Star Traks: The Vexed Generation is based on Alan Decker's Star Traks, 
which in turn is based on Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry, who 
is turning in his grave.  The Aerostar-A was created by Starfleet,
to give Captain Conway and his crew something to do with their spare time.  
This book was written in the past.  You're reading it in the present.  In the
future, you'll wonder where all that time went.

Copyright 2004.  All rights, and wrongs, are reserved.

If you're offended by mildly disturbing language, situations, and the utter 
disregard of some of Star Trek's greatest premises, better hit the "Back" 
button on your browser right now.  If not, welcome aboard!





STAR TRAKS: THE VEXED GENERATION  
                        
"Clear and Present Future"

BY ANTHONY BUTLER





NOTE TO READER:

The following book takes place shortly following the events of the
Star Traks: The Next Vexed Thing story "Unfinished Business."






                    Time present and time past
                    Are both perhaps present in time future
                                        
                                   T.S. Eliot





                   CHAPTER ONE
                        
                        
                        
                        
                        
U.S.S. AEROSTAR
NCC-83835-A
GAMMA QUADRANT
NOVEMBER 18, 2380

     "Well, we've really done it this time," Captain David Conway
sighed, as he stared at the viewscreen, on the bridge of the U.S.S.
Aerostar-A.  "We've really screwed the pooch."
     "Correction," Lt. Commander Zachary Ford said as he sat at the
helm station.  "You've really screwed the pooch."
     "I didn't mean to," Conway sighed.  He turned back toward the
science station.  "Alexa, how long until the sun goes down?"
     "You mean 'nova'?  Thirteen minutes," Dr. Alexa Lanham said,
glancing down at her scanners.  "Give or take."
     The bridge of the Aerostar-A was bathed in the orange glow of
Shinax, the main sequence star of the Shinax system, at least for the next
twelve and a half minutes.
     From time to time, an array of Shinaxian ships, and the occasional
Dominion and Verani vessel, would criss-cross in front of the viewscreen,
moving hordes of Shinaxians off the two inhabited worlds of Shinax Two
and Four.
     The Aerostar, for her part, was still packing them in.
     "Status of transporters?" Conway asked, sweat beading on his brow,
his knuckles going white around the arms of his command chair.
     "Operating at maximum efficiency," Commander Kristen
Larkin said from beside him.  "There are nearly one thousand
Shinaxians aboard, at present."
     "It should be noted," Lieutenant Saral said from the Ops station
that, joined with the helm console, was in the "dugout" at the front of the
bridge.   "That we are exceeding design limitations."
     "Well, call the fire marshall!" Conway snapped.  "We can all stand
a little discomfort and crowding if it means getting these people to safety
after their solar system is turned to charred smithereens."
     "Captain," Lanham said, glancing sidelong at Conway.  "Security
reports they're running out of room in the corridors."
     "Start packing the Shinaxians into the conference rooms and
observation lounges.  Stick them in people's quarters.  Just pack in as
many as you can get."  Conway stared up at the ceiling of the bridge.  "I am
cursed.  I'm frigging cursed."
     "In point of fact," Larkin said, "You could have easily avoided
this mishap."
     "How was I supposed to know that experimental missile silo was
active and ready for launch?"
     "I believe the words 'launch status: ready' were clearly inscribed
on the primary display screen."
     "I thought it was just a model.  You know, a mock-up."
     Larkin nodded.  "You must have been surprised, then, when the
missile took off."
     Conway nodded.  "Was I ever.  And how was I supposed to know
the missile was loaded with thorium isotope, which, when combined with
cesium forty-four, combines to create an elemental molecule that would
have stabilized the sun for generations to come, but when delivered into
the corona alone would cause the sun to go nova?  I'm no scientist!"
     "But I am!" Dr. Lanham snapped.  "And I told you that just minutes
before you 'accidentally' launched the missile!"  She glanced over at
Conway, who was intent on one of the readout panels set into in his
command chair arm.  "And you're reading it right now, off my preliminary
report, which you were supposed to read before we beamed down."
     "I got sidetracked!" Conway replied.
     "You were watching racecars on the holodeck."
     "NASCAR," Conway corrected.  "It's called NASCAR."
     "Whatever it is, is indirectly responsible for the obliteration of a
planet that has been home to humanoid life for millennia."
     Conway glared at Larkin.  "I already said 'whoops.'  What more
do you want?"
     Larkin narrowed her eyes at Conway.  "It is not what I want,
Captain.  It is what the Shinaxian government will want from you when
this disaster is over."
     "A formal apology, yadda yadda," Conway said.  "I get it,
Larkin.  I screwed up.  It happens all the time."
     "It happens a bit too often, if you ask me," the android first officer
said, clearly activating her "irritation" subroutine.
     "Four minutes to nova," Lanham said.  "We'd better start heading
out of the system."
     "Is anyone else left on the planet?" Conway asked.
     "The last ships are moving away now," Lt. Saral said, checking her
readouts.  "And we are now at twice our recommended capacity."
     "Who cares," Conway said. 
     Just then, the doors to the aft turbolift open, and Lt. Brian Gellar
spilled out, pushed from behind by eight 1.5 meter tall skittering reptilian
Shinaxians.
     "We've run out of room," Gellar said, hustling to his station as the
tiny grey-green beings milled around him.
     "So you put them on the bridge?"
     "That's just the first wave," Gellar said, as suddenly the foreward
lift opened and another nine Shinaxians spilled out.  The aft turbolift also
opened again, depositing more Shinaxians on the bridge.
     "Everybody stay calm," Conway said, looking around as the
confused and scared beings scrambled to find seats.  "We'll all get out of
this in one piece.  I just need a little peace and quiet so I can give orders to
my crew."
     "Him!  It's the killer of worlds!  He's doomed us all!" one of the
Shinaxians called out in a high-pitched voice.
     "Jeeze sakes," Conway mumbled, slapping a hand over his face as
Shinaxians closed ranks in front of him, cutting off his view of the
viewscreen.  "Move...move, people!"  He stood up.  "Time, Alexa?"
     "Two minutes."
     "Mister Ford....escape course.  Maximum warp!"
     Ford turned around with a slight smile.  "Should I engage now,
Captain?"
     "Yes, for the love of God!  ENGAGE!"
     Ford turned back around and punched a control, sending Conway
reeling back into his seat as the Aerostar-A lept into warp and fled the
Shinaxian system.
     Moments later, the vessel shook as the viewscreen was washed in
golden light, which spread in fast-spreading wave that instantly exploded
every planet in the system.
     The wave crept after the Aerostar as it warped away, then died off
as the flames of the burning star system died out and all that was left was
rubble.
     And, in the middle of all this, a Shinaxian clambered onto Conway's
lap and punched him in the stomach.
     "You're welcome," Conway grumbled, pushing the Shinaxian off him.


