded of that, until I get one of my own.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Ty’elle commented. “We’ll have to see what we can do for you.”

“When do we head home?” Nebula asked. “I want to know if they’ll let me in Starfleet or not.”

“As soon as we can refuel the Yeager. We’re gonna have to try to find some antimatter soon. At least her batteries are recharged - courtesy of some solar cells and Sol Fusion Furnaces. They had some bad moments, there at the end, when Adam almost succeeded in detonating the Megazone; they were drained nearly dry. Anyway, Nebula, I wouldn’t worry. You’ll have some good character references.”

Kam laughed. “I just thought… Grin, would you say we definitely ended up with a deus ex machina?”

He did a double take, then laughed loud. “What are you talking about?” Ty asked.

“It’s a old Terran language, many centuries dead. Three hundred years ago, the phrase meant any improbably convenient ending to a series of events. However, do you know what the literal translation is?”

“No.”

Grin’elle Kriet raised a glass of champagne. “A toast, my friends. To a hero whom none of us will miss. To a ‘Deus ex Machina:’ The God in the Machine!”

Repository 4

The Capitol, Gallifrey

Samlare 48, 102,773 T.L.

[Reality Code: Mutter’s Spiral 871]

“I would not have believed it. . . “ the Apprentice exclaimed, “To reach across such a distance, in all senses of the word… This artifact is indeed powerful.”

“Was,” the Time Lady corrected gently, “Very true; only the Mutor could have performed the illusion necessary to bring Athene from her computer into Kriet’s. Fortuitous for Kriet, since her skills would be needed in the final fight.”

“How does it operate?” he asked eagerly.

Her brow furrowed slightly, “That cannot be answered simply. Philosophers on many planets have claimed that any sufficiently advanced technology will be mistaken for magic by the less knowledgable. Some have counterclaimed that any sufficiently advanced magic may be mistaken for technology by those who have lost touch with the life forces that shape the cosmos.

“It seems that the latter is more true than many realise. Magic. technology, and the hidden abilities of the naked sentient brain are all valid methods used by intelligent life forms to alter their environment to suit themselves. The three sciences each are more difficult to use than the last, but each wields more power over the nature of things. The Logopolitans used all three to keep the universe alive. Kriet’s Multiverse Device combines them in ways he barely understood; and the Mutor was the apotheosis of all three.”

A curious expression appeared on the Apprentice’s face, “What comes after psionics?”

She gave him a look, “When a race surpasses psionics, they’re usually worshipped by the next group of primitive magicians.”

He chewed briefly on that, “Oh.”

“At any rate, the combination of the three sciences would surface again in the Batron’s fight against the Black Hats. By this time, Llandhe t’Rielri’s career had taken her to the Yeager, where she ensconced herself comfortably as its Security chief. Too comfortably, for Starlet briefly pried her away as part of an intelligence mission. This mission, though successful, had the unfortunate side effect of making her notorious in the belligerent Rihannsu culture she’d abandoned long ago.

“The Black Hats readied their next strike. Whispered words in the right ears convinced Llandhe’s mother that one last way remained to punish her traitorious child: an ancient ritual of physical and mental suicide. This might seem to us like little more than pointless dramatics, but Rihannsu beliefs still held great way over Llandhe’s psyche; the feedback posed a very real danger to her life. Her only chance was a combination of Federation machinery, her own inner strength, and the tenuous but proud magic of a forgotten race; a race raped by the Black Hats years ago and universes away…”

Bridges

by Beth Lipes

USS Yeager

On standard patrol, coordinates classified

November 2, 2289 A.D.

[Reality Code: USS Enterprise 017]

The day had not gone well, and the last thing Commander (thank you very much) Llandhe t’Reilri wanted or needed was bad news in the mail.

Nevertheless, that’s exactly what she got, in the form of a letter from her father. Normally his missives were eagerly awaited, received with joy and devoured again and again by the eminent scholar’s last, and favorite, child.

What the exact content of the message was would never be known, for Llandhe threw one of her famous (and mercifully rare) screaming temper tantrums. The message-tape itself got heaved forcefully into a disposal chute and reduced to its constituent atoms. Everyone in Security’s heavily-reinforced ready-room ducked and cowered shamelessly as she stalked off, snarling Rihannsu imprecations, to have a very long chat with anything that would stand and fight.

“And she’s headed our way? Oy.” Spyik Reid rolled his eyes heavenward. “Thanks for the warning. I think. Rec, out. ALEX!!!”

“You don’t need to yell, Spyik,” the Recreation AI scolded gently. “I can ‘hear’ you anywhere aboard. What’s the problem this time?”

“Seems Llandhe got some bad news - exact type unspecified - in the morning mail. Ching says she pitched a major hissy and is headed this way. Cussing in Rihannsu, she said, and… I think our luck just ran out.”

“Gee, how ever did you guess?”

The usual commotion of the Recreation deck had ceased abruptly in that fashion which, to Spyik, meant Trouble In River City. He sighed, silently commended his soul to whichever Deity was currently accepting such petitions, and ventured forth to see what the Trouble was.

Llandhe was nose to nose with Kordon, who had apparently gotten the news by that mysterious mechanism commonly called The Grapevine, and who appeared determined to oblige the blindly furious Security Chief with a fight. He seemed oblivious to the near-inaudible rasping snarl underlying her voice. “Out of my path, graterface.”

“Negative,” he rumbled back. “Path here is common to all, not property of one alone.”

“Aside, thou, or be moved aside.”

“No.”

Someone in the back of the crowd - Spyik thought it might be Wiikii - yelped, “Mother!” and started a small stampede toward the exits just as Llandhe landed a roundhouse to Kordon’s jaw that came in on a long cometary orbit from left field. Kordon was suddenly too busy defending himself to pay much attention to Spyik’s movements, but the fight ended as swiftly as it had begun when Spyik got close enough to blindside Llandhe with a careful nerve-pinch.

“How’s the jaw?” Spyik asked, and got out of the way of the medics. First priority would have to be sedating and restraining Llandhe; he knew very well that, unless he was bleeding or obviously endangering other crew, Kordon’s possibly broken jaw would be made to wait. Winding Creek and Gage had their priorities. “It functions,” the engineer replied cautiously, probing for damage. “I believe I shall retire to my quarters for an pack. And a few dozen aspirin. Please program my replicator for (ouch!) soft foods.”

“Commander, I require an explanation of your conduct.” Captain Conner’s deceptively soft voice was the only indicator that he was himself exceedingly unhappy. The damage to the Security ready-room would take most of three days to mend if Grin’elle was to be believed, and Kordon’s jaw might never be the same, even with prompt and competent care from Susan McCoy’s staff.

Llandhe carried herself stiffly. Far too stiffly, to Conner’s experienced eye; the underlying “body language” was too similar to the way she’d stood and moved at that disastrous after-concert “party” some painful time back.

“A family matter, sir, and unworthy of your attention,” she replied, distant and cool and the perfect senior subordinate.

Conner narrowed his eyes consideringly. “Family, huh? What’s your darling mater done now?”

Llandhe shrugged, a liquid ripple of shoulder designed to express complete indifference - which expressed instead near-mortal agony. “Ritual suicide, according to Father, intended to… curse her survivors. Typically selfish and narrow-minded of her, given her adoration for my idiot brother.”

Conner considered where Llandhe’s brother’s idiocy had landed him, and silently concurred. “A curse?” he mused. “Potent stuff, intentions, given you had to have inherited your… unusual sensitivity from somewhere, and your father doesn’t really strike me as a carrier for that gene set.

“Can something be done to avert possible negative consequences of Telh’s final selfishness?”

Llandhe became thoughtful. When she replied, her voice was softer, warmer, and more like ‘herself’. “There is a counter,” she mused. “Takes days, though. And some pretty sophisticated backup.”

“Talk to Alex. When you’re ready, commandeer that prototype hologram room Spyik’s been spooging over for weeks. And don’t come out until your head’s on straight again. Until then, confined to quarters seems fair enough. And apologize to Kordon.”

“Why? He knew the consequences of letting me land a punch. He needs more bar fight drill; I shouldn’t have able to touch him, the state I was in.”

Dayfires

Coordinates unknown

[Reality Code: Worldheart 630]

The dawn winds had died away to mere whispers. The lone figure on the headland seemed not to notice that dayfire was beginning, and withinwalls was the wiser place to be. The figure’s long robes swayed in the mild breeze from the Mothersea’s breast - a breeze that had been known to fling people about like infants’ toys, in imitation of the nightflame storms they followed. Another figure, swathed and robed like the first, emerged from a deep cave-like recess in the headland. “Return withinwalls, Lady. please. Do not risk the dayfire,” it called. “You alone hold any hope for us.” The first stirred, bowed to the rising twin stars that made this world’s suns, and paced calmly toward the heavy door. “Summon the remaining Blessed,” she ordered. “to meet in the Inmostwall at darkflame this cycle. The gods have granted me a vision.”

“You cannot be serious!” the last remaining male of the Blessed protested. “Without your guidance, we’d fall to the Jointed Ones in a single daycycle. We need you, Heriot.”

“No, you don’t,” Heriot replied. “Not really; not in any means that matters. There are other breeding females available - though none have my depth and power of Blessing. The trait will survive.

“As I stood on the headland this dawn, to sing in the dayfire, it occurred to me that the gods would not necessarily know of our trial. And to be certain they do know, one must go and tell them. One greatly Blessed, or the Passage Beyond would shred the soulstuff beyond mending. Thus, it must be either I who goes, who am replaceable, or you, Erden, who are not.”

“Let us then determine the best method of setting you free of the body, if you’re determined to chance the Passage, and exactly what message you would carry,” Helora added. Always the peacemaker. Helora would do whatever her twin desired. At whatever cost to herself.

USS Yeager

“You’re sure of this, ma’am?” Alex asked, displaying something in the gamemaster holotank on Spyik’s desk. The something rotated freely, in all possible dimensions. It looked rather like a dagger, or a bizarre lancet, or something similar.

“As sure as possible, given I’ve never seen it,” Llandhe replied. “Replicate it to this position in the second phase. It’ll need to ‘drop’ into my hand like someone put it there. Now, about the vesting…”

Spyik, listening in from Conner’s office, closed off the channel. Alex knew it was there; Llandhe did not. Spyik was not looking forward to revealing the deception. “As far as Alex will tell me, there’s only the detail work no do on the actual holoprograms. If - emphasize ‘if’ - all goes calmly and quietly, this should step off tomorrow morning.”

“Curses,” Conner rumbled. “How in Hades does a mature, highly intelligent, psionically gifted being like t’Reilri end up believing in curses? It’s irrational, it’s superstitious, it’s …”

“Part of being Rihannsu,” Spyik interrupted placidly, “Kraiggearra won’t give me details, but from her reactions, and the general belief in the innate power of words, I’d guess Llandhe firmly and fully believes her departed mama is fully capable of carrying out whatever threat she made in her suicide note. Thus, being Llandhe, she overreacted badly and it’s taking a lot of back-and-fill to smooth out the lumps.”

Conner laughed wearily. “Amen, brother.  What’s the best possible outcome, here, and what’s the worst?”

Spyik shrugged. “Best case, she decides she’s defeated her mother’s death-curse, and everything goes back to as close to normal as anything ever does around here. Worst case, Llandhe dies.”

“So how do we, um, ‘assist’ the best-case scenario along?”

“That’s kinda what Alexis doing, sir. Trust me, from her perspective, it’ll be spectacular.”

The hologram suite was ‘off’. Its generation grid glowed neon lemon against the flat black of the walls. That, of course, would change. Llandhe didn’t know exactly what environments Alex had picked, but felt certain they would be appropriate to both the stage of the Quest, and its goal. Alex was a reliable AI, bless his circuits.

“Ready Stage One, Alex.”

“Anytime, Ma’am,” Alex replied. A trifold screen materialized across one corner of the room. Across it was draped a pile of fabric. Llandhe nodded approval, ducked behind the screen and stripped.

Dayfires

Of the fifty or so left of the Blessed, one was senile and three were sterile. Fifty left of gods-alone-knew how many. The Blessing, a combination of traits involving the mind-to-mind speech, a sense of where one was, and when in relation to all else within the senses, had been the basis of their lives for untold generations. Until the arrival of a species, six generations past, who had far too many limbs, and far too many joints in each limb. Thus, these outwhen despoilers came to be called Jointed Ones, and were pitied for their lack of the Blessing.

They weren’t pitied long; one who died under their dominance had strength enough to Deathwalk, and had told her sister of the true conditions of life under the Jointed Ones, what little she knew of their plans and plots. Lt was enough to spark rebellion in the placid, Blessed hearts of the Dayfire cult, Nightflame cult and a few very small fringe cults of minor saints.

Enough clergy died in short order to drive the priesthoods literally and figuratively underground, into well- concealed, well-defended temple complexes normally not used or needed until the Great Dayfire came again - not for another five hundred years, as these sentients measured their years. The periastron, and double-periastron cycles governed their lives in detail great and small, and were particularly important to their religions.

The Jointed Ones promised an end to the Great Dayfire and the Long Dayfire - which the priesthoods knew was false, unless the actual meaning was: All will be dead so the dayfire won’t matter, will it? And all the priesthoods wanted and needed was a means of fighting back that might be more effective than dying under the Jointed Ones’ dominance.

And somehow all of this had to be imprinted so deeply into Heriot’s soul that she couldn’t lose it, no matter what the Passage demanded of her. And the time of that Passage was drawing closer, as were several parties of Jointed Ones’ slaves.

Slaves who were once Blessed, and now were little better than hunting-hounds, to track and bay the prey so the masters could kill it.

“I still protest. The strongest examples of the traits should survive to breed,” Erden grumbled. Heriot smiled gently at him; he’d been scheduled to breed with her in first heat, which was now rising in her and making the Passage much more difficult, as breeding heat existed to continue life, not provide energy for its willing end.

“Be easy, old friend,” she answered. “If an answer is to come, it will come to you and to Helora, for safety. One may miss, and the other still hear the gods’ advice. I rely on you, my comfort, to be willing to listen.”

He grumbled, but obeyed. The last living dayfire high priest was not someone an ordinary male challenged with impunity. Not even a male unusually deeply Blessed, as Erden was.

The procession into the ancient heart of the ancient periastron fortress lasted awhile, for each remaining Blessed had to be in exactly the right spot to take advantage of the power of the worldheart beneath them. The apparently aimless wanderings eventually settled into stillness. Heriot, Helora and Erden entered last and moved to the center of the pattern. Only the deeply Blessed could bear to be so near the worldheart. Only one, Heriot, would remain; Helora and Erden would move off a small way, out of the direct center, and so survive Heriot’s Passage.

The Blessed began singing up the worldheart, making it waken from its long sleep. They knew, as Heriot did, that it always woke up surly, and liked to make peoples’ lives miserable in payment. Worldheart grumbled in protest; the Blessed coaxed. It mumbled; they cajoled. It snarled, they insisted. Erden applied a small spark to its ‘backside’. It roared, and lashed out.

Heriot didn’t have time to scream.

A Quest

Llandhe “surfaced” and looked around. So far, the preliminaries were going far better than she felt she had any right to expect: therefore, things were planning to get nasty, soon. The ‘places’ she and Alex had created were true beauties. None of them truly existed anywhere; Alex had combined images form dozens of different actual locales into quite realistic synthetic environments, based on her descriptions of what needed to be happening in each.

The baseplate for this excursion into her own subconscious was a windy hilltop. A noplace-in-particular windy hilltop, with a very large flattish stone in the middle, and eight impressive megaliths scattered in lintelled pairs at rather rough quarterpoints some few meters from center. On the center stone lay a cup with water in it, a small brazier, the lancet-like implement, and a sweet-smelling resinous substance in a shallow clay dish. These items were the symbols of the Elements: Earth, Air, Fire and Water. Each Element had its attribute, its quality and its direction; a Quest through the soul had to in a noplace, progress through each Element in proper order, and end in the noplace - all of it happening within the Querant’s own mind. That Llandhe had the massive technological backup to make the Quest physically real as well as subjectively was a boon most Rihannsu didn’t have, and there were few enough Adepts who even knew the Quest was possible.

Llandhe’s goal was both simple and complex: find a way to “redeem” her mother’s death-curse, and make of it a life-gift instead. Air had been little help. Fire was even less. Now she floated in the domain of Water, still seeking. And she’d continue seeking until something within her broke loose and surrendered the prize she craved.

The current environment was a very large, gently rolling ocean. Like any such, it probably hid a wealth of kill-or-be-killed, predator-and-prey nastiness beneath its placid surface. And it was that exact quality Llandhe sought - the evidence that she was reaching deep enough into her own subconscious for the environment to manifest as roiled, dangerous, and inhospitable. This milquetoast seascape wasn’t what she was looking for, but it still might provide valuable “clues” for the next time around.

Taking a deep breath, she dove.

USS Yeager

“You’re nuts, is what you are!” Spyik squalled unhappily. “Deliberately introducing a combined hypnotic and hallucinogen into the holodeck could drive her so deep she’ll die!”

“And if I don’t,” Alex replied soberly, “she’ll die anyway. Captain, I really believe this is the best way to proceed at this time.”

Conner grunted noncommittally. “I guess this is why I get the big credits,’ he sighed. “Alex, proceed, but monitor her very carefully, understand? And leave a path open for medical intervention if that’s needed.”

“Understood, sir, and thank you.” The AI sounded deeply relieved. Conner had laid the responsibility for creating the necessary environments on him, and he took such responsibility very seriously. That Commander t’Reilri now needed pharmaceutical support to properly utilize the environments perturbed his circuitry. Now that he had approval from the other organic sentients aboard, he felt a lot better. He turned his attention to developing the precisely correct blended dosage necessary to pushing Commander t’Reilri even deeper into herself than she was capable of reaching unaided.

A Passage

Everything looked so strange from this perspective; had all this really been there all along? Heriot wondered. And why had the disembodiment been so… painful? Were souls that dependent on their bodies after all, as several vaguely heretical madlings had sometimes asserted?

How the Passage was perceived depended heavily on the person doing the perceiving, or so ran the common thought. Everyone would see This Side in very different terms. Heriot saw a steep spiral path, leading up and out and into a glowing mist that had thousands of colors in it, and sounds and tastes and scents and sensations. There was no other pathway of any kind, so she set off, up and out, in search of the Gods’ Places which (common thought said) lay at the end of the path and which would only be reached after meeting several Trials.

And the first of the Trials must be this mist of body-memory, nerve-memory. As she trod the path, she encountered wisps of scent she remembered, and the feel of her mother’s comforting touch. A memory of the taste of the waking beverage competed with its own scent for her attention, followed by the colors of an angry dawnfire.

Eventually the mist thinned, and she was grateful for the thinning, as it had been more difficult than she’d thought, leaving behind the memories of physical life, and all it meant. Now the path, no less steep and no less spiraled, led into a region of glittering darkness. Blackness spattered with small, faraway points of brilliance, like tiny worldheart-gems on a nightflame-colored robe. And the path went on, up and out and into this spangled darkness. Heriot continued to climb.

A Quest

A new element had been added to the program. Llandhe could feel the pressure of it, though she couldn’t identify it. It was… pressing her deeper than she’d ever gone unmonitored. The centerplace, the windy hilltop, was experiencing a major Windstorm in her subjective ‘now’. All she need do to end the program was to whisper one word, prearranged with Alex. She waited for a cue from within as to her next move.

The inner prompting pushed her toward the Gate Into Air. Then toward the Gate Into Fire. The pull was equally strong when she thought of first one, then the other. But when she started thinking of sequences, it seemed to want her to go first into Fire, then Air, and finally into Water; Earth drew her not at all.

She turned to her right, to face the Gate Into Fire. Between the megaliths, confined by the lintel, the space had taken on an aurora-like veiling. Grasping her courage in both hands, she stepped into the aurora, into her own turbulent emotions.

And into a raging firestorm. If she believed it could kill her, it would; that was the major drawback to this form of soul quest. So long as she remembered that it was only (ha!) a pseudo-visual, pseudo-tactile symbolic representation of some part of her own self, it couldn’t cause her permanent physical injury. Psychic injury, now, or even psychological injury, yes; she was dealing with some pretty powerful forces here.

The firestorm began to swirl into a semi-recognizable shape. It spun and twisted, becoming a mirror. Which reflected a singularly bitter memory. Dearly as she wanted to deny it, turn away and leave, she knew it would pursue her. From the ‘local’ violence, this memory - and her consistent refusal to deal with it - was a major cause of some of her intensely personal problems of late. And therefore, she had to deal with it here, where she was partially insulated from its full force, and now, while she was prepared to do so.

Grasping the ‘mirror’ ‘burned’ her hands. She ignored the discomfort to wrench the mirror into a larger, woman-sized shape. The image it held, previously static, acquired motion and sound. She leaped through…

… and landed on her rump for about the sixtieth time this hour. She could feel Telh’s irritation from across the room.

“Clumsy, inept, misborn fool, how often must I tell you to take the leap high and wide, and you won’t fall? Why in Fire was I cursed with such an example of stupidity?!” Telh raged, and slapped her – hard – across the back of her head. It did more than sting, thought the force of the blow was no more than her admittedly hard cranium could take. What hurt war the anger, the naked contempt in her mother’s voice. Telh meant every insult she heaped on Llandhe, and intended to keep on doing so.

The worst pain, of course, was that Telh would be overjoyed if Llandhe should come to misadventure, and die of it. Then, according to the girl’s burgeoning telepathy, Telh would feel perfectly vindicated in her opinion that a second child, born in and of their exile, was a mistake to be unmade. And the return to Telh-and-Makh-against the galaxy would appease her hatred of children in general, and Llandhe in particular (though Llandhe sensed only dislike of and disinterest in the welfare of her brother, what was focused on her was plain, naked hatred).

What could have cause Telh to hate children? Llandhe-the-adult mused. At that age, I couldn’t have understood what was happening; the Gift generally doesn’t manifest until puberty, and it didn’t make sense then, but I felt… responsible for her illness. As any child would; that’s how kids are made – selfish and self-centered.

Llandhe-the-child picked herself up and dusted herself off, and kept trying. Trying to matter the tumbling sequence a skilled adult would have had trouble with, and at the same time, by mastering it, win her mother’s approval and love. And doomed to failure in the latter, though the former yielded to persistence.

Have I been trying, all along. to somehow appease Telh’s hatred of me, and turn it to love? How futile. And how silly. She watched through memory’s eyes a moment longer, and let her breath out in a long sigh that was half a sob. She’s dead now, gone and beyond me, facing whatever the Elements decree her punishment to be for hating her children. I can’t change what was, but what is to be is totally within my reach. And I don’t feel I did too badly by my own boy…

The mirror shattered around her, its hold on her broken. The wild windstorm raged a little less wildly as she turned toward the Gate Into Air.

A Passage

Heriot couldn’t quite believe what she was perceiving. The long spiral path was finally flattening out. Ahead of her towered a… gateway? Entrance? Something like both, but not really like either, it resembled two truly gigantic stones, with a third laid across the tops, forming the… whatever it was. And in the space defined by the three rocks? Objects? was a shimmering, shifting barrier. The path lay through the barrier, between the uprights and under the top. She glanced behind her; the path ended abruptly about two paces behind her heels. Therefore, she had to go where the path ahead lay.

The trip through the spangled darkness had been cold, and she had seen and experienced some things she couldn’t quite sort out. yet, but which seemed also to have direct bearing on her mission. She had remembered them, hoping Erden and Helora could make sense of it all. And now this. Nothing her species built was anything like this, and it alarmed her as nothing else so far had. It was as alien as the jointed Ones, but didn’t hold the same innate menace as those monsters.

With a shrug, she paced as calmly as she could manage into the barriered opening…

…and into a place fully as strange as any tale of the Gods’ Place ever hinted at. It was a wide, windy place full of clouds and mists and not much else. The path under her disappeared suddenly, and though she thought she was supposed to fall, she didn’t. Rather, she seemed to float, along more-or-less the same general route she’d been walking. She got no sense of ending, here; rather a sense of waiting-for-someone. She resigned herself to patience.

A Bridge

Llandhe drifted through Air, which made cloud-shapes at her, and seemed to be teasing her, trying her fuse to see its length and sensitivity. She resolved to ignore its taunts and waited to see what would be presented here, in the realms of logic and language, strategy, tactics and logistics. The unanswered questions acquired a problem very soon; another Being was here, and that Being seemed to have questions of its own. Serious questions.

“Who are you?” Llandhe inquired, “and why are you here?”

The other Being started, as if it had not expected to be addressed. “Heriot called I, seeking Gods-aid,” it replied cautiously. “Identity yours? Purpose here-now-location?”

“Llandhe, I am called, and it may be the reason I’m here is you. What is your difficulty, Harriet?”

Heriot poured out the entire tale as swiftly as she was able: her species, culture, the nature of the Blessing and the troubles caused by the arrival of the Jointed Ones. This Entity, Lahan-da, seemed to have at Its disposal a wealth of information on the Jointed Ones, their strength and weaknesses, habits and general strategies, tactics and goals. In fact, Lahan-da seemed to have been at claws’-clash with them Itself on several occasions, and held them in deepest contempt leavened with wary respect. Exactly the sort of assistance they’d hoped her Passage could provide. Now if she could just retain cohesiveness long enough to carry this back, where Helora and Erden could reach it, and she could pass it all down to them, she could allow herself to dissipate with a clear conscience. And Lahan-da seemed to perceive this. “You’ll need aid to relay this back to your people, won’t you?” It asked gently. “If you’ll come closer, I think I can be of aid in that, too.” Heriot drifted close enough to touch, and Lahan-da reached out and deliberately allowed a major portion of its energies to drain across, into Heriot, strengthening her for her long return journey. “Go quickly now, Harriet,” It told her. “Back the way you came, exactly, and as fast as possible. You don’t seem to have much time left.”

“Vast gratitude expressed memory lost not now/ever!”

The ‘Harriet’ Being turned and drifted purposely away, toward a suddenly-present shining trail that looked, to Llandhe, like a bizarre alloy of gold and platinum. Once it had ‘solid ground’ under its feet, it sped off at a remarkable rate, radiating joy and determination. Llandhe wished it well, and wished its species luck in the fight they had on their… appendages.

The hilltop returned, briefly, and she dove almost immediately through the Gate Into Water. Giving the Harriet- Being enough strength to survive its return journey had depleted her personal reserves almost to the point of cardiac arrest. She’d been there once, thanks, and didn’t call the experience one the highlights of her life. Water could and would restore her to a point where normal sleep would do the rest.

Then, she was going to have a long, serious talk with a certain AI…

Dayfires

Heriot rocketed down into the vortex of the still-angry worldheart. Her flesh was dissipated totally, but the energy-flux would support her long enough. “Helora! Erden! Attend, and ask no questions: the Gods sent a Daughter-One to greet me, and It gave us the aid we require. This is way to proceed…”

Helora and Erden listened intently, memorizing everything Heriot told them. Remembering every image she shared, every experience she could translate into terms a still-bound soul could comprehend. “… and lastly, you must create an icon of Daughter Lahan-da, and It looked to me like this…”

Repository 5

The Capitol, Gallifrey

Samlare 48, 102,773 T.L.

[Reality Code: Mutter’s Spiral 871]

“The Black Hats miss again,” the apprentice commented flippantly.

A look from the Time Lady froze his expression solidly. “For some reason, the humans of that reality are rarely taken seriously by this who wish to oppose them. This was information used well be Kriet in his next clash with his metatemporal opponents.

“Thanks to the complications of time travel, I’m afraid the story becomes complicated here.  You see, shortly after Kriet’s return, starships built along the ‘dreadnought’ design were decided to be unwieldy and inefficient by their Starfleet, and the Pathfinder was recalled to Terra for review and possible decommissioning.  Kriet and several of his companions decided to arrange transfers back to active duty for themselves. As you saw, t’Reilri transferred to Yeager.  Kriet, Vraomrell, Rhapsody, Matthews, and several others moved to USS McKay.

“Athene still resided in the TARDIS computers, and Kriet continued to look for a way to give her physical existence.  His chance appeared when the multiversal traveler Lazarus Long contacted Yeager with an unusual request for assistance; hearing about the request, Kriet himself used the time, space, and reality travel capabilities of his TARDIS to take a few side trips.  Leaving Athene on the McKay, he traveled the reality frames to acquire ‘suitable’ DNA samples for her chromosomal structure.  Once he received genes from some of the most famous ladies of several frames, he meant to meet Long on the Yeager and make his demands; but once again, the Black Hats tried to interfere...”

Shadows of Starfleet

by Michael O’Brien

New Macross City, North America

January 28, 2012 A.D.

[Reality Code: SDF-Macross (prime) 118]

Commander Grin’elle Kriet, assigned to Starfleet science scout USS McKay, set his glass on the table and stood up. “Admiral Grobal, Captain Hayase, Captain Ichijo: I cannot thank you enough. These modifications to our mecha designs should make them more effective than ever.”

“Our fight is over, Commander,” the Russian admiral rumbled. “It pleases me to know that we may be able to help you end yours as well.”

“You are a lucky man, sir.” Grin’elle spoke as much to himself as anyone else. “If things were only a little different, Earth might have two more generations of war ahead.”

Misa Hayase gave him a quizzical look. “I’m sorry? I don’t quite understand.”

Kriet came back to the here-and-now, and smiled. “I apologize. It doesn’t mean anything.” He walked over to the large picture window. In the city below, sitting among scaffolding and construction mecha, sat the nearly complete Stellar City Megarodo, nearly ready for launch. He shook his head, smiled again, and turned back. “And may I congratulate you on your upcoming wedding? I only wish I could attend.”

Hikaru Ichijo took her hand, and displayed an expression that only true love saved from being a leer. “Yes; it should be quite an evening.” Grobal looked away tolerantly.

The door signal sounded, and Lynn-Minmay’s presence lit the room even further. Her eyes sparkled as she saw Grin, making him want to melt. “Commander! I hoped I would see you once more before you left. I’m sorry my schedule has been so heavy lately. Did you get all you needed?”

Grin’elle tapped the tightly sealed canister on his belt. “All in here. You felt no aftereffects, I hope?”

“I’m fine, really Mr. Kriet. I hope your plan works. This Athene must be a very special person. It will be strange, though, having a sister in another universe!”

“It won’t be the first one,” Grin couldn’t help but mutter.

“What did you say?”

Misa laughed. “You might as well forget it, Minmay. He always says things like that, then refuses to explain them.”

“Then I’d better leave, before I do it again,” he countered. “Once again, everyone, thank you for everything. And, despite it all, don’t be too surprised if I do show up again.” He walked to the corner of the room, where a hatch slid aside in a large silver box. He stepped through, and the opening sealed itself; there was a pause, then a translucent red stripe across the top started pulsing and a grinding, scraping sound filled the room. Grin’elle Kriet’s TARDIS faded out of existence.

Misa settled into Hikaru’s arms. “Do you really believe what he’s said about other universes?”

Admiral Grobal looked high in the sky, where an allied Zentraedi warship kept station above Macross City. “There are so many things that could have been just a little different - and changed the history of mankind.” He relit his pipe. “Is it honestly possible that other realities don’t exist?”

Minmay came up to the window behind him at that. They traded a look, then stared up to the stars, trying to imagine a galaxy that held Klingons, Romulans, and a Federation...

The Time Vortex (the TARDIS)

All places, all times

[Reality Code: SDF-Macross (prime) 118]

Grin’elle stood over the large central console in the hexagonally-tiled central control room of his TARDIS, making minor adjustments to the switches and levers before him. He felt the slight change in engine rhythm which indicated that the timeship had successfully entered the Time Vortex. Now came the difficult part - the programming of the Multiverse Device.

No other TARDIS carried this option; it was Kriet’s own invention, constructed as an escape when a convergence of natural forces had thrown him into Starfleet’s ‘Mirror’ Universe. Since then, thanks to the uncertainty of the Vortex, alien distress signals, enemy action, and a host of other causes, he had had ample opportunity to field test the machine. Warp drives folded space; the TARDIS engines twisted time; but the Multiverse Device bent reality. Now, if Grin’elle programmed it correctly, it would take him home.

He worked carefully. The timeship’s generators provided the power, and its computer provided control, but at a basic level, it was Kriet’s own mind that gave the Device direction. There were many chances here for error.

By his reckoning, he had just left the reality tagged ‘Macross-prime’ in the year 2012. His destination was the universe ‘USS Enterprise (Batron)’ in the twenty-third century. Finally the course was fine-tuned to Kriet’s satisfaction. He threw a switch, locking it in, and reached to throw the large transit-initiation lever...

Co-ordinates unknown

There are few craft like the TARDIS in Grin’s home frame. He himself acquired the timeship in the reality coded ‘Gallifrey / Earth Nexus.’ A privileged few had invented, built, or stolen similar machines, though; and there were those among those few who were working directly against Kriet and his friends.

Intercepting a time capsule is nearly impossible; but they can be located, with the correct instruments, by the distortion they cause in the Vortex; and these beings had had long practice interfering with time.

On a scanner screen in an anonymous control room, a point of light appeared on a map meaningless by three-dimensional standards. An alien voice barked a cryptic command. Millions of nameless slaves died instantly under the assault of a single technological weapon; but there was still an immeasurable moment for the minds of these time-sensitive slaves to spasm in agony. The fourth dimension crumpled...

The TARDIS

And, while Kriet watched, a large section of the Multiverse Device simply folded in on itself and disappeared.

Seattle - Tacoma Sprawl, North America

August 25, 2050 A.D.

[Reality Code: ‘Sixth World’ 403]

Under a sky the color of sooty caramel, a sprawling metropolis lay like a cancer in the process of invading the forest, mountains, and shoreline which surrounded it.

In every direction, steel and concrete reached almost to the horizon. As humanoid cities go, it was probably one of the major population centers of its planet. Even from high altitude, you could detect the life down there; the living, breathing organisms that, when taken together, formed the larger organism that was the city itself.

High altitude was where the noise sounded. Low-pitched, drawn-out grinding echoed through the thick air as a silvery shape appeared. But an experienced observer would have noticed that the moan rattled sickeningly, and the solidifying box whirled rapidly about its axis rather than remaining stable.

The sound cut out, and the box suddenly plummeted as if released from an invisible hold. It fell fast and heavily, smashing through the decaying ceiling of an abandoned building near the city’s borders. The TARDIS finally came to rest, a lower corner embedded in the building’s concrete floor.

Kriet didn’t so much step out of the TARDIS as fall out. The hatch slid shut behind him as he wobbled to his feet again. A TARDIS had protection fields and inertial dampeners; they had kept him alive, but it had still been quite a ride.

As soon as his wind returned, he looked around. The place seemed to be a storage center, but at a guess, there had been no pickups or deliveries for at least three or four years. The hole his TARDIS had entered by was covered over by collapsed roofing and supports. Kriet was struck by the almost tangible feeling of decay and age, glossed over with an occasional repainting or slapdash repair job. Somehow, he had the feeling that he didn’t want to stay here long.

Grin held his head in his hands for a moment, trying to think. He knew he could repair most of the damage to the Multiverse Device, but would need electronic spares to complete the work. If the accident had dropped him in a Starfleet-similar universe anytime between 2010 and 2300, then he should be able to patch together some sort of temporary replacement.

That led him to the other problem. He’d have to find out which universe he was in, as well, to give him reference markers for heading home. Luckily, each reality had a slightly different ‘feel’ to it, and Grin had had long practice; an hour’s exposure to this frame should give him a base to work from. At least he hoped so. His first impressions were rather confusing.

He seemed to have ended up below ground. A short search revealed stairs, which he ascended. Grin’elle reached a door at the top, and opened it -

- and stepped into the glare of several spotlights.

He seemed to be in the building’s central storage area. A decrepit ceiling stretched far over his head, and the space just under was crowded with catwalks, supports, and metal beams. The rattle of chemical projectile weapons being readied surrounded him, as an amplified voice blasted, “All right, shadowmage! Next time you plan to sneak into Seattle, don’t do your meteorite imitation! Remain absolutely still and keep your hands where we can see them; we’re going to take back those hot little cell-samples of yours!”

Grin’s eyes opened wide. This had to be the worst case of mistaken identity he’d ever stumbled into - and the geography reference was little consolation!

A heavily armored man approached. Both the plating (labeled ‘Lone Star Security Services’) and the gun muzzles trained on Kriet convinced the Starfleet officer not to try anything. Regeneration is never fun, and it doesn’t always work on multiple gunshot wounds. With a deft movement, the cop swooped in, pulled the sealed canister from Grin’s belt, and stepped back.

“All right, my spell-casting friend,” the loudspeaker continued. “There’s some big fans of yours downtown who’re just dying to have a little conversation with you. Step forward slowly and - “

With a sound like balloons popping - or perhaps zeppelins - the spotlights all went dark and sprayed shards of glass over the scene. As the glare faded and Kriet finished a dive to the concrete floor, he saw a large riot-control vehicle and three smaller cars parked halfway through large loading entrances. About ten armored men looked about in confusion as a deep growl informed them, “An’ dis is for dem potshots ya took at me last month!”

A thudding concussion sounded from an overhead catwalk as something made a huge dent in the armor of the riot control vehicle. Small automatic weapons chattered, knocking two of the police to the floor. Grin couldn’t see if they were wounded or stunned.

His question was partially answered as a three-meter figure which must have massed at least a hundred-twenty kilograms fell from the catwalk, landing on one of the fallen bodies. Grin heard bones break, and he doubted they belonged to the heavyweight.

The giant stood, plucking something metallic from his thick, knobby skin. “Oh, ya think dat hurt? I’ll show ya hurt!” He grabbed the body he’d landed on and threw it at a group of police standing behind a car. It hit hard enough to knock them back a meter or two. The basically humanoid creature unlimbered a large submachine gun and pulled back the bolt.

Bright flares of unearthly light briefly lit the faces of two more attackers up on the catwalk. One was an unshaven, unkempt, filthy figure with silver mirrors where his eyes should have been. Kriet saw him snarl gleefully as lightning jumped from his fingertips.

The other was a mousy-looking girl whose thick wraparound sunglasses couldn’t hide the intelligence in her face. Miniature suns leaped from her palms at the policemen. Grin saw the light actually split and curve around their armor into their bodies. The cops screamed.

By this point, the giant was gleefully emptying his ammo supply into the parked vehicles, the smashed spotlights, and any warm body which happened to be nearby. “He’ll have fun, fun, fun, ‘till the coppers take his HK away!” howled the creature, rather off-key.

The police weren’t in a position to object. “All forces retreat! Pull out! We have what we came for!” shouted the loudspeaker. Completely demoralized, the cops did just that; with respectable speed, they were gone.

The lightning throwers dropped to the floor, joined by the giant, who was happily caressing his smoking gun. After closing the large loading doors, they approached Kriet confidently - while minutely eying his slow, cautious rise from the ground.

“Don’t think we’ve met,” the man said. “They call me Skid.” Loud, battered clothes hung from his frame, composing an outfit which looked like it had been stolen from a twenty-first century video version of Yellow Submarine - which in fact it had. Several weapons, both heavy and discreet, were slung about his body beside mysteriously stuffed carry pouches and bags.

He indicated the girl. “This is Weekend, and I’m sure you’ve noticed Drool, here.” She wore a blue leather vest with what looked like armor plates sewn in, a lacy blouse, and loose trousers which matched the vest. A submachine gun like the giant’s hung across her back. Drool, on the other hand, wore only a stained t-shirt and blue jeans two normal humans could have fit in. The giant showed fangs as he smiled and mimed wiping his mouth, grunting, “Ugh. Urk. Kill. Hurt.”

“Drop it, big guy,” sighed the girl.

“Vivisect. Discombobulate. Laterally incise the thoracic vertebrae,” he continued, grinning wider.

“You aren’t who we expected,” Skid continued. “The Stars seemed to be expecting you, though.”

Weekend snapped her fingers, and sparks flew. “We don’t like contradictions. They confuse us. Sometimes we just have to remove them.” The sparks grew bigger, jumped higher.

Skid moved close. Kriet could see his own confused reflection in those blank silver eyes. “So, tell us, chummer. Just who are you, and what are you doing here?”

An emotion Grin had felt few times before in his score of decades ran through his body now: fear. Most Time Lords never leave their safe little enclave on Gallifrey, and those who do generally possess the skills and natural abilities to meet any challenge with grace and style.

Somehow, Kriet knew this situation was different. Instead of automatically taking charge of matters as usual, he felt completely lost - not that these characters looked ready to hand him trust, loyalty and obedience on a silver platter. The intensity of their gazes made it clear that they had better find his answer acceptable - or Grin’s travels would abruptly come to an end.

Grin’elle thought rapidly. His real name - any of them - would mean less than nothing to these street cavaliers. The style apparently demanded a label, a title which told potential enemies to remain potential; at the same time, it would have to fit well enough for the streets to accept it.

Inspiration came from the pseudonym taken by a fellow Time Lord, long ago. “They call me the Professor,” he claimed.

“The Professor?” smirked Weekend.

Kriet folded his arms. “Uh-huh. Anyone who crosses me gets taught a painful lesson.”

There was a long silence, which was suddenly broken by deep guffaws from Drool. “Guess that’ll teach you guys to carry that attitude. If ya could see yer face, Skid.”

The magician smiled - slightly; Kriet knew he’d bought himself some breathing room. “All right - Professor. That still doesn’t tell us what you’re doing here. We expected a courier from Chromogene. You ain’t him.”

“No, I’m not,” Grin agreed coolly. “What I am is stranded, and somewhat disoriented.” He took a deep breath, hoping that a society of technology and magic would believe his next claim. “Try this on for size, folks. You’ve met your first time traveler.”

Drool’s weapon rose to cover him again. “Hey, Drool may look dumb, but Drool not that stupid.”

Kriet felt a kind of psychic tickling. He turned to see Weekend, who’d slipped behind him, hold her palms out again and mumble softly. He prepared to dodge more lightning, but she simply opened her eyes and gave him a surprised frown. “It’s chip-truth, guys. At least he thinks so.”

“A time-traveler?” Those unreadable silver orbs faced Kriet again. “So how’d a master of time and space end up here in a collapsing shell in the Barrens?”

“My ship’s landed here,” Grin’elle began to explain. “It’s parked downstairs - “

The building rocked with the pressure of an explosion. “Now what?” yelled an exasperated Weekend as she brought her gun out and forward. Skid cursed and waved his hands, mumbling. It was hard to tell behind those mechanical eyes, but his expression seemed unfocused. Only a few seconds later he reported, “The Stars are shining.” Drool and Weekend tensed, while Kriet shot him a quizzical look. He grimaced and explained, “The parking lot’s packed with Lone Stars. Think we made ‘em mad.”

“Can we slip out the back way?” asked Weekend.

Skid grimaced. “Nope. They’ve ringed the place.”

Drool returned from a quick trip to the catwalk, toting a hand cannon almost as tall as Weekend. “We fight our way out, yes?”

Another explosion rattled the warehouse. Skid smiled nastily. “That thick hide of yours proof against a grenade launcher, troll?”

“One good rescue deserves another, right?” All heads turned to Kriet, who grinned smugly. “I was just telling you folks about my TARDIS, right? Anyone for a short trip - say a few kilometers in any reasonable direction?”

They glanced at each other quickly. “Lead on, Professor,” said Skid. “But your Deity help you if you’re ghosting us.”

The four of them dodged into the door Kriet had recently appeared from just as one of the outer doors collapsed with a large crash. Metal slugs sprayed through the volume they had just occupied.

They all leaped down the stairs, (Drool’s landing was nothing less than impressive,) and ran up to Kriet’s TARDIS. He pulled a key from around his neck, and inserted it into an invisible keyhole in the side. The hatch slid open, and Kriet jumped in. “Quick and the dead, guys. Let’s get a move on!”

Skid hesitated. “This is a time machine?”

Weekend rolled her eyes. “You were expecting H.G. Wells at the controls?” She followed Kriet, and Skid reluctantly followed suit.

Drool looked doubtfully at the TARDIS - a meter square, two and a half meters tall, and already holding three people. “Uh, it been long time since high school, but Drool seem to remember something about how many people fit in phone booth - “

From inside, Skid, Weekend, and Grin’elle all yelled “Drool!”

Small-arms fire from the stairway made up the troll’s mind. “Little guys’ funeral,” he shrugged. The hatch closed behind him. Someone lobbed a brace of grenades, causing an incredible amount of noise and smoke. When it cleared, the TARDIS was gone.

Kriet bent concernedly over the main console, then his face cleared. He’d hardly been worried about the grenades, but this was the first chance he’d had to check the TARDIS for injury since his ‘landing.’ “Son of a - the temporal limiter’s been roasted! Co-ordinate overdrive scrambled… Wonderful. I’m now the proud owner of a hyperdimensional crosstown bus.”

The others stared around at the huge, high-tech control center. Drool, of course, felt it necessary to voice the traditional line: “This - this bigger on inside than outside!”

Weekend winced. “Articles, Drool! ‘A’ - ‘an’ - ‘the’! I know you’ve heard of them!”

Drool looked at her, enunciating clearly, “You are absolutely no fun at all.”

Grin’elle looked up. “I can land us anywhere in the city limits. Got a suggestion?”

Skid examined the scanner screen. “Will this thing show a map?”

“Sure.” Kriet manipulated controls, and the scanner screen opened. “I’ll put us in hover mode.” Weekend gave him a pained look. “Partially materialized, my friend: invisible to radar and invulnerable to collision.” She relaxed somewhat.

Skid pointed to a pillar of fire and smoke. “Maybe I’m glad we found you, Professor. That’s where we were a few moments ago.” He moved his finger to an intersection a few blocks away. “We have friends waiting here. Did you say something about repairs on this thing?”

“Yes,” Grin answered. “I’m rather low, unfortunately, on electronic spare parts at the moment.”

The cybermage smiled at him. “Well, Professor; hang with us a while. We might know the people you need to talk to.”

Grin looked sidelong at him. “That would certainly be a big help,” he confirmed. He looked away, and his expression hardened. “Besides; I have property to recover.”

Weekend stared at the both of them, biting her lower lip in calculation. “I think it’s safe to land now,” she suggested. “Can you bring us down - without attracting mega-attention?”

Some of the mirth returned briefly to Kriet’s eyes. “I can do even better than that,” he said.

A stretch limousine rounded the street corner and braked to a stop. Out climbed the rather motley group of adventurers. Skid gave the machine a long look and whistled. “Style! If only my last Mr. Johnson could see this!”

Grin’elle looked a little smug. “Unlike others, my chameleon circuit works perfectly,” he said. He looked about. Bright neon reflected off unidentifiable plastic-wrapped lumps lying against the walls. With a shiver, Grin realized that they could easily be either garbage or bodies. Scratched plexiglass fronted shops which pandered to unrestrained consumption, and darkened apartment windows overhead seemed to hold sinister secrets. Cars shrouded in tinted glass hurried by. His slight smile faded quickly.

Flashing emergency lights lit them from above as a vectored-thrust hover vehicle banked overhead, zeroing in on the burning building a few blocks down the street. Fire-fighting equipment flashed by, sirens screaming. “We can’t stay here long,” Weekend said. “They’re a little excited about our recent activities.”

A black-haired Amazon stepped from the shadows, planting her hands on her hips. “I should have known,” she said. “We can’t take you folks anywhere.”

Skid inclined his head a fraction of a millimeter. “Greetings, Lady Dragon,” he intoned. Grin looked at the woman’s high-swept Vulcanoid ears. He’d read up on J.R.R. Tolkien; if Drool was a ‘troll’, than this woman had to be - an ‘elf.’ Admittedly, he’d never conceived of an elf whose features were a mix of Oriental and Native American, but at least the woman dressed the part. Thick, fashionable leathers displayed strategic areas of bare skin. The flowing cloak, engraved longsword, and carved hardwood staff topped with crystal completed the picture well.

Another blank-eyed man joined the group, moving with the mechanical grace of cybernetic muscle replacements and eying Kriet distrustfully with reddish, glowing optics instead of silver mirrors. “Who’s this stray you’ve picked up, Skid?” One hand scratched at the thick growth of red beard around his chin, while another toyed with a grenade hanging next to even more hardware than the others carried. Armor plates clicked quietly in the lining of a stylish wraparound jacket, and tight trousers of heavy-gauge plastic made him look even more robotic.

The mage motioned at the Starfleet officer. “Lady ‘D’, Moloch; this guy says he’s the Professor. He pulled us out of Lone Star’s little campfire.”

Lady ‘D’ eyed him appraisingly. “Well done,” she murmured.

“He’s a time traveler,” Skid continued.

“Right. Unt I em Adolf Hitler,” responded Moloch.

“I keep getting that reaction,” groused Kriet.

“Where are the others?” asked Weekend.

“Our pretty little deckhead’s invading Chromogene. She said something just felt wrong about the run.”

“Chip-truth, Lady. Our little friend never showed up. Instead the Professor here walked right into a Lone Star setup,” Skid informed her.

“So ka,” she nodded. She cocked her head at Drool. “That certainly explains the explosions.”

He smiled, patting his cannon. “Nice bang-bang.”

A black van pulled up, in shape and styling greatly resembling one of the shuttlecraft Kriet used back home. The side door rattled open, revealing a powerful, heavyset man in a thickly pocketed and belted jumpsuit sitting in the driver’s seat. “Let’s buzz, chummers!” He pointed at a police scanner radio. “You guys are the hottest thing on the airwaves right now.”

“Coming, Wheels,” Moloch said. Kriet realized that the driver was physically connected to his vehicle by control links, much like a Starfleet Mechforces pilot.

“Weekend!” The street sorceress glanced over at Skid, who pointed at her and Kriet. “You ride with the Professor, there. Bring him to the safe house!”

“Got it!” She smiled at him. “Come on, chummer. With that timeship of yours, we could beat them by about half an hour.”

“Unethical, dear. Besides, accidentally meeting oneself is nowhere near as fun as the stories say.”

“Wet blanket,” she shot back.

The TARDIS made its usual scraping fade-in in the back room of an abandoned retail store. Weekend and Grin’elle came out.

The front area was filled with piles of mildewed clothing. The windows were blacked over, and the door had been replaced with a steel shutter. This raised to admit Drool, Lady ‘D’, Moloch, Skid, and Wheels.

“Wheels, this is the Professor,” Skid introduced. “He dragged us out of that structure fire before it gave us that roasted, juicy flavor.”

Wheels shook Kriet’s hand. “Good of you. Some of these jerks still owe me money.”

Grin couldn’t stop staring at the metal plug mounted in Wheels’ skull. “Direct neural interface,” he mused. “Takes guts to wear one of those. We didn’t build them until the end of the 23rd century.” He stopped short. “Speaking of which; I’m sure this sounds like a weird question, but could someone tell me what year this is?”

Wheels stared at him, then at Moloch. “What’s with this guy?”

“We told you in the van; he says he’s a time traveler,” Lady ‘D’ answered. “It might explain how he got here before we did, you know. I didn’t see you using an inordinate amount of brakes on the way over.”

“According to the reports circulating last New Year’s, it’s 2050 AD,” Skid said.

“2050,” Kriet breathed, relaxing slightly. “Good. At least I should be able to get the parts I need to make it back home.”

Weekend poked her head out from a rear office. “Come here, guys! Our rockergirl’s got something!”

They all filed into the small room, where a woman worked at a small computer terminal. She had her back to them, but Grin saw the interface cable connecting her keyboard and her skull, and gathered that the video screen propped against the wall was for their benefit.

“I decided to deck Chromogene’s mainframe,” she narrated as the screen flashed through personnel dossiers. Using a computer to steal information from someone else’s network: this concept, at least, was familiar to Kriet. “Their ice programs chased me out of here before I could show you guys what I found, but I’ve managed to ensure that we won’t be interrupted again - ah, here we are.” A trid-photo and bio-extract flashed onto the screen. Kriet didn’t recognize the file, but he could see that the others did.

“Dat’s de guy we were s’pposed to meet at de warehouse,” Drool rumbled.

“Ten out of ten, chummer,” she said. “But, you see that sequence in his employee number up at the top?”

“Yeah.”

She pressed a key, and the whole file evaporated. “This is their real personnel database. That’s what their ice was chasing me away from.”

“Where’d he go?” Drool demanded.

Skid gritted his teeth. “Nowhere. He never even existed.”

“Exactly!” She turned and smiled at them all; and Kriet’s knees went weak.

“Nebula?” he said in a small voice.

She saw him for the first time. “Oh. I don’t think we’ve been introduced...”

“Dis is de Professor,” Drool announced.

“Looks like you’ve got another fan, my dear,” grinned Wheels. He nudged Kriet. “You got a copy of Sluts of the Shadows too?”

She looked ready to kill. “The next time someone mentions that bootleg simsense in my presence, I’m gonna give their brains a quick tour of the back wall. I’ve told you a thousand times, that’s not me, it’s a lookalike!”

Moloch crossed between them. “He probably just has a few of your albums. I’ve always said you carry an awfully high profile for a shadowrunner.”

“Maybe,” she grumbled. “At least I can show my face in downtown police stations.”

“Why would you want to?” Skid muttered.

Throughout this exchange, Grin’s mind was racing. He should have recognized the lengthy hairstyle, the pure voice. Here he stood in front of a girl who wouldn’t be born for more than two hundred years, and in a different universe at that!

Thick black hair obscured the left side of her face as it cascaded down to her hip. The right side was short and pulled back to reveal a polished silver socket where the datalink cable rested snugly. She wore a tight black bodysuit under a long open shirt with a many-colored, metallic weave. A fitted webbing harness under the shirt carried a light pistol, velcro-sealed pouches, and assorted electronic gear. Her bright blue eyes seemed to see with a clarity even fine-tuned artificial replacements couldn’t equal. Kriet felt his tenuous grip on the situation slipping farther.

Lady ‘D’ had put her mind to work, too, but on a different facet of the problem. “This whole thing had to have been a setup. They must have wanted what the Professor was carrying.”

“If he’s a time traveler, how would they know he would be here?” asked Moloch.

“Who knows what the corp mages have been up to recently?” replied Lady ‘D’. “The right spell could easily have tipped them off.”

“I’m lost,” Grin’elle said. “How did you folks get involved? Not that I’m complaining about still possessing all my original manufacturer’s equipment, but...”

Most of them looked away. Moloch said slowly, “As it happens, we’re… a little low on cash at the moment. A friend said that the Stars would be intercepting a Chromogene courier tonight, and… we thought it might be worth some nuyen if we intercepted him first.”

“What were you carrying, anyway?” Lady ‘D’ asked.

Kriet looked her in the eyes. “Cell samples. Cloning stock. A good friend of mine back home needs them desperately to get herself a body.”

“Get herself...” Wheels mouthed. He stared at Grin’elle. “You’re talking about an AI, aren’t you? A computer intelligence!”

Grin returned the stare. “She’s earned it. I have to get those samples back.”

Nebula frowned for a moment, then turned back to her cyberdeck. Her expression dimmed as information in geometric shapes flowed over the screen. The view centered on one particular structure, then zoomed into it. The decker came back to the physical world as a file assembled itself on the screen. “Perhaps you should have a little talk with this guy. He’s a corp exec at Chromogene; I happened to duck into his answering machine while dodging that ice. There are several phone messages to Lone Star on file in there.”

Kriet stared at the picture with loathing and hatred. “I don’t think it would help much.” The disguise was good - very good. In another situation, the exec might have had trouble, but his tall, skinny frame and unusual jointing was much easier to disguise as the body of an elf. Unfortunately, Grin’elle had seen far too many of his type recently to be fooled.

“You are looking at an alien,” Grin announced.

A Black Hat!

The others stared uncomprehendingly at him. Finally Weekend leaned against the wall, ‘fanning’ her pistol about her index finger, then tossing it and catching it again. “All right, Professor,” she said, staring tiredly at the ceiling as the gun continued to whirl. “Let’s have the whole story.”

Kriet felt a sudden urge to spill the whole tale. He was sick of operating covertly throughout the universes, pretending to blend in, watching his speech and actions to prevent the slightest slip. He knew that as scruffy as these people looked, with the Black Hats on the planet, he’d need their help to survive.

Grin’elle nodded. “The whole story. Feel free to throw your truth spell, my dear; you’ll see nothing but the straight dope.”

He took a deep breath. “I was on my way home, to two hundred years from now, when the Time Vortex - the dimension my time machine uses - was disrupted terribly. I suspect it was arranged by the very forces who are working against us now.

“We’re at war with these aliens. The ‘Black Hats,’ the ‘Bad Guys,’ whatever you want to call them; they’ve never told us what they call themselves. For reasons we’ve never known, it is vitally important to them that humanity is stopped from making certain types of progress. Perhaps they plan an invasion, a research program, a tri-vid documentary - we’ve never managed to find out, and it’s really gotten past the point where it matters. What we do know is that they will go to any lengths to achieve this goal: thievery, sabotage, assassination, or mass murder.

“I’m a member of the military of my own time. We were called in by a private concern to counter one of the Black Hats’ latest operations, and for reasons of our own, arranged to take the contract.

“One of those reasons is vital indeed. There was once a woman charged with the safety of a colony which, to her knowledge, might well have been the last remnants of humanity in the universe. I was there when she sacrificed herself to stop their mass murder - theirs, and my friends’ as well.”

Drool snorted. Coming from that respiratory system, the sound echoed for several minutes. “How touching. Maybe you give her medal. Put in her coffin.”

Kriet spun on him. “Listen up, you DNA dinosaur! Maybe you folks don’t set a lot of value on these things, but the way we keep score, it makes her a lot more of a person than some genetic accident whose greatest intellectual achievement is aiming his submachine gun properly to get that exact pattern of spraying blood!”

Seams creaked in the troll’s t-shirt as he bent down to put his face scant millimeters from Grin’s. “Glad you guys can afford pretty storylines in the future, breeder. Down here, ya cover someone else’s butt only if he’s coverin’ yers. Nobody in 2050 hands out prizes for a dramatic death and noble actions.”

The Time Lord’s eyes seemed to flash as he stared right back. “There’s an entire squadron of starships devoting their entire energies to bringing Athene Graham back to life.” His voice dropped. “When you buy the farm, is there even going to be anyone around to carve something on your tombstone?”

Amazingly, Drool’s voice got just as quiet. “Well, now, that’s not gonna matter much to me when it happens, is it?”

Wheels broke the following silence first. “So, you’re going to use those cell samples to do this?”

Grin’elle took a deep breath and looked away from the troll. “Yes. Her mind - personality, spirit, soul, whatever you want to call it - was transferred, at the last minute, to the computer aboard my timeship. The private concern we are dealing with has a technique which may be able to turn the samples into a viable human organism, after which we hope to be able to transfer her personality into it.”

“But… that would take years, to grow an adult female from DNA basics,” objected Weekend.

Skid looked at Grin, the light dawning. “And you’re a time traveler.”

Kriet shrugged, looking at the floor and speaking slowly. “Maybe. I generally try not to complicate things any more than they achieve on their own. What’s important is that we fulfill our obligation.”

Nebula was eying him strangely. “This woman must indeed mean something special to you.”

The Starfleet officer’s voice was toneless now. “She indirectly caused one of the most traumatic events in my life.” He looked at the console-equipped rockergirl with hard eyes. “I intend to bring the whole matter to a conclusion.”

An instrument strapped to Moloch’s wrist called subtly for attention with toned-down sound and light. He unreeled a bud earphone from its side and wedged the tiny speaker into his ear. After a moment’s listening, he replaced the phone and looked at the others. “That was Morgan. Apparently Mr. Johnson at Fuchi is ready to accept the merchandise we acquired for him last week.”

The corner of Skid’s mouth twitched. “At the new price?”

Moloch grinned. “The new price.”

The twitch turned into an honest smile. “Well, Professor, it seems you’ve brought us luck - and nuyen - after all.” He turned to Wheels. “We’ll take the van, if you don’t mind driving. Nebula, I think we’ll leave the Professor here - Mr. Johnson gets nervous about an excess of warm bodies on his payroll. See how much he’ll tell you about these alien dudes. We’re not quite finished with Chromogene and Lone Star just yet.”

“Clear channels, Skid,” said the decker. In a flurry of disorganized motion, the others vanished.

Nebula began shutting down the communications program on her cyberdeck, as Grin looked on. He wasn’t sure about being left alone here, but he could also appreciate the cybermage’s reasoning. Besides, he knew he was still certainly in no position to argue with Skid’s decisions.

She finally finished shutting down her equipment. Rather than flip the main power switch on the computer, however, she rebooted it with another disk. Sliding a protective panel over the keyboard, she turned the deck over and slid another panel open, revealing a somewhat different kind of keyboard.

Grin’elle looked on with some surprise as she started picking out a tune on the portable synthesizer the cyberdeck had turned into. “That’s a neat trick, there,” he commented.

“What’s that?” she asked, smiling.

He pointed. “The modular transformation sequence, there. Very convenient.”

Her smile turned sly. “A side effect of my extracurricular activities; most corp types get awful touchy when you carry a cyberdeck around their offices, but they’re all honored to get a sneak preview of Nebula’s latest hit single.” She patted it affectionately. “It’s paid for itself - several times, in fact.”

“Are you very well-known around here?”

Now the smile was sardonic. “Hmm. Either I should be insulted because you’ve obviously never heard of me, or amazed when this proves you really are a time traveler.”

“Make us both happy; go with the second option.”

Nebula laughed in a way which had an odd effect on Grin’s chemical balance. “As far as these guys are concerned, I’m too well-known. Of course, they don’t complain when my face gets them into nearly any secure building in Seattle - not to mention the seriously trendy nightclubs.” She stopped a moment, obviously having just thought of something. “Not that I should honestly expect otherwise, but… Assuming you are from the future - do you mean that I’ve been totally forgotten by then?”

Grin’elle had to think about that one for a moment. “Now that I think back, I do believe that your music was just gaining new popularity in the Federation when I left.” Well, it wasn’t a lie, anyway.

She gave him a long look. “If that’s a line of bull, at least it’s a comforting one.” Her fingers found the keyboard again, and she divided part of her attention to the music. “This is a new piece I’m working on. Naturally, you’re not hearing it properly at all, but I think it’ll be ready for release in a week or three.”

What came from the synth’s speaker sounded pretty good to Grin. “What do you mean, I’m not hearing it properly?”

“You’re not getting the orchestration and the sensorium, of course. You sound like one of those retro types who’ve never slotted a simsense concert in their lives.”

He just looked at her. Suddenly Nebula blushed. “Oops. You haven’t, have you? Well, you won’t believe it ‘till you try it, Professor.” She pulled an interface cable matching the one still connecting her synth and her skull from one of her harness pouches. “It makes sound-only look like silent black and white flatscreen stuff.” She reached over with the cable, then drew back. “Oh. I bet you don’t have a jack, either.”

He shook his head. “Sorry. Squeamish.”

She chewed a nail, thinking. “Wow. You are retro.” She brightened. “Wait a minute!” A further search through her gear revealed a device like a small plastic tiara. “I stole these trodes the last time I flew JAL. Between that garbage they called a meal, and the only functioning sim channel being a string of commercials, I felt they owed me.” The singer plugged the cable into a jack at the back of the circlet. “Here. You gotta kind of rest it on your temples.”

Actually, Grin’elle was quite familiar with the procedure. He communicated with his Valkyrie aerospace fighter mecha in a rather similar fashion. He settled it into position quickly.

Watching him, Nebula shook her head. “For someone who’s never done this before, you do it pretty good.” She raised an eyebrow. “Guess that’s why you’re the Professor, huh?”

Grin returned her expression. “You’d never believe my experience in adapting quickly to new situations.”

She raised the other eyebrow. “I bet. Well, then, since you’re new to this, but a fast learner, I think I’ll hand you a treat. Some folks would pay good nuyen for this, you know.” The techno-rocker fiddled at the function keys on her synth. “Here’s the rough cut of the latest chip from Nebula: Battlesky!”

Kriet’s vision slowly clouded, and his other senses faded as well, as the simsense signal took control of the sensory centers of his brain. The feeling was actually somewhat terrifying until one got used to it, but the Mechforces neurohelm caused similar sensations, and Grin had little trouble adapting.

A vast, empty starfield appeared. The only light was supplied by a distant sun, but there was nothing in sight for its feeble rays to warm.

At first, all was silent; but slowly Grin’elle became aware of a far-off sequence of notes, growing louder as they repeated. A few of the remote stars began to move, creating a new constellation; a connect-the-dots picture of a woman with head thrown back and arms spread. The musical pattern was clearer now; to Grin it sounded like stringed instruments crying warning, heralding danger. The woman’s head fell forward to seemingly gaze at him, and he recognized the visual in-joke; how better to depict a singer whose street name was Nebula?

Her arms made a slashing motion, and the stars which composed her began to drift back to their natural places in the firmament. Now he began to hear a steady rhythm, insistent but not intrusive, overlay the repeating strings. With a start he realized that an object had moved into view: an Earthlike planet given phases by its solitary star. The lights of industrial civilization showed on its night side.

A tense synthesized guitar began to play. Lights he had thought were stars began to resolve into the propulsion units of starships. They were ugly, blocky creations lacking symmetry or balance, and the outthrust pods and antennas were too easily recognizable to a Starfleet veteran. Grin’elle had the feeling he knew exactly what was going to happen. The strings moved from warning to defiance, a bass guitar added its tension and strength, and a singing voice Kriet had always thrilled to entered the setting.

The road ahead - is torn and rough

But slowing us - is not enough

They knew we’d fear - we’d doubt our strength

They never guessed - we’d go the length

Once we were down - we’re on our feet

We learned in school - and on the street

They made their plans - but it’s too late

We’re ready now - today’s the date...

The universe a staging ground, an audience of stars

Chronos is our time keeper, the referee is Mars

The challenge at our doorstep stands, they wouldn’t tell us why

We go to meet our destiny, out in the Battlesky!

The attack Grin’elle had foreseen began. Solid projectiles and beams of directed energy launched themselves from the weapon apertures of the spaceships. Artificial day lit areas of the planet tiny from Kriet’s viewpoint, but perhaps city-block sized to the inhabitants below. Primitive missiles and emitted radiation struck back at the attackers from the planet’s surface, doing more damage than they should have; still, Grin’elle knew this type of scenario quite well, and knew that the defenders had already lost...

We’ve trained and armed - we know our task

With shield to block - and cloak to mask

We step onto - the killing ground

Our muscles tensed - our balance found

They send to us - their greatest might

But we’ll not lose - this final fight

A mighty blow - a broken joint

A wound, a gash - the turning point...

The universe a staging ground, an audience of stars

Chronos is our time keeper, the referee is Mars

The crowd looks up in wonderment, the fireworks they fly,

They try to guess our destiny, up in the Battlesky!

The bass guitar only played every other measure now. The strings had turned desperate, pleading. Grin cringed, sure he was about to watch the conquest of a world; and then, the situation changed.

The light of the sun increased almost painfully. When the flare died, five of the most beautiful spacecraft the Starfleet officer had ever seen cruised with lazy anger toward the fight. Vast white arcs of gleaming metal curved to connect lifesystems, drive nacelles, and sensory clusters. These vehicles deserved the name ‘starship’ in a way even those of Kriet’s Federation couldn’t match.

The reinforcements curved to block the paths of the smaller, more numerous aggressors, proving both by their maneuvering and the punishment they took from the attacker’s weapons that they were hardly as delicate as they seemed. Their own armament targeted their assailants, and the spheres of zero-gee explosions enveloped ship after ship.

It was fine, while it lasted. Unfortunately, the numbers were still five starships and an under-defended planet against a swarm of merciless invaders. The flashes still appeared, with slightly less frequency, on the battered globe; and the spotless white finishes of the graceful defenders slowly but inexorably became pitted and scarred. A particularly well-aimed bolt impacted an engine of one of the great ships, and its flawless curved passes began to wobble dangerously. The detection equipment of another vanished in a great sheet of flame, and the ground-bound destruction increased...

It’s all or none - our choices gone

The die is cast - our Rubicon

We stand and face - the next attack

Our shield is swift - the blow turned back

The foe confused - his heart grows cold

There’s more to us - than he was told

He charges forth - and we respond

We cannot let - this fight go on...

The universe a staging ground, an audience of stars

Chronos is our time keeper, the referee is Mars

The final round is coming up, and now it’s do or die

We stand and choose our destiny, watched by the Battlesky!

The lyrics trailed away. The guitars sang songs of surrender, the strings cried out in pain, the drumbeat slowed and stopped...

A single, high, pure organ note rang out. Grin would have bet anything that you couldn’t synthesize that note, that it must have come from an air-driven pipe the size of a warp engine. At the instant of the note, a shaft of searing light connected the largest starship and the planet. Dimmed running lights on the ship’s hull flared to full power. Its engines roared as it swung from its evasive course to one aimed at the heart of the attacking armada.

Another note sounded, then a third, and a fourth. The chord blasted through Kriet’s brain as all five ships were linked with lifelines of - what? Pure energy? Thought? Will? It didn’t matter. The defenses of the planet and the guns of the starships acted as one, now: as a synchronized whole. Grin’elle now truly knew how this combat would end, and this time he was not mistaken. The guitars now screamed victory, revenge, vindication as the attackers were quickly decimated. Any who survived fled, and the light which connected the victors grew until there was no night anywhere on the planet.

The universe a staging ground, an audience of stars

Chronos was our time keeper, the referee was Mars

The fight is finally over now, we tell the past good-bye

We leave to seek our destiny, beyond the Battlesky!

The music reached a peak of celebration, then faded. A huge hand constructed of starstuff reached up, and the planet and ships descended to rest lightly in its outstretched palm. Nebula held her creation out to her audience of one, as if seeking approval; then, as if knowing she had gained it, smiled and bowed deeply. This universe began to disintegrate, as the real one reasserted its hold...

“Wow.” For the life of him, Grin’elle Kriet honestly couldn’t think of anything else to say.

The rockergirl’s sly smile was aimed at him again. “Does that mean you liked it?”

He put a hand to his temple, massaging the skin as he slid the trodeset off his skull. “Your earlier guess hit spot on. I’ve never experienced anything like that, before.” He was stalling. Simstim like this was very new to him, true enough, but the experience itself seemed horribly familiar. “Uh… Where do you get the idea for a show like that?”

She leaned forward conspiratorially. “No one believes this except the magicians, and you know how spaced out they are; but I actually dream my best ideas. This was a dream I had a few months ago, and I’ve worked since then refining it and turning it into light and sound.” Nebula began coiling the various cords and storing them away.

“My first number one album came to me that way. I dreamed I was performing on a faraway planet, with a backup band of bizarre alien musicians, in the worst dead-end holes you can imagine.” A distant look entered her eyes. “It was actually a lot of fun - in the dream, anyway. That was my inspiration for Songs From the Center of Time.”

That started another train of thought Grin was willing to miss. He changed the subject. “And you write these all yourself, with that?” He pointed at the synth.

“Oh, no. This only writes the audio and olfactory portions. Visual and tactile sections have to be programmed using studio equipment. I have the latest workstation setup back at my place. Would you like to see it?”

“Don’t we have to stay here and wait for the others?”

“Nah. It might be hours before they get back, especially if they get sidetracked. They’ll know where I went, and how to reach me. Besides, I’m starved. A good bout of decking takes it out of you, you know.”

Grin’elle realized that his stomach had been clamoring for attention for some time. “Yes, I could use a meal myself. Uh, I don’t think I have anything you folks would call money...”

She squeezed his hand, lightly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure that I can nuke something from the freezer.”

Grin wasn’t quite sure what that meant. “Whatever you say, my dear.”

Wheels’ van arrived on schedule at the Milfred Building, a collection of luxurious ‘temporary’ offices. The place catered to corps, Yak, and anyone else who had business in the shadows and needed an address that would last exactly as long as needed, no longer.

The lobby’s receptionist was rather pretty, which was unusual for an ork. There was no doubt, however, that there was plenty of muscle tissue under that blouse, even if it was rather nicely distributed. Skid waved Mr. Johnson’s token at her, and she nodded and made no effort to bar their progress. Drool lagged behind for a few steps. If he was hoping for a phone number, he didn’t get it.

They entered one of the anonymous offices, and found an anteroom sheathed in metal and plastic, with plush chairs scattered about - even one Drool’s size. The cushions gave deeply, even under Weekend’s slight weight. She sank into the seat disgustedly. “This stuff’ll poison your brain if you hang around it long enough,” she said.

“In that case, my dear, we will try to make this as quick and painless for you as possible,” a deep, authoritative voice said. They all turned, as the door to the inner office opened, revealing a tall, dark man whose pinstripes and horn-rims did not conceal his layers of muscle and sharp expression. “Won’t we, friends?”

Skid’s fingers clicked nervously - or so it seemed. Only one who’d worked with him for some time could know that that wasn’t nerves, but the preamble to a particularly impressive spell. “Excuse me, Johnson-san, but I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

The corporate type smiled sadly. “Oh - yes. I’m afraid that our superiors were dissatisfied with the results my predecessor provided for them. I’ve been assigned to conclude the transaction in his place.”

Wheels ran a finger along the glass-topped table, checking it for nonexistent dust. “Well, now, that’s a real shame. Kinda liked him, too. Sure he approves this change in the plans?”

“Perhaps this will relieve your misgivings,” the suit said. “Catch, samurai.” A small object arced from his hand to be intercepted by a blindingly fast grab by Moloch. His blank, glowing eyes gazed at a small screen on a reader the object disappeared into. He looked up. “Certified, chummers. The new price - and another fifteen percent. The bank’s a Fuchi laundry.”

Skid nodded sharply. “Drop it, Lady.”

She made a fast set of hand signals, and a tightly sealed metal attache case faded into view atop the table. The suit’s expression didn’t change, but his body language was suddenly that of a slavering wolf.

Skid stood to leave. “It’s been a pleasure. Feel free to call on us again - we might even accept.”

“Maybe you be eligible for repeat customer discount,” joshed Drool.

It happened so fast that even the chipped and wired Moloch had no time to react. The door glowed red, then fell to the floor as a fine powder. A tall, gangly man in tailored leathers walked in, displaying a pistol which he held as if it was an extension of his own arm. “Humans would consider this a rather large gun. I recommend quiet and no sudden moves.”

The suit went for his own gun. It hadn’t cleared his lapel before the newcomer’s weapon spoke. It coughed twice more, and the Fuchi man’s lifeless body fell against the wall and to the floor.

Drool used the distraction as the chance to swing a huge hamfist directly at the gunman’s neck vertebrae. It never connected; his opponent spun, reached up with an absurdly delicate-seeming limb, and stopped the swing in mid-arc. The troll’s surprised eyes met the other’s calm expression, and widened further as another three bullets slammed into his chest.

“I advised against that course of action,” he said mildly. “Anyone else?” The others stood immobilized by shock and indecision. “Congratulations. Think of it as passing an IQ test.” He took out a small remote control, and tapped out a button sequence. Instantly all in the room but him were paralyzed in truth.

Another one, dressed similarly, appeared in the doorway. He held up three fingers. The gunman nodded, glanced quickly about the room, and pointed at Moloch. Moving again with incredible speed, he snapped electronic wristbands on the arms of Skid and Weekend, while his companion did the same to the street samurai. Another button on the control was pressed, and a faint whine began to build.

“Who are you?” Wheels managed to choke out.

“Your friend the Professor didn’t mention us? Well, tell him you hope he’s said goodbye to the Batron. He’ll understand.” With that, the whine became unbearable. The captives’ limbs were freed, but Wheels’ shots intersected empty space - and the samurai and the two mages were gone as well.

In a Starfleet mess hall, reconstituted pizza was something to be experienced - once. Kriet had to admit, though, that for frozen and reheated food, the sausage pizza on French bread Nebula produced was quite palatable. Maybe you had to have just finished stimming rock videos to appreciate it properly.

He munched at a remaining bit of crust as she led him over to a large multimedia console. “This has controls for olfactory stimulus emulation,” she hit a button and the scent of roses tickled Kriet’s nose, “tactile image reconstruction,” she guided his hand to a foam pad which abruptly took on the feel of fragile flower petals, “and even holographic modeling for the live stage shows.” A few more touches on a complex keyboard, and a ghostly image of the bloom appeared before Grin’s eyes.

With the flip of a switch, reality returned. “These are just the quick-and-dirty showoff versions, of course,” the singer explained. “For an actual production, the sensory model would be highly refined. You couldn’t tell it from the real thing.”

Grin’elle rubbed at his eyes. “Don’t some people get a little too involved in this stuff?”

Nebula shrugged. “Evolution in action. Anyone with that tenuous a grip on reality probably ought to be removed from the gene pool, anyway.” She checked a time display which floated holographically over a corner table. “The others’ll probably be occupied for a little while. Wanna see some real magic?”

Grin threw his arms wide. “Why not? I couldn’t possibly be any more impressed than I am now.”

A truly evil expression blossomed on her face. “One would think you’re old enough to know the danger of rash promises, Professor.”

She pulled another chair over to the console and retrieved the trodes she’d used on Grin’elle earlier, handing them to him as he sat. As he donned them, he watched the rockergirl do what looked like an astonishing amount of data retrieval and program set-up. Finally she rested for a beat. “This ought to be a lot of fun. Haven’t had the chance to test the two-person full-sensory link before.”

Before a startled “What?” could escape Kriet’s lips, she’d hit the switch, and the universe changed output channels.

The time traveler found himself in a vehicle of incredible complexity, hurtling along a three-dimensional framework of grid references and massive, ever-changing structures. It dawned on him that, while very different, the scene reminded him of the illusionary interior of Bahamoud 19, the giant computer formerly inhabited by Adam Capek and Athene Graham.

“The Matrix!” The exuberant shout came from the driver’s seat, where Nebula - or at least a highly realistic full-sensory projection - pulled at controls with intoxicated abandon. “Here and the stage are the only two places I truly live!” Stunned, Kriet was struck by the thought that her rapturous expression only made her look more beautiful.

As Grin got his bearings, he realized that many of the capsule’s complicated devices were non-functioning theatrics, and that the multiple levers, dials, and switches before the singer had little effect on their actual course. It was much like being on the set of an adventure video; as an extension of Nebula’s personality, it wasn’t actually very surprising.

They banked into a tight downward spiral, steadily losing speed. A gentle thump announced their arrival on some solid surface, and walls and a ceiling faded into view as their vessel melted away. The rockergirl moved into Grin’s vision, wearing a long, flowing dress which appeared to be composed of densely packed, constantly moving miniature suns.

Nebula ran an appraising look over him. “Well; a man in uniform. You weren’t lying about your Federation. The threads suit you.” Kriet looked down, realizing that somehow his nondescript traveling gear had been replaced by his Starfleet ‘monster maroons.’

She smiled at his confusion. “Welcome to Nebula’s Playroom, where reality is what you define it!” The girl leaned forward conspiratorially. “Beware, for one’s true nature is liable to betray him in this world - as you have already experienced.” She twirled about, and briefly seemed to be the center of a small galaxy. The walls melted into city parkland as she spread her arms theatrically, and a small table with two chairs sprang from the floor. Nebula ended her short dance with a graceful slide into one of the seats.

Grin’elle followed her more sedately; his thoughts were in turmoil, and he was trying desperately to order and silence them. Dared he remain for long in an environment influenced by his own thoughts, both conscious and subconscious? Kriet knew only too well the tricks a mind could play.

Nebula handed him a tall glass filled with what looked like water. For a second, he felt the unexpected warmth of her hand in this unreal universe; he jerked back reflexively, almost spilling the clear liquid.

“You’re surprised? Let me guess. You’re asking yourself how you can feel my hand when this is all computer generated illusion?”

“The question had crossed my mind,” Grin said quietly. He sipped at the drink. The flavor was indescribable - and excellent.

“Professor, your brain defines ‘real’ as the sum total of the data sent to you by your sensory organs. If I bypass that, and send information directly to the data processing centers of your gray matter, then it’s as real as anything your meat body may experience. And you needn’t worry about said physical form; I’ve intercepted all your motor signals as well. In fact, those control your movement here, for the most part.”

“Still, you created this ‘reality’.”

“Men created your spaceship, didn’t they? Is it any less real? The laws of physics created the planet your meat body stands upon. Is it any less real?”

Grin stood abruptly. This was beginning to be unfunny. “I think I should go.”

She looked up at him. “What are you afraid of?”

He closed his eyes, putting his hands to his temples. “Can’t you feel it?”

She did, now: a vague nausea. “What are you doing?”

“You shouldn’t have brought me here. You shouldn’t be here!”

Nebula felt her pocket universe changing, transforming. The effect centered around Kriet, who had dropped to his knees. “Professor - “ But she knew that was wrong. “Who - who are you?”

Grin’elle began to speak as though he hadn’t heard her, but was answering the same question he had just asked himself. “I am a Starfleet officer, trained for two centuries by the time travelers of Gallifrey. My thoughts and memories span the local spiral arms across thousands of years and a score of alternate timelines. I have experience of all three sciences known to intelligence: magic, technology, and psionics. And I - know - you!”