Captain's Log,
     Stardate 56817.5.  After depositing the Shinaxians with a non-
profit refugee program sponsored by the Carimar, we've laid in a course
for the wormhole that leads back to the Alpha Quadrant.  Starfleet has
called us back a few months early.  And I can only guess that's because I
blew up a star system.  I tried to explain the situation to Admiral Baxter,
but he'd hear none of it.  
     Anyway, I'm glad to be getting back to the Alpha Quadrant.  The
last year has not exactly been easy, establishing connections with the
worlds that were once under the thumb of the Dominion.  There are a lot
of antsy, paranoid people in the Gamma Quadrant, and I don't need any
more antsyness or paranoia in my life.  I get plenty of that from my bridge
crew.

     Captain Conway sat on the bridge of the Aerostar-A and watched
the wormhole blossom open on the viewscreen.
     "I never thought I'd see a more welcome sight," he said, looking at
Larkin.  "How about you, Commander?"
     Larkin shifted in her chair.  "After seeing an entire solar system
explode, I think anything is a welcome sight."
     Conway leaned over.  "I thought we agreed not to talk about that
anymore."
     "I suppose you are right," Larkin said.  "There will be plenty of
time to discuss it at your debriefing."
     "Ah, those things are a piece of cake.  I've been to plenty of them."
     "I would not look at that as a good thing."
     "It builds experience.  Builds character."  Conway straightened his
uniform.  "I'm not afraid to answer for my mistakes."
     "We shall see," Larkin said, as Aerostar ducked through the
wormhole.
     "Neutrino emissions at normal levels," Lt. Commander Ford said,
tapping at the helm console.  "We should have a smooth ride through."
     Indeed they did, and soon came out of the other end of the
wormhole, facing the sprawling bicycle wheel of a station, Deep Space
Nine.
     Conway glanced at Lt. Gellar.  "Call the C.O. of Deep Space Nine
and let her know we'll be putting in for minor repairs."
     "Do you think that would be wise, considering the last time we
were at Deep Space Nine?" Gellar asked.
     "What do you mean?  We had a fine time there."
     "You threw scalding coffee in General Kira's face because you
said the replicators were 'second-hand Bajoran crap,'" Larkin quoted
from her databanks.
     Conway's brow furrowed.  "Oh, that was DS-Nine, wasn't it.  She
didn't take too kindly to that, did she?"
     Larkin shook her head.  "Thank goodness the Infirmary was
nearby."
     "I guess we shouldn't stop there, then," Conway said.  "Very well. 
Lay in a course for Starbase 375.  I don't think I've done anything to get
on Admiral Ross' bad side lately."
     "There's a first time for everything," Ford said.  "Course laid in."
     "We're getting a comm from one of the ship's docked at Deep
Space Nine," Gellar said, checking his panel.  "It's the Pathfinder."
     Conway rolled his eyes.  "Of all the frigging luck.  I guess I'm going
to have to talk to her, aren't I?"
     "According to the mission report, the Pathfinder was scheduled to
take over our patrol in the Gamma Quadrant when our tour of duty was
completed," Larkin said.
     "I'm sure news of our diplomatic trouble has gotten to Captain
Baxter by now," Conway groaned.  "Why couldn't they send another ship to
take our place in the Gamma Quadrant?  The Tracker, or the Outlander."
     "The Outlander will not be completed for another six months,"
Larkin corrected.  "As for the Tracker; I believe Captain Kimmel is
liked even less by Starfleet Command than you are."
     "Good to know there's somebody out there to take the heat off
me," Conway said.
     "We're getting another hail from the Pathfinder," Gellar said. 
"This one is much bitchier."
     "Fine," Conway said, rubbing a hand over his face.  "Put her on. 
Let's get this over with."
     The viewscreen came to life with the image of Captain Lucille
Baxter, mother of Explorer Captain Andy Baxter, sitting in her
command chair, legs crossed primly.
     "Captain Conway," she said drily.  "Nice to see you, as always."
     "My pleasure," Conway grumbled.  He knew the cut was coming.
     "Or should I refer to you as the refugees from the Shinaxian system
do?  What is it they call you again?"
     "I'm sure I don't know."
     "'Killer of Worlds?'  Yes, that's it."
     "Really?" Conway said, raising an eyebrow.  "That's exactly what I
wanted to be when I grew up.  A killer of worlds.  Cool!"
     Lucille leaned forward in her chair.  "Listen here, you loathsome
fool.  You have screwed up for the final time.  My husband won't tolerate
any further bumbling from you or your pathetic crew.  You've
embarrassed us for the last time."
     Conway stood up, walked toward the viewscreen.  "Ahh, yes.  And
the Baxters are such a respectable, competent Starfleet family.  What has
your son Andy been up to lately?"
     Lucille pursed her lips.  "That's neither here nor there."
     "Does he still have sex in his readyroom?  Oh, Lucille.  You should
have been there during the good old days, after he was first married.  Man,
it sounded like the lion cage at the Martian zoo in there."
     "Look," Lucille said, leaning forward.  "I know you think you're
untouchable.  But you're not.  You've burned a lot of bridges at
Starfleet..."
     "Oh, have I?" Conway asked, touching his hand to his mouth.  "My
word!"
     "...And when you finally make your last mistake, there will be
nobody around to pick up the pieces for you.  As much as you two hated
each other, at least my son was always there to cover up your slip-ups!"
     "You've got it the wrong way around, Baxter," Conway shot
back.  "I covered up YOUR boy's mistakes."
     "Captain," Larkin said from behind Conway.  "This is not
advisable."
     "You stop talking about my booty-butt like that."  Lucille said.  "Or
I'll blow your ass out of the stars."
     "Feeling sassy today, Captain?" Conway asked, marching right up to
the viewscreen.  "Now YOU listen here, bitch.  I am untouchable.  You
know why?  Because I'm a damn good officer.  I may blow up a star
system or two, but I've got more Starfleet in one toenail than your
godammed son has in his whole body.  And you can take THAT to the
Bank of Argelius!"
     "Helm," Larkin ordered, glaring at Conway.  "Engage our pre-
set heading for Starbase 375.  Warp Six."
     "I wasn't finished!" Conway snapped.
     "I believe you are," Larkin said.  "This is a Starfleet bridge, not
a sleazy talk show set. You need to bring a degree of professionalism to
this post, or you may end up losing it."
     "You better run, Conway!" Lucille railed, some blonde strands from
her tight Starfleet-regulation on coming loose as she got out of her chair. 
"I swear this to you: One day I'm going to get you.  And wipe that smug,
self-assured grin off your face.  The Pathfinder will show you how to run
an efficient operation.  Cut channel!"
     Lucille's trembling face was replaced with streaking stars.  Conway
looked to the side, catching the impassive gaze of Commander Larkin.
     "She is right about one thing," Larkin said calmly.  "You have
burned an inordinate number of 'bridges' at Starfleet."
     "Oh, what do you know," Conway said, and stormed up to the aft
turbolift.  "What does she know for that matter?  Helm, maintain course
and let me know when we reach the Starbase."
     "Where are you going, Captain?" Larkin asked.
     "To think," Conway said.
     