Suddenly, Nebula had the insane impression that she was overlapping herself, not once, not twice, but a hundred times. She heard her own voice say, almost without her intention, “And who am I?”

Kriet’s eyes snapped open. They didn’t seem to see her - or perhaps they saw her all too well. “The lead singer of Artificial Intelligence. The key to the defeat of the Lifeline Thirteen program. The vigilante leader of the Hardcases. The sorceress of Tela Krohm...”

With each of his recitations the singer felt a burst of recognition from one of the multiple images that now composed her. As the waves of Kriet’s mental ocean crashed against her she realized her surroundings were unraveling as her programs failed to cope with the activity of their brains. The world collapsed around them, forcing them closer with every second, until they were little more than an arm’s length apart. Mechanically, unrealizing, they reached out -

- and together slammed down the switch disconnecting them from the Matrix.

It took a moment for both of them to realize that they had made the transition. Nebula’s expression cleared at the same moment Kriet regained his bearings; with a start, she leaped away from him, data cable popping from her skull with a faint ‘ping!’

Grin’elle fought to clear vocal cords which somehow felt much older than two and a quarter centuries. “What is it?”

“Stay away from me! You - just stay away!”

He blinked and shook his head. “I have the darndest feeling that all this was your idea.”

She stared at him a moment, and the terror faded. “I - I’m sorry.” Gingerly, she walked to a synthetic leather couch pushed casually against one wall. A small laugh drifted from her throat. “You know, after you get to be a certain age, you figure you’ve seen it all...”

Grin stood and looked away, rubbing a stiff neck. “Yeah. I’m familiar with the feeling.”

“All that you said in there, about both yourself and me… Is all that true?”

“My life and I have a special arrangement, Nebula. It constantly plays its little games with me, and I scream and whine about it to no avail.” He finally turned to look at her. “It’s worked for the last couple of centuries.”

She shook her head. “You’re really over two hundred years old?”

“My instructors would have considered me a stripling. The people I left behind have a unique perspective, and in actual practice they mature much slower than, say, humans. Think of me more as a thirty-year-old with a lot of mileage.”

The singer considered that. “What did it mean - all those other me’s?”

“I don’t know.” He walked over, sitting down beside her. “I do know that this is not the first time we’ve met - it’s happened once before, on a completely different timeline, in a completely different century.” Grin’elle raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I’m not the only subject of these games.”

She looked him steadily in the eye, then grabbed him behind the neck and pulled his head forward for an unexpected and lengthy kiss. “All right, Professor,” she said when they finished, still locking gazes with him. “Prove to me that we’re not still in the Matrix - that this is anything other than a dream.”

As Nebula kissed him again, hungrily, Grin’elle discovered that he approved of the plan wholeheartedly.

“Too bad neither of us smoke.”

“You kidding? Breathing the air around here is bad enough. They still have cigs in the twenty-third century?”

“Nahh. I just watch a lot of old movies.” He paused. “Then I go visit.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Y’know, the Starfleet version of you tried to get me in bed once.”

Her expression dimmed. “Do we have to talk about that?”

“Not at all,” Grin said reasonably. “Guess I see your point.”

Nebula’s vidphone chose that moment to buzz shrilly. The singer jumped out of bed, wrapping the sheet around her and leaving Grin’elle quite naked. He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything; it was her place, after all.

Lady’s expression deserved further study; it was a kind of worried furious that relaxed long enough to take in the rockergirl’s sheet-clad form and remark, “I’ll be wanting to hear about this one - later. You and the Professor put some clothes on and meet us at the Zombie Zoo, yesterday. We’ve got a situation here.”

“What’s - “ Nebula started.

“Just - come - now.” Brief irritation passed across her expression. “And, Professor, please try to remember that ‘yesterday’ is just a figure of speech, okay?” The signal cut off.

“Charming,” Grin commented. “Reminds me of a Security Chief I know.”

Nebula shot him an apprehensive look. “Shut up and hand me my underwear.”

Grin’s TARDIS was still in the abandoned store, so they made the trip over on a vehicle Nebula called a Yamaha Rapier and Grin’elle called ‘a guided missile with two wheels bolted underneath.’ They pulled up outside the Zombie Zoo, a place that looked like Charles Addams had decided to build a nightclub. It showed signs of surviving a major structure fire (probably a civic beautification project, Grin mused) and recent repair. A hand-lettered sign out front let the world know that the place was ‘Under New Management.’

The bouncer’s eyes went wide when he saw Nebula, and the two had no trouble walking right in. The band on the cobweb-festooned stage played a death march at ten times normal speed, adding a heavy drumbeat. Out on the floor, teen-aged faces coated with pale makeup bobbed wildly around foam tombstones planted in a layer of fake dirt. It might have surprised Kriet if he hadn’t seen weirder things among primitive hunter-gatherer cultures.

Nebula edged around the crowd, keeping her face averted; now was not the time to start an autograph session. Drool, Wheels, and Lady ‘D’ leaned impatiently against the bar; once spotting the couple, they walked back into a small unoccupied office. Grin’elle and Nebula followed.

The singer closed the door behind them. “I can’t believe we’re meeting here. I’ve heard stories about this place.”

“One of Skid’s drinking buddies bought the place after the previous owner vanished,” Lady replied. “He lets us use it on occasion. The only magic around here now consists of me and the special effects on the glasses.” She glared at Kriet. “Although, if you’re looking for zombies, you could do well with the pair of the Professor’s ‘acquaintances’ we just ran into.”

“What?” Hardly original, but a valid response.

“Your ‘Bad Hats’ showed up, chummer. At least, they did a very good impersonation: if those geeks were from this planet, than I’m an Ork. They took Skid, Weekend, and Moloch right out from under us, and put three slugs into Drool that only his armored epidermis blocked. Lastly, they said to tell you, Professor, that you’d seen the last of the Batron.” She folded her arms. “I’ll assume you know what that means.”

Kriet’s mouth fell open. When it closed again his teeth came together again tightly. “They have the cell samples - and they’re the ones who interfered with the TARDIS! They had this whole thing planned all along!”

“Well, that’s just fine, Professor,” Wheels noted, “but what exactly does this have to do with our drinking buddies?”

“Simplicity itself, my cybernetic speed demon. Your friends are hostages to my - our - good behavior. Only you can help me recover my property and get home. They’d rather you didn’t. Your friends will die as soon as they’re assured of my ineffectiveness, but until then they’re confident that those hostages will keep you out of the way.”

Drool shook his head. “Dey doan know us vewwy well, do dey?”

“They never do.” Kriet looked at the floor. “The one thing that keeps us one step ahead: they always underestimate the opposition.” When he looked up there was fire in his eyes. “Where are they?”

Lady’s face was grim. “I tracked them astrally to the upper stratosphere.” She grimaced. “My art does not function past the boundaries of Earth’s ecosystem.”

“But military technology does.” Everyone turned to Wheels. “A friend of a friend of a friend told me that an interplanetary vehicle on the course you described, Lady, continued that course and is on a three-week transfer orbit to Jupiter - or, more likely, one of its moons.”

“That’s odd,” Kriet said. “Normally, they wouldn’t use such primitive technology… unless, perhaps the presence of the laws of magic in this area of this frame inhibits facets of their more advanced science!”

“And again… in English!” Drool sounded like a bandleader.

“It means that they can’t use some of their most advanced equipment. No wonder they find you a threat. Under the correct conditions, you guys could take them apart!”

“Well, all right; let’s get ‘em!” said Wheels.

“We’ll need to hurry; I bet they are heading for one of Jupiter’s moons. That’s a great place to put a spatio-temporal gate.” Kriet was thinking out loud.

“How do you know?” Lady demanded.

“Just do.”

“Come on den,” Drool growled. “Let’s cram into dat flyin’ telephone booth a’ yers and wipe ‘em!”

Grin’elle stopped short. “That’s not gonna work,” he said.

“What?”

“Why not?!”

“I told you guys, it’s busted! Hopping around Seattle is no problem, but the TARDIS isn’t up to space travel right now. Even if you all can find me the parts, it’ll take a couple of days to fix.”

Wheels planted his fists on his hips. “Well, I got friends in high places, but none o’ them are gonna loan me a spaceship. How do you suggest we catch them, Mister super-technological time traveler?”

There was a long silence while Grin’elle stared into the distance. Abruptly he blinked and fixed his gaze on the cybered steersman. “Do your friends maybe know where a spaceship would be kept?”

“I already doan like dis,” Drool interjected.

Nebula looked curiously at the Starfleet officer. “What do you have in mind, Professor?”

An excited, evil smile spread across Kriet’s face. “I’ve only been in your Seattle for a little while, but I think I’ve begun to understand some of the rules here. Tell me, ‘chummers,’ if someone has something you need and won’t give it to you, what would you do?”

“Simple. We’d take it.” Lady ‘D’ blinked, and looked sharply at Grin. “I think I know what you have in mind. And for the first time ever, I think I agree with Drool...”

UCAS Wright

Near lunar orbit

The commander of the UCAS spaceplane Wright punched a command into a hexadecimal keypad, scrutinizing the result on a nearby display screen. “Fort Lewis Control, this is Wright. We have a successful burn and have entered transfer orbit to L5.”

The radio answered, “Wright, this is Control. You are cleared for transfer. Report on retro burn to L5 approach.”

“Roger,” the commander replied. “Estimate next report in 51 minutes. Out.”

“Where’s our precious military technologist now?” asked the copilot.

“Checking the cargo for the two hundredth time, of course,” answered the navigator. “It’s getting so I’m afraid to ask what he’s got back there.”

There was a piercing whine from the cargo area behind them. The copilot turned sharply, releasing his webbing harness. “Something’s gone wrong in the back.”

The commander allowed a small look of concern. “Go ahead. Report back when you find it.”

Before the copilot could push himself toward the cockpit door, it slammed open by itself. A huge hulking form shouted, “Sorree, it find you first!” It pressed a button on an absurdly small, pistol-like device in one hamfist and a green light enveloped the cockpit. The officers fell limp.

Drool howled with laughter as Grin’elle and Wheels pushed past to examine the instrument panels. “Drool likes his new toy!”

“Yes, well, you’re lucky the power packs still function. I stuck those phasers in storage in the TARDIS years ago.” Grin literally stared into space for a moment. “Never had to use them before today.”

Lady ‘D’ squeezed past the troll, growling, “Why don’t you move your Volkswagon-sized arse?” She pushed the navigator out of his chair, and shoved all three of the spaceplane crew at Drool. “Bad enough sitting next to you in that packing crate for twelve hours. Make yourself useful and tie these guys up in the back. The Professor says this’ll wear off shortly.” Turning to the others, she continued, “You two rocket scientists think you can fly this thing?”

Wheels was already jacked into the ship’s computer system. “If the Professor can work the manual stuff, I can make this computer do somersaults.”

“Better not. Drool hates free-fall already, and I don’t think we have any Dramamine For Trolls on board. Yeah, I can handle these controls. Took an elective course once in Antique Aerospace. Lotta fun.”

“Nice to know we’re in the hands of trained professionals.”

Nebula floated in, taking position behind the commander’s seat Grin had appropriated. “Drool found the supercargo,” she reported. “He was hiding under the passenger seat. No other passengers aboard. This must be mainly a cargo flight. I also activated the equipment you attached to the reactor vessel.”

“Good,” Grin’elle replied. “Wheels, have you entered the orbital co-ordinates we collected from the TARDIS scanners?”

“Just finished. I’m plotting possible orbital transfers now.”

“Give me a maximum-energy orbit to intercept the Black Hats’ ship at the earliest opportunity. Use a 200% thrust rating.”

Wheels gave him a weird look but continued calculating. Nebula cocked her head at him. “You planning to burn out the motors halfway?”

Grin’elle shook his head. “Don’t worry. The fusion booster you just activated for me will give us double the thrust with minimal heat increase.” He turned back to his controls. “I hope.”

“I knew he was going to say that,” Lady announced to no one in particular.

Wheels hit the intercom. “Drool, strap our guests and yourself down! We’re hitting maximum thrust in two minutes!” He brought a course plot onto a display. “The bad guys will be decelerating when we reach them, which is good for us; they won’t be able to play variable-thrust games when we board. They can’t speed up, they’ve got to be running at maximum now; and if they cut thrust, they’ll miss Jupiter and the moons entirely.”

Kriet nodded. “Looks good to me.” He turned around. “Ladies, take a seat and strap in; after all this, I’d rather not lose you when we cut on the engine.” Nebula went aft, to the passenger section; Lady ‘D’ began assembling the complex harness around herself.

Wheels counted out the last seconds. “Five - four - three - two - one - ignition!”

A gentle hand pushed Kriet and the others back into their seats as the spaceplane continued to accelerate. Though moving only at a few tenths of a gee, the Wright had built up an impressive amount of speed. Still, he wished for one of the McKay’s shuttles, or even a transporter stage. By the standards the Starfleet officer was used to, this velocity felt like little more than an injured crawl.

Grin turned to Wheels. “How long before turnover?” he asked impatiently.

Wheels’ fingers tapped at the keypad. “About a half hour, now. We’ll be in docking position just after they make their turnover; until then, we’ll be in his sensory dead spot, where his drive radiation blocks everything.”

“Can we handle any backwash?”

The rigger nodded confidently. “These things are well shielded and built for reentry. We’ll have no problem.”

Grin’elle released his seat harness. “Good. We’ll have something of an element of surprise. Nebula, I’d like you to take over for a while; I’m heading back to stretch the kinks out. If we hit anything you can’t handle, just yell and I’ll be right back up here.”

“Gotcha, Professor. Doesn’t look too hard.”

He headed back to the small passenger area, where Drool sat immersed in the task of lovingly stripping and cleaning his hand cannon. Nearby, Lady ‘D’ reclined in one of the seats, brow furrowed and body tense. Perspiration trickled from her forehead and mumbled, inarticulate cries escaped from barely parted lips. Grin looked back at the troll, but Drool didn’t seem to be noticing anything unusual.

Kriet grasped the mage by the shoulders and shook her gently. “Lady? Lady ‘D’? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

Her eyes snapped open and she shoved at him violently. Grin fell against the seats across the aisle, looking up to see her standing over him. “You shouldn’t have done that.” She turned away and sat down. “However, I suppose that it was for the best.”

Grin’elle stood and perched on the aisle seat across from her. “Geez, you Seattle women sure get physical.” He stretched a back muscle, sore from both immobility and abuse. “What were you doing?”

She regarded him bitterly. “There is an element to the astral equivalent of deep space which prevents me from using my art. Were I try to enter astral space itself from here, I would surely go mad.”

He digested that. “And you were...?” he prompted.

“I hoped I could create a safe zone around myself, which would at least let me cast low-level spells.” Lady leaned back with an angry sigh. “I was unable to do so.”

Grin spread his hands. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help you.” He gestured at her weapon belt. “You still have that evil-looking sword, not to mention a somewhat more modern slug-thrower.”

She eyed him piercingly. “And could you be satisfied with the loss, even temporary, of half your abilities?”

He stood. “It’s the hand we’ve drawn.” Grin began to head forward again, but stopped and looked back at her. “Don’t despair completely, Lady. You never know for sure what will happen when the Black Hats are involved.”

Wheels voice floated back from the cockpit. “Professor! We need to discuss some final course corrections before turnover!”

“I think that’s my cue.” Grin’elle continued forward while Lady frowned at his back.

Nebula slid aside to make room for the returning Kriet. He buckled the seat harness, flipping switches to bring up various readouts on their current situation. “Have you located the other ship?” he asked.

Wheels pointed to one of the brighter stars in the sky. “There’s the light from his drive. We’ll have to plot his position carefully, because once we turn over and slow to match his speed, our drive will blind us the same way his does.”

“So we won’t see each other until we’re right on top of him.”

“Right. I’ll have to stay here when you board, to make sure we stay in docking position.”

“Gotcha. How long until final course options are ready?”

More tapping of keys, then: “Coming out of the computer now. Computer says Plot E is optimal. I agree.”

“Concur. Set up Plot E and activate on the count.”

A digital readout deceased at the rate of one unit per second until it reached zero. They lurched forward as the engine cut off, then gently to the side as the spaceplane spun end for end until its main thruster was pointed forward in the direction of motion. The main drive flared to life again, and once more they felt the gentle pressure backward.

“That’s done it,” Wheels reported. “Thirteen hours on this course until intercept. You’ll need to ready the docking gear for ship-to-ship transfer. I’d also recommend some quick sleep and a few calories. Those firefights tend to take it out of you.” He spun around to stare at Kriet and Nebula. “Listen to me! I sound like a freakin’ flight attendant. I’m several million miles from home, flying a spaceship by instinct and hastily modified vector-thrust programs.” He put a hand to his forehead. “Professor, tell me again how I got into this.”

Grin’elle slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Cheer up. Just think of the favor Skid and the others’ll owe you guys.”

Wheels turned back to the instruments. “They couldn’t pay this back if they lived a thousand years.”

UCAS Schwartzkopf

Trans-asteroidal orbit, above the ecliptic

To Skid, Weekend, and Moloch, the effect greatly resembled stimming a particularly badly edited full-sense chip: one moment they were attempting to throw off the surprise of the interrupted meet with the Fuchi exec, then the next second they found themselves tightly manacled to the back of an alcove in what looked like a military deep-space transport. Skid decided that as weird as elves, orks, and trolls looked to him, they were all blood brothers next to the attenuated humanoid with way too many joints per limb that stared him in the face.

Weekend regarded the apparition coolly. “I see we’ve just won starring roles in Star Wars XII.”

The thing’s voice came from a speaker mounted on the side of its neck and sounded like a computer with asthma. “We received a report that a spaceplane was hijacked a few days ago and was last seen heading after us. We thought you would appreciate being awake while we kill your friends.”

“Darn friendly of you,” commented Moloch. “Care to provide a big helping of ‘why’ as a last meal? The bad guys always do, you know.”

The alien made what might have been its version of a smile. The expression tended to turn the humans’ stomachs. “Yes, I have seen some of your entertainment fictions. It’s quite simple. We wish to kill your ‘Professor’ before he and his comrades can disrupt another operation of ours. The samples your friend pursued so vigorously served as convenient bait.” It locked eyes with Skid and Weekend. “As for you, you will die because you got in our way.”

An alarm sounded. The alien cocked its head, listening to a message only it could hear.

The second its attention left the shadowrunners, Moloch moved with every ounce of speed his artificially enhanced reflexes would provide. His face turned as red as his eyes as his mechanical muscles slammed into overload. The human bones they were attached to creaked in protest, and the street samurai screamed with pain and exertion. The manacles held. The wall they were welded to did not. With the piercing cry of tearing metal, his hands came free and shot out to break the alien’s neck. The entire action was so swift, the creature only had time for an expression which could only be shocked surprise.

Moloch gasped for breath that took a long time returning. Finally he wheezed, “They’re fast, and they’re strong, but their bones snap like ours do.” He took a deep breath, braced himself, and hauled mightily at the cuffs restraining the magic-users. Soon they all wore steel bracelets, and the wall looked like the aftermath of missile combat.

Skid tried vainly to slide his manacles off, but soon gave up. “Ever thought of challenging Dunkelzahn to an arm wrestle, Moloch?”

Moloch had other things on his mind. “They took all my gear. How about you guys?”

The cybermage ran a quick check. “Nada. And if we’re in deep space like it looks, Weekend and I won’t be throwing any spells, either.”

She raised her fists. “We still got these.” A corner of her mouth twitched. “I need to discuss what happened to Drool with one of those freaks.”

Moloch’s blank red eyes stayed on them a few moments, then bobbed as he nodded. “Good enough.” He poked his head around the corner of the alcove they’d been imprisoned in; the corridor it was part of was empty in both directions. “Which way do we go?”

The ship shook with the echoes of an explosion. Skid pointed in the direction of the sound. “My guess - that way.” They set off.

As the three of them attempted stealth down a brightly lit corridor with no cover, they began to hear strange sounds: high-pitched whines and distorted hissings. Inhuman cries and muffled shouts drifted back to them, and then they heard a string of gravelly obscenities that could only have come from one throat.

Weekend charged forward. “Drool!!” she screamed. The others ran to keep up, turning a corner where an unforgettable sight awaited them.

What had once been a crew relaxation area had been reshaped into a battlefield of overturned tables and smashed chairs. Once-functional equipment on the walls smoked, sprayed sparks, or slowly dripped into molten puddles on the floor. Lady ‘D’, the Professor, Nebula, and Drool pointed unfamiliar weapons in the general direction of about a dozen aliens with plenty of cover from a frontal assault and none whatsoever for the rear.

There was a timeless moment, broken by the slow descent and rise of one of Drool’s heavy eyelids. Waving the phaser in the air, he screamed, “Bar fight!!!!!”

The signal dated from the street adventurers’ first meeting, and even Kriet figured out the intent. He had attended Starfleet Academy, after all. The aliens were completely outclassed.

As a Black Hat tried to bring its weapon around to the three new attackers, Moloch’s high-tech nervous system and muscles relieved it of the gun and reinserted it in the creature’s skull. Another one grazed Weekend with a shot which disintegrated part of her armor vest and shoulder tissue, but the alien had to stop shooting when a thrown table from Drool flattened it against the deck.

A swift kick from Grin’elle shattered a leg joint of a Black Hat, spoiling the shot of the one it toppled into long enough for Nebula to cook them both with her borrowed phaser. Lady ‘D’ charged another with longsword drawn; it squeezed off a shot which impacted the center of the blade. To the surprise of both, absolutely nothing happened. With a kind of gleeful astonishment, she bisected first the alien’s weapon, then the alien. Lady gazed lovingly at the blade. “Orichalcum,” she crowed. “Don’t leave Earth without it.”

Quickly, the combat was over. Skid relieved the last survivor of its weapon by stomping on its chest and breaking its wrist. Grin raised his eyebrows, and Skid turned his silver mirrors on him. “Should I have read him his rights first?”

“A quick death’s all the rights I’ll give ‘em,” Drool growled, rubbing his barely healed bullet holes.

Grin’elle looked at the bodies, and considered how this bunch had probably spent their lives - and spent others in the process. He looked back at Skid. “I didn’t say anything.”

They took a quick inventory. The three former captives all had liberated guns (“Disintegrators, looks like,” Grin guessed. “Be real careful where you point them.”) and the others carried Kriet’s phasers. Drool was wounded again, but didn’t seem to notice, and Weekend was wobbly but standing.

Lady ground her teeth. “I got a spell that would solve that in moments...”

Weekend’s eyes flashed. “I’ll be fine. These turkeys couldn’t scrag a pedestrian without an instruction manual.”

Skid finished tying a rather improvised bandage across her shoulder blade. “Heck, you got hurt worse the night Drool mooned an Ancients’ rally.”

Nebula looked shocked. “I missed that one. How come they haven’t hunted you down by now?”

Lady pointed to her own elven ears. “Let’s just say Drool still owes me for that one.” The troll shrugged.

The ever-present alarm klaxon changed notes and became more strident. Moloch tensed. “I’d guess they’ve noticed the silver’s missing. I recommend a beating of feet.”

Grin’elle planted himself where he was. “I’m not leaving here without the cell samples. You folks aren’t leaving here without me. Any questions?”

Skid opened his mouth, then closed it. Lady looked at Grin, then looked away. Moloch raised a pointing finger, then dropped it. Drool rolled his eyes, shook his head, and said, “Just one, Professor. Where do you want the remains?”

Grimly, they stalked forward, toward where Wheels had guessed the command center would be. Grin figured the leader of the group would be best bet for possession of the samples, and hoped they’d find him in command.

The three former prisoners walked point with the stolen disintegrators. The weapons proved much more powerful than the Federation phasers, so no cover provided protection for the aliens; if anything moved, it dissolved. Finally, the party reached an airlock-style door clearly marked ‘Command - IDs only.’

Grin turned to Nebula. “Can you open it?”

She began rummaging in her gear. “Give me five minutes.” Before she could extract whatever device she had planned, the heavy security door hiss-thunked open. In the airlock vestibule stood one of the aliens, gun drawn and aimed at Drool’s stomach. With its other hand it displayed the invaluable canister from Kriet’s belt. Grin recognized the cut and styling of its coverall, while the others remembered it from the disrupted delivery meet. Fingers tightened on the triggers of high-technology destruction, and a wave of focused energy washed toward the creature.

Nothing happened.

Drool sub-vocalized a concise “Uh-oh...” and attempted to back away slightly - for better positioning, of course. The troll hadn’t moved a foot before he bumped against an invisible barrier now closing off the corridor.

The Black Hat spoke. With this one, English actually came from its mouth. After hearing it, Skid, Weekend, and Moloch thought they might prefer the synthesized translator.

“I suppose I can thank you for disposing of several of my less useful underlings,” it intoned, “but I won’t. You street scum have seriously disrupted our effort to prevent the Batron’s rescue mission, and we are pressed for time and resources. As soon as Kriet is executed, we will return you all to the other Earth ship and disable its drive. I do not think a rescue will be mounted.”

Moloch and Drool were trying vainly to break from the invisible prison, but the barriers now surrounded them in an unbroken cube. “What is this stuff, anyway?” grunted the street samurai.

“Forget it,” Grin advised. He stared at the creature. “Their technology is at Clarke Magic level, even in the twenty-third century.”

The alien inclined its head. “Very true. But our weapons will fire quite easily into the barrier.”

Kriet held up a hand. “Just so I can die happy; what did you need those cell samples for, anyway?”

“They will be taken back to our central operations area, and made very good use of.” It stared back at Grin’elle. “I have talked too much. Grin’elle Kriet, you are sentenced to death.”

Nebula threw her arms around him, crying, “No!!!” She crossed between him and the weapon at the moment of fire, taking the full force of the disintegrator beam in her back. The rockergirl fell to her knees, dragging Kriet with her.

There was no wound; her clothing and flesh remained whole. Still, Nebula knew she was being torn apart: not atom by atom, but on all the levels of existence she hadn’t even known until her meeting with the Time Lord. With a start, she realized that she could still feel him; where he stood, she felt the disruption the least. Nebula reached for that presence as an anchor point in the midst of a hurricane, and felt it reach out in turn to hold her mind together.

Grin felt their essences combine, and stood up. Dimly he saw the alien shoot again, and again, but the energy filtered through the singer’s existences and metamorphosed on contact with his memories, until it reinforced them both rather than tearing them apart.

“What is this?” the Black Hat growled. “Who have you brought here, Kriet?”

Grin turned innocent eyes on it. “How should I know? This whole thing was your idea, wasn’t it?”

The daylight fades and darkness readies,

My eyes not sure of what they see

Something’s gone wrong with what’s around me,

A twisted, warped reality

I take one step, perhaps another,

Hoping to stay on solid ground

My only hope is now to master

The deadly secrets I have found

The song started as a whisper, then built into full strength as Nebula found energy and voice. With each note the free energy around them surged until it became physically tangible, causing subtle changes in the fabric of space-time around them. As she started a chorus, Grin realized that he knew the words as well, though the source was un-guessable; his untrained but willing voice joined hers.

Can you bring me back, can you rescue me?

Do you even know where in the world,

where I am?

Will you tell me how, will you set me free?

I’m lost in space and I’m lost in time

I don’t even know if I’ve lost my mind

I only know here and now - rescue me!

I never asked to know the mysteries,

A journey never to be made

But now I’m here and now I need you,

You know how to end the charade.

Darkness advances, light must falter,

The world I knew will soon be gone

My hopes erode against black ocean,

I only wish for one more dawn.

The Black Hat had discarded its weapon. Now it shouted unintelligible orders into a communicator while making passes with its other hand. Skid or Lady might have recognized them, but Grin’elle did not. As he shot a glance at the magicians, he noticed a look of surprise appear on their faces. Tentatively, then with more sureness, they began making gestures of their own, and Grin suddenly had an idea about what some of the changes he and Nebula were causing might be… Now all the Terrans had joined the song.

Together we are more than separate,

Friendship and love defend the day

A union more than just the pieces

We two can make a better way

It’s now or never, a last battle

Alone I cannot hold this course

The darkness only will grow greater

We must repel its evil force

Can you bring me back, can you rescue me?

Do you even know where in the world,

where I am?

Will you tell me how, will you set me free?

I’m lost in space and I’m lost in time

I don’t even know if I’ve lost my mind

I only know here and now - rescue me!

The barrier vanished. Three phasers, one disintegrator, and three spells of catastrophic physical destruction spoke. Screams of alien death, fried computer equipment, and rending metal echoed as a shockwave knocked them halfway down the hall. When they looked again, the hatch was sealed tightly and would not open for anything.

UCAS Wright

“The energy weapons were burnt out too,” Grin’elle told Wheels. “We can’t possibly get past that hatch.”

“Just as well,” the rigger told them, pointing out the spaceplane’s viewport. “Look.” The entire forward section of the military ship was missing.

“Did we do that?” Skid asked.

“I was kinda upset,” Weekend added.

Lady ran a polishing cloth down her magesword. “Very impressive. It didn’t help the Professor’s mission much, however.”

“Well,” Grin announced with a resigned look, “at least the items you liberated from the military ship’s armory ought to keep you guys happy for a while.” Most of the party was loaded with guns and equipment.

“What we can’t use, we can sell high,” said Moloch.

“You sell. I keep.” Drool admired a Vindicator, stroking the barrels.

“How do we get back? You don’t sneak this thing around modern radar,” commented Nebula.

“I took care of that. Despite the loss of the bridge, I scavenged some pretty nice electronic equipment from the other sections. There was enough to repair my TARDIS, plus a pretty nice prototype of a counter-detection generator. It ought to cloak this spaceplane long enough for us to land and ditch it.”

“That’s it then, isn’t it? We won!” shouted Weekend.

Skid pumped a fist in the air. “Wheels, my man, plot us a course home. Even Seattle’s a better place than this!”

“I’ve had that course in the computer since you idiots left the ship,” the rigger replied. “What do you think I did for entertainment while waiting for you yahoos?” He punched at the controls. “Strap down. Thruster fire in two and counting.” There were loud cheers.

Grin left the celebration and headed for the passenger section to find a seat. Drool and Weekend headed past, talking excitedly on their way to the jumpseats in the cargo area; lastly, Nebula emerged from the cockpit to strap down next to Grin’elle.

Soon the faint push of the activated engine could be felt, and when things seemed to be settled, they loosened the harnesses. The singer turned in hers to look at Kriet. “I’m not ever liable to understand what really happened out here, am I?”

Grin was silent for a few moments. “Do you know what the word ‘romantic’ originally meant?” She shook her head. “It was a noun instead of an adjective; it described a person who believed in certain things. That type of person believed there was an ultimate good, and an ultimate evil; he believed that all events had a pattern, and that nothing occurred without a reason. Even the blackest moments in life were there to promote a greater light.”

“I guess I do know what you’re saying,” she said. “I’ve found that most of my songs run in that vein, whether I plan it or not.”

He considered a moment, then continued, “There’s a chance, Nebula, that you and I both are part of something bigger. I have the power to travel to all permutations of the universe, while a little bit of you already inhabits them all - and we always seem to come together. I used to think that this was the Creator’s way of being cruel. Maybe - just maybe - it’s not a cruelty at all, but a necessity. Maybe we’re actually needed in all these places we are.”

Nebula frowned. “What makes us so important?”

“Important? Every gear is important in a clockwork. They just all have different shapes, sizes, and capabilities. Every piece is important,” he repeated to himself.

She watched him for a few moments. “You’ll be leaving us when we get back, won’t you?”

“I have to. I have duties, responsibilities. Besides, I have the strangest sense that I’ve done what I need to here… for now, at least. That same tickle says I’m not finished there yet.”

“That’s the place you’re Grin’elle Kriet. What the alien said.”

“Yes.”

She hung her head for a moment, then drew a familiar cylinder from her jacket. “You’ll need this, then.”

Grin’s eyes bugged. “I thought that was vaporized with the bridge! Where did you get that?”

“Drool grabbed it when Mr. Bad Hat dropped it. He can move pretty fast for a dude his mass, you know. He told me to give it to you and not to tell you where it came from.” She smiled. “Under those warts, he’s soft as a marshmallow, you know. Just don’t ever try to prove it. He chooses his own times.”

Grin’elle fastened it tightly to his belt. “I’ll tell Athene for him. She’ll appreciate it.” He looked into the rockergirl’s eyes for a long time, before breaking away reluctantly. “I’m going to miss this one of you, Nebula.”

She took his hand. “My name is April, Grin’elle. I’m in love with you, you know.”

Reluctance slowly melted into affection, and he leaned in and kissed her. “I will live for hundreds of years, and never look older. I have a time machine that can bring me here moments after I leave, no matter how long I’m gone. You haven’t lost me yet.”

Nebula rested her head on his shoulder. “Yeah, well, I have friends who are magicians and top scientists. You’d better come back, or I’ll come after you.”

The Wright sped on to Earth.

Redbar Towers apartment complex

September 2, 2050 A.D.

Grin’elle stood in the hatch of his fully repaired TARDIS. He now wore the maroon and black uniform Nebula had seen on him in the Playroom. The time machine had waited patiently in a corner of the singer’s living room while they shared a final goodbye.

“I also know some bounty hunters, ‘Professor,’“ she teased him. “Come back or you’ll have a price on your head. These guys aren’t going to let a little old dimensional barrier stop them.”

Grin cocked his head. “Don’t worry. We’ll meet again.”

“I’m referring to this version!” she stated, pointing at herself.

“I might be too,” Grin parried. He disappeared into the TARDIS, and with a horrible lurching grind, it followed suit.

Nebula watched until the last trace of silver had melted from the room, then turned to leave. That really was an awful noise for a high-tech spaceship to make. In fact, she thought it had faded away, but there it was again...

She spun around. “Professor?”

USS McKay

October 10, 2290 A.D.

[Reality Code: USS Enterprise 017]

The TARDIS reformed in the corner of a briefing room on the USS McKay, where Captain Ty Dujhar and Ensign Vincent stood, looking a bit confused. “I thought you just left for the Yeager,” the captain said when Grin popped out.

“I had to make a detour,” Kriet explained. “Nebula, I’m going to need you; we’re going to have some computer work for you. And - bring Athene’s main memory.”

She flashed a wide smile. “You’re kidding.”

“Maybe not. Get going.” She ran off to get her equipment.

Ty’elle looked his vice exec over. Grin sported several bruises and a tired look. “You were gone for longer than a few minutes, weren’t you? You and that silly TARDIS. Are you okay?”

“My brother, I feel better than I have in about two centuries.”

Dujhar took a second look. “You mean that, don’t you? Where have you been?”

Just then, April Vincent returned with two sturdy cases. “It’s all here, Commander. Where are we going?”

“To Captain Conner.” Noting Ty’s sidelong look, Grin added, “For real this time.”

“This trip of yours won’t be a cakewalk, Grin. Watch yourself.”

“Don’t worry!” To April’s pleased astonishment, he grabbed her and planted a solid kiss. “I’ve got the best assistance in a dozen universes!” The hatch closed, and the TARDIS scraped away.

Ty’s jaw hung loosely. “I’m gonna tie him down and have Cassie pump two quarts of sodium pentothal into his veins. Then I’m gonna sell it to the Federation Enquirer and retire early.” He shook his head and returned to his duties.

Redbar Towers apartment complex

September 2, 2050 A.D.

[Reality Code: ‘Sixth World’ 404]

Eighty years or three seconds later...

Nebula watched until the last trace of silver had melted from the room, then turned to leave. That really was an awful noise for a high-tech spaceship to make. In fact, she thought it had faded away, but there it was again...

She spun around. “Professor?”

He lay half in, half out of the hatchway of his TARDIS. The ‘monster maroons’ had been replaced by a red-and-black jumpsuit with a silvery arrowhead at the breast and a row of tiny disks along the collar. He showed evidence of internal wounds, and smoke poured from the inside of the time machine.

“G-Grin’elle?”

“Hi - Nebula,” he gasped between grunts of pain. “Got - a moment? I seem - to be - in some trouble...”

Repository 6

The Capitol, Gallifrey

Samlare 48, 102,773 T.L.

[Reality Code: Mutter’s Spiral 871]

“What did Kriet mean when he talked about the ‘private concern’ that hired them? What kind of group could ‘hire’ a military starship?”

She looked coolly at him. “You say you have heard of the Long family. One might wonder if you have gained other extracurricular instruction than mine, for the High Council’s jealousies would tend to insure that they were not a top subject.

“At any rate, the Longs possess incredible temporal power, equaling or possibly surpassing our own. There is an unspoken truce between our peoples, as direct conflict would only tear both societies apart. This, however, does not rule out small, subtle jockeying for position and dominance. We are not allies.

“One of the few traits we have in common is the lack of what might be called ‘muscle.’ You will remember the Doctor’s note to Kriet; in a situation requiring weapons and fighting skill, the Doctor was nearly helpless. He had to turn to others to provide military strength.

“In their fight against the Black Hats, the Longs played their ‘muscle’ card, and their forces were defeated. Desperately, they searched the multiverse for a military group with morals and values similar to theirs, as well as an advanced knowledge of time travel and alternate realities.”

“And they came up with Kriet’s Starfleet,” the apprentice concluded.

She nodded. “Specifically, Batron 11...”

Batron and the Beast

by Jerry Conner

JERRY

We were sitting on the bridge, in the middle of a pretty standard mid-shift when the intruder alarms started ringing.

“Internal security?” I asked.

“Intruder on the shuttlecraft deck, port side sir,” Vok answered from the weapons officer’s position.

“Shuttle Hangar, what’s going on down there?”

There was a pregnant pause, followed by an uncertain ensign’s voice. “Sir, there’s a car in the hangar.”

“Ensign, did you say a car?”

“Yes sir. It’s a classic. Looks to be a late twentieth or early twenty-first century duo.” Another pause. “It has a Ford nameplate.”

The house finally fell on me. I crawled out quickly, and hit the security call. “Llandhe, get an honor detail to the portside hangar. Fully armed and with full Commodore’s honors. Now.”

I switched channels quickly. I don’t need to hear Llandhe’s acknowledgment to know she’s on the job. I switched to all-call. “The following personnel are to report to the portside hangar immediately, prepared for full honors. Commander Layne, Commander Wright, Commander Valance, Lieutenant Commander Reid.”

My choices weren’t as random as they sound, but I wasn’t ready to voice my suspicions just yet. Instead, I motioned to Mike and headed for the turbolift. “Kraiggearra, you have the conn.”

“Acknowledged,” she replied, and command changed hands.

Mike and I headed down through the core, dropping to deck five to pick up Spyik. When we arrived at the hangar, Llandhe, Ken and Clive were waiting for us.

I couldn’t resist. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you all here.”

“Aye, the thought had occurred ta me,” Ken said.

“If I’m right, we’re about to meet a three-hundred year old legend, and you people are the best to advise me if such is the case.”

That earned me even more puzzled expressions. I turned to Llandhe. “Open it up.”

The door slid aside, revealing a vehicle that was even more of a classic than the ensign had thought.

It was Gay Deceiver.

ZEB

It was hard to believe. Here we were on the hangar deck of a starship which existed as only a six foot model and assorted special effects shots back in our universe. Fortunately, it was close enough to those movies that I could recognize the officer’s insignia. The Captain himself. What did we do to deserve this welcome?

He seemed more satisfied than surprised. He and the crewmembers he had following him in seemed to be forming a receiving line, but I noticed those phasers weren’t movie props. I stepped out, dressed in my Spaceforce uniform.

“Captain, I am Zebediah J. —”

“Carter, commanding the space vehicle Gay Deceiver,” he finished.

What?

“I am Captain Jerry Conner of the Starship U.S.S. Yeager of the United Federation of Planets. My First Officer, Commander Michael Layne, Chief Engineer Kenneth Wright, Alien Cultures Officer Clive Valance, Recreation Officer Spyik Reid and commanding the honor guard, Llandhe t’Reilri.”

I tried to get some control of the situation. “Vulcan?”

“No sir, Rihannsu. What you would call a Romulan.”

Sorry, wrong universe. I started looking for a way to get back to the Smart Girl. Without even seeming to realize it, however, the officers at my back had flanked me. They were either tactical geniuses, or they had learned to cover their backsides.

She continued, “There aren’t many of us in Starfleet, and as far as I know, I am the only one to reach the rank of Commander.”

Whew!

“No doubt you’re wondering how we know you, Captain Carter. Or to be more accurate, how we recognized Gay Deceiver. Perhaps you’re familiar with an individual in our universe, one Robert Anson Heinlein?”

Damn you, Bob! You’ve done it to us again!

“Yes, I’m familiar with him...”

“ So are we,” he said. “Very familiar, if you understand.”