     "Busy, David?" a voice came from outside the bathroom in
Conway's quarters.
     "Yes, in a manner of speaking, Alexa," Conway said.  "What do you
want?"
     "To talk to you."
     "Fine.  Fine.  Give me a minute."  Conway finished
his...thinking...and pulled up his pants, then washed his hands in the
lavatory sink, and ducked out of the bathroom and into his living room. 
Lanham had only lived with him for a couple months, and he was still
having a little trouble getting used to her unlimited access to his quarters. 
He'd grown accustomed to his privacy over the years, and suddenly
sharing that space with a woman--even one he loved--was kind of
disconcerting. 
     "On a break from the astrophysics realignment?" he asked
distractedly as he shook the water off his hands and wiped them on his
uniform front.
     Lanham stood at the door, hands stuffed in the pockets of her
labcoat.  "Yes.  The...dramatic explosion...yesterday sort of threw the
sensors out of whack."
     Conway rubbed a hand over his face.  "I wish people would stop
bringing that up."
     "Oh, come on, David.  You know you weren't singlehandedly
responsible for the destruction of the Shinax system," Lanham said,
stepping forward and wrapping her arms around Conway.  "I know you've
been blaming yourself, while broadcasting that asshole mentality all over
the ship.  That's not healthy, you know."
     "What are you, the ship's counselor?"
     "Would you want me to be?" Lanham asked, amused.
     Conway thought about that a moment, then quickly looked at
Lanham.  "No.  Of course not."  He walked over to his couch and sat down. 
"I'm just going over the whole thing in my head, trying to think of how I
could have done things differently."
     "Like not launching the missile that destabilized the Shinax star?"
Lanham asked, sitting down next to Conway and leaning against him.
     "Yeah," Conway said, narrowing his eyes at Lanham.  "I guess that
would be one way."
     "Don't beat yourself up," Lanham said, patting Conway's stomach. 
"There are no second chances.  You just make decisions and do the best
you can with the results."
     Conway blew out a distressed sigh.  "It doesn't help that I have
those years on the Explorer on my record.  Do you know how much of that
stuff I get blamed for?"
     "I had no idea," Lanham said.  "Then again, I was on the Pulitzer
for much of that time.  And the only times we crossed paths were when
your ship was turned into a fantasy world by my genesis-wave device, and
when your stardrive section was stolen by evil mirror duplicates and taken
to a parallel universe."
     "Exactly," Conway said.  "See, that's what I'm talking about."
     "You're making too big a deal out of this, David.  You should be
thinking of it this way:  You saved a whole star system yesterday.  How
many captains get to do that?"
     "I'm sure Jean-Luc Picard does it all the time."
     Lanham shook her head.  "Dear, you're your own worst critic."
     "No," Conway said, thinking of Lucille Baxter.  "I have a couple
worse ones."
     "Well then there should be one less."
     Conway raised his eyebrows.  "You saying I should kill one of
them?"
     "No," Lanham said, clearly exasperated.  "I think you should ease
up on yourself, before you have a stroke or something."
     "Now you're the chief medical officer"
     Lanham giggled.  "I'm not Benzra, silly.  Do I have a two-foot long
tongue?"
     "No, but it would be nice if you did," Conway said with a small
smile.
     "There now, that's what I want to see.  A smile," Lanham said. 
"So...what are you doing for lunch today?"
     "The Deck Nine Mess Hall, I suppose," Conway said.  
     "We could go to the Starlight Lounge," Lanham suggested.
     "Sorry, Alexa.  I'm just not in a margarita kind of mood today."
     "Sure, that makes sense," Lanham said, and stood up.  "Okay. 
Well, I'll see you tonight back at our quarters?"
     Conway looked at her.  "Yeah."  He smiled.  "Our quarters."  He'd
only been living with Lanham for the past few weeks.  There were still
some awkard moments, but the fact that he'd been married to Lanham for
six months, several years ago, helped ease tensions.  Her routine of getting
up at 0300 and gargling for twenty minutes didn't throw him off in the
least.
     Lanham stared at Conway a moment, her eyebrows knit in
confusion.  "Is there anything else you want to say?"
     "Yeah," Conway said, standing.  He wrapped his arms around her. 
"I'm a miserable bastard, Alexa.  But I'm damn lucky to have you."
     "Now that's the smartest thing I've heard all day."
     "I'll be fine, Alexa, really," Conway said, walking Lanham to the
door.  "I promise.  I'm going to do just like you said.  I'm not going to let
anything get me down."
     "Glad to hear it," Lanham said, and kissed Conway on the cheek. 
"Later, sweetie."  And she walked out of her and Conway's quarters, as he
waved goodbye to her.
     "Bridge to Conway," came the clipped tones of Commander
Larkin.
     "What is it, Larkin?"
     "Sir, we are receiving a priority one message from Starfleet
Command.  It is Admiral Baxter."
     "Damn it," Conway said.  "No doubt he wants to chastise me for
yelling at his wife.  Pipe it down here."
     "Be nice, sir."
     "Shove it, Larkin," Conway said, then grinned.  "No, really, I'll
be fine."
     "Indeed."
     Conway walked over to his desk and sat down, punching a control
panel on his desktop viewer.
     The stony face of Admiral Harlan Baxter appeared on the
viewscreen.
     "Captain Conway..." he began.
     "Admiral, before you start," Conway said.  "Let me just say my tone
with your wife was completely out of line. I'm a professional.  I should be
carrying myself much differently.  I'm aware of that.  Plus, you know, she
started it."
     Harlan cocked his head.  "What the hell are ya talking about,
boy?"
     "Didn't you call about my shouting match with your wife?"
     "No."
     "Then why did you call?
     "I have some...news."
     "This is about Shinax, isn't it?"  Conway's eyes went wide. 
"You're taking my command!"
     Harlan leaned forward on the screen, his face growing red.  "No,
goddamit!  I called to tell you there was an accident on the Explorer.  Six
people are missing.  Including the Federation President, and my son!  Is
that clear enough for you, you goddam moron?"
     Conway leaned back in his chair.  Why was everyone yelling at him
today?  He blinked.  "Who else?  Who else is missing?"
     Harlan plopped a cigar into his mouth.  "Petrrmnn.  Brrrng.  Rrrchds. 
Ma lil grndaughter Steffie."
     "Peterman, Browning, and Richards too?" Conway exploded.  "The
baby?  They're all--GONE?"
     He pulled out his cigar.  "That's what I just said, isn't it, boy?"
     "H-how?" he asked.  "Where did they go?"
     He puffed on the cigar again  "Rrrnt know.  Happened about six
weeks ago.  We only got the transmission today.  Looks like some kind of
massive matter/energy flux in one of the laboratories.  Frrnngrrd.  Damn
experiment grrrrn awry is what it is.  No trace left of 'em.  Vansen's in
command now.  Explorer's in deep space now.  It'll take a couple months
for her to get back.   Then I'm leading a full investigation of the incident. 
But till then, my boy, President Dillon, Browning, Peterman, Stephanie and
Richards are all officially listed as Missing in Action.  Thought you'd
like to know."
     Conway nodded.  "Thank you, Admiral."  He looked at the Admiral
long and hard as he puffed that big, fat, brown cigar.  "Are you...are you
okay?"
     "An what in damn hell is that supposed to mean, boy?"
     "Your son...your daughter-in-law...your granddaughter.  If you
want to talk about it..."
     "Don't wanna talk about nothin'.  Just put in for repairs and
reassignment.  Business as usual till we get to the bottom of this damn
thing."
     "Understood, Admiral.  Can I inform my crew?"
     Harlan put the cigar back in his mouth.  "Rrrrver the hell you want
to do, Conway.  Command out."
     Conway sat limply in his chair a few moments, thinking.  It was all
too big to get his head around.
     Baxter, Peterman, the baby, Browning, Richards and Bradley Dillon,
the Federation President.  All gone.  And there was no way of knowing if
they'd ever come back.
     Conway briefly thought about calling Lucille to express his
condolences.  Then he decided against it, and instead, headed to the
bridge.  It was time to break the news.