“I’m beginning to,” I admitted.

“Each one of the officers present in this room is something of a scholar regarding Mr. Heinlein. We are all rather well versed in the concept of Multiple Pantheistic Solipsism.” He nodded to the rear of the hangar.

A Veritech fighter?

“Yes,” I said. “I can see that you are.” I pointed. “I’ll bet there’s a bit of a tale behind that one.”

“Indeed there is. By the way, is the Commodore embarked?”

“Commodore?” I feigned ignorance.

“Commodore Hilda Burroughs Long, Commanding Star Yacht Dora and Space Vessel Gay Deceiver. Surely, you don’t still believe that we represent a threat to you. If we did, you know that even a hand phaser could have destroyed Gay Deceiver before you could have made it back aboard.”

“You and what fleet, Fatso?” The Smart Girl piped up.

“Point of order, Gay Deceiver, not a threat,” he replied. “By the way while you’re here, download some data on heavy gravity worlders.”

“Oh, she knows all about heavy gravity worlders,” I said. “Unfortunately, thanks to Hilda, Lazarus and about a half dozen others, she also knows how to get under a person’s skin. But, to answer your question yes, the Commodore is embarked, as is one Corporal Ted Bronson, if you’re familiar with him.”

The Captain and the man in the kilt exchanged glances, then smiles.

“That we are, laddy,” said the man in the kilt. “That we are.”

“Anyway, the Flag Cabin has been prepared if the Commodore would care to make use of it. Commander t’Reilri, if you would detail an escort for Captain Carter and his contingent.”

“I would be happy to attend to that duty myself, sir.”

“I thought you might be, Commander. Captain, my respects to the Commodore, and I would be honored if she would join us for dinner, along with her staff.”

“On her behalf, I accept, tentative to her approval. Thank you for your hospitality, Captain.”

HILDA

I have to give them this, in this universe. They treat their company nicely. The Flag facilities were some of the nicest I’ve stayed in in a spacecraft, outside Dora, though a bit cramped. Zeb tells me that for a ship of the line, though, they’re absolutely sumptuous. Still, nothing beats a good old soap and water shower. It’s a shame that Zebby didn’t tell me how to get one before I dressed for dinner. I never paid proper attention to Star Trek.

“What do you think, Zeb? Do we spill the beans to them?” I asked as he fitted me into the gown the synthesizer had produced after only a couple of hours’ time.

Lazarus piped up. “Never tell them anything more than they need to do the job, and keep even that to a minimum.”

“You tried that once, Lazarus. Nearly cost you Maureen’s rescue and seven new family members, as I recall,” Jacob pointed out.

“Besides,” Zeb added, “anyone being sent into a hazardous situation without all the facts is doomed to failure from the start. Remember your Sun Tzu.”

“I remember him well. Crotchety old geezer who didn’t like taking orders, so he learned to give them. Did I ever tell you about the time we...”

“Stow it Woody,” I interjected. “You’re old, but you’re not that old. Deety, your district hasn’t been heard from yet.”

“I stick with Pop and Zebediah,” she said. “If we want their help, they deserve all the facts.”

“Well, Lazarus,” I said, “it looks like you’ve been outvoted again. Let’s see what passes for dinner in this universe.”

MICHAEL

They made a rather interesting sight as they entered the officer’s lounge, which had been reconfigured to serve as a formal dining room and conversation area. Captain Carter, ever the stickler for decorum was wearing command whites, with a commander’s bar on the shoulder tab. Obviously, he was aware of the tradition that there could only be one captain on a starship. Jacob Burroughs wore the uniform of a colonel of Starfleet Marines while “Corporal Ted Bronson” had on the enlisted uniform of the Marines, with a kilt, per usual.

The centerpieces of the group however, were Deety and Hilda. Deety wore a full length gown, low in the front and high on the side, as was Federation fashion. It offset an already stunning figure well.

But, even as classically sexy as Deety was, there was something about Hilda that somehow managed to outshine her. Certainly, Hilda was not the model’s ideal. In fact, she stood petite, even beside the Captain, who is just a meter point seven himself. They reminded me of Goldilocks and Papa Bear, though there was no doubt in my mind which of the two was the more dangerous. A quick glance confirmed that T’Saan was aware of that as well.

As they seated themselves, I looked up to the video pickup. “Report please, Alex.”

“As expected, sir. Between them, they’re as well armed as a standard planetside landing party. Watch out for Commodore Burroughs, though, sir. She’s not armed at all.”

“Wrong Alex,” the Captain interjected. “She’s armed with a husband, a son-in-law, Lazarus Long and the most devious mind in several universes, myself included.”

“Why, Captain, you flatter me,” she said innocently.

“Not flattery, madam. Statement of fact,” he replied.

“Sir, if I didn’t know better, I would say that you just insulted my wife,” Jacob growled.

“Hardly, sir. Though I do apologize if you interpreted it as such. Actually, I admire a person with her … skills greatly. After all, the Commodore’s skills in dealing with … delicate situations are legendary.”

“Apology unnecessary, Captain. Though you will understand that my wife’s honor is an important thing to me.”

“Of course, sir.” The Captain turned to Mrs. Burroughs. “Now, Commodore while I certainly am enjoying your company, I sense that you have other reasons for being here than the Yeager’s cuisine.”

“Which is excellent,” Lazarus interjected. “Where in the world did your computer get a recipe for haggis?”

“With a Captain, Chief Engineer and Recreation Officer of direct or indirect Scots descent sir, it wasn’t hard,” Spyik said.

HILDA

“Enough small talk, Woody,” I interjected. “Captain, he’s beating around the bush because he doesn’t want to tell you why we’re here.” His expression hardened. “Fortunately,” I added, “I’m in overall charge of this operation, not Lazarus. Can your computer systems interface with ours?”

“Probably. Can you give my Computer Operator the parameters?”

“I can’t, but Deety can.”

“Very well.” He pressed a stud on the table beside his place setting. “Mr. Miller, please stand by to set up a computer interface with the duo parked in the portside hangar.”

Seconds passed. “Optical connections made. Standing by for communications parameters, sir.”

“Mrs. Carter, if you please.”

Deety rattled of several sets of numbers and code phrases that I’m sure meant something to her and the person she was talking to. To the rest of us, however, she might as well have been speaking Klingonese. Worse, since some of them probably speak Klingonese. Seconds later, the disembodied voice of the ship’s computer spoke up.

“Interconnections complete. Hey, nice software!”

“Alex!” Spyik growled.

“Sorry boss. Gay Deceiver on deck.”

“Smart Girl,” Zeb said, “ready for showtime?”

“Roger and rarin’ to go boss. By the way Alex, you’ve got some pretty nice hardware yourself.”

Computer innuendo. What will they think of next?

DEETY

Now it was Zebediah’s turn to take the floor. He really looked splendid in his Commander’s uniform. I have to say one thing for this Federation— they do know how to make a man look good. I decided to ask if we could keep Zebediah and Pop’s uniforms.

“Please run the presentation, Smart Girl,” Zeb said.

On the screen were the remains of what looked like a small garrison, on the surface of what looked like a moon. In one corner, there appeared to be a major structure.

“This is a major repository of historical artifacts on a planet in a universe only a few rotations removed from ours. It’s one of the few to reach this level of development that haven’t suffered from ‘Black Hat’ infestation. We sent in an agent to study the materials there, but shortly after he arrived, the city was attacked by enemy units. We sent in a unit to perform the extraction, but the fighting got so heavy that their support vessel had to pull out. As you’re aware, starships of our universe and its variants don’t possess the combat capabilities that the ships of this universe do.”

“At any rate, they’re pinned down on the surface of that moon with no way to get out without endangering the pickup vessel...”

“So you need the Yeager to go in and perform the extraction?” The Captain asked.

“Exactly. I’m not going to blow smoke at you and say that you won’t be in any danger. Even with your weaponry, you’ll still be looking at a fight. The Rodger Young said they were completely outclassed and they don’t back down from much.”

“Who are we going in after?”

“I doubt you’ve heard of them. It’s a squad of Mobile Infantrymen called Rico’s Roughnecks.”

JERRY

Oh, I’d heard of the Roughnecks, all right. I didn’t like the sound of facing a force that could pin them down. The Roughnecks were the best that their universe had to offer. In fact, much of the structure of our universe’s Starfleet Marines is based on Heinlein’s concept of Mobile Infantry. Nearly every major armored persona from Iron Man to Mobilesuit Gundam was inspired by the Mobile Infantry and their armored combat suits.

More importantly, in a way I can’t rationalize, though I’d never met the Roughnecks personally, they were friends of mine. Sorry. You either know what I mean, or there’s no way I can explain it.

“So,” I said, “we’re supposed to go in and get the Roughnecks out. What in known space is bad enough to pin the Roughnecks down?”

“We’re not sure ourselves,” Captain Carter said. “But they had enough firepower to ambush the Roughnecks and pin them down, and a ship dangerous enough to scare away the Rodger Young without a fight.”

“I see. I assume you’re aware that we have no dependable spacetime drive in this universe, though there are several experimental units.”

“Most of whose designers have been in jeopardy of late?” Captain Carter asked. “Traps and ambushes where the victims never got to see the faces of the ambushs’ masterminds? That seems to be the ‘Black Hats’ pattern.”

“Captain,” Llandhe interjected, “there were those incidents with Grin and the Multiverse Device. Also, there was the incident with Ty’elle Dujhar and the Ultrainfinidrive, as well as the episode at Wrigley’s.”

“True,” I muttered. “Captain Carter, do you detect a pattern in these events?”

“An all too obvious pattern, Captain. The ‘Black Hats’ always take action at the time a usable timespace drive is developed. Your universe has been very slow to develop the time drive because of the early development of Warp Drive, making it less of a priority. We now have reason to suspect that several ‘dead’ universes may be the work of the ‘Black Hats’. Also, there is the matter of your military strength.”

“Our military strength?”

“The ‘Black Hats’ abhor a fair fight, like most of their kind. Universes like this one, the Lensman universe, and others where there are powerful defensive forces able to mobilize quickly are avoided by the ‘Black Hats’ unless they can find agents within those universes...”

“The Klingons and Romulans?” I asked.

“No. They have a code of honor, though it is alien to our standards. More likely the Orions or the Ferengi...”

“The Ferengi?” I queried.

“Sorry, wrong time frame. You won’t meet them for a long time, if any of you live to see it at all. Suffice to say, they aren’t nice people.”

“More to the point, how do we get there, as I asked before, to perform this extraction?”

“Very easily,” Dr. Burroughs interjected. “We have a spare continua device aboard Gay Deceiver.”

KEN

A Burroughs Continua Device?

Of all the drives known or theorized, the Burroughs Continua Device is the simplest and most efficient ever built. The concept is fairly simple: if you push a gyroscope in one direction on a plane, it goes in the opposite direction. If you push it in all three directions at once, where does it go?

That’s the principle behind the device. If it’s rigidly mounted to a structure or vehicle, such as a duo or a ship, it takes that structure with it. By controlling the degree of rotation in different directions, you can travel to all the known planes of existence. Approximately six to the sixth power raised to the sixth power universes have been theorized to exist, encompassing many of the universes of fantasy and science fiction. There have been numerous treatises on the “chicken and the egg” theory of the multiverse. Were these universes brought into being by the creative energies of authors, artists and producers, or did they inspire these visions? No one knows. It’s hard though, to imagine ourselves as the product of a writer pounding away at a low-technology word processor. The crew of the Gay Deceiver has visited Oz, Barsoom, and the Lensman universes, as well as the universe of Lazarus Long, which they settled in. Grin’elle Kriet, a Camazotian altered surgically to resemble the inhabitants of yet another universe’s Gallifrey, has visited the universes of Captain Harlock, Macross, and the mirror Starfleet universe. The Yeager itself traveled to the Megazone universe to rescue Kriet from a mess he got himself into.

The TARDIS systems, however, are at best capricious, and can’t be duplicated with ease in this universe. The Infinidrive and Ultrainfinidrive are both workable, but hard on man and machine alike. Algorin dilithium can convert a ship into a dimension hopper, but it only works with high speed ships like transwarp designs and dreadnoughts, and if the dilithium decomposes, you’re stranded.

The Burroughs Continua Device: now that’s a dimension hopper. It draws little more power than a twentieth-century transistor radio, but it can move a starship across quantum distances of time, space and plane of existence instantly. Furthermore, there’s no structural stress to the vessel it’s mounted in. It’s a simple device, easily constructed if you have the plans, durable, and easy to operate. Anyone can learn to operate it in a short time, and a helmsman could learn it in a matter of minutes. Of course, a road map of the multiverse comes in handy.

JERRY

It wasn’t hard to see that Ken was salivating at the idea of getting his hands on a BCD. I can’t say that I blamed him. It is the most efficient time-space hopper known. Still, the incidents with the Megazone universe and the Yeager’s own time-warping transwarp failure had soured me to time travel in any form. I wasn’t about to do it without good reason, and good reassurances.

“Has the Device ever been tested in a ship of this universe, Doctor Burroughs?”

“Not specifically,” he admitted, “but there doesn’t seem to be any reason it shouldn’t work as planned.”

“There didn’t seem to be any reason man shouldn’t break the sound barrier in 1947,” my XO interjected, “but General Yeager did it only after he solved several of those reasons. I don’t want this thing to rip our heads off like the NF-104 nearly did his.”

“Do you have a suggestion, Number One?” I asked him.

“Yes sir,” he replied. “We mount the continua device in the Glamorous Glennis and use it for a short hop to test its interface with warp systems. If this is successful, we can then remount it in the Yeager itself.

“Make it so, Number One,” I told him “While you’re at it, I have the perfect destination for this test hop.”

“Sir?”

“McKay is currently at the First Fleet Outpost. We need to get word to Grin’elle Kriet about this.”

“Aye, sir. Who would you recommend for this mission?”

“Put Hunter on it. He’s the best shuttle jockey we’ve got who can go. Dr. Burroughs, how long will it take to install the device.”

“Only a matter of minutes, Captain,” he replied.

“Ken, get to work!”

KEN

The installation really was as simple as Dr. Burroughs had said it would be. Since the Glennis had to be remated to its warpsled, Dr. Burroughs and I took care of that while Rac was powering up the sled’s systems. It was easy to interface the shuttle’s navigational computer to the Continua Device’s inputs while Skhraud and S’Stormok worked up a six-dimensional navigational program.

Hunter was suited up in his assault pilot’s gear and waiting as we finished the final power lead hookup. The amazing thing was that the power lead measured only in the milliamp range. The device actually used no more power than a communicator!

“That should do it,” Doctor Burroughs said, turning to me.

“Then let’s get on wi’ it,” I answered. “Mr. Hunter, if ya’ please.”

Hunter did his complete customary walkaround, as always. It was all the more important to check out a machine which was testing new equipment. After all, this way, if there was a failure, we’d know it was not the fault of the ship. Contrary to what many think, a flight crew isn’t bothered by a pilot’s final checkout, since he is the man who has to hang it out over the edge, not us.

Satisfied, Hunter finished sealing up, and took his place in the cockpit. He lifted the ship out on its thrusters and moved her to the landing target. The first test would be a short hop on impulse power only.

“All you have to remember is to return the verniers to this location, but your subjective time,” Doctor Burroughs was reminding Hunter over the comm link. “Also, remember to shut off your drives before translating unless you’re sure of clear space at your destination. Otherwise, your engines will keep boosting at the last power setting...”

“Causin’ the famous ‘catastrophic departure from controlled flight.’ Got it, Doc. Anythin’ else?” Hunter asked.

“That should do it,” Burroughs assured him. “Let’s give it a try.”

“Roger. Recording vernier settings for current landing bay location.” There was a pause. “Movin’ out under impulse power.”

The shuttle moved clear of the Yeager, finally taking up a station keeping position several hundred meters astern.

“Standin’ by to activate,” came Hunter’s voice.

“Go ahead.”

I couldn’t see the moment of translation. Thanks to the brain’s speed of data processing, the shuttle seemed to be in two places at once, both astern of Yeager, and back on the landing target.

“So farr, so good,” I told him. “Now let’s trry it frrom warrp speed.”

“Roger that,” came the reply.

The shuttle moved out from Yeager’s hangar again, this time accelerating in a straight line away from us. There was a polychrome flash, and it disappeared. Seconds later, I heard Hunter’s voice again, “Translating.”

The shuttle instantly appeared, on the deck, in front of us. There was a low pitched laugh from the comm circuits.

I touched the comm panel. “Brridge, this is the shuttle hangarr. All tests positive.”

I could hear the elation in the Captain’s voice. “All right! Get that package to the McKay now!”

Rac tossed the courier packet into the cargo bay of the shuttlecraft.

“Standing by for coordinates,” Hunter called.

“Coordinates downloading now,” Kraiggearra’s voice came from the bridge.

“I’ll be right back,” Hunter said.

Actually, about five minutes passed before Hunter returned. To avoid paradoxes, we had told him to maintain subjective time, using only the three dimensional rotation capabilities of the BCD.

“How’d it go, lad?” I asked him.

“Piece o’ cake,” Hunter confirmed.

“Report ta’ the brridge, lad,” I told him, turning to Doctor Burroughs. “Let’s get this thing ta’ the bridge then.”

“Aye … I mean yes,” he replied.

We went to work.

JEUSTINE

I’d never seen Hunter looking as pleased with himself as he did when he came onto the bridge. He handed a piece of paper to the Captain, who read it and chuckled.

“Not like we could, could we?” The Captain laughed.

“No, sir,” Hunter concurred.

At about that time, Chief Wright and that fellow who was visiting came onto the bridge. They were pushing an antigrav cart loaded with tools and a small device. Ken pulled up the top on Kraiggearra’s console and started running leads to it from the helm controls. The unit nestled into a spare area designed into the panel for future equipment expansion.

“Tha’ does it,” Ken told the Captain, wiping off sweat. “The navigation plotter is linked directly inta’ the device, and a cutout circuit keeps us from warpin’ wi’ it in operration.”

“Good, Ken,” the Captain told him. “Now there’s only one other precinct to check in...”

There was the sound of an imbalanced washing machine fighting a wounded animal, and Grin’elle Kriet walked out of the turbolift. He was accompanied by an attractive woman, with dark hair in an asymmetrical cut. At least I think they did … He looked at the man with Ken in amazement.

“By the Eye of Harmony, it is you...” he began

The man with Ken looked confused. Ken and the Captain were smiling.

“Excuse me?”

“Doctor Jacob Burroughs?”

“Yes...”

“Rassilon, Wells, Tideman, and Jacob Burroughs...”

“So you know the good Doctor Burroughs?” Conner asked, smiling.

“A name nearly as famous as the Doctor himself,” Kriet said, as reverently as I’ve ever seen him behave. “The capabilities of a TARDIS in the volume of a briefcase. Fantastic.”

The Captain disguised his amusement. “You asked us to wait for you...”

“Yes, get your ship’s doctor to put this sample into stasis immediately,” he said, handing a case to T’Saan. “I’ll be right back.” He ducked back inside the turbolift, returning a moment later with a holocube. “Doctor Burroughs, could you call a meeting of your staff immediately?”

“That’s not my privilege, sir, but I will take it up with the Commodore, if Captain Conner deems it necessary.”

“I’m sure that if Mister Kriet considers it important enough to use his … transportation system it is. I believe the Commodore is in main recreation. Communications?”

I connected the bridge to main wreck.

“Hilda, my love,” the man began.

“Yes dear?” a tiny voice came over the speaker.

“There is a gentleman here who has asked for a staff meeting, and Captain Conner seems to think that it is important enough to warrant our time. Shall we meet with him?”

“If Captain Conner thinks it’s that important, I’m sure we can make the time.” There was a pause. “Lieutenant Reid says that he can accommodate us at the Brass and Fern, dear. Shall we meet there at,” another pause, “2300 ship’s time?”

All involved seemed to agree.

“Suits, my love. We’ll see you then. Bridge out.”

SPYIK

It was some assemblage to see. On my Wreck Deck, we had what were probably the foremost specialists in time and dimensional travel in several planes of existence, as well as, by remote, at least three computer intelligences.

“...She was the most advanced computer intelligence in her universe. Unfortunately, her program cycle had come to an end. She was about to be destroyed by ADAM, the next programming sequence, when Max and April Vincent rescued her. Max basically downloaded her into his ship’s memory, and then took over control of the Megazone and stayed with it.”

“So you want a flesh body for EVE?” Commander Carter asked.

“That’s it,” Kriet replied simply.

“Maybe so, but even in our universe, it’s not that easy to transfer a silicon entity into flesh, or that cheap,” Lazarus commented.

“Perhaps not, Corporal Bronson,” the Captain commented, taking advantage of the Marine uniform Lazarus still wore. “It’s also pretty expensive to divert a starship of the line, its Marine complement and a flight of fighting mecha in this one, though. It seems a pretty fair trade to me.”

“Indeed it would be,” Hilda interjected. “The problem, though, may be a matter of logistics rather than disposition, isn’t that true Deety?”

“I’m afraid it is,” Deety added. “The problems are twofold: first finding suitable genetic material, and secondly, the question of true machine intelligence.”

“Machine intelligence?” I asked. “That seems pretty obvious, doesn’t it?”

“Does it? What is the point where algorithms and logarithms end and true creative thought begin?”

“Wait, wait a minute,” interjected Kriet, rising. “There’s a very simple way to settle this. Alex, patch Athene into your synthesis systems.”

Seconds passed, “Set.”

“Athene, sing for us. The song you sang for us then,” Kriet said softly.

The room dimmed. In its center, a holograph projector showed the Megazone, floating serenely in space over the sound of the opening chords. A voice began, serene, but plaintive. The intensity shifted, mirroring pain as the ships of the Gorig ripped into the almost undefended Megazone. On a high clear chord, the ships of the Batron, Pathfinder, McKay and Yeager dropped out of warp, leaping into the fray as the video compressed time. Even to those of us who had heard it before, tears threatened. Its effect on the unprepared had to be devastating. From the other side of the room, I could see Lazarus, Hilda, Doctor Burroughs, Captain Carter and Deety all nearly stricken by it. Finally, on the last chorus, I saw what we had not been able to see before, the flash of incredible energy leaping from between Yeager’s warp drives, destroying the Gorig, and very nearly taking us with it. The music faded, and the lights came back up.

Several minutes passed before anyone spoke. I noticed that Captain Conner had again disfigured the arm of the lounge chair. Music has always had a strange effect on him, and I can’t help but wonder if the song hadn’t actually affected the outcome of the fight. Finally, Lazarus stood.

“Sir, I withdraw my objections. I don’t believe in the infinite number of monkeys and typewriters line. It took a feeling, living mind to create that song, and it would be nothing less than murder to deny her physical existence, if she wishes it.” He paused to wipe the tears from his cheeks before sitting down.

“Well, then,” said Hilda, trying to lighten the mood. “All we need to do is to find a suitable set of genes and she’ll be set to go.”

“I’ve made a start on them,” Kriet said. “In the Yeager’s medical labs, there are a set of tissue samples from some of the greatest singers in the Anime cluster, as well as a few from this reality. They should be a start.”

“Fine, we’ll get to work on them as soon as the mission’s finished,” Lazarus said.

“Now,” Kriet said quietly.

“Believe me son, this is best done when we get back.”

“Time means nothing to you and me,” Kriet said intently. “Why are you stalling?”

Lazarus looked up to Alex’s pickup. “Computer off.”

The Captain nodded to me.

“Close all pickups, return to normal operations at my command, Alex.”

“Right, boss. ‘night, all.”

Lazarus stood back up. “I’m not going to blow smoke at you,” he began. “What we intend to do here is dangerous. Some of us are probably not going to come back. None of us may. When a computer wakes up in a flesh body, it’s a traumatic experience. She’s going to need someone there she knows. Someone like one of you. What happens if she wakes up and there’s no face she recognizes, no one to trust. There are some forms of traumatic insanity we haven’t been able to cure. Would you want her to be one of them?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. Hilda, you’d better give him your word. I don’t think he trusts mine.”

“Your word will do fine,” Kriet said, extending his hand. They clasped, and their eyes met, in that special way that denotes a much deeper bond.

“And while we’re at it, did the ship’s computer produce that holo footage?”

“To be more exact, Alex, the recreation computer did. Computer on.” Alex’s pickup light flashed back on. “Alex, you’re a star. Take a bow,” I said.

“Then maybe you need to be thinking about two flesh bodies here. That was brilliant.”

“Thank you sir, but I have a body,” Alex interjected. “It’s called the Yeager.”

Well said!” Lazarus laughed. “ We’ve got a mission to fly!”

LLANDHE

The Captain called a council of war in the officer’s lounge the next evening.

“We’ll be going in in two groups,” he said. “Mimick will be leading the Marauders in a flanking operation while Grin’elle, Llandhe and myself make a frontal assault after we soften them up with an orbital bombardment, if feasible.”

Mike Layne was up instantly. “Sir, I cannot condone the captain jeopardizing his own safety in such operations. Certainly, there are other pilots available who...”

“No, Mike, there aren’t. Llandhe, Grin’elle and myself are the most experienced VT pilots available who are also familiar with multiverse travel, and the people we’ll encounter. Right now there are four qualified captains and a commodore on board. We have a very definite surplus of command personnel at the moment.”

“True,” Zeb interjected, “But at least two of those captains will be going dirtside with you, and I doubt that we’ll be able to leave Jake behind.”

“Darn tootin’ you won’t,” Jacob said. “I want a piece of this scum.”

“Phlegm,” S’Stormok interjected. “Scum floats. We don’t want to compliment them.”

“True enough,” Jacob conceded.

“S’Stormok,” Conner asked, “Will you be able to check out Dr. Burroughs, Zebediah and Lazarus before we arrive?”

“Check us out?” Zebediah asked.

“On the Cyclone, a type of convertible close combat armor. S’Stormok is our training officer.”

“It should be no problem, sir,” S’Stormok replied.

“Very well. Unit two will be composed of Mimick, Dr. Burroughs, Captain Carter and Lazarus, Indy Jones and Glommer, plus a complementary group of marines at Mimick’s discretion. Command pilot for the shuttle group will be Mr. Hunter. Any questions?”

There were none, though it was obvious that Mike Layne was not a happy man. I waited with him and the Captain while the others filed out, Ken making remarks about “not trustin’ tha’ bluiddy Sassenach Rrrobotech mecha.” Situation normal. The door hissed shut.

“Sir, I wish to go on official record as being against this operation,” Mike said.

“Noted. However, I’m sure you’re aware that none of this mission can ever go on any record in this universe?”

Mike nodded.

“Mike, this isn’t some glory game. I’m not doing this to get my name in the history books. In fact, if we’re successful, there won’t be anything to go into our history books. You know about the incident at Wrigley’s, and the problems Grin’elle and Ty’elle Dujhar have experienced recently. If we succeed, we’ll have a dependable weapon in this universe to fight with. If we don’t, there’s a very good chance that my life, all our lives, will be meaningless. It’s just a mission that has to be done.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Mike while we’re down there, I’m going to need cover fire, and someone to keep the Yeager in one piece. You, Kraiggearra, Kochab and Vok are the finest combat team in the Federation. You proved that at Black Arrow. Only this time, it’s not for points. It’s for our lives, and possibly the lives of several other universes.”

Layne stood up and snapped off a salute. “Aye, aye, sir.”

Conner rose to attention and returned it. “Mister Layne, you have the conn.”

ZEB

Lazarus, Jake and I reported to S’Stormok on the Rec Deck. We were surprised to see quite a crowd gathered as well. In the center of the room was what looked like a late twentieth century sports motorcycle, though somewhat heavier. There was also a device resembling an aircraft fighter cockpit.

S’Stormok smiled and directed us to an apparatus set up on one side of the area. There was what looked like a set of electroencephalograph pickups on the table beside a computer terminal.

“Before we can train you to operate Robotech mecha, we must first program a cybersynaptic helmet, what we call a ‘thinking cap’ for each of you. This will allow the mecha’s onboard computer to translate your thought impulses into commands that the mecha can understand and act upon. Who’d like to go first?”

I was intrigued, so I stepped up. S’Stormok fitted me with the electrodes.

“You’ll experience some discomfort at first,” he explained, “But it will pass. I will be monitoring you, so you need not worry about permanent injury.”

I didn’t notice any medical equipment. Seeming to sense my question, he explained, “A true Efrosian Warrior-Priest does not need medical instruments. The only tools we need are our own senses.”

I wasn’t entirely convinced, but no one in the room seemed to be concerned, so I nodded. He smiled at my discomfort, then fitted the device to my skull.

“There will be some initial pain, but it will pass. There is no shame in voicing it.”

There wasn’t as much pain as I was prepared for, though it was very uncomfortable. Have you ever tested a battery by touching the contact to your tongue? Imagine that sensation over your entire body and you begin to get the idea. It passed fairly quickly though, as he manipulated controls on the console.

“Be glad you have S’Stormok to burn you in,” Llandhe commented. “It’s a lot more uncomfortable when you don’t have a Warrior-Priest’s empathy to balance the controls. It helps that he’s a computer operator as well. The process only takes a few hours now, where it used to take days, or even weeks to reach a balance.”

“That’s true,” S’Stormok confirmed. “There are cases though, when a person is unable to configure a helmet, even though he has exhibited the psionic capacities which are needed. Our Chief Engineer, Ken Wright is such a case. I feel it may be because of his aversion to transformable mecha.”

“Why?”

“He feels that variable mecha are not as efficient as mission-specific designs, and as such, are wasteful.”

“But there were convertible mecha even on the Earth of our day,” I countered. “Technically speaking, even Gay Deceiver is convertible mecha.”

“True,” S’Stormok conceded. “I think this issue is one of emotion, rather than logic.” He paused a moment. “Your pattern has been programmed, Commander Carter. Commander t’Reilri will take over your training from this point while I finish with Doctor Burroughs and Corporal Bronson.”

Llandhe led me over to the cycle, which I could now see was attached to a simulator gimbal. There was also a suit of combat armor beside it.

“This is Ride Armor,” she explained. “Besides serving as an extremely strong body armor, these attachment points serve as latching points for the Cyclone armor’s exoskeleton system.” She pointed out attachment points at major plates and junctions on the suit. “Are you familiar with motorcycles?” she asked.

“I’ve done a fair bit of dirt riding in my time,” I told her. Actually, I had spent some time with the Rapid Deployment Force, my time’s RDF, though not quite as technologically advanced.

“The helmet itself reads your thought impulses and converts them to electronic signals the mecha’s onboard systems can understand,” she explained. “This is fairly simple in the case of the Cyclones, as their systems also pick up signals from pressure pads inside the armor which read your muscular activity. In the Valkyries and the hovertank, the control is much finer, as their cockpit arrangements to not allow the use of the pressure pads. We won’t be training you in them, though I will demonstrate them for you.”

Too bad, I thought.

“Saddle up, and let’s give it a try.”

I climbed atop the compact little bike. Its small size and high seat were a bit disconcerting at first, but as I say, I was trained on dirt bikes, so I became accustomed fairly quickly.

“In cycle mode, the mecha behaves exactly as a motorcycle would, though with far better performance than any Terran bike you may have ridden,” Llandhe told me. “It isn’t until you activate the transformation sequence that it behaves differently.”

“So how do I do that?”

“The easiest way we’ve found is to pop a wheelie, kick in a bit of jump jet and activate the transformation. Since there’s less chance of components binding, the sequence generally goes easier than when your wheels are flat, though it is possible to transform from that position.” As she spoke, she showed me the appropriate controls. “All right. Give it a try.” she turned to a video pickup. “Alex, activate level one.”

“Level one,” a disembodied voice replied.

The walls in front of me became a holographic projection of a desert landscape. I started the bike as she’d shown me, and took off across the simulated plain. Though it looked clumsy, the bike actually performed quite well.

“Very good,” Llandhe’s voice came over the headset radio. “Now let’s try the transformation sequence.”

I pulled the bike back up onto its rear wheel and activated the boosters. Cleanly airborne, I engaged the transformation. The segments of the bike, as if possessed of a mind of their own, reconfigured and attached themselves to the various sockets on my ride armor. As a final step, the wheels, swung around behind me.

And I fell flat on my can.

“Not bad,” Llandhe said, still on the headset. “Most people lose their balance on the first transformation as the center of balance changes. You did manage to complete the transformation though, so even if you did go down, you’d be far from helpless.”

Dusting myself off, I could see what she meant. Once I learned not to try to think through my actions, but simply to perform them, operation of the Cyclone as an exoskeleton was fairly easy.

“All right, “ she continued. “To convert back, you just go airborne and reconfigure. Remember though, to pull up hard on the front wheel after you transform. She tends to be nose heavy.”

“Roger that,” I confirmed. Though it was a bit nose heavy, this transformation went off with just a bad bounce.

“Now, get it back up to speed and try the transformation again,” she urged.

This time I was ready for the imbalance, and though my landing wasn’t perfect, it was a two-pointer that touched down at the bottom end of my legs, rather than the top one. After getting the feel of running and jumping in the armor, I leapt up and reconfigured to cycle. The transformation went well. We drilled like that for several hours. During my break, I got to see Lazarus bust his rump on transformation and Jake pull it off without a hitch. Of course, he was the one who claimed he hadn’t been on a bike in fifteen years. I think I was had.

“While you fellows are resting,” she said as we were getting out of our armor, “I’ll give you some familiarization with the Valkyrie and the hovertank. Like the Cyclone, we obtained these designs when a member of Starfleet managed to pass through a dimensional gate into the universe where these mecha are common.”

A hologram of an aircraft similar to the old Grumman Tomcat appeared. “This is the VF-1 Valkyrie,” she explained. “As you have probably guessed, it seems to be derived from late twentieth century designs, but it has some major differences.” As she spoke, the engine pods seemed to sweep forward and underneath, and two armlike structures swung out to the sides, one of them holding the plane’s gun pod.

“This is the GERWALK configuration, though most of us refer to it as Guardian mode. In this configuration, it’s still operated as an airplane, but it has the advantages of ground-skimming and a pair of manipulative appendages.”

The hologram changed again, this time forming a humanoid robot. “This is the Battloid mode. The use of a substance called protoculture in a cybernetic-organic interface allows the pilot to perform the hundreds of minute attitude corrections a second that allow it to function. Protoculture does not exist naturally in this universe, which means that we are only able to field a small number of vehicles with Robotechnology, as the science is called. In their original configurations, Robotech mecha used protoculture for power as well as for their interface. We have been able to adapt our own power systems to run them though, allowing us to conserve our limited supplies. In their own universe, protoculture powers starships the size of Starfleet’s Spacedock with the power to destroy entire planets.” She seemed to muse for a moment.

“Well, you can get the rest from your terminals. Get some sleep. We assemble on the flight line at 0800 hours tomorrow.”

KEN

By the time I arrived on the Hangar Deck that morning, preparations were already underway. Rac had picked out a suit of VR-038 armor and put it on, and was using it to help load out the rest of the personnel. He had volunteered to go down and serve as damage control for the team. With the firefight they were getting into, I was glad to have a good engineer with them, though I did feel uncomfortable about sending a lad of his age down.

The Stuart was a variant of the armored landers carried aboard most starships, though it had been modified to serve as a carrier for Llandhe’s hovertank Deathwish. Llandhe split off from the Captain to make her final checks on Deathwish personally. Grin’elle was doing a walkaround on Sorcerer. The way he performed it told me a lot about Grin’elle Kriet.

The captain came out of the ready room in his mechforces uniform. It hurt me when he looked to the bay where Spacewolf lay, more wreckage than mecha. Rac still wasn’t sure that he would be able to repair what was left of it. X-Ray One Able would serve him well, though. It had in Black Arrow, though he still couldn’t admit that it was he, and not Vok, who had piloted her that day.

I heard loud footsteps behind me. I turned to Captain Carter, garbed in the Cyclone rider’s combat armor. “Excuse me, Mister Wright. The Smart Girl’s in the way, and I hate to get out of this armor just to move her. Could you...”

“Och, aye,” I said, trying not to look too great the fool by revealing my thrill at actually getting to drive the famous Gay Deceiver.

“Good, she’s already set to recognize you. Just move her off the active.”

I climbed into the interior. It was well-worn, but also well-maintained. The seats were a dense, durable vinyl, looking and wearing like leather. All the metal was polished aluminum or stainless, or parkerized steel. There were no frills, but there was quality. Just what you’d expect from a professional pilot.

“Good mornin’ Gay Deceiver,” I said.

“Mornin’ sheepherder,” The duo replied. “Where to?”

“Over beside the Glamorous Glennis, an’ I do not herd sheep.”

“Oh really. That’s not what Llandhe tells me.” She had spoken to Llandhe. Wonderful. Now my reputation was a shambles in two universes.

“Oh, by the way, fold yer wings before we move out.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Stand by for modular transformation.”

No. No. Not in this universe too.

LLANDHE

I could see Ken’s anguished look right through Gay Deceiver’s smoked canopy. I suppose I should be nice, but it’s so much fun to be mean. The captain approached.

“Are we set to go?” he asked.

“Ready for launch sir,” I told him.

“You and Mimick are in marginal command of this operation, if such a term applies to a tribe with as many chiefs as this one.”

“I understand, sir,” I told him. Elements help me, do I understand.

I turned to my assembled “troops.”

“All right people, let’s mount up!”

They moved out quick and clean, with the three shuttlecraft mounting up quickly, and Grin’elle and the captain powered up Sorcerer and X-Ray One Able. Mimick clumped into the number two shuttle, joined by Indy Jones, Grin’elle’s Fuzzy companion, and my companion Glommer in the Mini-Garland prototypes, Jake, Lazarus and Dr. Burroughs. Hilda, Deety and Rac joined me, while Surok boarded the medevac shuttle. I buttoned up Deathwish and locked her into her bay.

“X-Ray One Able, clear to launch,” came the captain’s voice over the net.

“Sorcerer, ready,” Grin’elle added.

“Welby, set,” came Hawke’s voice.

“Stuart, go,” Gant confirmed.

“McQuade, ready to launch,” Hunter confirmed to me.

“All right, people. Let’s move it out.”

KRAIGGEARRA

“You heard the lady, helm,” Michael Layne said. “Set coordinates for translation.”

“Coordinates set,” I replied. “Arrival point point five astronomical units from target.”

“Translation coordinates set, captain. Translation on your mark.”

“Rotate at your discretion, Number One,” came the captain’s voice. “You have the ship.”

“Acknowledged, sir. I have the ship. Helm, translate.”

I activated the controls, looking up as I did so. The starfield blinked without wavering, like a clean transition in a holotape. We were in a planetary system. The stars were almost recognizable, but not exactly the same.

“Switching to alternate navigational programs,” Kochab rumbled from beside me. Seconds later, the inertial guidance system locked in, keyed to quasar locations from the tapes given to us by Dr. Burroughs. “Course plotted and laid in.”

“Helm,” Layne’s voice no longer held any of it’s characteristic hesitation. “Take us in.”

The translation between universes didn’t seem to have any ill effects on Yeager’s performance. Apparently, there were no major differences between the laws of physics in this universe and our own. We quickly accelerated to our destination, a class K planet, much like Mars before she was terraformed.

“Tactical, scan the local area,” Layne ordered.

“Scanning,” Vok replied. “No vessels apparent within sensor range, but there is substantial orbital clutter and a pair of moons.”

“Understood. Direct your scans to the surface and see if you can find any sign of the previous away team.”

“Affirmative. Signs of neutron bomb detonations, low-yield atomics with short half-lives.”

“Those are our target,” Layne confirmed. “Communications, relay coordinates to the attack force.”

LLANDHE

On Deathwish’s screen, I could see the relayed camera footage from the shuttlecraft hangar cameras. X-ray One Able lifted cleanly, retracting her gear as the gravity plates were negated. She boosted smoothly out of the hangar to take up station keeping. Moments later, Grin’elle Kriet, in Sorcerer, slipped out as well.

Outside the bay, I could see X-ray One and Sorcerer forming up in escort formation. The three shuttlecraft lifted and moved into formation behind the fighters. Hunter smoothly pulled the McQuade into formation. We were on our way.

I don’t like reentry drops. For those few critical moments of reentry, the hovertank is helpless, not being aerodynamic enough to make a gliding reentry on her own, and without enough thrust lift to muscle her way in. Fortunately, we hadn’t seemed to attract attention yet. We reached atmospheric maneuvering altitude without incident.

“Extraction Leader, this is Sorcerer,” came a voice over my commlink. “Request permission to perform a reconnaissance.”

“Roger that, Sorcerer,” I replied. “Be sure to activate your IFF and watch your back. We don’t want you taken out by friendly fire.”

“Affirmative extraction leader. On my way.”

The VT heeled over and dropped toward the surface. We quickly lost visual track, though the heads-up display kept us apprised of his situation. The speaker came to life.

“Extraction leader, this is Sorcerer. We have a war on our hands...

GRIN’ELLE

The Roughnecks were not in an enviable position. They were surrounded by a mecha type I didn’t immediately recognize, apparently protecting a spacesuited figure in the middle of the group. I did the only logical thing. I attacked.

Sorcerer converted to guardian mode, throwing me forward as I loosed several rounds from her head lasers into the enemy mechs. As they reeled, I brought Sorcerer’s gun pod up to firing position.

Hydraulic fluid splattered like blood from the knee joint of the first mech, causing it to spin aside on its other two legs and tumble to the ground, still firing. A wild shot caught Sorcerer’s starboard wing, and we went tumbling, tip over teakettle. With the ground coming up fast, I finished the conversion to battloid, turning the terminal dive into a diving roll, onboard computers already compensating for the decrease in power to the wingtip jets. As I regained my footing, I found myself staring straight down the barrel of one of the tripod mechs. I saw the glow at the tip of the muzzle that usually signifies a firing charge. There was no way for me to get clear.

A gout of flame burst from its side, and like its companion, it tumbled to the ground. A figure, tiny, by battloid scale, leapt in to cover me.

“What’re ya waitin’ for, kid?” it shouted over the open frequency. “Move it! On the bounce!”

“Yes, sir,” I muttered, converting to guardian.

“What was that?”

“I said, ‘Yes sir,’“ I repeated.

“Don’t call me that boy. I knew both my parents an’ I work for a livin’!”

“Right sergeant.” There was no mistaking this man’s rank.

“You got your bearings?”

“Yes, si… Right Sergeant.”

“By the numbers, then. Let’s move out.”

Keeping his jumps short and to low altitude, the sergeant moved out. After covering a few hundred yards, he turned and motioned to me. Activating the guardian’s thrusters, I moved up to his position, then moved on to our next objective. Using this leapfrog strategy, we caught up with the rest of the group a few moments later.

They had been in a fight, that was obvious. All of their power suits were damaged to some extent, though most of it was superficial. There are only two types of damage in Mobile Infantry suits: superficial and fatal. The figure in the center of the group, though, looked very bad. The bright orange of his pressure suit was scorched black, and there was an emergency patch down the side. I keyed my communicator.

“Extraction leader, this is Sorcerer. We need a dustoff and medevac, stat.”

“Roger that, Sorcerer,” Llandhe replied. “On our way.”

Moments later, I saw X-Ray One scream past, low and fast, with phasers and Gatling pod blazing. Behind her came the McQuade. It slowed slightly, pulling up just as X-Ray converted to guardian and let fly with a pair of missiles. Under the cover of the explosion, Deathwish slid from her bay at the McQuade’s rear, activating her thrusters and dropping between the troopers and the enemy. In mid-drop, the hovertank converted to guardian and turned to bring its big shock cannon to bear.

X-Ray reconfigured and went ballistic at the same moment that Deathwish let fly with the big gun. Tripod legs went smashing to the ground as a bodiless mecha died.

With the enemy temporarily driven back, X-Ray went over the top in a loop, reconfiguring to guardian and dropping beside Sorcerer. Moments later, the Stuart and the Welby dropped into the middle of the outward facing perimeter. The Cyclone and power armored troops quickly joined the Roughnecks on the perimeter, as Dr. Brackett and Surok checked out the victim on the ground. Rac went to work immediately, reinforcing damaged armor, and topping off supplies in the damaged infantry equipment.

“Sorcerer, high cover,” Llandhe’s voice came through my headset.

“Roger.” I grabbed a double handful of sky and pulled.

SUROK

Unlike my brother Vok, I cannot appreciate battle for its own sake, though I can understand its occasional necessity. There was no logic, however, in the damage which threatened to consume my patient. It was obvious that his primitive pressure suit was in no way a threat, he carried no weapon, and yet he had been attacked more viciously that any of the infantrymen.

Captain Conner showed even more than his characteristic concern for a crewmember. I will not feign to understand his loyalty, even to those he has not met. Some have termed him a “cockeyed optimist” or a “chaotic hero,” though I do not know by what criterion they arrive at these labels. I merely know that he can be depended upon, and that is logical reason for loyalty in return.

He knelt over the form of the patient, and when I rolled him over, he seemed to recognize him. “Kip?” I heard him whisper.

“Cliff, please,” came the voice from within the suit. “Nobody but Peewee calls me that now.”

“Cliff,” Conner corrected. “What happened?”

“They got her,” Cliff whispered.

“Peewee?” Conner asked.

“No. The Mother Thing.”

The Captain’s hand crushed the stone he had been leaning on as if it were sprayfoam packing. He paled so visibly I became concerned he might faint. Suddenly, he stood.

“Get him back to the ship, doctor.”

He turned to the spacesuited figure once again, checking the seals on the emergency repairs. “Tight, Oscar?” he asked, then nodded.

I thought my patient’s name was Cliff...

KOCHAB

No doubt the Boss was havin’ a rollickin’ ole time on the planet’s surface, but we were having problems of our own upstairs. Yeager rolled violently to one side as we took a hit from a concentrated energy beam. Kraiggearra brought us around to face our enemy. I woulda’ rather stayed in bed. A Meltraendi battle fortress is not my idea of fun.

“Engineering this is weaponry,” Vok spoke into his comm panel. “Stand by for Algorin Dilithium shunt.”

“Belay that order,” Mike said, in a voice completely devoid of its usual high pitch or hesitation. “We don’t have a dreadnought to back us up if we don’t take them with the first shot. We’re going to have to do this the old fashioned way.”

“With due respect sir,” Kraiggearra pointed out, “that thing could use the Yeager for a shuttlecraft.”

“More likely a travel pod, commander.” Mike acknowledged. “Attention all hands, rig for combat maneuvering. We will be exceeding Yeager’s design specifications, and I doubt that our inertial dampers will completely compensate. Secure all loose equipment and non-combatant personnel. Engine room, we will be needing emergency impulse. Helm, get us some room to maneuver.”

I nodded to Kraiggearra, who did not bother to double check my entries. We got outta there. Yeager’s engines pushed us back hard in our seats, and we accelerated outsystem.

As the boss, I mean Mike musta figured, a ship that big can’t maneuver very fast insystem. We were soon outdistancing it easily. Unfortunately, we couldn’t say the same thing about the mecha that they were launching.

“Hull gunnery officers, stand by for point defense. Keep the FH-11’s and torpedoes in reserve in case we run into something bigger.”

“Bigger!” I shouted, “What can be bigger than… ...never mind.”

Soon, we were surrounded by the multitude of transport sized power armor. As fast as gunnery could pick off one, two more would close with us. Kraiggearra and I made the Yeager dance, but there was just no way to shake them all.

Several had managed to land on the hull, and were advancing on the bridge. The skin deflectors weren’t meant for repeated kinetic impact. They would stand up to a few hits, and the hull itself to a few more, and then...

“Bridge, this is recreation,” came Stephen Lynch’s voice.

“Clear the board, lieutenant,” the Boss said to Stardust. She turned to comply.

“Bridge,” Lynch’s voice came clearly. “Emergency all call. Repeat. Emergency all call.”

For an instant, the Boss stopped, then turned to Stardust. “You heard the man, Stardust. All Call.”

She flipped a toggle, and the sound of the rec deck stage filled the Yeager, and space for astronomical units in every direction. A voice rolled over the speakers. It was Athene.

I hadn’t come aboard Yeager at the time she traveled to that other dimension to fight against an enemy armada with only the Pathfinder and McKay at her side, but I had heard Stephan Lynch’s renditions of the song of the ship’s protection system. Stephan is a great singer, but there’s just no way to compare his talents to what came through Yeager’s speakers, and went out on all hailing frequencies. I could feel a surge, starting in the center of my body and rushing out to my paw tips. I could even feel my hackles start to rise. Now I know you humans talk about getting your hackles up, but when a Dilbian says that, he means it. I felt like the minds of everyone on the bridge of Yeager had been melded into a single fighting unit.

Strangely enough, it seemed to be having the opposite effect on our enemies. Their formations became more and more ragged, and their attacks less effectual. With a quick shot of thrusters, Kraiggearra shook off the attackers who had been working their way toward the bridge.

Not breaking the spell of the music, the Boss nodded to Vok, who powered up the weapon systems. Dilbians may not be the navigational wizards that Medusans and Efrosians are, but we’ve got a bump of direction that won’t quit. I nodded to Kraiggearra, she smiled at my relayed flight plan and sent it along to Vok. He nodded confirmation and Kraiggearra hit the go button.

The music built as Yeager went streaking in on what looked like a ramming path to the flagship. At what seemed like an impossibly close distance, Kraiggearra pulled up, right as Vok triggered the phasers on Yeager’s lower hull, all synchronized through his station. The bridge of the battle cruiser disappeared in a flash of energy. Other phasers flared, annihilating secondary gun emplacements along the hull. We had gone in so fast that the main gun, glowing with a building charge, had not had time to react. We were only a fighter to this monster, and we were acting like one. Yeager actually dropped so close to the hull of the enemy ship that I could see hull emplacement going past above our line of flight.

As we flashed past the rear of the battle cruiser, our rear scanners activated as Vok unleashed the power of Yeager’s FH-11 phaser batteries and photon torpedo batteries in combination. As they were expended, Kraiggearra flipped the Yeager on her axis, bringing the forward cannons and tubes to bear.

The music reached crescendo as the engines of the battle fortress flared. Vok diverted all available power to shields as Kraiggearra and I fought to bring Yeager about and away from that reflex powered inferno. Yeager turned and burned, putting all the power of her impulse engines, originally intended for ships much more massive. Structural members groaned, and red telltales lighted on the structural analysis charts at the engineering station. Yeager was struggling for a clear shot at warp entry, diving closer to the enemy ship to build up acceleration as she turned. The bow turned away from the battle cruiser, and we could see black space in front of us as Kraiggearra’s hands flashed, entering warp coordinates. We almost made it, as the fireball engulfed us.

GRIN’ELLE

Yeager was in a bad way. The enemy ship, whose fragments still spun toward the surface as we approached was out of it, but its fighters, perhaps realizing they had no way to go home had redoubled their efforts. Yeager skewed sideways, unable to make full speed turns while protecting her damaged port side. After clearing a path to the hangar for the Welby, I converted to battloid and took cover behind the port side “roll bar” as I brought Sorcerer’s Gatling gun to bear on the enemy mecha.

I recognized the enemy mecha: Quedlenn Rau suits, better know as “Quadrano” armor. A single suit, in the right hands, was more than a match for a Valkyrie.

Fortunately, there didn’t seem to be any “aces” in this pack, though I knew that sooner or later, they would manage to overpower me by sheer force of numbers. Sure enough, I could feel the armor being smashed away from my Valkyrie’s leg units by an incoming shot. Luckily, though, the augmentation pack armor took the force of the round, saving the delicate leg mechanisms from damage.

The suits grouped together for what I knew was going to be a “Banzai Charge.” A warrior race, the Meltraendi do not fear death so long as they are able to take an honor guard, and for all practical purposes, they were already dead. As one, the half dozen fighters turned and launched at Yeager’s bare flank. I could only hope that I would delay them long enough for Yeager to bring her hull weaponry to bear.

The Gatling gun took out two of the incoming suits before it was exhausted. I switched then to Guardian mode, destroying a third and damaging a fourth with the concentrated fire of my head and nose phasers, but the last three, even with one crippled, continued to come. I converted back to battloid, determined to wrestle them down, if necessary, to give Yeager a chance.

Streamers of flame smashed into the sides of the enemy mecha, destroying the pair of undamaged mecha. Seconds later, the one I had damaged earlier exploded under a withering burst of Gatling fire. Moonstar came flashing into view.

“Before you ask,” a voice drawled, “I can’t transform her. Good thing I didn’t have to.” It was the voice of Hawke, the Medevac pilot. “I figured you could use some help, even if I couldn’t put her to full use.”

“You figured right,” I answered. “Let’s get Sorcerer rearmed so I can get back downstairs.”

“Roger that,” he answered. I jettisoned Sorcerer’s now useless augmentation armor and sat down in Yeager’s waiting portside hangar.

ZIM

I don’t know where they got these guys, but they were good, almost up to mobile infantry level, with a heck of a lot more firepower. I’ve never seen transformable equipment, though I’ve read reports on it. It’s something to see it in action for the first time.

“Do you have a fix on their headquarters location, sergeant?” the pilot of the hovertank asked me.

“Yes, ma’am. Got a fix on it right before they pinned us down.”

“Good. Sorcerer, you are to escort the shuttle to free space, then rejoin us.”

“Aye aye,” the kid in the red and black fighter said. It reconfigured to a something resembling a fighter and lifted off beside the lander.

“Let me see your data sergeant,” she ordered. I downloaded it to her. The base was at the end of a canyon. They thought we couldn’t call an air strike. I thought we couldn’t call an air strike.

“We have a little breathing space until Sorcerer gets back, sergeant. Can you get your lieutenant over here?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am,” I told her, and went over to command circuit. The Lieutenant showed up, on the bounce.

“Lieutenant Juan Rico, ma’am,” he said.

“At ease, lieutenant. I need a complete report.”

As several other power armor clad figures gathered around, including the orange fighter, the lieutenant told what happened. We had been making a standard extraction when the Rodger Young had been driven away by an incredibly huge battleship.

“Zentraedi?” asked one of the other figures.

“Worse,” the pilot of the orange mecha said. “Meltraendi from the sound of it. They’re even more vicious, and harder to reason with. If Yeager tangles with them, we may be walking.”

“Well the main thing is, we’ve got the kid,” the Lieutenant said. “If your guys make it, we’re out of here.”

“Negative on that, Lieutenant,” the driver of the hovertank said. “The job’s only half done.”

The looie looked confused. So was I.

“They got the Mother Thing,” the fighter’s pilot explained.

“What, the pet ferret?”

“That pet ferret,” one of the armored figures said, “is one of the top peacekeepers in her universe. If the Black Hats got hold of her race’s technology there’d be no way to stop them.”

“Just great,” the looie said. “So we go in after her?”

“We go in after her. Just as soon as Sorcerer gets back here.”

As if on cue, the fighter touched down. It was missing a great deal of the armor it made its initial touchdown with.

“Good lord, Grin, what happened to you?”

“We had to fight our way in to Yeager. You should have seen the other guys.”

“How bad is it?” Conner asked.

“Bad. Portside engine and phaser cannons out. Torpedoes operational through power shunts. Starboard and hull phasers still operational. Serious damage to portside superstructure, but nothing disabling.”

“Combat status?”

“She can hold her own, but I wouldn’t want to get into any major battles.”

“Yeager, this is Conner.”

“Yeager, go ahead.”

“Status, Number One.”

“Marginally operational, Captain. Most of the damage was to equipment areas, casualties are minimal and minor so far. I wouldn’t care to try that again.”

“Is the continua device operational?”

“Yes, sir. We also have three-quarter impulse power and standard warp four capability.”

“Three-quarter impulse and warp four?”

“Afraid so, sir. Superstructure damage from the explosion of the enemy vessel precludes greater acceleration. An Enterprise would have had her back broken. Our shorter stress arm kept the explosion damage down, and Commander Kriet’s arrival staved off our smaller attackers until we got phasers back on line.”

“Understood. Stand by to copy orders.”

“Recording, Captain,” the circuit replied.

“In the event of another attack on the Yeager, you are to utilize the continua device to return to our universe. If possible, install it aboard the Pathfinder and return. If you are unable to remove it safely, make repairs to Yeager and return when completed,” Conner ordered.

“Sir, if we maintain real time, it may take months to get the Yeager combat ready again.”

“Those are my orders, Mr. Layne. One final command,” he turned to me. “Do you have the coordinates of the enemy base?”

I relayed them to him.

“If our position becomes untenable, you are to utilize all Yeager’s available power not necessary for her own defense to destroy the structures at these coordinates.”

“That’s a lot of power against a ground installation, sir.”

“They have the Mother Thing, Number One. If we can’t make extraction, we can’t allow her to be held by the enemy.”

There were several seconds of silence.

“Understood, sir. Yeager out.”

“Extraction out. Marines, Roughnecks, form up on me. We’re going in.”

RAC

I have seen what happens when the Captain gets that look. Things get broken. Sometimes I can put them back together. Other times, even with the help of Grin’elle Kriet and the original blueprints I still have problems. Take Spacewolf, for instance. The Captain took her into a fight with a Klingon mech over double her mass. Considering what was left of Spacewolf, I doubt there was an identifiable piece of the Klingon mech.

Now we were getting ready to take a pair of Valkyries, a hovertank, a half dozen Cyclones, a set of marine power armor, Tigeran power armor and a squad of mobile infantry up against an unknown foe who had pinned down those same mobile infantry just a few hours ago, and driven off their drop ship.

I didn’t know who to feel sorrier for.

The Valkyries converted to guardian mode as Ms. t’Reilri switched her hovertank to transport configuration. Since it was obvious we would be moving fast, I converted back to cycle mode, as did most of the other Cyclone riders. We rolled out.

The base was at the end of a box canyon, we knew that. That meant that they would be well defended from a frontal assault. Sorcerer boosted over one lip of the canyon while X-Ray One Able lifted up over the other. In her typical manner, Ms. t’Reilri took Deathwish straight up the middle.

“Look sharp,” came the Captain’s voice over the tactical net. “They’re letting us get too close, too easily.”

“No they aren’t,” came Commander Kriet’s voice. “Check your one o’clock position.” More combat mechs, humanoid in configuration, but not of a design I recognized, were coming down the rim of the canyon.

“Conserve your missiles,” the Captain said. “Let’s try to take them with phasers and hand to hand first.”

With that, X-Ray One leapt skyward, transforming to battloid as it lifted. Suddenly, its leg lunged outward in a vicious snap kick. One of the mechs tumbled forward, its main sensors smashed.

Kriet opted for the indirect approach, cutting a wedge out of the hillside in front of another of them with his phasers. Tripping, it crashed into the ravine where Commander t’Reilri was waiting, Deathwish in Guardian mode. Its cannon flared, obliterating the mech.

“Cycle squadron,” called the voice of Major Carter. “Transform to combat configurations.” I flicked a switch beside my Cyclone’s throttle as I pulled her back onto one wheel and fired her thrusters. The secret to a successful Cyclone transformation is getting enough altitude for the transformation sequence to function without going so high as to make yourself a target. With the 038-LT’s smaller size and lighter weight, I only needed to lift a bit over a meter at low power to perform the sequence easily.

Beside me I saw Indy Jones, Commander Kriet’s Fuzzy (both his race and outstanding feature) and his companion Glommer, transforming their mini-Garlands to their battloid configuration. I have to admit liking the design. It wouldn’t be much use on board ship, but a few of them could be very useful for armed reconnaissance. Perhaps I could discuss it with the Captain...

If I survived! I was so caught up in my fascination with the mini-Garlands that I didn’t notice the mechs closing from our rear, trying to catch us in a pincer.

Mimick and T’aan Stahz flew past me, cutting a wide swath through the enemy mechs. Using his armor’s repulsor systems, Mimick easily tossed aside the mechs, as Stahz, opting for the more direct mode, slashed at one of them with the deadly blade of his Tigeran armor. So long as Yeager’s broadcast power link transmitted power to his armor, Mimick could bring the potential of Yeager’s tractor system into a locally controllable package. I just hoped that he was keeping tabs on whether or not Yeager had him on net.

He closed to hand to hand range with one of the smaller mechs, and it seemed for a moment that he hesitated. Surely, he wasn’t fighting without the tractor link… The armor faltered, then dropped to one knee. He had gone into battle with only his armor’s onboard reserves, yet he continued at full power, knowing that he only had a few minutes at those drain levels before completely depleting his power cells.

The armor struggled to its feet, just in time to catch a blast in the chest from one of the enemy mechs. It fell back, energy discharges rippling away from a hole in its chest. I could see a black fluid, not matching any of the hydraulic fluids, leaking out around the edges of the rent.

Stahz rushed to his side, examining him gently. Slapping a suit repair patch over the damage, he pulled Mimick to his feet as a missile barrage closed around them. The pair disappeared in a cloud of smoke and plasma. I could only hope that Stahz had teleported them to safety. My more immediate concern was that there was now no one covering my back as the mechs closed with us.

ZIM

“Bogeys in our six,” I heard someone shout. I turned, just in time to see them closing on our tail enders. We had put the support team at the rear, guarded by the marine and security officer from the relief group. They disappeared in an explosion seconds later.

The enemy equipment was closing with our troops when a pair of red flashes screamed between two of the forward units. With that strange whir and click that they always made, I saw one of the little fuzzy fellows’ cycle reconfigure to its combat mode, firing off a round into the back of the head of one of the enemy units.

Before the enemy unit’s compatriots could react, the other, still in its cycle mode, screamed up the bank, circling to the other side of the formation. As the enemy cut loose, it transformed, backflipping across them, always staying meters ahead of their crossfire. Before the enemy units could realize quite what was going on, the Fuzzies had led the streams of following fire to intercept their own companions, destroying two of the enemy with friendly fire.

As they tried to sort out the situation, the little machines converted back to cycle once again and burst out of the cloud of confusion they had caused. “Wheee!” came the shout over the comm line. The little guys were lovin’ it!

As the cycles pulled out of the way, I let go with the particle gun. These guys were even better armored than the ones we had fought earlier. Though my burst staggered one, he didn’t go down.

“Clear!” came a shout from my side. Suddenly, three of the other type of combat cycles burst through from the pack, reconfiguring on the fly. The dark blue one, which seemed to be the squad leader, leaping almost over the top of the first enemy unit, before cutting in a sudden burst of inertia-cancelling thrust which brought it suddenly crashing into the top of the mechanism. An outer shell burst, and I could see the results of the action, as the operator was splattered across the outer shell.

On the other side of the formation, one armored figure toppled an enemy with a low clip as the second leveled off with an energy pistol at the cockpit. With the explosion brought about by sudden temperature variation, the hull exploded even as the cockpit was completely disintegrated.

“Go!” came the shout of the squad leader, as he turned to another attacker. We went.

KOCHAB

Yeager was rocked by the impacts of incoming fire. As we increased power to our weakened shields, another bolt smashed into our nearly defenseless lower saucer. A light attack ship, about the size of a Federation Corvette was battering at us with beams from a turret on its upper hull.

With the practiced, relaxed movements of a VT pilot, Vok swung his targeting director onto the bogey and fired, scattering it into its component particles. With the destruction of the enemy, he returned to awareness.

“Vessel was a light corvette, carrying heavy particle beams. Normally, not a threat, but able to penetrate our shields in our weakened state.”

“Emergency maneuvering, Helm. Bring us about. Reinforce forward shields,” snapped the Boss.

I checked my station. “Inertial navigator disabled. Unable to plot a course!” I shouted.

“Continua device has auto-disabled,” Helm added.

“Combat information center,” the Boss called, pressing the conn communicator, “Do you have navigation?”

Seconds passed. “Negative, conn.”

“Engineering. Navigational systems are out.”

“Ah know!” came the angry reply. “We’re workin’ on it Number One!”

“How...”

“How long? I dinna ken. The circuitry’s a mess. We took a hit right in the forward navigational scanner and it fed back through the system. There’s no permanent damage, but the system has to be completely reset by hand.”

Great. Here we were under attack and we couldn’t even figure out where we were goin’. Sure, given time, we could figure out our location through astrogation, but combat maneuvering was out of the question without the navigational systems on-line.

“Relieving you, Mister Kochab,” I heard a voice say from behind me. I turned to see S’Stormok, in the full ceremonial makeup of a Warrior-Priest, standing behind me.

I looked up to the Boss, who curtly nodded. I got outta the way.

S’Stormok took his position at the navigator’s station, taking a moment to find the controls, much like a touch typist finding the home keys on one of the old manual keyboards.

“We are set to maneuver,” S’Stormok said. I noticed his eyes were closed. Now, I decided, might be a good time to get religion.

“Get us room to fight. Best possible speed,” the Boss told him.

Bronze fingers flashed over the keypads, entering coordinates at a speed nearly matching the computer’s input. Yeager wheeled, rolled and followed his input, out toward the planet’s moon.

Kraiggearra followed his inputs, executing them with precision, but not happily. The navigation skills of Efrosian Warrior-Priests are legend. No one is sure if they’re natural in origin, like the homing instinct of a bird, or some kind of mystical power, but it’s hard to trust inputs that don’t have any inertial navigation system data to back them up.

“Enemy vessels coming up from portside aft,” Vok said. “They are staying in our weaponry’s blind spot.”

“Vok,” S’Stormok said, not looking up from the panel, “are you familiar with the attack helicopter tactics of late twentieth century earth?”

“Affirmative.”

“An appropriate tactic?”

“It might be...”

“Helm, stand by for close quarters maneuvering.”

“Mister S’Stormok, are you certain you can accomplish this maneuver?” the Boss asked.

“Sir, we are one hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred and seventeen point three-two-eight kilometers from the lunar body, approaching at a rate of point zero-two-five-four lightspeed… mark.”

“I see,” the boss said. “Carry on, Nav.”

“Aye, sir.”

Yeager dropped so close to the surface of the moon I thought I would scream. If the moon had had any appreciable atmosphere, even at the relatively low speed we were traveling, we would have been incinerated instantly. As it was, we were moving more like a VT in Guardian mode than a ship. The Boss’ knuckles were white, but he didn’t speak. No one did. One lapse in S’Stormok’s concentration and it would be over for all of us.

Vok broke the silence, “Tactical reads clear. We are out of the enemy’s line of sight.”

Finally, we heard the rumble of maneuvering thrusters as Yeager slowed. We were maintaining steerage, in this case an orbit at incredibly low altitude, but that was all.

Vok turned to the Boss.

“Sir, we will need a person on a ridge with a laser designator.”

“Very well.” He thumbed the communicator again. “Security.”

“Security, aye,” came Ching’s voice.

“We need a sharpshooter to serve as a laser designator on the ridge. This will be a volunteer mission of course.”

“Aye, sir. I’ll get on it.”

Moments later, the comm unit came back on. “One of the riflemen is suited up and moving out now sir.”

“Very well.”

On the screen, we could see the spacesuited figure moving on thrusters toward a distant mountain. In seconds, he had disappeared out of sight. moments later, the comm circuit crackled.

“Yeager, this is Bullseye.”

“Go ahead, Bullseye.”

“Three bogeys coming over the horizon in a slow search pattern. Stand by for coordinates.”

“At your discretion, Bullseye,” the Boss replied.

Seconds passed.

“Fire one.”

Vok stabbed the manual fire control and a torpedo sped out, almost following the marine’s original flight path. As the screen switched to his helmet camera, we saw the torpedo impact against the hull of the submarine-like ship. There was a string of sympathetic explosions and it disappeared.

The reticle swung around to a second target. “Fire two.”

The second tube fired. the shot screamed out and smashed into the second enemy ship, which was destroyed in the same way.

The reticle swung to the third ship.

“Fire three.”

Vok depressed the trigger. A red light flashed on the panel. The autoloader had jammed.

“Yeager, fire!” the voice came urgently.

Vok quickly switched the selector to tube two. As he did, we could see a pair of missiles launch from the ship’s nose.

The torpedo streaked away, smashing the third ship to oblivion, but the missiles were still coming.

“Point defense phasers,” the Boss ordered.

Twin gatling phasers flashed from Yeager’s upper deck, and one of the two missiles disintegrated. The other, however, had managed to get inside the convergence cone of the upper and lower banks, the one point where neither bank was able to fire.

“Emergency maneuvering thrusters! Stand by to fire,” the Boss said.

Yeager strained to pull her nose up to give the lower bank a chance to fire, but it takes time to overcome the inertia of over one hundred-fifty thousand tons of starship. The missile continued in, directly at the forward edge of our primary hull.

“All decks, rig for impact!” the Boss shouted.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, the missile, our bridge, and most importantly, the ponderous movements of Yeager’s hull. Suddenly, another figure moved into our tableau, the marine who had gone out to serve as our targeting designator. On a trail of blazing thrusters, he rose directly into the path of the oncoming missile. Taking a moment to take aim, he fired at the warhead at point-blank range. There was a gout of flame, and we saw an armored form, trailing streamers of energy and frozen gas spin past our point of view.

“Transporter room, bring him aboard. Trauma team to transporter room one.”

Seconds passed.

“Transporter room, do you have him?”

“I have recovered his shell, sir,” came Kordon’s voice. “He died with honor.”

“Understood, Mister Kordon.”

I could see the anguish on the Boss’ face. He had known it was probably a suicide mission. So had the marine. Both had done their duty anyway. One of them didn’t come back. That happens in wars.

On the bridge, silence reigned.

JERRY

Though keeping the peace is their main profession, the crewmembers of Yeager are professional warriors. They had proven this with their dearest blood. I had already lost, it seemed likely, two of my crew here on the planet. I still clung to the possibility that Mimick and T’aan had teleported back to Yeager, but had no way to confirm it, and little real hope. God only knew how many aboard Yeager had died, or were yet to die, there or on this planet. We knew the stakes though, and we were committed. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if the blood would ever wash off my hands.

Ahead, we could see the enemy base. It looked like something out of an old movie, one of those Japanese samurai epics, all high walls and armored gates. No guns fired at our approach.

“What do you think, Llandhe?” I asked over the comm link.

“It’s too easy sir. It looks like we could just hop over the top of the wall and go right in.”

“Looks like a trap to me,” Lieutenant Rico added.

“And me,” I conceded. “Llandhe, let them know we’re here.”

Deathwish swung about, bringing its powerful particle beam cannon to bear. Energy spewed forth, and the gate buckled, but did not fall.

“It’s a lot tougher than it looks,” Rico commented.

“Chain guns?” Grin’elle asked.

“Guardian mode. Nose and head phasers,” I told him. Sorcerer and X-Ray’s phasers blazed in unison, adding to the energy of Deathwish’s second round. This time, the gate buckled inward, wrecked, but still blocking the way.

“Cover us,” I told Rico. The mobile infantrymen took up positions.

Kriet, in Sorcerer, converted to battloid and grasped one side of a gate section as I did the same with the other. Deathwish converted to battloid and moved to guard our fronts at breakthrough. With a hiss of hydraulics and a groan of wrenching metal, the doors came free.

Sure enough, as the doors swung open, we could see cannons being desperately swung around to our positions from where they had been pointed upward, and would have destroyed X-Ray and Sorcerer as we came over the ramparts. Grin’elle and I laid down overlapping fields of fire as Deathwish’s cannon roared, annihilating one of the gun positions.

Seeing that the turrets had been silenced, the Roughnecks swiftly bounced to the ramparts, then dropped into the courtyard, securing it against sporadic small arms fire which bounced ineffectively off their armor. Within seconds, the area was secured.

“Sensor scans show no life in the structures,” Grin’elle said. “They seem to have gone underground.”

The sergeant examined the entrance corridor. “No getting those big bruisers down these corridors,” he observed. “Doubt we could even get our gear through.”

“We’ll have to go in on foot,” Llandhe concluded. She leapt nimbly over Deathwish’s side. As she landed, she seemed to go down a bit hard. Fatigue no doubt. We’d already been going full tilt for longer that a strike force should have to, and I don’t know how long the Roughnecks had been waiting for relief.

I reached into X-Ray’s storage bin and took out a small package. Tri-Ox compound and high energy boosters are standard combat supplies for heavy gravity worlders, but I hate to use them unless I have to. For a few hours, you’re at your peak, but then you pay for it. With interest. Still, I had no choice. I jammed the hypo against my thigh while gulping down the nutritional booster. You’d think that in three hundred years of development, combat rations could at least be made palatable. No such luck. It tasted like a stale chocolate-coated landing skid, and about as tough.

“Cyclone riders, check your hand weapons and dismount,” Llandhe called. “Sergeant, do you have anyone with artillery training?”

“Sure do, ma’am,” he called back. “Me.”

“Good,” she answered, “Get up here and let me show you how this cannon works. You won’t need a battloid, but the guardian mode might come in handy. The rest of you take five, but stay sharp.”

MICHAEL

There seemed to be no end to our enemy’s resources while Yeager’s were quickly becoming depleted. Ken and his crews had cobbled together repairs to the port engine, giving us no more speed but a bit more stability and maneuverability. S’Stormok, once relieved of navigating, had managed to reboot Yeager’s inertial navigators, but we were still far from combat ready. Our shields were only a fraction their normal strength, but we did have our full torpedo abilities back, as well as one phaser cannon and our hull phasers.

Our greatest threat now was fighters. Normally, no threat, our lack of full combat shields meant that the one which would inevitably get past our hull phasers would find no shields to deflect their usually inconsequential attacks. We were not unlike a World War II battleship without it’s protective fighter umbrella. S’Stormok’s “thinking cap” was set for X-Ray’s interface system, and would not work with Moonstar. If necessary, Kordon could fly Moonstar as a fighter, but as he had not yet had a “thinking cap” burned in, he could not use its transformation capabilities, reducing his survivability to infinitesimal. At best, he could buy us time, which he would, I am sure, at the cost of his own existence. I did not want to have to ask for any more volunteers, but knew that I almost certainly was going to have to.

Kraiggearra confirmed my fears. “Incoming vessels, sir. Three hundred twenty-four mark three hundred fifty-five.” Just over our port bow.

“Sciences?” I asked.

“Type unknown,” T’Saan put in. “Apparently a carrier and a number of fighters, in excess of thirty blips distinguishable at this range.” Yeager was about to enter her final battle.

“Red alert,” I ordered.

At Kraiggearra’s station, the auxiliary fire controls, a simplified backup of the ones at Vok’s station energized. S’Stormok had taken Kochab’s place at primary navigation, in case of system failure, while Kochab had relieved his number two in CIC. S’Stormok removed a dagger from his boot sheath, said a few quiet words, and returned it. Had his utterances been in Japanese, I have no doubt they would have ended in “Banzai!” but, I have little knowledge of the Efrosian language.

“Back up all point defense weaponry through local fire control,” I ordered. “Fire at gunner’s discretion, and make them all count.”

The fighters broke up, coming at us from all sides. Phaser fire flashed from Yeager’s hull, but for every fighter our fire destroyed, there were a pair still available to take its place. A group came in from our undefended upper port aft flank. Yeager screamed as explosions wracked her engineering section.

“Impulse is out!” shouted a damage control officer.

I thumbed the control which brought up the video to engineering. Smoke and clouds obscured the view from the camera’s position. Atmosphere was evacuating through a hull rent. Fighting against the hurricane winds, I could see Ken, struggling toward it, tools in hand. Finally, the wind stopped. The hull had evacuated to vacuum. Five hundred feet away, my closest friend was facing death, and I could not do a thing about it.

He ignored the hull rent, moving instead to a shattered panel at its side. Using the probes, he restored power to the damaged controls. His skin had turned a splotched purple and red. He had exhaled as the pressure had dropped, preventing the horrible explosion of his lungs generally associated with explosive decompression. Even so, his blood was beginning to boil as internal and external pressures fought to equalize. He doubled over, then rose, energizing the final connection. Pulling a repair patch from his kit, he moved to the hull rent.

Power restored, Yeager swung to meet her attackers, barely destroying a second wave moving in to take advantage of the first attack. On the screen, I saw Ken collapse to the deck.

Moments later, I saw a team of spacesuited figures move into the field of vision. Less than a minute had passed. The rest of my friend’s life. A pair of figures in red suits moved to press the repair patch over the hull rent, while a second pair slapped a life support field around Ken’s inert form. One of them passed a scanner over him, then looked to the pickup. The sad shake of his head confirmed my fears.

Even my grief was stolen from me though, when I realized that the living’s battle, unlike Ken’s was not yet over. Anger rose to take its place.

“All ahead full, Helm,” I said. “We’re going to take an honor guard.”

To her credit, Kraiggearra did not question her orders. Yeager swung about and drove at full speed toward the waiting enemy. Photon torpedoes lashed out, flaring against the hull of the carrier. Phasers licked enemy hull plates, scoring them, but not stopping it.

Yeager rocked backward and to one side as an enemy shot ripped through her fortunately evacuated forward areas. Yeager swung about as smartly as her damaged thrusters could move her, trying to keep her solid superstructure and operating weapons facing the enemy. While we might have managed to fight off either the fighters or the carrier vessel, in our weakened state, we could not deal with them both. We did not have much longer. Our final option was to meet our ends with honor.

Captain, I’m sorry.

Nine beams of energy lashed out over Yeager’s primary hull from behind. The enemy carrier staggered, flashed brilliantly for a moment, then disappeared in a gout of flame. The green tip of what looked like a wing, a shape not unlike a twentieth century battleship turret flashed into view for a moment, then disappeared as our rescuer moved away. For the moment, we were safe.

LAZARUS

We formed up in a skirmish team and headed into the structure, following standard leapfrog formation. The hall was less than four meters wide, with a fairly low ceiling.

The two fuzzies in their mini-Garlands took point, since they had the heaviest armor, and the only powered armor small enough to get in. Conner and Kriet followed, along with Llandhe. Jake, Zeb and I brought up the rear. There was no resistance. It bothered me.

We proceeded deeper and deeper underground, until we came to a set of armored doors. “Standard electronic locks,” Kriet said, looking up from his tricorder. He removed several tools from it and activated them. The door hissed open. The area was a cargo airlock. We entered and moved to the second airlock, Kriet activated the mechanism. The room glowed, and there was a hiss of hydraulics.

“Pappy G’in!” Indy Jones shouted, “No go! No go!”

Kriet moved to the mini-Garland’s exterior tell-tales. “Neutralized.”

Conner pulled his phaser and examined it. “This too.” He reholstered it, pulled the Colt automatic behind it, and worked the action. Llandhe and Grin’elle pulled swords, hers an elaborate but functional Vulcan design, his a traditional Terran saber. Jake and Zeb pulled their Barsoomian blades while I hefted my saber. The fuzzies dug into side compartments on their mecha and pulled out small lethal-looking polearms, with a device like a can opener at one end. Kriet returned his attention to the door.

“Takes a little longer this way,” he muttered, “but not impossible.”

Moments later, the door slid aside. Conner stepped into the room and took up a defensive posture. Llandhe moved in beside him. Grin’elle checked his equipment.

“Nothing, they must have neutralized the circuitry, probably with high energy electromagnetic pulse.”

“Then we do it the old fashioned way,” Conner replied simply. He turned to Zeb. “There won’t be any hard feelings if you want to go back.”

“There won’t be,” Zeb replied, “because we aren’t going back without the Mother Thing.”

Conner nodded. We moved out.

The hallway led to what looked like a ready room. Our opponents were humanoid sized, but we already knew that. From the equipment, we could tell that they were humanoid configured as well. They were lackeys, but they weren’t Black Hats. From the distance, we could hear the sound of an engine spooling up.

“Let’s move it,” Conner said, a new urgency in his tone. If they managed to get the Mother Thing to their home base, it would be unlikely we’d ever get in, even if we did manage to find it.

The fuzzies, low to the ground went first. We could see them moving across the hangar area, taking advantage of available cover far too small for us human-sized. We heard a scream and moved out. The fight was on.

As we burst into the chamber, we could see Glommer with his weapon embedded deep into the back of one of the enemy. The being stood twice his height, but could not turn to strike him. A second hulking humanoid moved to strike, just as the blade of Indy Jones’ chopper-digger flashed. The mercenary’s decapitated form dropped to the floor.

A third figure appeared in the doorway of the ship with a large hand weapon. Conner’s .45 barked once, and he fell to the ground, dead before he hit. The Glaser round was common on twentieth century Earth as an ammunition of choice when lethality was the only option. He was obviously taking advantage of them.

We could see more forms moving out from docking bays at the rear of the ship. We formed a battle group, each covering the other, and moved forward. Fortunately, the energy weapon neutralizer which kept us from using our phasers and mecha seemed to cut both ways. In the middle of the twentieth third century, by the reckoning of our comrades, we were reduced to weapons that were old when I was a child on Terra.

As we closed, I could hear the sounds of explosions in the distance. It sounded like the launch tunnel entrance had a firefight going on, but I could not tell who was fighting whom, or who was winning.

Suddenly, I had no time to think. Our enemies had attacked.

The pistol barked again, four, five, and then a sixth time. Our “friends” had learned their lesson, however, and were wearing impact resistant armor. Only the last two rounds, aimed as head shots, had any effect.

Conner dropped one clip as he drew another from his belt pack. Before he could reload, a round smashed into his chest armor, driving back even his high-G form, sending the pistol skittering under an equipment locker.

Fortunately, our ride armor seemed to protect us from their small arms rounds, and they hadn’t had time to set up any heavy weaponry. Llandhe leaped forward, her blade easily slicing through ballistic cloth which would have stopped all but armor piercing shells. Low-tech solutions to high tech problems...

Jake and Zeb fought as one, backs together as the Warlord had taught them, always as aware of their sword-brother’s situation as their own. Kriet fought with the style of the Heidelberg swordsmen, while Llandhe fought in the pseudo-samurai style of the Rihannsu.

Conner, on the other hand, was only using the street-brawling style best suited to his heavy-gravity physique. He simply closed with his opponents and smashed them into submission.

Llandhe had fought her way to the personnel hatch when she was knocked off-balance by a massive, polearm-wielding mercenary. She clutched her side, and fell to the ground. I could see a trickle of dark green seep through the seam of her armor. Jake and Zeb fought toward her, but their own opponents kept them rooted in the same position. Conner grabbed a sword, hefting it as it to throw, but Llandhe was between him and her target, and he could not take the chance. The alien raised his blade, and made the death stroke.

There was a sickening crunch of shattered bone, as the hand holding the blade was stopped. A single soft leather-gloved hand held the alien’s arm, unmoving. The other hand lashed out, and the mercenary was smashed into the side of the ship.

Llandhe pulled herself up to one elbow, looking up into the face of her rescuer. “I never forget a debt of honor,” I heard him say softly. He turned to Conner, and brought the sword up in salute.

Conner stood for a moment, stunned. Then, slowly and ceremonially raised the blade he held into the salute position. He lowered the blade, and the figure disappeared, back into the shadows. Conner ran to Llandhe, unbuckled her armor and applied pressure to the wound as I bandaged her up.

“Llandhe,” he whispered. “Was that...”

She nodded.

There was no doubt the tear was painful. Those jokes about reopening old wounds aren’t idle chatter. She bore it in silence.

Confirming that she was all right, Conner took the sword up and proceeded into the ship. We could hear the sound of a very short battle, then he emerged, blood dripping from several minor wounds, his own sword bloodied. He was carrying a small form, covered in fur, in a child-sized rescue ball.

“Let’s get out of here.”

We stopped only long enough to manually reconvert the mini-Garlands to cycle mode and push them back up to the surface with us. Fortunately, since they had wheels, we were able to push them without power. Otherwise, we would have had to self-destruct them.

Lieutenant Rico saw us coming up the passageway. “Medic!”

The Starfleet medic checked out Llandhe and made sure old Lafe Hubert hadn’t lost his touch. I hadn’t.

Llandhe pushed herself up, and staggered toward Deathwish. Conner moved to restrain her. She pushed him away.

“We have to get back to the LZ,” she pointed out. “The mini-Garlands have been neutralized, and some of these guys are almost out of power. We need a bus.”

There was no arguing with that logic. The Roughnecks with the lowest power supplies grabbed handholds on the hovertank, as others attached the mini-Garlands to the tow pads on the Valkyries. X-Ray One turned her Gatling gun on a tower and fired. “No more transporter interference,” the captain muttered. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Autobots, transform and roll out,” came a voice over the comm. X-Ray’s head snapped about to stare at Sorcerer.

“Sorry,” Kriet said. “Couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Conner said with a tension-breaking chuckle. We rolled for the LZ, a motley crew of cyclists, a hovertank with assorted “growths” and a pair of guardian mode Valkyries with mini-Garlands slung beneath.

We arrived there after a much shorter trip out than the one in. Then again, the route out was littered with the cause of our earlier delays. As we passed the site of our earlier ambush, search units spread out to look for signs of Mimick and T’aan Stahz. There were none.

“Shuttles waiting at the LZ,” Llandhe confirmed from the hovertank. “They have a clean dustoff and perimeter is established.”

Sure enough, everything went as advertised, until Conner tried to order Llandhe to the medical shuttle. She wasn’t about to leave her post until everyone was safe aboard.

“Mister Kordon,” Conner spoke into his communicator.

“Aye, sir,” came the Klingo-Rihann’s voice.

“Get Commander t’Reilri to Doctor Brackett immediately. See to it personally.”

There were several seconds of silence.

“Aye, sir.”

Llandhe moved to protest, but she was already disappearing in the shimmer of the transporter. Kordon would have his hands full getting Llandhe to the doctor, even in her condition. I didn’t envy him.

RAC

We made best possible speed back to the Yeager’s. Even having heard the reports, we were not prepared for the condition she was in. Whoever had ordered the attacks on us had done their homework, for barely a shot had been wasted which had not hit a vital area. With a slightly less skillful crew, we would have had no ship to come home to. Even so, she looked worse than I’d ever seen an Avenger-class look and still move under her own power. Only the tapes of Reliant after Enterprise’s final attack looked worse. The outer radiator panels were missing from the portside warp engine, and the power conduits laid open, with steamers of energy leaking from them. Our infamous skunk had been completely obliterated, with even the hull panels it had been painted on missing. The port phaser cannons were wrecked, though they looked salvageable. As we approached the rear of the ship, I could see a hull rent torn in the impulse deck, one of the only areas inhabited during battle stations which had been hit.

When the captain saw her, it was like a physical blow. Andorians are not known for our empathy, but even the most headblind would have shared his pain. His anguish was like that for an old friend, or a loyal animal companion.

Our shuttles set down, Commander Layne waiting at the blast shield for us. He held a formal pose, hands clasped behind his back, eyes locked forward.

“Status report, Number One,” the captain said as he descended the ramp.

“Minimal warp and deflectors restored. Impulse at sixty percent, photon torpedoes operational. All phasers except port side cannons restored. Life support nominal.”

“Very well. Have Mister Wright give me hourly reports. We’ll rotate to Tertius as soon as possible.”

Mister Layne’s facade broke. “Sir, Mister Wright was lost in battle.”

The Captain stopped cold, his face now the same carefully neutral blank that Mister Layne’s had been. He stepped to the comm panel.

“Mister Kordon?”

“Aye sir,” came the answer.

“You are to serve as acting Chief Engineer until you receive further notice.”

“I shall attempt to honor Mister Wright’s memory, sir.”

“I’m sure you will, Mister Kordon. Out.”

Without looking back, he left the hangar.

ALEX

Spyik had me monitor the Captain. He had no desire to interrupt his grief, but he did not want to leave him alone. He was standing at the front of the Brass and Fern, newly repaired after a near miss, leaning on the wooden ship’s wheel Ken had hand carved from real wood and sneaked on board just before his last birthday. Ken had always pretended to be a pragmatist, while in reality one of the greatest romantics in the crew. He loathed transformable mecha, but knowing the Captain’s love of it, became an expert in its maintenance and repair. The Captain said Ken would be late for his own funeral. If only he had been right.

“Are you there, Alex?” he asked.

“Aye sir.”

“No need for formality at the moment, Alex. Time enough for that when we have to put on our formal faces for the crew. Did you know Ken?”

“I am familiar with his file, sir.”

“Not his file, with him.”

“Only in passing.”

“He and I attended the Academy, in different branches at about the same time. We were both members of academic competition teams. Our teams were sworn enemies, but we became friends anyway.

“He was the one who introduced me to a shy little bookworm who lived with one foot in our world and another in the age of chivalry. You might have heard of him. His name’s Michael Layne.”

“Yes, I have,” I replied.

“They used to say we were the most dangerous combination in the fleet. Mike was smart enough to design them, Ken was good enough to build them, and I was crazy enough to push the button on them.” He chuckled.

“We did a few times, too. When K’Maurg tried to discredit me and keep the YEAGER from being finished, they stood beside me. Together, we beat the charges, and drove K’Maurg back across the neutral zone.”

“We went on to form the commissioning crew of the hottest, most unorthodox zoo ever to have transwarp drives attached. There were times when we were ready to strangle each other, but anyone else who wanted a piece of one of us found himself facing a matched trio.

“Now there are two of us, and I didn’t even get to tell him goodbye.”

He turned back to the window. The Brass and Fern remained silent for many hours.

KRAIGGEARRA

After the fighting died down, Hunter strapped the “Captain America” pack of sensor and countermeasures gear onto Moonstar and took her out to look for survivors. Though he did an outward spiral from the area where T’aan Stahz and Mimick had last been seen, he was unable to find any sign, other than some blood and armor fragments belonging to Mimick which Rac confirmed had been lost during the battle. He even checked near space, thinking that T’aan might have teleported straight up to avoid a collision. There was nothing. It was as if they had simply gone between and never come back out. We couldn’t prove they were dead, we just couldn’t prove they were alive. After finding that T’ann had disappeared, his mate Tiasha had failed to report in. Security searched the ship, but at the end of the ship, Ching had to report that Tiasha was “no longer in Yeager.” We could only hope that somehow, she might be searching in that netherworld that only Tigerans can reach for her lost mate and our chief of Marines. I feared though, that she had chosen to join them in oblivion.

Unfortunately, we had no such glimmer of hope with Ken. He had been lost, as had that marine I only knew as Bullseye One, giving his life for his shipmates. As a Rihannsu, I could appreciate that they had died well, but my years among humans made me regret the loss of life, especially the loss of a close friend to an enemy that I had never met, and whose motives I could not understand.

We maneuvered Yeager into the system’s asteroid belt, as close as safe to a large body, and went to emissions control. The captain downgraded our alert status to wartime cruise, and I was finally free to leave the bridge.

Warlord, lying inside the door, rose to meet me. She quietly put her muzzle into my hand, and pressed herself to me. Even Otto crawled down the desk and climbed up my arm, perching on my shoulder and pressing against my face. Animals know grief, and they know when their friends need comfort. Anyone who can’t recognize that is a fool.

I peeled off my work fatigues and stepped into the shower, setting it for an actual water shower. After the events I had just experienced, I needed the psychological effects of cleansing even more than the physical ones. I let the pulsing bursts of water batter the tension out of my fatigued muscles.

I had been so engrossed, I had not heard the cabin doors open, nor heard the gentle footsteps. The door slid aside, and Spyik stepped inside, embracing me.

“No, Spyik, not now...” I started.

“No,” he agreed. “Not that. Not now.” We stood there for a long time, then finally toweled off and went out to the light supper Alex had waiting for us. We ate in silence. Sometimes, if you love someone, you’re there for them, because that’s really all you can do.

T’SAAN

Jerry seemed ready to explode, but at the same time, strangely, frighteningly calm. He had himself so thoroughly barriered that it was nearly impossible, even for me, to read him. He had rested for a few hours after the stimulants he had taken on the planet had worn off, but had returned to the bridge as soon as he regained consciousness.

Outwardly, he appeared calm, but to those who knew him, the signs of stress were obvious. There was none of the banter he kept up almost constantly under normal circumstances. His jaw was set, and he stared straight ahead into the viewer. His knuckles, where he gripped the command chair, were white. He did not seem surprised when the intercom activated.

“Security to bridge,” came ensign Ching’s voice.

“Go ahead,” he answered.

“Captain, the crew of the Gay Deceiver have disappeared, along with their vehicle.”

“I see. Were there any messages?”

“Negative, sir...”

“Is there something else, ensign?”

“Sir, Commander Wright’s body is missing from the stasis chamber.”

Jerry slammed his fist down onto the all-call. “General quarters! All hands to battle stations.”

Yeager came to life. Relief crews flooded onto the bridge. Moments later, Kraiggearra and Kochab relieved their counterparts, dazed but battle ready.

He turned to Stardust. “Please ask Lieutenant Rico, Sergeant Zim, the Mother Thing, Mister Layne and Kordon to meet me in the briefing room. Link sickbay in so that Llandhe can hear what’s going on.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Kraiggearra, you have the bridge. T’Saan, if you please.”

We descended to the briefing room in silence. The people Jerry had called were already assembled. He quickly briefed them.

“Sir, I have no explanation for this act. Certainly, graverobbing does not fit into the profile of the crew of Gay Deceiver.”

“I doubt they have bad intentions, dear,” the Mother Thing whistled.

“I hope not, Mother Thing,” he replied. “Unfortunately, we have to assume the worst. Did they take any of the materials that you recovered?”

“No dear,” she said, pulling a holocube out of her pouch. “This is all that I brought with me, and you can see that it is intact.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I was able to recover it from the shuttle’s computer just as you came on board.”

“All right. Mister Rico?”

“I don’t have any more idea what’s going on here than you do, sir,” Rico replied, “but the Roughnecks don’t forget their debts. If there’s trouble, we’ll be ready.”

“Thank you, lieutenant. I hope it won’t come to that, but I appreciate your support. Mister Kordon, what is the condition of the Yeager?”

“Thanks to Mister Wright’s quick work in battle, we survive. The ship will require a major dock period, but it is operational. Remember sir, the Yeager at half power is still more than a match for most of the starships which exist in the Gay Deceiver’s operational universe, if our intelligence is correct.”

“That’s what I’m hoping, Mister Kordon,” Jerry replied.

“Additionally, we have completed repairs to all mecha involved in the raid. Most of the damage was superficial and confined to the areas of the mecha easily replaced. Additionally, we have fabricated replacements for the armor lost from Sorcerer’s augmentation pack. We were also able to effect repairs to the mobile infantrymen’s power suits, though we have no ordnance available for them.”

“Mister Layne, how long to prepare the ship for optimal combat in her current condition?”

“We have been at work since the battle sir. The crew is fairly well rested, and we have completed all possible repairs,” Layne replied.

“Very well. It seems that we have settled on a course of action, then. We rotate in...”

At that moment, the door to the briefing room hissed open, and Grin’elle Kriet, burst in, panting.

“They’re gone!” he blurted out.

“What’s gone?” Jerry asked, perplexed.

“The tissue cultures I brought back from the anime cluster! They’re all gone!”

“That does it. Lieutenant, get your men ready to drop. We rotate in one hour.”

We followed Jerry onto the bridge. He relieved Kraiggearra, taking back the center seat. He thumbed the intercom control. “This is the Captain. The body of Chief Engineer Wright has been stolen from our ship, and the beings we aided in their rescue efforts are now gone. We will be rotating to their universe in an attempt to retrieve them. I don’t need to remind you of the condition of our ship, or our chances in a major battle in that condition. All I can ask is that you do your best.”

Over the next hour, Yeager transformed from a struggling hulk to a bloodied but unbowed warrior. One did not need to be an empath to sense the determination of the crew. The theft of a corpse is a crime in many cultures, and when that crime has been perpetrated by a supposed friend, of a friend, it is doubly heinous.

“I can’t help but wonder why they left the continua device attached, though, if their intentions were not honorable,” mused Layne.

“Be tough to take the bridge to get it back,” Kriet pointed out.

“This is true,” he conceded.

Jerry turned to the forward screen. “Sound battle stations.”

Klaxons sounded throughout the ship.

“Rotate.”

The stars clicked into place. Ahead of us, we could see an ovoid ship, nearly as large in diameter as the Yeager’s primary hull.

“Weapons up. Launch all fighters!”

Seconds later, three fighters took up station keeping in front of Yeager. X-Ray One Able, piloted by S’Stormok, and Sorcerer in guardian mode while Moonstar, piloted by Kordon, which still had the sensor package attached, stayed in fighter.

“Hailing frequencies,” Jerry commanded.

“Hailing frequencies open,” Stardust confirmed.

“This is Federation starship U.S.S. Yeager. You are ordered to surrender and prepare to be boarded.”

“I dinna think that will be necessary,” came a voice from the other ship. “Ye already have someone aboard.” The voice belonged to Ken Wright...

LAZARUS

Things like that shouldn’t happen to a starship captain.

But, they’re so much fun to watch.

When we got back to the Yeager from the planet, we found out about what happened to the ChEng, and we knew that in his case, at least, we could do something about it. They had put him into stasis moments after declaring him dead, and so there was no real cell deterioration.

Unfortunately, none of us knew how their storage systems worked, and how long his memory patterns would be viable before they started to break down. We had to move fast, and we knew the debates that would go on if we tried to explain what we intended to. The morality of cloning and rejuvenation in universes which don’t have them makes religion and politics dinner time small talk. Of course, to those universes, they are subjects of religion and politics, rather than simple scientific operations.

Of course, morgues are usually the quietest place around, so it was a fairly easy matter to get his chamber and move it to Gay Deceiver. The fact that they have anti-gravs in their universe helped.

So we grabbed the stiff and headed back for Tertius. To be exact, we headed back to Tertius minus thirty years from our departure time of the Yeager universe. Ish popped some viable cells into her clone tanks and grew a new Ken while we took the corpse forward to the proper moment and transferred the proper parts around to get a fully functional model again. Anyway, the upshot was that at the moment that the Yeager popped into our universe, we had a fully operational chief engineer waiting for them.

We had also started growing a body for Athene, though we did not plan to quicken it until the Yeager arrived. As we had told them, it’s important for a silicon intelligence to have an organic they’re familiar with and trust handy at the moment of “awakening” to give them a solid psychological foundation.

Dora dropped her shields and the Captain, XO and medical officer beamed over. I had let Dora go to battle stations, even though I knew the only defense for her was to not be in range. Though she’s well-armed, by the standards of this universe, Yeager would have cut her to scrap in moments, if that had been their intention.

They materialized in the lounge, as I had directed them, and I noticed that they weren’t carrying their usual weaponry, though I did notice a spare bulge under their jackets, beside their communicators. Not that I blamed them. I’d be antsy too. I did appreciate them making the effort to appear civil. Conner nodded to me, then turned to the doctor, who pulled a tricorder and examined Ken.

He scanned Ken several times, them turned to his captain. “Genetic scans prove out sir. He appears to be Ken Wright in almost every respect.”

“Almost?”

“Several minor physiological dysfunctions have been corrected, and several minor scars have been removed, including, as you’ll notice, the ones he received on his hand in that cutter beam accident.”

“It’s me, sair,” Ken reiterated.

Slowly, Mike stepped forward, and took Ken’s hand. It was as if he were reading every cell of Ken through that handshake. The tears which had been unable to flow at Ken’s death now rose, unbidden and unrestrained at his resurrection. He wept without shame, as Ken embraced him.

I motioned to the captain and the doctor to join me.

“Privacy circuits ‘Dorable,” I said. “Open again at their command.”

“Roger that boss.”

Though less than a day had gone by, they had a lot of catching up to do.

HILDA

The next few months dragged on forever, and seemed to fly, at the same time. After the memorial services for the Yeager’s lost crewmembers, her crew settled in to the job of returning her to her fighting trim before going back to their own universe. In the meantime, we set about to work decoding the material that the Mother Thing and Cliff had recovered from the Black Hats agents. There were some glitches getting the interfacing to work, but with the help of Yanni Miller, S’Stormok, April Vincent and the being called Skhraud we managed to download their data into the clinic’s systems (we didn’t want to chance downloading it into the planetary net, and the clinic computer was the only other one large enough to handle it which could be isolated electronically, if necessary). Unfortunately, we didn’t really recover much more than confirmation of the facts that we already knew: that the Black Hats were backstabbers with no sense of honor or fair play. Jerry said they reminded him of a Klingon he knew.

At the same time, the downloading of the EVE program into the body of Athene Graham began. Most of her chromosomes came from the cell samples that Grin’elle had given us, but Ishtar had come up with one curve which she did not tell them about: a chromosome pair from one Woodrow Wilson Smith, a.k.a. Lazarus Long, the senior of the Howard Families, ad nauseum. A computer is functionally immortal, and she feels that if she can get a flesh body to be the same, then it is her duty as a doctor to do so.

The day finally came, though, when Ken reported that Yeager was combat ready and cosmetically repaired, though with some nonstandard equipment. All we had left to do was to finish the final downloading of EVE/Athene and Yeager would be going home.

The process became something of a gala event, with all of us assembled for a “coming out” party for our newest entry to the world of flesh and blood from the world of silicon. Even Gay Deceiver, Dora and Alex, the Yeager’s computer were linked in through the planetary net. We watched a graphic simulation on one of the clinic’s holoscreens. On the screen, tendrils of energy reached from the glowing representation of EVE’s holocrystal to the three dimensional image of her flesh body. This was the most critical, and final stage of the process, as the actual personality patterns which made EVE/Athene a unique entity were being downloaded. Thanks to the developments we’d made since our first flesh implantations, she did not have to go through the periods of learning to coordinate her flesh body that Teena did when she became flesh.

The system glows changed from amber to red, as the final bursts of information began downloading. There were only minutes to go, when we got trouble lights.

On the screen, we could see what looked like, contradictorily enough, a dark light on the computer-generated horizon. It flowed across the plain, taking on a dark, vaguely humanoid form, with reversed knees and malevolent eyes. Appendages, not unlike horns, protruded from its head.

“We have an anomaly in the system,” Yanni Miller called out from a data terminal. “Data files are being erased.”

“Confirmed,” April said from a console nearby. “We have a Trojan Horse.”

“That’s no problem for the center,” Ishtar replied, “all our data is backed up holographically, but if EVE is damaged at this point, there’s no way to back her up.”

The figure on the screen continued across the plain, advancing on EVE/Athene’s helpless form. There was no way for us to interfere on this plain of battle with the murderous form which must have been downloaded from the Mother Thing’s data solid. The anomaly, a “Trojan Horse” as April had called it, was designed to lie dormant until it could cause maximum damage.

“I’m getting a data download from Yeager,” Miller called out.

On the screen, a new form took shape. It was a metal form, what Kriet would call a “Battloid” in white, blue and yellow. It resembled a human form, with a head similar to a Japanese warrior. It carried a shield on one arm, and what looked like a powerful rifle in the other. On its back, I could see the code letters NT-1.

“What else?” Miller muttered to himself. Conner looked at him quizzically. “It’s an ALEX,” Miller explained.

On the screen Alex drew his weapon and stepped between the EVE/Athene link and the oncoming entity. He raised the weapon and fired, tearing gouts of digital flesh from the creature, which kept coming. As it closed too close for the rifle to have effect, he shield charged the form, bowling it over onto its back as digitized sparks leapt out from calculated impact points. The writer of the virus hadn’t counted on a program of Alex’s power being in the system. It rose, extruding claws from its hands and lashed out at him. He leaped back, but not before they raked large chunks from his form.

“Hey, you’re not gettin’ all the fun!” a voice called out from the speaker. On the screen, a digital image of a Valkyrie fighter in the color scheme of Gay Deceiver formed, buzzing down in its transitional mode and firing into the carcass of the intruder.

“Wait for me!” came another voice, and a second fighter in the color schemes of Dora appeared on the screen.

The three forms circled and fired, never quite giving the virus-form time to react to one threat before being bombarded from another side by the others. There were screams of rage from the system speakers.

Suddenly, it reached up with one huge clawed arm and tore Gay Deceiver from the sky. Her battloid/image smashed to the ground hard, animated chunks of armor flying away from her main body, obviously damaged. The monstrosity moved toward her, only to be blocked once more as Alex stepped into its path. A hatch opened on the cyberplain-mecha’s forearm and fire burst forth from yet another gun unit. The Dora image moved in fast, trying to pull Gay Deceiver clear.

The Black Hat “Demon” leaped over Alex before he could react, lashing out and tearing DORA as well. The ship’s programs had heart, but they didn’t have the terobytes of tactical information available to Alex from the Yeager’s main computer.

“Jack out of here, girls,” the Alex program called. “He’s mine.”

Reluctantly, if such a word fits when discussing computers, the Cyber-battloids derezzed from the plain of battle. Alex was alone, and the soon to be born Athene’s life depended on him. Confirming they were clear, Alex “leaped” to higher ground and took up a defensive stance between the exposed EVE-image and the shadow demon.

Sensing that it had the upper hand, the Black Hat program pressed its attack on Alex, smashing at him with renewed ferocity. The rifle went flying, to smash and derez, as a second blow smashed the shield that he carried.

From her monitoring console, April looked up helplessly. Her eyes darted about the room, locking with the inhuman eyes of Skhraud, the Yeager’s chief computer officer. There was a flash of communication. In a single move, Skhraud closed one flipper/hand over Grin’elle Kriet’s head, and the other over a data jack. Kriet tells me he experienced only a split-second of disorientation before realizing that he was one with Alex. Skhraud had somehow melded them, more completely and faster than Kriet would have imagined possible, even using protoculture.

Alex/Grin’elle replied to the demon’s attack in kind, emptying the arm cannon into it, and punching with the other arm. It fell back, then rose, smashing Alex/Grin’elle with blow after blow. “Data destruction has resumed,” Miller noted, “Data loss now reaching critical dysfunction levels.” He paused. “We’re losing EVE.”

Skhraud’s eyes seemed to glaze as he uttered an ululation none of his shipmates had heard before. The cyberplain dimmed, then darkened almost completely. Alex/Grin’elle’s screen form dimmed as well, then slumped against a digitized outcropping.

On the cyberplain, a shape formed. Huge, even compared to the demon, it took substance, a glowing, metallic green. Wings formed, and a bullet-shaped prow. On that prow, a skull and crossbones came into existence. Turrets turned, blazing with the power of perhaps the greatest cybernetic lifeforce in existence. Living blue energy engulfed the demon who screamed in impotent rage.

Conner whispered a single word, in a reverent voice, tinged with awe, “Tochiro!”

The demon summoned its dark force, lashing out at the glowing cybership. The greatest genius of his universe, however, had designed his ship to be proof against far more powerful foes. The blasts impacted impotently against the armored hull.

Sensing that he could not harm this newest arrival, the shadow demon, enraged, lunged at Alex/Grin’elle, who stood, nearly motionless on the field. As the demon committed to its attack, Alex/Grin’elle’s hand dropped to the remains of the shield. As the hand came clear of it, a beam leapt forward, glowing with azure energy. With a draw worthy of a samurai, instantaneous, and yet seeming to move in a frame-at-a-time slow motion, Alex/Grin’elle neatly beheaded the demon, who fell to the ground in two pieces and derezzed.

They took up guard position at the link between the EVE and Athene forms. The energy continued to flow, fading from blue, through yellow and finally to red. As the energy band faded between them, the mecha lifted the sword to a salute position, and, together, Alex and the Cyber-ARCADIA disappeared.

“Alex has successfully uploaded back to Yeager,” Miller reported, “And the process is completed.”

Skhraud released Grin’elle from whatever procedure he had used on him. Grin’elle stretched, seeming to glow with presence, then went to EVE/Athene’s couch.

There were moments of silence, as we watched the now sleeping form of Athene Graham. “Sleep patterns indicate normal light sleep,” Ishtar told us. Grin’elle stroked her black hair, falling loosely across her shoulders, then, ever the romantic, bent over and awakened her sleeping form with a kiss.

JERRY

We held our “relaunch party” at the Long family compound. I was in such a good mood, I had even let Ken, Spyik and Lazarus talk me into wearing a kilt for the occasion, though my clothing processor had some trouble retailoring a dress uniform jacket to work with the great kilt. Mike, of course, wore his full dress maroons in the Starfleet standard issue style, as always.

Zeb, Jake and Lazarus were dressed in the Starfleet uniforms we had gifted them. The ladies were, of course, fashionably late. Surprisingly, Ken had actually been several minutes early. “Ah was late to everythin’ in my life but my own funeral,” he explained. “So maybe if ah’m early for everythin’ else, I’ll be late for the next one.” There was a certain cockeyed logic there.

The ladies of my crew had decided to “go native” and were wearing what passed for the local fashion. To be more exact, they were wearing what was passing for formal attire. Twentieth century breakfast cereals probably had more fiber in them.

That Llandhe would wear such attire did not surprise me. One of her hobbies has always been watching men develop apoplexy when she walks into a room. I wouldn’t have doubted that Kraiggearra had worn such outfits before, but never where anyone other than Spyik has seen them. What caused me to nearly drop my teeth, my drink and my composure were the choices made by T’Saan and T’Trianguli.

I never doubted that they were attractive enough to display themselves, but I had never expected a pair of Vulcans to quite do so. The designer of those outfits had to be one of the great marketing geniuses of his time, whatever time that was. I thought about tranquilizers and cold showers, preferably liquid nitrogen.

“Like a brick for your sporran?” Lazarus chuckled into my ear.

“You’ll pay for that remark,” I muttered.

“Probably,” he agreed.

Our last evening continued quietly, until Hilda rose to make an announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my privilege to present to you, in her first performance as a flesh and blood form, Athene Graham.”

A curtain pulled aside, to reveal a stage. On it, Clive Valance sat at the keyboard of a synthesizer, Stephan Lynch tuned a guitar, and several other crewmembers fleshed out the band. A spotlight snapped on, and Athene Graham, whose songs had inspired the Batron in battle, and the Yeager as she faced certain destruction, sang for the first time as an organic.

Though it no longer had the augmentation of a computer synthesizing the voices of the greatest singers of all time, the voice had a certain almost magical quality. I could feel power surging throughout my body, and tried to control it, before my projected aura disturbed the psi-sensitives in the room. They did not seem to notice, but the aura seemed so strong that even one with my limited abilities could see it. I have no doubt that we were joined in that moment, a magical combination as powerful as any mechanical weapon ever created.

The song had been recorded originally over three centuries before, by a band which had had one of the longest continuous professional careers with its original members in the history of their form. The lyrics spoke of fellowship, brotherhood and being as one. It was an appropriate song for Yeager, a ship which could only be defeated if it chose to be.

They were also appropriate for another in the room, who stood apart from the rest, beneath a flag erected by Lazarus’ twin sisters on a whim. I approached him. Nodding, he handed me a glass of fine red wine. We toasted the flag, hanging there above us.

“Under this flag, we are free,” I said.

“More than any other,” he replied. “Keep your ideals, my friend, even when others tell you they are wrong, inappropriate or outmoded. Especially then. You are the only judge you will ever face in this life than matters.”

“May you find your Arcadia,” I said.

“And you yours.” There was a rustling of a cloak, and he disappeared into the shadows.

KOCHAB

“Confirming system cutout on return to our launch point,” Kraiggearra was saying. “System removal at your discretion.”

The boss would have like to have kept the BCD, of course, and the Chief Engineer would no doubt have sacrificed half his child-siring capabilities to have taken it apart, but they understood the necessity of what we were doin’. If the Klingons, Romulans, or any of a half-dozen other races or individuals, like K’Maurg got their hands on such a thing, they’d probably manage to screw up the entire multiverse. Personally, I was glad to see it go. Besides, if we were needed, it would only take moments to reinstall it.

Doctor Burroughs opened the panel and disconnected the leads from the device. He returned it to the small carrying case it had been brought aboard in, and closed it.

“Captain, you don’t know the value of what you’ve done. Without the extraction you made, the Black Hats would have been in possession of some of the most dangerous technology in the universe.”

“And yet, if we’re very lucky,” the captain finished, “we’ll never see each other again.”

“True enough, sir. My best.”

“And to you, Doctor Burroughs.”

Llandhe, long-since fully healed now, escorted him off the bridge. Minutes later, she reported the departure of the Gay Deceiver.

“So Number One,” the captain said, “the clocks have been corrected, and we’re now back on patrol as if nothing other than a run-in with pirates had ever happened.”

“True, as far as it goes,” Mike replied.

“Systems check?”

“All systems operational, though Mister Reid reports a minor problem. No one seems to be able to beat Alex in the combat simulators.”

“Oh they can’t, can they? We’ll have to see about that at the end of the shift. Take us home, Number One.”

“Aye, sir.” He turned to us. “Set a course for Starbase twenty-seven. Ahead transwarp factor two.”

“Course plotted and laid in,” I said.

“Execute.”

The stars leapt past us, but the captain was wrong. We were just going back to headquarters. We were already home.

Repository 7

The Capitol, Gallifrey

Samlare 48, 102,773 T.L.

[Reality Code: Mutter’s Spiral 871]

“The antagonists finally show their hand,” the apprentice said.

“Yes, but they were hardly defeated, though Kriet and his friends can hardly be blamed for hoping they were,” she answered. “The Black Hats had indeed been frustrated again, but they had sense enough to take stock of the valuable intelligence gained. They now possessed hard information on the power of Starfleet war vessels, the capabilities of Kriet’s TARDIS, the existence of the battle mecha, and especially April Vincent… Nebula. There seemed to exist an analogue of her person existing in every universe they entered, though they could hardly understand why. She lived in different times, planets, and societies in every reality they checked, but exist she did. This was an unknown factor in their plans; furthermore, Kriet and his friends were factors they knew better than they desired. Finally, they decided to reinforce their previous groundwork, and wait.”

“For what?”

“Remember that their ultimate objective was to take power in as many of the realities as possible. Kriet and his friends stood in the way, and the Federation itself could soon become bothersome. They simply decided to wait them out. Accident and ongoing lives spread the members of Batron 11 across their human section of the galaxy. Careful tweaking of a few space-time events slowly eroded the Federation power, and brought scandal and censure to many aboard Pathfinder, Yeager, and McKay. Finally, a delicately prepared spacetime event brought war to humanity and its allies. Millions were killed, and the many empires surrounding the Federation began feeding off one another. The fighting strength of all the races collapsed in petty squabbling. The galaxy became ripe for the Black Hats’ rule.”

“I don’t understand!” exclaimed the apprentice shocked. “How can they have taken over when you said Kriet’s ‘Federation’ still continued strong?”

She smiled. “Oh, yes, the fruit was ripe. There were, however, one or two who still stood in the way of its harvest...”

Breaking the Fall

by Michael O’Brien

USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-D

December 21, 2365 A.D.

[Reality Code: USS Enterprise 022]

Jean-Luc Picard turned at the sound of the explosion, to see his friend and first officer go down with pieces of the tactical display in his head and neck. The small readouts on the arms of his chair told of the rapidly disintegrating structure of his starship. Tasha Yar shouted, “Power couplings to saucer phaser arrays destroyed, Captain!” and through the clouds of static on the screen, he saw a closeup of a Klingon Bird of Prey as its weapons glowed.

Behind it, the sparking remnants of Enterprise-C drifted lifelessly through space, holed through and through by Klingon attacks. Lieutenant Castille and his crew had fought valiantly, but a half-repaired ship of outdated design hadn’t had a chance against it’s alien enemies.

And now we’ll never know if Guinan was right, Picard thought. If that wormhole had stayed open only hours longer, Enterprise-C could have been repaired enough to send back. Now her daughter dies with her; and the Federation is soon to follow.

“Enterprise-D,” a Klingon voice grunted over an open channel somewhere. “Surrender, and prepare to be boarded.”

“That’ll be the day,” Picard growled. His eyes met Tasha’s and Data’s. The android called a few last ergs of power from the dying starship; and Yar found a functioning phaser array to spit Enterprise’s last.

The Klingon guns discharged in return.

Starfleet Command, San Francisco, Terra

April 18, 2365 A.D.

In the smashed hulk of Starfleet Command, the Fleet Admiral stood with bound hands and hate-filled eyes as the Klingon General finished his speech. “Therefore, for crimes against the Klingon Empire and sentient beings everywhere, I sentence you to death!”

Without pausing, he turned to her, drew his disruptor, and fired it into her midsection. She jerked back and spun to the right, landing on her side and cracking her head against the flooring. Blood oozed briefly from the wound, then stopped.

He raised his sidearm high.

“I claim this planet for the Emperor!!”

The assembled Klingons raised a cheer.

Starfleet Intelligence Shipyard Seven

April 19, 2365 A.D.

Admiral Jerry Conner tapped the display screen, shutting off the terrible broadcast. The screen returned to its previous picture, which was a stylized display of the drydock facilities. Most of it flashed red: the orbiting construction framework, the assembly workers’ barracks, the computer center and administrative complex; all blown to atoms by the Klingon raid on this out-of-the-way asteroid.

Jerry grimaced at the waste, then shifted the display over to the underground sections, where he sat now. This graphic was much larger, and drawn in healthy yellow. According to the readout, a large percentage of the drydock’s staff had made it down before the attack commenced.

Fleet Intelligence actually came up with a plan that worked, Jerry thought. And now, it’s all in my lap.

That lap had been a constant companion for years now. Jerry’s high-gee body had finally weakened with lack of exercise in Earth-normal gravity, and a floatchair had carried him from place to place for longer than he wanted to think about. Yet the strength in Jerry’s face only increased with the years; his silver-grey hair still covered most of his cranium, and his maroon-and-black uniform fit well on a body that was as healthy as its owner could manage. Jerry had never given up in his life. He wasn’t going to start today.

He stared at the screen a bit longer, then pushed it away. I’ll have to get in touch with some folks, and the standard channels won’t do much good. I wonder who’s captaining V’Talia’s old ship these days?

Co-ordinates unknown

April 19, 2365 A.D.

Grin’elle Kriet tapped the display screen, shutting off the terrible broadcast. The screen darkened, taking with it the only source of illumination in the room. “Lights, ten percent,” he ordered, and the ceiling glowed dimly.

He leaned his wiry body back in his chair, running a hand through shaggy brown-blond hair. The Federation was dead now, fallen like human empires since time recorded. He wondered how many of his old friends had died with it - not that many of them weren’t gone already. Certainly Valev had been killed, and probably Casolapia and Llandhe. If a ship carried warp drive and Starfleet numbering, the Klingons had shredded it.

Jerry had probably survived; he’d received some desk job in the middle of nowhere a while back. And Ty’elle Dujhar had quit the Fleet not long after Grin had. Gods knew where Nebula was; and half the others lived on senior citizens’ pensions around human space - or what used to be human space.

Grin looked up. He’d wandered without thinking from the library, through the kitchen, into the workshop. Ultra-tech toys from a dozen realities sat in here: Grin’s Switchblade mecha, one of Ty’s Ultrainfinidrive prototypes, some grotesque project Wildkatt M’Kaivver had abandoned decades ago and given to Grin; but Grin found himself scrutinizing his TARDIS. What was his subconscious trying to tell him?

What else? It was time to leave.

The timeship hummed quietly, circulating cool air with a faint scent of plant life through the spotless, dustless white corridors. He might have been in here only yesterday, not years ago as was the truth. Grin finished moving the few items he wished to keep into the endless interior of the time machine. The library and the workshop made up the greatest part of it; the TARDIS itself could provide for his other needs. Finally, he stood at the six-sided table of the main controls, realizing that though he’d made his decision to leave, he had no actual idea where he should go.

The future? This galactic arm now belonged to the Klingons, who would soon be attacked by the Romulans, who might rule a few years before the Borg and/or the Cardassians put in their claim. Grin wasn’t interested in that future.

The past? Nothing like a few temporal paradoxes to ruin one’s existence, or possibly erase it. Besides, he’d have to start a new life knowing his old one continued to unfold nearby. There would be no refuge in the past; Grin’s only choice lay not forward or backward, but sideways.

The Multiverse Device controls blinked silently at him, waiting for his touch to take him to other realities. And where to go? Seattle: 2050, his base in one reality? Outreach: 3038, the center of visits to another? New Macross: 2012? Minas Tirith?

A brief smile crossed his face as he remembered two young, half-dressed lady troubleshooters from a version of Tokyo, 2145; they’d spent a week on Wrigley’s together after handing the ‘Black Hat’ aliens a temporary setback many years ago. Funny, really; whatever the aliens’ ‘master plan’ had been, it hadn’t held up against the determined attacks of Grin’elle and his friends. In fact, they’d been incredibly quiet for the last twenty-five years...

A clear, sharp memory of the readout on a display screen jumped to the front of his brain, and he reeled under the weight of sudden revelation. Suddenly he understood what the confusing alien diagram had said.

Simple, subtle, and deadly - and they did it right under our noses!

Frantically he began pounding at the TARDIS controls - but not the Multiverse Device. He’d be going into the past after all; and Grin both relished and dreaded the thought of what he might find there.

Alien Asteroid Base

Coordinates unknown

April 24, 2288 A.D.

The timeship reassembled itself on a lifeless asteroid orbiting a black hole. Grin’elle had only been there for a few hours, and never learned or cared if it had a name; what it had was an alien attack base which he and the girls had violently taken apart to save the starship Pathfinder, trapped in a time loop by these evil creatures.

It had happened half a century ago, but the TARDIS arrived less than an hour after its previous departure. Grin stepped through the hatch into a dark, smoke-filled control center filled with the smell of scorched alien flesh. Several bodies littered the flooring, but the time traveler paid no attention. Instead he moved to one of the few functioning consoles, one that still displayed the haunting image from his past. Once, the information displayed appeared meaningless and arcane; but Grin’elle Kriet had since seen and learned much more.

These beings knew much about time, and used their natural abilities to alter their own reality; then an offer of great wealth and power came to them, if they would bring their talents to a new universe and, aided by advanced science, mold it to the desires of their new allies. Grin thought he’d prevented that; but he’d only parried a feint. Now, instead of an ounce of prevention, he’d need a pound of cure.

Grin’elle finished downloading what he could. There’d be more analysis ahead, but he’d seen enough to concoct a basic plan. The first item on his mental checklist could be crossed off. To complete the next, he’d need the help of a dead woman.

Starfleet Intelligence Shipyard Seven

October 10, 2367 A.D.

Jerry Conner stood at an observation window, gazing on the brightly lit cavern on the other side. Months of work drew near to completion out there; suddenly, he wondered if there was any point at all to what he was doing.

Ty’elle Dujhar came up behind him, taking in the awesome sight as well. He also showed his age by walking with a delicate gait, but his gaze was no less steady than Jerry’s. He wore a gray paramilitary jacket over sturdy, nondescript traveling clothes.

“Jerry, one thing hasn’t changed: you’re still crazy.”

“...after all these years?” Jerry singsonged.

“Cute. The word’s gone out, and you’ve got a couple hundred people: from total greenhorns who lost their ship before they could meet it, to utter fossils like me and Teyp Wolcait. But by the same token, loose lips are gonna bring the Klings back sooner than later. You really think you’ll be ready?”

The admiral looked out. Suspended in the Fleet Intelligence shipyard, the spine of a dreadnought supported two warp nacelles. Just above, where a third engine once sprouted, an entire Loknar-class destroyer hung. Dock workers slowly brought it into position over the connecting dorsal fin, preparing to mate the two ships into one. Fleet had learned long ago that odd-numbers of nacelles were more trouble than their worth.

“The Federation no longer exists,” Jerry said quietly. “Those of us who wear the uniform do so out of a vanity, almost as if to pretend it hasn’t happened.

“Well, it has!” His voice grew louder. “I can’t bring it back; I’m not planning to try! What I want to do is remind the Klingons that any victory over humanity is a victory paid for dearly! I want them to remember that you don’t count us dead until you’ve seen every body, and then you’d still better watch your back!”

His fist thudded against the transparent aluminum port, and his voice dropped again. “I want to go out fighting.”

Ty looked at the activity, and imagined the clean new hull plating gashed with the scars it would soon receive. “What are you going to call her?”

“U.S.S. Enterprise. NCC-1701...E.”

Ty nodded. “Guess I better go bone up on helm operations.” He paused. “One question, Jerry… the operation that gave you your legs back?”

“What about it?”

“Didn’t Dr. Winding Creek refuse to try it on humans because of the risk involved?”

A short silence followed. “A little risk is the last thing I’m worried about right now,” Jerry said, almost to himself. Ty nodded and left the room quietly.

Starfleet Intelligence Shipyard Seven

October 30, 2367 A.D.

The bridge crew of the last USS Enterprise stood in her nerve center, each deep in their own thoughts. Jerry Conner, no longer confined to a chair, ran light fingers over the center seat that might be the last chair he ever occupied. Valev Nibor, standing on a starship bridge for the first time in decades, stood in front of the main viewscreen staring as though he could see through the closed spacedoors it showed. Char’Al Vraomrell, daughter of T’Renn, sat at the Conn position reconfiguring the controls to a Caitian’s swift fingers. Some here had seen almost a century of Starfleet service; others, a few weeks.

Jerry felt a tickle at the back of his neck. “Status?” he asked Yanni Miller, who held Ops.

“All systems normal, Jerry. Launching in T-minus seventy-two minutes - hang on...” Valev’s head snapped around. “External sensors are picking up a single D7-R class cruiser approaching at high impulse.” Alarm klaxons began to sound. “He is firing photon torpedo at the shipyard’s asteroid shell. Estimated penetration in three minutes.”

Valev nodded once at Jerry, and darted into the turbolift. Jerry swung into his command chair. “All personnel aboard?”

“Confirmed, sir.”

“Go to red alert. Power status?”

“Seventy-one percent.”

“Weapons?”

“Phasers at cold standby; we can have them in two minutes. Photorp tubes 3 and 4 at ready. 1, 2, 5, and 6 are at standby.”

“Load tubes 3 and 4 to full capacity. Standby for half impulse on my mark. Seal all ports and release moorings.”

Char’Al half turned to him. “Sir, some of the secondary lines won’t auto-release for another forty minutes.”

Jerry smiled slightly. “Oh, yes they will. Half impulse, now! Fire torpedoes, screen pattern Beta!”

Outside, the Klingon cruiser fired again. Intelligence reports indicated the presence of an concealed Federation base in this asteroid, and by the naked stars, the cruiser’s captain intended to crack it open.

He was amazed at the power of his next burst. A section of the asteroid shattered, peppering his shields with small impacts. When his sensors cleared, a massive Federation starship lifted into view. Frantic, the Klingon captain barked orders. He’d been led to believe that a few dozen refugees had massed here to conspire against the Empire with a few shuttles and trader craft!

The Klingon arced away, grasping for maneuvering room and firing poorly-aimed rear torpedo, each of which splashed against Enterprise-E’s deflectors. The starship spun gracefully about, as though it had all the time in the world.

Char’Al looked down at her controls, ears swiveled forward in surprise. “Captain, we have full power to the forward phasers!”

“Photorp tubes recharged?”

“Yessir!”

“All you’ve got, then; right up his ass.”

Four searing lines of phaser energy converged in one point on the Klingon’s aft shields. The first torpedo hit that spot, and his deflectors flared and fell; the second ripped into his Engineering section and detonated. Engine nacelles and command pod spun away in three different directions. Char’Al sliced the pod apart, just to be sure.

“Bridge to Engineering.”

“Dujhar here, Jerry.”

“Well done on the phasers, Ty. How’d you manage this one?”

“Something Commander M’Kaivver showed me once. I’d love to give you details, but he said that if I told anyone, the Brotherhood would come get me.”

“What Brotherhood?”

“Search me.”

Jerry shook his head, grinning. “Fine. Ty, come to the Bridge when you have a moment. There’s something I’d like you to do...”

Co-ordinates unknown (the Triangle)

November 3, 2367 A.D.

Mapmakers called this area of space the Triangle, though the name might soon change now that the Klingons owned two of its three borders. Mapmakers didn’t have a name for the planet, but that was okay. Those who knew it existed didn’t need a map to find it. Those who didn’t know it existed were better off.

The bar did have a name, though there was no bother with a sign over the door. The ‘Dark Matter’ didn’t advertise its presence; a flashy exterior would only have been vandalized, and word-of-mouth provided more than enough publicity.

Inside, the decor remained simple. The saloon still looked like a warehouse, and plenty of people paid to store items of occasionally dubious nature there. Industrial-strength ventilation barely kept the air breathable, and the bartenders could mix drinks from a thousand planets and knew which ones never to mix for any of a hundred lifeforms. The tables and chairs were single-piece extruded plastics that wouldn’t break over a brawler’s head or take the carved initials of a drunkard’s latest doxy.

April Vincent had been born here a century ago, and in the end, had returned to what she knew.

Absently, April brushed her waist-length, space-black hair out of her beautiful face as she bent over a week’s accounts. War may have brought shortages of liquors and fast foods, but no shortage of customers. And if one week she didn’t have a particular mixer, the customers didn’t seem to care that badly.

The office showed a stark contrast to the world outside. Expensive paintings hung on the paneled walls, softly lit by almost mathematically placed lamps. Shelves covering one wall groaned under the weight of electronic media in text, a/v, and pure audio formats. She still sang, and still reveled in the ability to bring an awed hush to a room full of hopeless drifters and cynical profiteers.

April looked at her watch. She had a set in a few minutes. She efficiently tidied her paperwork and locked delicate items in the desk safe, tested the thousands of tiny lights woven into the fabric of her stage outfit, and picked up a wireless microphone. She shut off the room lights and had just leaned over to turn off the desk lamp when the door opened, silhouetting a figure in the harsh hall illumination.

“If you’re taking requests for the evening’s show, I’d love to hear ‘Remember Me.’ It’s a personal favorite.”

She froze, refusing to look up. In the dim light, Grin couldn’t see the expression on her face until she raised her head, and by then she’d had ample time to construct the blank mask and thin smile that he saw.

“Grin’elle Kriet. Of all the gin joints on all the worlds in all known space, you walk into mine. You sure took your time.”

“I’d have found you sooner, but you’re supposed to be dead.”

“I got better.”

“So I heard.” He looked at her. “Dammit, why?”

“What else could I do but leave, Grin’elle? It’s not easy to live with a man who blew up a planet.”

His hands curled into fists. “I’ll say this once: I had nothing to do with that. If anybody should know that, you should; you were there!”

She turned away. “Of course I knew that. But Starfleet blamed you anyway; you, and Ty, and Llandhe, and all the others. You changed, Grin. You changed, and no one could speak to you. You started disappearing for weeks at a time, and every time you came back, you eyes were darker. Darker, and darker.”

April wrapped her arms around herself, then turned to look him straight in the eye. “The Grin’elle Kriet I finally left could easily have killed those three million people. And he wouldn’t have cared.”

She swept the microphone from the desk where she’d set it. “I’ve got people out there waiting to hear me sing. You can stay for the show, or run off again. It’s up to you.” She hit the last light, and shut the door behind her, leaving him in total darkness.

Kriet waited until he heard the shouts and applause that announced the beginning of Nebula’s show, then glided out front. She basked in the glow of her native element, there on the small stage; and even the rowdiest alcoholics soon quieted under the power of her song. Grin’elle felt as if his heart was dissolving and melting into his stomach. She sang of hopeless love and goals always unreached, twisting the knife in his wounds. She knew he stood in the audience.

“Now it’s time to set course into deepest blackest night

There’s no wind in my sails but the push of solar light

Once I might have remained but there’s nothing for me here

Now I search for my soul in mankind’s final frontier

Promises melt away like a fog that’s hit by sun

Only now can I see what a fool I have become

If there’s light, if there’s hope, it must wait in darkest space

Some untouched virgin world where my heart can be replaced

Scientists make the claim that we’ve learned all that there is

Mystics swear wars are won with a single person’s kiss

All the theories, all the guesses, there’s not one of them comes near

What they can’t understand is that love’s the final frontier...

In the last dozen years no one’s mapped the human heart

In the last hundred years lovers often grew apart

In the last thousand years none have mastered the cruel art

But if I’m to stay sane I must try to make a start...

Solar breeze in the sheets, and my ship is on its way

No more words, no more promises, I can no longer stay

It’s a foolish hopeless quest, yet my heart’s not touched with fear

In the stars, I’ll find love, and breach the last frontier...”

He endured as much of it as he could, then returned to her office to await the final episode of the night’s entertainment.

USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-E

Klingon-occupied space

November 3, 2367 A.D.

Enterprise-E faced two cruisers this time; perhaps they’d heard of their sister’s death, because they were pushing their systems to the limit to take the Federation ship. The latest salvo of Klingon photon torpedo hit, and Jerry felt the awful shudder as Enterprise-E split in two, the primary hull peeling away from the secondary. The two Klingon battleships briefly checked their attack, not realizing that they saw not Enterprise’s death throes but the premonition of their own.

The auxiliary warp reactor in her secondary hull kicked to life, and Enterprise Combat-2 performed a hasty Picard Maneuver, releasing its full forward armament into one of the Klingons as the two ship’s shields sparked with physical contact. The battleship shuddered as its shields collapsed, and a flurry of phaser fire drilled into its warp core.

Char’Al, at Ops this time, announced tensely to Jerry, “Klingon reactor reaching critical point!”

“Warp power, Mister! Get us some distance!” he barked at ex-Commodore Miller, but the veteran officer had already entered the command. Combat-2 had reached the same conclusion, and she arced away as a matter-antimatter explosion engulfed one Klingon and battered and tore at the other. A spread of rear-firing photorps from Combat-1 sealed the second ship’s fate.

Char’Al reported, “Captain, the remaining Klingon has taken heavy damage. All electronic systems randomized and non-functioning.” Her ears folded back against her head. “Their life support should last another twenty-four hours. Maybe.”

Chatter behind Jerry covered the return of Combat-2 on an intercept course for docking. “Could they get any message out?” he asked.

“Not soon enough, sir. They won’t be moving anytime soon, and subspace radio will not pierce the radiation cloud for another two solar days.”

“All right,” Jerry said in final tones. “Leave them.” It wouldn’t be the first inhuman act in this war. It wouldn’t be the last, either.

With a faint jar, the Enterprise became one ship again. A picture of the other bridge appeared on the main screen, showing the severe countenance of Valev Nibor.

“Two more down, Jerry,” the Andorian said with a thin smile. “A shame there’s nothing left in their computers for us to loot this time.” Someone handed him a report padd from offscreen. “We took a bit of a battering; the main damage control computer will be getting all the details.” He cocked his head. “Resistance is getting a bit heavy out here, and I’m wondering if they’re on to us. Do you still wish to continue with this plan?”

“Valev, those who refuse to learn from history are doomed to repeat the freshman course. If we screw up their supply lines, we can defeat half their fleet without firing at it.”

“Hmm. I suppose it still sounds better than a frontal attack; I just wonder if there’s anybody in known space out here helping us.”

“You’re not the only one. Ty Dujhar’s using the fastest courier we could find to check that out.”

The ‘Dark Matter’

Somewhere in the Triangle

November 3, 2367 A.D.

Laser fire raked the room, turning the night red, green, and blue. Powerfully-chorded music beat the air as tiny starships vied for control of the sky over a basketball-sized planet to the tones and rhythms of Nebula’s voice.

Grin watched her office door open over the wheeling view of the holo display. Whatever Nebula had meant to say as she entered her office vanished as the recording drew her attention. She stared, mesmerized, until a the song reached a brief pause during its climax.

Her knuckles whitened on the microphone she still held. “This is what’s wrong; this right here. I know that’s my voice. The song and the music are just as I would have written them. But damn you, Grin’elle Kriet, I never wrote or recorded that song!” Nebula slapped the STOP button hard enough that the whole mechanism jumped. Something must have come loose, for the player began repeating a snatch of the song: “The final round -”

“The final round -”

“The final round -”

“The final round -”

“You wrote it in Seattle, North America, Earth, in the year 2050 A.D. I fought a battle there, part of what I’ve only now discovered is a way covering millennia and universes.”

He would have explained further, but she stopped him with a sharp glance. “Like the ship with the singer, Athene. And the battle aboard Yeager that killed its Chief Engineer.”

“Yes.”

Nebula looked away from him. “Are there many other me’s out there?”

“I think so. I don’t know.”

“Have you slept with any of the others?”

He blew up. “What kind of question is that, anyway? That’s my business, not yours!”

She sank into the opposite seat. “Uh-huh.” Grin stared at her, but she’d closed her eyes. “You saved my life in that other New York, and gave me so much that I wanted - I left Starfleet not long after you did, you know. You were intelligent, deep, even handsome; I loved more than I ever loved anything - and you just pushed me away! I knew there was someone else. For a while I had to wonder if it was that damn fighter plane; but how could I have guessed that I… was the...” Tears started racing down her cheeks.

He looked at April, speechless. Perhaps he thought of a regal, cold beauty; a blond time-sensitive; an albino empath; or a red-haired mercenary. Grin’elle himself couldn’t say what went through his mind.

“I know why you came,” she said. “I knew it when I first saw you, even if I don’t know what you need it for.” Nebula held up the microphone she carried, then rolled it across the desk. It bumped into the holo player halfway.

“Tell the past goodbye -”

“Tell the past goodbye -”

“Tell the past goodbye -”

Grin picked up the object that was no longer a microphone. The device was silver, a half meter long, and sculpted slightly at one end, as if to provide a handgrip.

The Mutor.

“Will that win you your war?” she asked.

“I’ve managed to hurt every woman I’ve ever loved,” he said. “In three hundred years, I’ve still not figured out how to stop doing that. I hoped that if I tried not to love you, you wouldn’t get hurt.”

“You botched the second part. Did you get the first half right?” Her eyes shone as they looked deep into his.

“I… I don’t know,” he whispered.

A voice from outside broke the spell. “She’s in there, but I think she’s got a visitor.”

“Good,” a familiar voice answered. “I need to see him too.” The door opened, and in strode Ty Dujhar.

“Hello, Grin; Ms. Vincent,” he greeted them. “Jerry Conner and I were just fighting a one-ship war against the entire Klingon empire, and we said to ourselves: you know, there’s something missing from this picture. Who do we usually think of when we think about galaxy-spanning calamity?”

“It’s nice to see you, too, Ty,” Grin said. He shoved the Mutor into a pocket. “I was just on my way to see you folks; unfortunately, the TARDIS and I have a final side trip to make beforehand.”

“Why don’t I come along? The TARDIS will get me back to the captain before my ride would. Besides, man, you need some looking after.”

A small smile crossed Nebula’s face. “Of that, there is no arguing.”

Grin turned to her. “I think we have unfinished business...”

“So we have for decades, Grin’elle. I’m not going anywhere; I have a bar to run.” The smile got wider. “You know, in a little bit, the Nazis are supposed to come in and demand what I just gave you. Luckily, I’m a little better armed than Marion was.”

“Luckily. Don’t worry; they’ll know exactly where it is - with me.”

“Yeah.” The smile faded. “Where are you going now?”

“I’ve got to go see the last woman I fell in love with. After all, I knew I’d never see her again.” He shook his head bitterly. “What a universe.”

She held up a hand as he moved toward the door. “Don’t give up on me this time, Kriet.”

He looked at her sadly, and nodded. They were gone; and briefly, just briefly, she felt the universe unravel slightly. She shivered.

USS-Enterprise, NCC-1701-E

Klingon-occupied space

November 3, 2367 A.D.

Three Klingon D-7M cruisers, in formation, are a formidable enemy force. A single Federation cruiser would be outmatched severely, even with gifted piloting, gunnery, and tactics. Two such Klingon squadrons would be devastating.

Unfortunately for them, the crew of Enterprise-E weren’t expecting to live much longer anyway. All they wanted to do was take along the biggest honor guard possible. Six Klingon cruisers weren’t enough.

Enterprise ducked and weaved, popping in and out of warp like a frightened rabbit. This rabbit had teeth; four tubes’ worth of photon torpedo made dust out of a Klingon captain who’d made unfortunate decisions about deflector power allocation.

“New heading 177 mark 20,” ordered Conner. “Recharge tubes and hold fire. Upper phaser arrays, target Epsilon and fire. Standby for warp on my command.”

“Rear tubes, pursuit spread to cover warp,” Nibor advised his bridge crew on an inset at the upper right of Conner’s main screen. The rest of the screen showed wheeling stars and angry Klingon ships. “Captain Conner, should we separate?”

“Negative. I want to keep that move in reserve. Standby your forward phasers.”

“Roger.”

“Helm, warp… unwarp! New heading 357 mark 340!”

Char’Al forced responsiveness from the huge dual starship, as a group of two Klingons shot past them in warpspace. Impulse drives threw them at the triangular formation of the other three, a pair in front and the other hanging back.

Nibor snapped, “Port and starboard arrays, diversionary fire. Aft tubes, recharge and pursuit dump again.” Quaver Rhapsody, blue hair a little grayer, entered the commands like a man born to doing five things at once.

Enterprise screamed past the two vanguard cruisers, spotting them with snap phaser shots that did little damage. The cruisers damaged each other much more with badly tracked disruptor shots.

The rear cruiser swelled in Enterprise’s screens, redlining its disruptors and trying uselessly to break away. The Klingon fire fizzled out against shields powered by two starship warp reactors.

Conner and Nibor, concentrating totally on their respective displays, shouted, “Fire!” at the same moment. Two full forward phaser arrays screamed destructive radiation. The Klingon came apart as the two ships which had leaped into warp dropped out into a field of waiting photorps from Enterprise’s rear launchers. They banked impossibly into evasive turns -

And ran into their recovering comrades who were still shaking off friendly fire. Delta ran full into Beta at maximum impulse, while Iota only clipped Alpha. The results were the same, and lit Enterprise’s receding hull in red-orange fireworks.

“Klingon threat eliminated,” Char’Al reported, hyperventilating slightly.

“Klingons. Never an original tactic among ‘em,” Jerry breathed. “Stand down. Yellow alert until we’ve verified that reinforcements aren’t imminent; those last folks turned up much sooner than I would have figured. Miller, where are we?”

“20 parsecs out from Narendra, sir. Where Enterprise-D died.”

“Any activity?”

“Long-range scans negative.”

“Good. Bring us in, we’ll orbit for repairs. Command briefing at 20:00 for tactical planning; we’ll have to decide what’s next.”

Char’Al glanced over her shoulder. “When is Captain Dujhar scheduled to return, sir?”

Jerry breathed deeply. “That is one excellent question, helmsman.”

The TARDIS

The Time Vortex

All times, all places

[Reality Code: USS Enterprise 022]

A light hum filled the air in the spacious control room of the TARDIS. Grin fiddled worriedly at the ring of control panels surrounding the slowly oscillating column in the room’s center. He gently pushed Ty aside as he circled the main console once more.

Ty drank in the experience of riding in the time machine. “This is really neat, you know. Not as thrilling as a Valkyrie mecha, but major high-tech beepy-flashy. It hardy feels like we’re moving!”

“We’re not, yet,” Grin answered as he moved from one lever to another. “We’ve only dematerialized; call it a holding pattern. Programming for cross-reality jumps - pardon me; thank you - is a very tricky business.”

“Where are we going?”

“Seattle, Earth. 300 years ago or so.” Grin straightened up. “That’s got it. Here we go.” He typed a command into one of the keyboards dotting the six panels. The hum changed to a juddery scraping noise, and the central column began moving faster and flashing brightly. It apparently made sense to Grin, because he nodded in a satisfied manner.

Ty put his hands on his hips. “Grin’elle?”

He looked up. “Hmm?”

“Could you perhaps, now that I can’t back out of this, tell me exactly what we’re doing and why?”

Grin turned his head and regarded Ty from the corner of his eye. “It’s a long story...”

“No sweat. We’re in a time machine, aren’t we? We can’t be late.”

“That’s what you think.”

Ty leveled a sharp stare at his foster brother.

“Okay, okay. I guess it all began during a trip to Wrigley’s that the Pathfinder took. You’d taken your own command by then, and we’d just had a string of missions that, while not earth-shattering, really wore us out. Command gave us permission for leave, and we took it there.

“A group of mercenary aliens in the pay of a different, anonymous group, used a potent mix of technology and psychic energy to envelop the planet and the orbiting dreadnought in a time loop, sealing us away from the universe forever.”

“Oh, right,” Ty commented. “They figured a little time loop could confine a ship full of crew so weird that Fleet stuck ‘em there to keep a watch on ‘em?”

“It almost did.”

“Almost only counts with water balloons and photorps.”

“True. But the puppet masters only lost a few expendable mercenaries, and gained valuable knowledge of our abilities. Furthermore, it served as a useful distraction for another project of theirs.

“What abilities are you talking about?”

“My TARDIS. Your knowledge of the structure of reality. Kam Kazsis’ mystic dilithium. Jerry Conner’s tactical skills. The list goes on, but the point is that back then, Batron 11 represented some of the top unnatural talents of the humanities.

“We took to calling the enemy the Black Hats. They remained unseen, preferring to fight from backstage. When the revolution on Gallifrey began, it was no accident that our names came to the attention of both sides. If either of us had remained on Gallifrey - alive or dead - it could have furthered their plans.”

“Why us?”

“My TARDIS and your Ultrainfinidrive can reach any reality, at any time, in any place. Destroying your enemy’s mobility is a classic tactic.”

“So the Megazone incident would have wiped out the Earth-humanity of that universe, and taken you out as a bonus.”

“Don’t be modest, friend. I’m sure that when the Batron showed up, they would happily have cashed in all our chips. I think Nebula is very dangerous to them.”

“Why?”

“Reply hazy. Ask again later.”

The light patterns changed in the central column, and it began oscillating faster. Several darkened displays on one panel lit up, showing information Dujhar could just barely make sense of.

Kriet grabbed hold of a rail crudely bolted to the lip of the console. He smiled thinly. “Hold tight. We’re about to leave one illusion for another.”

The ‘Dark Matter’

Somewhere in the Triangle

November 3, 2367 A.D.

April knew better than to try to go to sleep that night. She’d closed the place as usual, tidied up a bit, and gone to her living area in the back to wait. Just as she reached an interesting passage in the book she’d been working on, a heavy thud from out front broke her concentration. Sighing, she put the novel down, slung a large, overdone energy rifle over her shoulder, and headed out.

Several beings moved around the place, overturning tables, emptying drawers, and generally being destructive. April stood unnoticed in the doorway until she commented loudly, “If you folks are supposed to be the cleaning crew, I sure hope you’re bonded.”

Heads snapped around to look at her. One of the humanoids approached her, walking strangely and hissing through a translator device on its neck. It stood somewhat over two meters tall, had gray skin, and extra joints in its limbs. April felt nauseated, despite years spent around alien life forms.

“Where is Kriet?” it gargled.

“I dunno. He told me you could find him yourselves, but then he always gives people too much credit.”

Its eyes narrowed, and it motioned to its companions. “Take her.”

April brought up the rifle, and fired. A two-centimeter beam sprang from the aperture, connecting the weapon and the alien’s forehead. It just stood there, not even seeming to notice.

“Your weapon cannot harm me. We have recently leaned much about your technology.” It looked again at April, and seemingly through her. “Kriet is not here!” it announced to its fellows.

“Intercept Group reports contact in the Time Vortex. Craft identified as Kriet’s time capsule.”

“Return to the ship. Divert all power to Intercept Group. Kriet will not escape.” The lead alien turned back toward April. “This woman, however, possesses secrets we can use.”

April finally released the rifle’s trigger, looking at a brief but eventful future as a lab animal. She didn’t think she liked the idea.

The TARDIS

Between realities

“Cut!!!”

Ty Dujhar jerked awake guiltily. The ceiling and one wall of the TARDIS was missing, displaying various lighting and video equipment. A couple dozen tired-looking people stood at assorted control panels scattered through the machinery.

A man wearing a headset stalked up to him. “Look. I know it’s Friday, and we’re all exhausted; but the effects budget on that console is just too big for you to keep forgetting your blocking and standing in front of the displays!”

“I’m sorry -” Ty said automatically. He looked over at Grin, but the ex-Time Lord stood immobile, eyes hooded and fixed on the console.

The man wiped away sweat. “Okay. Would you like a break? I can give you five to grab some munchies.”

“Err, no. That’s okay,” Ty said, quite confused.

“All right. Rick, why don’t we try the next scene? The setup’s identical; we can come back and try this one again afterward.” He listened to his headset for a moment, then nodded. “Fine. Next scene, folks. Places… and… action!”

The Time Vortex (the TARDIS)

All times, all places

[Reality Code: ‘Sixth World’ 404]

Ty blinked, and Grin gently pushed him aside again. The walls and ceiling were back where they belonged.

“Dude,” Grin was saying, “no offense, but why don’t you back away from the console a bit? You’re sort of in the way.”

Dujhar looked around the control room, somewhat bewildered. “Yeah; so I was told.”

“What?”

The TARDIS shook with a concussion Ty felt in his rib cage. Grin grabbed the makeshift rail; Ty fell on his rear. A chime like a city-sized bass gong began sounding. One-handed, Grin started pounding at the scanner controls.

“Even I don’t have to ask this time. We are in trouble,” Ty observed. Grin didn’t answer, but the main scanner did by opening and showing the raging chaos of the Time Vortex. The internal makeup of the universe rushed by, showing a face Ty’s brain flatly refused to comprehend. All too understandable, however, was the ugly silver spaceship heading toward them.

“Black Hats?”

“Black Hats,” Grin confirmed.

“The Time Vortex doesn’t have four dimensions of spacetime like we do at home, right?”

“Right.”

“They shouldn’t even be able to see us, much less try to stop us.”

“Right.”

Several weapon apertures on the ship glowed. The concussion sounded again, and Grin’s display panels weren’t pleasing him any.

“Perhaps if I hopped out and explained this to them...”

Grin appeared to be communing with the timeship. “Please, girl. Come on, girl. I’d rather not die just yet...” He did something that made Ty’s stomach soar; but the next blast missed, and Ty figured that an upset stomach was better than none at all.

“Grin! Where’s the gunner’s station on this thing?”

“Nonexistent.”

“What?”

“These - “ he paused to send fingers flying over the panel again - “are built for research purposes. They don’t need guns.”

“Said J.T. Esteban to the Klingons.”

“So sue me!” The pounding hit again, and lights started flashing on the consoles in an unpleasant pattern. “But do it fast...”

Two of the huge hexagonal tiles lining the walls burst, showering the two with debris. Ty half expected to see a camera crew behind them, but instead saw exotic circuitry, billowing smoke. Some of the console displays dimmed and went out.

Ty looked at Grin for guidance. Grin leaped on one set of controls - nothing happened. He flipped open a protective cover on a switch bank and slapped them all over. Nothing. He reached for a key panel, and it erupted in sparks before he could touch it.

The silver ship looped around for another pass.

Grin looked helplessly at Ty, and said one unprintable word. Ty looked at the ceiling, and let all the anger and frustration he’d felt funnel into a scream of “God DAMN it!!!”

Outside the ‘Dark Matter’

Somewhere in the Triangle

The Black Hats led Nebula at gunpoint, to an ugly, bulbous spaceship parked outside the ‘Dark Matter.’ The drive section emitted a loud throbbing which seemed to press harder on April’s brain the closer they came to the ship. As they approached a hatch set in the midsection, another of the creatures approached the ones surrounding the woman and made a strange saluting bowing motion toward the one in charge.

“Leader,” it gargled. “The overspace link to our attack ship in the Vortex draws increasing power from our cells. We will not be able to leave this planet until the TARDIS is destroyed and our forces return.”

“Very well,” the leader responded. He turned toward April. “You will enter the ship.”

She did not respond, vision focused far away on something only she saw. The alien fired its weapon at the ground near her feet, generating a blast of heat and vapor as a half-meter crater appeared. She jerked from her reverie.

“Move!” it commanded. She moved.

They entered the ship, moving aft. The throbbing grew louder and louder, and April moved as if in a dream. All but the leader moved off to their tasks, as she was guided aft down the central corridor. They came to a T-intersection, and the alien moved to take the side passage; but April continued sleepwalking aft, drawn by something powerful she could not name. Angrily the leader grabbed her arm - and screamed.

The being’s gray semi-humanoid lower arm and hand writhed and changed, bones reshaping and skin metamorphing. For a moment it was an insectile clawed limb, complete with exoskeleton; then the bones became narrow and delicate, membranes spreading between to form wing surfaces. Next it briefly took on the shape of a tanned human arm, now a furry paw. The Black Hat attempted to pull away, but even as it grasped her arm with the other limb for leverage, it too began to change.

“No!” it screamed garbledly. The changes spread to its torso and legs, and slowly invaded its head. “Too… many… exist- ences...” It dropped to the floor, dying, and changing even as it died. Finally, its grip came free, and April continued aft.

She entered the ship’s power center. Before her hulked an unworldly machine, throbbing like a behemoth’s heart as it drew power from the spaceship’s batteries and fed it into unreality. April began to glow visibly as she moved closer, and the one Black Hat who tried to stop her instantly mutated into something unholy, having time only to shriek Others tried to fire their weapons at her, but the beams stopped short of her body. Trancelike, April took in the massive device before her, then laid her hands almost tenderly on its control panel. The throbbing slowed, becoming more and more sluggish as the aura around the machine increased. A detached, objective part of her mind recognized the light; it was the light she had seen through the open doors of the TARDIS, that fateful day the Gorig were defeated: the light of the very Time Vortex itself.

Around her, the ship and the aliens aboard began to age. Metal rusted, components failed, and fastenings loosened. Pure entropy ravaged the Black Hats’ systems. Cells died, pollutants collected, and chromosomes duplicated themselves incorrectly; in less than a minute, the crew of the ship had all died of old age.

A sudden crack resounded. The light disappeared, and the machine collapsed into itself, vanishing without a trace. April’s head came up, and her mind cleared; around her were engine systems and support equipment, looking untended for centuries. Misjointed skeletons littered the compartment. Her eyes grew wide, and she rushed from the ship, scattering old bones left and right.

Outside, the night sky held the same constellations. The same shabby building sat nearby that she’d left a few minutes ago.

“I don’t know what this means,” she sighed plaintively. “How old am I now? How is it I can do this? How many ‘existences’ do I have?” She threw her arms wide. “Just what is going on?”

The stars didn’t answer her. Finally she sighed again, and went inside to collect the rifle. Returning outside, she leveled it on the decrepit ruin of the Black Hats’ ship, and fired. A five-centimeter beam burrowed through the ship’s hull. There was a muffled explosion, and the ship fell into dozens of burning automobile-sized chunks.

“That was setting three,” she told the conflagration.

“I see you are as perilous as your reputation claims, my dear,” a voice cried from across the lot. A solidly-built man skirted the wreckage to approach her, perfectly aware that the rifle had swung to point at him.

“And who are you?” April asked. “Before you try any bull, let me inform you that I’ve had a long night.”

“I’m afraid it may get longer,” he said. “We have a common problem, and I hope we can assist one another...”

The Time Vortex (the TARDIS)

The echoes of Ty’s scream still bounced around the console room as the silver ship on the scanner screen vanished in a ball of light. The sphere shrank, and tendrils of flame licked out to be drawn away on the currents of the Vortex.

Grin’elle gave Ty a look. “Our instruments just recorded an incredible surge in the structure of the Vortex.” He raised an eyebrow. “I can only conclude that when you swear, you really mean it.”

A side of Ty’s mouth curled. “Yeah.” The alarms and smoke filling the room stole the smile away, however. “I’ll look that gift horse in the mouth later. Are we still going to make it?”

Grin shut off power to the dead areas and anywhere else in the timeship he could. The time column slowed perceptibly every moment, but it wasn’t stopping. “I think so. Yes, I think so. The landing may not have a lot of style, however.” He looked wryly at the console. “I just can’t seem to arrive in this universe under my own power.”

The TARDIS began to vibrate badly, and the two had to grab the console rail to stay upright. Grin looked at the console as if holding it together with sheer stubbornness. “We’re almost there. Just a little further, girl...”

Redbar Towers apartment complex

September 2, 2050 A.D.

[Reality Code: ‘Sixth World’ 404]

Eighty years or three seconds ago...

Nebula watched until the last trace of silver had melted from the room, then turned to leave. That really was an awful noise for a high-tech spaceship to make. In fact, she thought it had faded away, but there it was again...

She spun around. “Professor?”

He lay half in, half out of the hatchway of his TARDIS. The ‘monster maroons’ had been replaced by a red-and-black jumpsuit with a silvery arrowhead at the breast and a row of tiny disks along the collar. He showed evidence of internal wounds, and smoke poured from the inside of the time machine.

“G-Grin’elle?”

“Hi - Nebula,” he gasped between grunts of pain. “Got - a moment? I seem - to be - in some trouble...”

Another head poked out of the timeship. Ty Dujhar coughed loudly, observing, “Well; so this is Seattle.”

Quite a while later, Grin’elle and Ty’elle stood solemnly in Nebula’s apartment. Her living room was filled with dangerous, slightly disreputable figures in various seated, standing, and sprawled positions. Two of them Grin had met before; an Amerindian woman with almond Oriental eyes and delicately pointed ears, and a mirror-eyed man with a predator’s bearing and a blindingly loud outfit. Lady Dragon and Skid were their working names.

An emaciated, sullen youth in filthy jeans and an ancient bomber jacket lay on Nebula’s couch with his legs in the air, heels thumping against the wall as he regarded the ex-Fleet officers from upside-down. Next to him, but not too close, sat a silver-haired woman with the first lines of stress and care detailing her face. She wore custom-made jewelry around wrists and neck, and carried herself coolly.

“You asked for the best mages I knew,” Nebula said. “These are top of the crop in Seattle. You know Lady and Skid; the boy’s called Bombardier, and she’s Amethyst.”

“Hello, Professor.” Skid cracked a rare, if thin, smile. “Need someone to pull you out of whatever you’ve landed in this time?”

“Right again. I need volunteers - well paid volunteers, I’ll add - for a little journey, at the end of which there’ll be some major spell working.”

“Journey?” Lady ‘D’ asked. “Not another trip to the asteroids, I hope.”

Grin looked uncomfortably at Ty, who looked back and shrugged. “No. Back to my own time. Back to fight one last battle.”

Amethyst’s eyebrows went up slightly. Bombardier looked incredulous. “What’s this ‘back to my time’ business? Nebula?”

“He’s a time traveler.” Nebula waited out a calculated pause, then stated quietly, “No drek.”

“I’ve seen his time machine, Bomber,” Skid said quietly. “I’ve ridden in it, and he ain’t kidding. He may not be sane, but he’s not lying.”

“On the subject of honesty,” Grin continued, “I’ll tell you this: the job won’t be a picnic. I’ll need the best. If you take the assignment, I’ve instructed Nebula to deposit a flat million nuyen to the account of each volunteer.”

Bombardier suddenly quit adding heel marks to the wall. Skid’s chin snapped up as the mirrors reflected Grin’s intent expression, and Amethyst’s eyes sparked slightly. “What exactly is the money for?” she asked coolly.

“I need a combination of sciences for this one, and you’ll provide the magic. Our enemies have opened a hole in space and time, and the spaceship that stops humanity’s extermination has fallen through it. I need you to reopen the hole, and send it back.”

Ty shot a sharp gaze at his foster brother. “Grin, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Enterprise-C.”

“It disappeared years ago, near the Narendra system, where that Klingon colony was destroyed! What does it have to do with the Black Hats?”

“They gated it away, to our present. Enterprise-D met it, and the Klingons got them both.”

“And we’re sending them back to save that colony? And prevent the war?” Lady said, trying to follow the argument.

“Not at all. It’s true that we’re sending them back to prevent the war. They’ll do so by reappearing in the right place and the right time - and dying.”

The room became extremely silent.

“When do we leave?” Amethyst asked.

“I’m not sure. Stay by your phones, and Nebula or I will get in touch with you. Be prepared to leave with an hour’s notice.” Amethyst nodded once, and got up to leave. Bombardier rolled off the couch and left with Skid, muttering furiously in the other mage’s ear. Lady shook her head. “You’re a lesson in thinking big, you are.”

“My chosen arena demands it.”

“Yeah. Well, Nebula, you know where I’ll be.” She left. Grin’elle dropped into a chair, exhaustion in his eyes.

“That’s the great plan? Sacrifice a starship full of people to save a universe.” Ty pointed accusingly at Grin. “Do you really have any idea what you’re doing?”

“Barely. Just enough.” He leaned forward in the chair. “Ty, they were supposed to die. Their deaths save millions of lives, Federation and Klingon!” He looked up. “Unless you and Jerry have been disabling Klingon cruisers with passive resistance?”

“You mentioned three sciences the last time we met,” Nebula broke in. “Magic; technology; and - “

“Psionics. The three ways an intelligent being alters his environment to suit: intercession of higher powers, exploitation of physical laws, and the advanced ability to alter reality simply by altering one’s perception of it.”

“If they’re the magic, than what’s the technology?”

“Four subspace distortion generators powered by the energy of matter/antimatter annihilation.”

“Enterprise-E’s warp engines.” Ty’s expression got dreamy as formulae and theorems flashed though his head. “It could be possible - though the control necessary - “ His eyes cleared, and he looked keenly at Grin. “The magic?”

“The magic. And, linking the two, psionics. Block transfer computations reweaving reality with the activity of a living mind.”

“Who will carry that out? You?”

“Me and Kammara Kazsis.”

Ty paused, then said slowly, “Grin’elle, Kammara’s dead.”

“I know. It’s a bit of a problem.”

Nebula broke in. “There’s one other problem with your little trip, Grin. I can drag the money out of some corp’s payroll, using that icebreaker you two wrote. But how are you going to take us to your future? I got a look at your TARDIS, and I’m afraid that more than just your friend has passed on.”

Nebula and Ty looked expectantly at him, awaiting an answer. “Details, details,” Grin mumbled. “I’m sure something will turn up.” His confident expression might have been more convincing if he’d had more rest lately.

Grin did some power sleeping for the next few hours, while Ty and Nebula chased equations around on her mainframe. Nebula showed Ty’elle the ‘Playroom,’ the little virtual reality node she’d created where worlds could be defined and rewritten with a thought; in return, he gave her a crash course in the mathematics he used to twist ‘real’ space and time. They were deep in the net when a blinking Grin’elle came out of Nebula’s room.

Grin smiled tolerantly at the two still figures, one jacked in and one wearing an induction circlet, before he opened an audio channel to their interface and growled, “FOOD!!”

Ty and Nebula jumped, and ‘jacked out.’ “Geez, dude,” Ty’elle complained.

“Have a heart, brother,” Grin said. “I haven’t eaten since the twenty-fourth century.”

“So, you’re saying your last meal was three hundred years from now,” Nebula commented sardonically.

“You see why no one time travels as a hobby,” Ty smirked.

Grin stuck out his lower jaw in a mock growl. “FOOD!!” he repeated.

“Okay, okay,” Nebula relented. “If I don’t have to hear that again, I’ll take you two to one of my favorite little spots. Do me good to stretch my legs anyway.”

Grin smiled brightly. “Huh! If I ever see Kordon again, I’ll have to tell him that it works.”

The threesome took a table at a bar and grill within walking distance of the Redbar Towers, Nebula’s apartment building. The interior of the place was spacious, well-lit, and clean, details which surprised Grin’elle in this particular city. The food was good, too.

“Yeah, every so often I come down to Philip’s place to reassure myself that this world hasn’t gone completely to hell,” Nebula commented around mouthfuls of broiled fish.

Ty was still recovering from his first trip down the ugly streets of Seattle. “I can see why you’d want to. I think, living here, I develop a case of unending paranoia.”

“Oh. A survival trait.” She gave him a significant look. He raised his eyebrows, then dug back into his salad. “So, is your space opera future on of those nineteen-fifties ‘brave new worlds,’ then?” she continued. “Anything you want at the push of a button? No disease, poverty, or famine?”

“Almost,” Grin’elle said sadly. “Not everyone wanted to accept the conditions: friendship, respect, and communication.  Far be it from us to force these things on other people. And the Klingons can only respect a civilization which is willing to destroy them. That’s why our friends are dying, back at home.”

A dark, bushy-bearded man with a braided mane of hair came up to the table. “My greetings to you, April? How are you and your friends this evening?”

She smiled. “Hello, Philip. My friends and I were just praising your establishment. This is Ty Dujhar, and this is Grin Kriet. They’re friends of mine from out of town.”

Philip shook hands with the two men. Grin’elle looked dubious. “We’ve met, haven’t we?”

A strange smile crossed Philip’s face. “No, I think you’d remember if we had. It is, however, an interesting coincidence that you show up tonight with the young lady.”

Grin gave him a quizzical look, and his smile grew wider. “There’s a little man been in here the last few days, asking for you.”

Grin tensed. “Did he leave a name?”

The smile grew wider. “No, but he chose to dine here tonight, and he should just be finishing.” The restaurateur pointed over to a table in one corner of the room, and a scowl began forming on Grin’s face.

At the table sat the man Philip was talking about, a short, round-faced man wearing a coat and a loud sweater. He was arguing genially with a bored-looking young woman in an emblem-covered bomber jacket, t-shirt, skirt, and tights.

“What is he doing here?” growled Grin under his breath. He stood up abruptly and marched over. Ty and Nebula shared a worried look and followed, as Philip left to help with the bar.

Grin’elle reached the other table and folded his arms. “I hear you wanted to see me,” he told the man.

The other replied in a rolling Scottish accent. “Well, you’re in a spot of bother, aren’t you. Since it seems your traveling’s attracted unwanted attention, I thought I’d be a good neighbor and see if I could help.” He saw Kriet’s friends standing just behind him. “You certainly keep handsomer company than you once did. Will you introduce me to your friends?”

“Ty’elle Dujhar; April Vincent; this is an old acquaintance of mine. I don’t know his companion’s name, but -”

The girl interrupted. “Hello. I’m Ace.” She smiled at the three of them.

“Yes,” Grin’elle acknowledged. “And he likes to be known as the Doctor.”

“Happy to see me, aren’t you? A fine welcome for someone who’s come to save your skin. Or had you already worked up a scheme to get yourself back to the twenty-fourth century?” asked the Doctor, brow furrowed ironically.

“I was working on it...”

“Whatever our differences, young man, your universe has too much potential to be handed over to the Black Hats without a fight. Since your TARDIS has been rendered hors de combat, I thought you might appreciate assistance.”

Kriet stared at him. “So you know about the Black Hats… I didn’t think a single archive on Gallifrey mentioned them.”

“They’re much sneakier back home.  After all, it’s not backgammon I’ve been up to for the last nine hundred years.”

“Professor?” Kriet glanced quickly at Ace, but she wasn’t talking to him. “Is he one of your old chums or something?”

“A Time Lord? Yes.”

“Not according to the rest of them,” Kriet interjected.

The Doctor made an impatient gesture. “Technical trifles. Kriet just meddles in different space-time arenas than I.” He pointed at Ace. “You humans need watching over, no matter which universe you’re in.”

“Oh. So, you mean there’s someone else who gets in as much trouble as you do?”

“Yes,” chorused Ty and Nebula. The time-travelers looked pained.

Nebula’s living room now possessed a battered blue police telephone box as well as Kriet’s silvery pillar. The two Time Lords buzzed back and forth between the two time machines for several hours, carrying parts and schematics from one to the other.

She tentatively stepped into Kriet’s time machine. It was her first time inside, and like everyone else, she felt briefly startled by the interior size. Grin’elle poked his head out from underneath the central console. “Well, hello. What do you think?” he said with an expectant gleam in his eye.

“I just hope my lease isn’t affected by the sudden addition of two zeppelin hangars worth of closet space.”

He was taken aback. “Congratulations. You’re one of the few people person in Gallifreyan history not to say it.”

“Say what?”

“That it’s bigger on the inside than on the outside.”

“Oh. Well, if it hadn’t been, then you and Ty would be better friends than you ever mentioned to me.”

The Doctor marched in with Ty’elle in tow. “Here you go!” he said triumphantly, thrusting a fist-sized assembly at Kriet. “Negative Co-ordinate Compensator. Just the thing for that Multiverse Device of yours.”

Grin’elle took it curiously. “This, instead of the Psuedo-parallel Mapping Network?”

“Ha! Stone knives and bearskins. It’s no wonder they shot you down: this TARDIS is a worse patchwork than my last set of clothes.”

“What about a Reduced-array Element Transformer?” Ty asked. “Wouldn’t that have more throughput?”

The Doctor gave him a careful look. “I have great respect for your talent, sir; but if you build another Infinidrive, reality may just come apart at the seams.”

Kriet had his head buried back in the guts of the console, but the muffled comment that came out sounded a lot like “Too late.”

Ace came into the TARDIS, holding two large paper bags. “I got the sandwiches. Only had to put seven blokes in hospital on the way back.”

Nebula looked at her watch. “Hmm, that would be the Red-light Rippers. A little early for them to be out.”

“Do you like hanging around this universe, Kriet?” the Doctor asked distastefully.

“Well, there’s a lot of our kind of work to be done around here.” He stood up, dusting his hands. “Done. Thank you very much for the parts and the help. Nebula, would you call the magicians, and have them join us?”

She nodded, and headed out. The Doctor still didn’t look happy. “This is still risky business, Kriet. Do you really know for sure what’s going to happen at the end of all this?”

“I have some idea. I’m trying not to think about it.”

“What’s he talking about?” Ty asked.

“If your comrade’s plan works,” the Doctor explained, “and I confess that I can’t currently see an alternative, you will be making a rather drastic change in your own histories. Do I really have to explain the Grandfather Paradox to a spatio-temporal engineer?”

The corners of Ty’s mouth turned down. “We could wipe ourselves out.”

Grin flipped a few switches, and nodded at the changes his readouts showed. “I’m hoping not. Besides, I’ve seen what’s happening there now. I have no real desire to live in that future anyway.”

The Doctor pulled his hat from a pocket and set it firmly on his head. “Well. You seem to be back in the game again; I wish you well.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Grin’elle said reluctantly. “We may disagree about the details, but I suppose our methods aren’t all that different after all.”

The Doctor winked slowly at him, then left the TARDIS, bellowing, “Ace!!”

Ty was whispering to himself. Straining, Grin made out part of a song: “Control is not convinced / but the commander

“Has the evidence / no need to abort

“The count down starts...”

USS-Enterprise, NCC-1701-E

Klingon-occupied space, outside the Narendra system

November 4, 2367 A.D.

Grin discarded subtlety completely. As Enterprise-E orbited slowly in Narendra’s Oort cloud, he brought his repaired TARDIS straight to the bridge of Combat One. Jerry Conner had seen and heard the time vehicle’s jarring entrances before, but he was woefully unprepared for this trip’s passenger list.

Kriet stepped out first, looking around alertly and grinning as he saw Jerry. “It’s been a long time, comrade. You weren’t very easy to find.”

Ty exited behind him, explaining, “We eventually had to monitor Klingon tactical frequencies, and head ninety degrees away from where they thought you were.”

“I’m glad to see you, Grin’elle,” Jerry said. “Enterprise-E can use all the competent crew...” He trailed off. The other bridge crew members stopped even pretending to monitor their consoles. “Who the hell are they?”

He could be forgiven. On the high-tech bridge of a Starfleet battleship, the remainder of Kriet’s party looked horribly out of place. The magicians looked around at the gleaming consoles and ever-changing displays, impressed in spite of themselves.

Kriet introduced Amethyst, Bombardier, Lady, and Skid. “They may have more mundane names,” he commented wryly, “but they’re not telling them to me. These four, my friends, are the key to winning the war against the Klingons. More precisely, causing it never to happen.”

“How are they going to do that?” Miller asked, frowning. “Magic?”

“Precisely.”

Jerry stared at Kriet as though trying to read minds by X-ray vision. Finally he took a deep breath, and turned to the communications station. “Call Valev and his tactical staff to Operations Planning; signal my staff too. I expect this is going to take a while to sort out.”

USS-Enterprise, NCC-1701-E

Klingon-occupied space, outside the Narendra system

November 5, 2367 A.D.

The room would have made any military commander in history drool. A large circular table could seat thirty humanoids in comfortable chairs with computer consoles and display screens at each position. The walls were hung with graphics displaying current ship status, Klingon technical data, local galactic geography, projected attack/defense timetables, and the results of frequently updated full-sweep sensor scans.  The table’s center boasted a sophisticated hologram generator for special scrutiny of any important data; and the entire ceiling glowed softly with a projected map of the Milky Way galaxy.

Around this table, seated and standing, were some of the finest officers ever produced by the Federation. Jerry and Valev needed only to sit down to designate the head of the table. Grin and Ty sat with the shadowrunners nearby. Char’Al, Yanni Miller, and James Winding Creek were there; so, also, were David and Kristin Kazsis. Spyik Reid sat stonefaced at his console, seeming incomplete without Kraiggearra’s balancing presence. Athene Graham scowled at her display, re-plotting a set of data points until the function’s shape satisfied her. Montor Barrington leaned stiffly against a wall display; an absorbed Darrell Milner ran a finger across the map on another. The one thing that struck Grin’elle inescapably about this group, with few exceptions, was how old everyone was - everyone but him. He just felt incredibly old. Decrepit. Worn-out. With an effort, he shook it off and stood.

“I will begin by saying that though many of you here know me, most of you do not. To you, what I am about to propose will seem wild, farfetched, and utterly unlikely. You may take comfort in the fact that the ones who do know me well, will probably feel the same way.”

The mood in the room lightened, faintly. Grin’elle reached down and hit a control; each of the four walls of the room blanked to display a complicated, annotated graph.

“Those of you who cannot understand this graph should not feel unintelligent. It deals with a complex function in space-time, a subject I am expert in, and it took me over half a century. This display was recovered from an alien group who used complex multi-dimensional technology to attempt the destruction of USS Pathfinder decades ago. It describes a bold attempt to change the history of our universe. A bold attempt - and a successful one.”

Kriet pointed to portions of the graph. “Here, here, and here are attempts to destroy large portions of Starfleet. This time-space location shows many of our ships being destroyed by what Captain James T. Kirk referred to in his logs as a “Doomsday Machine.” Note how the red and blue lines separate here, and the red line ends shortly. The alien opposition hardly expected us to knock out the device with the loss of only one ship.

“This location on the graph - notice the burst of red-lined possibilities radiating away - shows a war that was meant to start with a ‘Starfleet’ assassination of Klingon chancellor Gorkon.”

“The Khitomer affair,” breathed Char’Al.

Kriet nodded. “Exactly. Once again, though, the blue line that actually continues away shows that that incident was resolved in a manner far too peaceful for the puppet masters’ tastes.

“These branches here, here and here, represent the specific destruction of ships of the Batron. Here, the Pathfinder at Wrigley’s. Here, the Yeager during its builders’ trials. Here, USS McKay during the USS Blue Ridge encounter. There are more to follow involving the entire Batron; the Zon nebula here, and the Megazone here.” One side of his mouth curled up. “This particular branch, I say with some modesty, is devoted to my death and the prevention of Athene’s birth. You’ll note, though, how it recurves into Yeager’s near-destruction by the Meltrandi. In fact, many of these branches link or were meant to. Only Providence assisted us on some.”

“What is the sharp downcurve in the blue line, there where a red branch shoots up?” Miller asked.

“Wolf 359,” Kriet said sourly. “Where the Borg had us for breakfast. Our antagonists loved that one. You’ll notice that Starfleet strength was never the same; shortly thereafter, the Klingons made their biggest push ever, and took Earth. Perhaps if we hadn’t lost so many ships...” He grimaced.

Montor folded his arms. “We all took our history courses at the Academy, Kriet. Where are you going with all this?”

Jerry leaped in. “The one red branching, about twenty years ago. The one that veers crazily off the blue path.”

“Good guess,” Kriet nodded. “That red line represents a disaster that never occurred. The destruction of NCC-1701 Enterprise-C.”

“What are you talking about?” Montor asked. “Of course it was destroyed.”

“Yes, but not twenty years ago. She was destroyed two years ago. December 2365.”

A murmur arose in the room. Kriet raised his voice to counter it. “Our enemies have spent the last hundred years preparing for this, hoping that they wouldn’t have to do it. It was their only remaining option, because it was way too obvious and risky. They opened a space-time wormhole large enough to fly a starship through. Enterprise-C did, and instead of being the martyrs of Narendra, died unknown, and unmourned, with Enterprise-D… twenty years later.”

The murmur grew louder. “Quiet, please! Quiet!” Kriet shouted. “I know this is hard to accept, but we have Captain Picard’s log recorder transcripts, as well as planning and organization materials from the enemy camp itself.”

“So what are we going to do about it?” David Kazsis asked. “You’re saying they’ve been planning this three times as long as I’ve been alive? Will our counterthrust take another century?”

“Not at all. You’re right about us not having enough time to work against them. We’re going to help them.”

The room got suddenly quiet. “We’re what?” asked Valev mildly.

“We’re going to hold the wormhole open for just a few more hours - long enough for the crew of Enterprise-C to get back to Narendra, and die the heroes’ death they were meant to.”

“How?” Athene put a universe of bewilderment into that one syllable.

Kriet punched up a schematic on the holo viewer. “The space twisting forces will be provided by Enterprise-E’s own warp engines.”

Darrell Milner leaned in close to the diagram. “My friend, the way you’ve got this hooked up, it’ll be a runaway reaction that’ll only tear holes in this section of space-time; specifically, us! You feed a control program like that into our computers, they’ll just giggle at you!”

“We won’t be controlling it with physics, but psychics.” Grin pointed at the four mages. “These men and women will actually be using magic to control and direct the warp.”

Ty Dujhar spoke up to counter the amazed looks. “Yes, they are honest-to-God magicians; and no, I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t seen it.”

Darrell was not deflected. “Fine: you’ve got two pieces of the puzzle. You’re still running a purposely imbalanced intermix to create a spatio-temporal wormhole at a distance. Where are you getting your intermix formulas from, The Great Bird of the Galaxy?”

An uneasy look crossed Kriet’s face, and he opened his mouth hesitantly to reply; however, his answer was cut off by the whistle of the intercom.

“Captain Conner, sensors show an old-style Federation aerospace fighter, Intercept Valkyrie type, approaching. The pilot wishes permission to come aboard.”

Jerry spoke to the air, while he and Kriet traded frowns. “We’ll need identity confirmation, comm.”

“Identity confirmed, sir. One pilot, one passenger. April Vincent… and Solomon Kirann.”

“Who?” Valev turned to ask. He asked empty space, though, because Jerry, Grin, Ty, and Athene were already gone.

The Valkyrie carefully detached itself from the warp-drive Intercept package, glided through the atmosphere containment field, and landed with reasonable grace on Combat-2’s hangar deck. Two people climbed from the cockpit, cracking helmet seals as soon as feet touched deckplates. Four Starfleet officers waited for them.

Nebula was the first to speak. “He showed up two days ago, saying that he had to meet you here and that he needed transportation. All I had was this ancient Valk.”

Solomon Kirann stood smugly a step behind her. “You’re going to be doing some complex block transfer computation soon. I happen to be particularly talented in that department.”

Kriet found voice. “Kirann… I trust you about as far as I can comfortably spit a rat! You disabled the Pathfinder, sent four of our crew through a survival test from hell, and flounced off with the cryptic comment that you now knew what you had to do… and now you offer to do our computations for us? I practically believed you were a Black Hat for a while!”

Kirann shook his head. “Of course I don’t blame you, Kriet, since you certainly didn’t have access to the information I did.”

“Who is this, Grin?” asked Jerry. “Another time-traveling marauder?”

“He’s an ex-crew member of the Pathfinder. Something happened to him on Wrigley’s, he endangered the ship, and disappeared.”

“You don’t understand. I gained certain information through the culture, and then had to borrow your crewmembers’ psyches for an hour or two in order to keep it here.” With a flair, he displayed a green, glowing canister.

“What’s that?” Athene asked.

“I brought it here decades ago,” Kriet said. “The last of it faded into impotence shortly after your rescue. It is the most powerful method of linking mind and machine ever invented.”

Ty Dujhar’s expression resembled what the faces of the atomic scientists at Trinity must have looked like, seeing the explosion of the first atomic bomb. “That would be this universe’s last remaining supply of… Protoculture.”

Kriet looked up at the ceiling. “All right! Enough’s enough.” His gaze returned to the half-Klingon ex-cadet who stood before him. “Look, I won’t deny that I only have the vaguest idea what I’m doing, and that I’m lucky my friends are foolish enough to follow me on it. I don’t, however, believe the coincidence that pulls you out from backstage just as the final act’s beginning.”

Kirann grinned. “Oh, come on, Kriet, you know better than that!” He motioned back toward the multimode fighter craft perched on the deck behind them. “You built these things, after all; you if anyone should realize the inherent power of the Flowers of Life! After all, it was you who convinced the Robotech Expeditionary Force that you should be allowed to research the potential of protoculture! No man-machine interface has come close!”

“We don’t need it anymore. Our Switchblade mecha program -”

“Died in the water shortly after everyone stole the new Federation gunnery-prediction software. I do follow these things, you know.” He sighed. “Maybe you just weren’t meant to understand as I do.” Kirann leaned slightly closer. “After all, you probably never expected some of the original Valkyries to still operate… without any power source at all.”

Kriet jerked back, and Ty gave him a horrified look. “Grin? Is that true?”

Grin’elle slowly focused his gaze on Kirann, grabbed the front of the simple tunic he wore, and pulled him close. “Solomon, I don’t like you. If I didn’t believe this project to be so important, I’d walk you over to the hangar door, and toss you out. Whatever new abilities contact with the Protoculture has given you, you’d still get to swim home.”

Kirann tried another smug smile, by it just wouldn’t assemble under Kriet’s stare. Finally, he just nodded. “I know. Our methods aren’t the same, Kriet; but, this time at least, we share the same goal.”

April broke the silence. “Captain Conner, we need to go to your Engineering center; there’s a lot of work to do, and very little time to do it in. Too many people have extremely good reasons to nip this play in the bud.” She looked at Kriet and Kirann furiously neutral expressions, then turned back to Jerry. “Whatever it is we’re doing, we’d better do it fast.”

Ty Dujhar may easily have been one of the Federation’s top theoretical scientists - if not one of this reality’s. Still, at the end of the next eight hours, he possessed a migraine the approximate size of Megazone 1-9… or, as he began to call it, Excedrin headache πx - (√-2y) ...

Jerry walked into Combat-2’s Main Engineering, watching confused staff mill around like rad-suited lemmings. Above his head, at the conduit links to Combat-1’s engine room, a team of Exo-comps shuttled back and forth, running power cabling, datalines, and waveguides from one hull to the next.

One Exo-comp floated over to Kriet and chirped at him. He picked up a nearby padd and read the tiny robot’s report on the screen. “Thanks, Nammo. See if you can tighten the tolerances down another hundred angstroms, okay?” It beeped at him and floated off.

The mage known as Lady ‘D’ hovered impatiently nearby. “Your grasp of theory’s fine, Commander, but I think you’d have remembered from last time that we can’t cast spells in deep space! I don’t know where that other Nebula came from, but I can’t guarantee that little trick you played before will wash a second time.”

Bombardier nodded vigorously. “I don’t really want to spew the contents of my gray matter into an astral vacuum. It wasn’t in the job description.”

“Look,” Kriet temporized, “I don’t blame you for being nervous. But you won’t be having a problem here. You see, according to my research, magic is a function of spatial distortion. Any space-time event, and in fact all of them, can occur in singularities - in layman’s terms, the physically impossible center regions of black holes. By extension, any mass large enough will have certain amendments to the laws of physics. On the planet-sized mass called Earth, they’re called magic.”

He paused for breath, then forged on. “The warpfield of this starship is enough of a singularity that when combined with the spatio-temporal distortion effect of the gravitons, tachyons, slow neutrinos, and other ‘imaginary’ particles produced by our imbalanced intermix formulas, your powers should function near-normally.”

Skid twitched ever so slightly. “What?”

April paused on the way to deliver a stack of isolinear chips to the core control processor. “The engines will build a ‘safe zone’ around you after we reprogram them,” she called as she swept by.

“Oh.” Bombardier looked back at Kriet. “Why didn’t you say so?”

Jerry jumped into the gap. “Grin, I need a progress report. We have indications of Klingon movement in this quadrant.”

The time traveler grimaced. “We’ll need a while longer, Jerry. Restructuring space like this isn’t done for entertainment.”

“Hmm. If we get in a fight, how much power will your setup draw?”

Ty popped his head out from a hatch at the foot of a bulkhead. “All of it.”

Jerry’s eyes widened. “All of it?”

“Yeah. Oh, and Grin, don’t forget to ask him about moving some personnel around so we can kill life support on Deck Five.” The head vanished back into the hatch.

He looked at Grin’elle. “All of it?”

Grin suddenly found the wall and ceiling construction fascinating. “Yeah, well, you know how it is...”

“All - of - it?”

Grin threw up his hands. “So sue me! I was lucky to find formulae for only two warp reactors’ worth of power! Ten would have been better!”

Jerry finally got a grip on himself. “Okay. Tell me, once more, how this will work.”

“Rube Goldberg might have done it better. Okay. The magicians - “ he pointed to a table spread with arcane diagrams, crystal jewelry, and vials of powder and liquid - “will envision the changes they wish to make in the universe: the tiny changes in structure and stress that will hold the wormhole open just a little longer.”

“From a distance, and two years ago.”

“Right. They will cast their spells on the protoculture interface, in which Kirann has recreated the universe in miniature. It’s an archived universe, if you will, composed of only the significant data: immediately significant to us, anyway. The computer side of the interface will translate this into block transfer equations which redefine reality.”

“But those equations still need to be executed.”

“Correct. That job will be done by our warp drives. Athene and April, working in tandem, will convert the block transfer equations to specific intermix formulae.”

“Why can’t the computer do that?”

“Block transfer computations refigure reality. The computer can display them for the ladies, but only a living mind can manipulate them without being corrupted by the very math it is performing.”

“And then the dual intermix reactions form the exact warpfield necessary to change space-time - “

“And keep the wormhole open for a few more hours.”

Jerry shook his head and sighed. “Fine. I guess I’ve got the easy part: I just have to tell a squadron of Klingon attack cruisers to zark off. So, when can we start?”

“All time is relative in this case. We can start as soon as the apparatus is in place.”

“I want status reports every five minutes, Grin’elle. I’ll do what I can from the bridge, but… Time is running out, my friend!”

“If there’s anyone who understands that concept, Captain sir - it’s me.” As Jerry nodded and left, Kriet bent to work.

For the next two hours, Grin’elle’s fingers flew from button to button on the main interface station, rearranging the entire engineering computer system one bit at a time. Swiftly but deftly he overrode safeguards, shifted processor functions from one virtual path to another, and revised command lists on the fly. With a flourish, he rattled out a final key sequence, and saved the whole configuration. Exhaling loudly, he looked up to see the rest of Engineering standing expectantly at their positions, seemingly waiting for him.

“Yes?” he asked, slightly embarrassed by the depth of his concentration.

“We’re ready,” Ty said. “Final checks complete. All we need is the go.”

Kriet nodded once, firmly. With ceremony, he hit the intercom switch. “Bridge, this is Revision Group Alpha. We are ready to implement.”

Jerry’s voice drifted back over the channel. “Stand by, Alpha.”

Kriet was startled. “Why the delay?”

The alert sirens screamed the answer, as Enterprise-E’s shields took the first hit of the engagement. “Condition Alert! Condition Alert! Three Klingon Assault Cruisers taking attack positions! All hands to battle stations! Combat drill: Kappa!”

Grin slammed a fist into the console. Athene said, “No Klingon will ever be a comedian.”

“Why?” Skid asked.

Ty flipped an obscene gesture at the ceiling. “Because their timing sucks!”

As Enterprise-E’s shields subtly warped space, fooling attacking impacts into spending their destructive force any place the starship wasn’t, Main Engineering rang with the sounds of offended deflector generators vibrating angrily. The lighting dimmed ever so faintly as the ship’s combat systems made priority demands on power; civilians would never have noticed, but the Starfleet personnel had seen these conditions too many times to be fooled. Behind them, the intermix column boomed frantically, hurling basic opposing forces together and pouring the result into Enterprise’s power network. Minute accelerations plucked at their bodies from all directions, as the gravitation and inertial systems fought drain and sharp vector changes. Ty could read it all like a book.

“We’re getting pounded,” he said with downcast amazement. “I think we’ve finally pissed them off.”

The magicians stood unsure at their station. “What’s going on?” Skid asked.

April’s eyes were unfocused, as if she could see outside. “We’re hurting them, but they’ll shortly be doing worse to us. We’re more than a match for any one of those ships… but as soon as the opposition gets its act together, they’ll carve us up like a holiday meal.”

The Klingon blood in Kirann’s veins rose bubbling to the surface. “No!” ripped from his throat. “I have not spent a half-century preparing for this moment to have it torn away now!”

There was a very soft noise, which caught the attention of everyone in the echoing chamber: Amethyst had cleared her throat. The brilliant light in her eyes struck Grin’elle with surprise; he didn’t remember seeing it before. “Commander Kriet. I have not seen very much of your beautiful starship, and I do not know anything of its construction… but does it, by chance, have any windows?”

One at a time, in slow stages, Lady, Skid, and Bombardier smiled. It wasn’t a very pleasant smile; but then, neither was the one that Grin began to get...

“By forces old when man was young

We halt the scheme our foe’s begun.

With secrets past and science now

We take the steps to seal this vow.”

Amethyst explained that almost every spell needed clear line-of-sight to its target. Lenses were permitted, but no circuitry. The observation window gave her a fine view of the metal carrion-birds ripping at Enterprise’s defenses.

“Though steel be hard, and cloaked in flame

Our lances enter just the same.

Their searing wands of ruby light

Will dominate no more this night.”

Kirann stood nearby with the protoculture interface. The mathematically-simulated psuedospace inside reached eagerly to grasp the matrix defined by the mages’ focused life forces.

“Our hearts are strong, our minds are one

Our wills will stand when this is done.

Though Klingon blood be honor bound

In hatred is no honor found.”

In Engineering, April and Athene composed wildly, operating more on instinct than reason; and while one warp reactor continued to funnel plasma at overload levels into Enterprise’s conduit arteries, the other saturated space itself with its fire.

“So let our wishes gain a hold

As space and time we try to fold.

Let adversary end his strife

And pay for murder with his life!”

The massive disruptor cannon in the nose of one Klingon ship began to glow; but at almost the same moment, the magicians’ chant finished. Lights throughout Combat-2 dimmed or deactivated completely, then leaped back to full brightness. The brilliant glow of the cannon built up, then burst forth in an explosion which took the entire head of the bird with it. Every other light on the three Klingon ship went out. Shortly thereafter, a spread of photon torpedo already released by Combat-1’s orders sailed passed what would have been Klingon shields. The results were brief but spectacular.

The intercom whistled. “Engineering, this is the captain.” Jerry sounded very strange.

Kriet walked over and answered. “Engineering, Kriet here.”

“Do you by any chance know why we haven’t had power from Combat-2 for the last few minutes? We also noticed up here that three attack cruisers suddenly… broke.”

“Yes, sir. The mages and I decided that my plan needed one last test.” Kriet saw Skid lean tiredly into the room and give him the high sign. “Apparently, it’s a real simple spell, but a bitch to aim properly.”

The whole thing was almost finished. Whatever last play the Black Hats might have reserved, no time remained to call it. The mages’ biggest, most audacious spell slowly wound to a close as Enterprise-C, under the last-stand protection of Enterprise-D, cruised back into the abnormally long-lived wormhole it had fallen out of. At her station, performing math that would heal the wounds of reality, April Vincent sang.

“Searchlights pin the angels to the wall

as the darkness closes in from every side

Evil is in the atmosphere tonight

And bringing nightmares to the ones who cannot hide

I don’t believe hate is my only weapon

or believe I’m cursed to fight forevermore

I could give in to all my angers and fears

Winning a battle and losing a bigger war

Take your hands from your eyes!

See the light in the skies

And reenter the contest while announcing a few new rules

You can counter them with courage and they’ll blow up - blow up!!

Never say give up, no never again!

Sail through the storm, because you know you can

Never say give up, no never again!

Head for tomorrow at warp factor ten

Always believe - love conquers all

Then you’ll never need another weapon to win every fight

To attain your victory

Unblemished minds asleep in quiet dreaming

Shouldn’t have to shield their hearts from ugly lies

Nobody knows, after this night of deception

What tomorrow’s dawn will bring their trusting eyes

Love and respect are much more complicated

Than the hatreds we all hold inside our souls

Nothing can mend the emptiness in a life

When our anger tears our hearts out gaping holes

Just don’t give up the fight

When you know you are right

Cowering in the corner won’t impress our common foe

Shine the light upon their faces and they’ll blow up - blow up!!

Never say give up, no never again!

Throw off your sadness, and smile through the pain

Never say give up, no never again!

Steady and cruising at warp factor ten

Never say give up, no never again!

Sail through the storm, because you know you can

Never say give up, no never again!

Head for tomorrow at warp factor ten

Always believe - love conquers all

Then you’ll never need another weapon to win every fight

To attain your victory

“It’s done,” Kirann said. He tipped the protoculture canister with a finger, and it clanked emptily to the floor. He looked at Kriet. “Whatever you may believe, I hope you will one day forgive me. For years, much has been lost to me: sacrificed to my hopes of saving what I could of what remained.”

Kriet met April’s eyes. “I understand, Solomon. I understand very well.”

Jerry and Valev had entered during April’s song, standing quietly, watching and listening. “What happens now?” the Andorian asked.

“The new timeline will assert itself soon,” Grin’elle answered.

“Some of us will be dead,” Ty mused.

“Some of the dead will be alive,” April added.

“This ship probably won’t be built,” Jerry guessed, looking at the walls.

“We really don’t know,” Kirann said.

“But it should be an improvement. Overall, at least,” replied Athene.

Grin crossed to the magicians. “I confess, there’s one last loose end.” He drew the Mutor from his jacket.

“Ah-ha,” April exclaimed. “I wondered what that was for; I didn’t see you using it in the ceremony.”

“I received it from a mage; it returns to mages. You four are the last foreign element in this reality,” he said, handing it over. As Lady ‘D’ touched it, it flashed to a exquisite katana, still sheathed. “All of you grab it simultaneously, when you’re ready. Treasure your memories of all this; even if we ever see each other again, you’ll probably be the only ones to remember any of it.”

Lady nodded. “Goodbye, Kriet. It was a good run.”

Amethyst nodded coolly; Skid saluted with two fingers. “Sayonara, Professor!” grinned Bombardier. They all grasped the sword firmly.

USS Pathfinder

April, 2288 A.D.

[Reality Code: USS Enterprise 017]

The USS Pathfinder drifted quietly over Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet. Petty terrorists with a few second-hand weapons had attempted a hijacking, but Grin’elle Kriet’s date and her partner had foiled the plot before it got moving. “You could have at least handed us a challenge,” Kei told him.

USS McKay

May, 2288 A.D.

[Reality Code: USS Enterprise 017]

The High Council of the Time Lords sent a representative to request Ty’elle Dujhar’s cessation of Ultrainfinidrive experiments. Lady Carralasiretomin, an expert in time-space structure, was able to prove that the machine’s current method of function endangered the fabric of reality; she also was able to point him in a more productive direction. Carrala also spent some time with Grin’elle Kriet, healing old wounds. They parted friends.

Megazone 1-9

June, 2495

[Reality Code: Megazones 539]

Responding to a distress call in another universe, Grin’elle Kriet was able to restore computer function to a huge Earth generation ship by patching in artificial intelligence code he’d used for the Max Dreadnought project. Max himself volunteered to help bring the ship to it’s destination, replacing one of the original AI’s who had become self-aware (and very lonely.) Grin brought E.V.E. back with him, where she took the new name Athene Graham. Max reconfigured the ship’s defenses, easily defeating a small group of hostile aliens who interfered with the journey.

Seattle, Washington

August - September, 2050 A.D.

[Reality Code: ‘Sixth World’ 403]

Researching the arrangement and organization of the multiverse, Grin’elle Kriet arrived in a twenty-first century Earth of corruption and decay. Hidden away he found small groups of people acting in enlightened self-interest to improve their societies one tiny piece at a time. Struck by their dedication, Kriet spent some time helping them before returning to Starfleet. In the process, he fell in love with a duplicate of April Vincent, a crewmate from his twenty-third century.

USS Yeager

November, 2290 A.D.

[Reality Code: USS Enterprise 017]

Lazarus Long recruited U.S.S. Yeager’s help in clearing a planet of Black Hats; it was a private project, and many of his usual resources were unavailable to him. To everyone’s surprise, the Black Hats were easily dealt with, showing little of the creative mayhem they excelled at. In return, Lazarus prepared a living, organic body for Athene’s consciousness to inhabit.

USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-D

December 21, 2365 A.D.

[Reality Code: USS Enterprise 017]

“There was a small fluctuation in sensor readings, Captain,” Worf reported. “The wormhole apparently closed by itself.”

Picard nodded. “Very well. Resume course.”

Redbar Towers apartment complex

September 2, 2050 A.D.

[Reality Code: ‘Sixth World’ 403]

Nebula watched until the last trace of silver had melted from the room, then turned to leave. That really was an awful noise for a high-tech spaceship to make. In fact, she thought it had faded away, but there it was again...

She spun around. “Professor?”

He stepped out of the hatchway of his TARDIS. The ‘monster maroons’ had been replaced by a red-and-black jumpsuit with a silvery arrowhead at the breast and a row of tiny disks along the collar. Kriet was in a good mood, and it showed.

“Hello, darling! I thought I’d come by and see you for a while; it’s been years, after all.”

“But… you just left.”

“Your time, not mine; back home it’s already 2293. Oh, I brought some friends of mine, too. I told ‘em I’d show ‘em somewhere different. Meet Ty Dujhar and T’Renn Vraomrell.”

The other Starfleet officers stepped from the hatchway, looking around intently. Ty nodded in approval. “Well; so this is Seattle.”

Much later, Grin and April lay entwined in one another, the others having been sent off to one of the cleaner hotels for the night. April grinned up at Kriet. “Ooooh, you’re a dirty little boy. I’d be awful ashamed of you if it wasn’t so much fun.”

The door buzzer sounded, and she frowned. “Who the hell is that?”

Decently clothed, she pressed the intercom button, Grin’elle hovering behind. “Who is it?”

“I’ve got a package for Grin’elle Kriet. Is he here?”

She raised her eyebrows, peeked at the security camera display, and shrugged. “I don’t know her.”

“She knows my real name… you’d better open it.”

A blond woman in street leathers stood there with a long, narrow box. “Here you are; express delivery, from the Lady Dragon. All charges and fees prepaid. And, by the way, Lieutenant Castille and I want to thank you again.” She slipped away.

“Who was that?” April asked.

“I don’t know.” He opened the box. A silver rod with a sculpted end sat inside. April reached to take it.

“No, don’t -” She jerked as though struck by lightning, and he grabbed it from her, only to stiffen as well. The Mutor clanged hollowly at it fell to the floor, nothing but an empty hunk of metal.

April’s eyes were wide. “I - I - remember! I remember the Algorithm and Blues tour! I remember the Megazone! I remember Lazarus Long… Grin’elle, I never did any of those things!” She stared at the time traveler. “I’m in this room and on your starship at the same time! And on the UNS Skydiver and the Babylon Project, in Managlitch City, and in my keep at Tela Krohm… How is this possible?”

“I remember Enterprise-E,” Kriet muttered. “1701-D hasn’t been destroyed; it hasn’t been built yet. How can there be an E?” He looked slowly into April’s eyes. “And I remember Llandhe t’Reilri and I rescuing the crew of a Federation Ambassador-class starship from a Romulan prison camp. Which there is absolutely no way I could have done, since her daughter grows up to command a Romulan Warbird-class cruiser in the 2360’s.”

April looked at the closed door. “Who was she?”

Confused memories chased each other around his brain. “Well, Starfleet couldn’t just leave them there; but they’d learned about the future, and about my TARDIS in the rescue. We resettled them.” He shook his head. “Didn’t we? Of course we did.” He still didn’t look too sure.

“Grin, who the heck was that?”

Kriet didn’t believe it himself. “Tasha Yar...”

Repository 8

The Capitol, Gallifrey

Samlare 48, 102,773 T.L.

[Reality Code: Mutter’s Spiral 871]

The apprentice gaped. “Are you trying to tell me that everything you’ve just recited… never happened?” He apparently couldn’t decide whether to be shocked or indignant.

“Of course it did,” she chided. “Otherwise, we’d probably be mind-slaves to the Black Hats right now.”

“But… but… how can it have both happened and not happened?” he almost pleaded.

“Oh, dear. I’d hoped you were farther in your studies that this. Time may heal all wounds, Apprentice, but it sometimes leaves a scar. With the final discharge of the Mutor, all the participants remembered both timelines and their part in them. The universe as a whole looked smooth and seamless; but if the players’ memories weren’t, well, that was just part of the price paid. You could also think of it as a reward; those who save universes should be allowed to remember their valor.”

“I… believe I understand..” he said hesitantly.

“I hoped so,” she smiled.

“What happened to them all? What about the woman Nebula?”

“Oh, they certainly remained busy. Just because the Black Hats were foiled didn’t mean the entire galaxy was at peace. Grin’elle also visited his lover in the ‘Sixth World’ Seattle frequently, and there was much there to keep him busy - in all forms of combat,” she said with a twinkle. “He grew much closer to her, and to the April Vincent aboard Yeager; the shared memories gave each woman something she’d lacked, and in the Starfleet ensign’s case, it was a certain depth. To my knowledge, they are both still alive and kicking; he is a Time Lord, and she did not age. They did leave Starfleet long ago, of course.”

He laid his hand once more against the artifact’s case. “And now we have the Mutor.”

“Yes. Sterile and empty, but it helped preserve a large piece of the multiverse. Kriet kept it for a while, but eventually decided he did not want it around anymore. It was no great effort for us to acquire it.” She cocked her head briefly. “And now the morning has passed, and the midday meal draws near. I think perhaps we should return to the unceasing routine of Gallifrey.”

His eyes challenged her. “I will be back.”

“I look forward to it. Come.” They headed out of the silent hall, her hand dimming the soft lights. He opened the door, looking both ways down the corridor, and slipped out. As she moved to follow, the Time Lady paused, looking back at the silent cases of frozen history.

She brushed her waist-length black hair away from her blue eyes. The silver pinprick highlights sparkled in the reflected light from the corridor. “He’ll do,” she whispered, and shut the door.

Table of Contents

Introduction to the 2015 Digital Edition

Introduction to the 1993 Edition

Repository 1

Pleasure

Repository 2

Past Present

Repository 3

Music From the Heart of Space

Repository 4

Bridges

Repository 5

Shadows of Starfleet

Repository 6

Batron and the Beast

Repository 7

Breaking the Fall

Repository 8