     "I expect Starfleet will be conducting an investigation,"
Commander Larkin said calmly as she sat across the desk from Conway
in his readyroom.
     "Yep," Conway said distantly.  "As soon as the Explorer returns
from deep space."
     "Is there an estimated time of arrival?"
     Conway nodded.  "At least six weeks."
     "I would like to participate in that investigation, if possible."
     "I'm sure we can work something out."
     Larkin nodded.  Captain and First Officer looked at each other
for several silent moments.  It occurred to Conway that the android was
taking the news of her father's disappearance rather well.  Sure, she was an
android, but two years earlier she'd acquired an emotion program.  Conway
figured this would be a perfect time to exercise that particular program,
but so far Larkin hadn't shed as much as a tear.
     "Would you like to inform the crew, or should I?" Larkin asked
quietly.
     "You can do it," Conway said.  "You liked them more than I did."
     "Indeed."
     "Besides.  I've got to think."
     "Of course.  I understand.  I will speak to the bridge crew." 
Larkin stood up, walked out of the readyroom, leaving Conway alone
with his thoughts.  
     She'd really taken that better than Conway thought she would.
     Moments later, Conway heard a shriek from just beyond the
readyroom door.
     "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!  DADDY!!!!  
DADDY IS GONE!  THEY ARE ALL GONE!!  OH PLEASE DADDY,
DO NOT GO!"    
     Conway walked over to his readyroom door and poked his head out. 
"Larkin?"
     The android was standing at the front of the bridge, looking once
perfectly composed.  She glanced at Conway.
     "I have informed the bridge crew," she said.  "I will be
belowdecks.  Excuse me."
     Conway watched Larkin walk into the turbolift, then turned to
look at the bridge crew, at the confused faces of Saral, Ford, Gellar, and
Alexa Lanham.             
     "I guess I should probably elaborate," he said with a sigh.


Captain's Log,
     Supplemental.  We are parked at Starbase 375 for repairs, waiting
for Starfleet to assign us a new mission after our somewhat challenging
stay in the Gamma Quadrant.  I'm eager to get on with this new mission,
so I can stop thinking about the Explorer, and those lost crewmembers. 
Sure, we didn't always get along, but we all respected each other.  Well,
they respected me anyway.  And that's what counts.
     
     Conway sat in the Aerostar-A's mess hall that morning, staring out
the windows at the framework of exterior catwalks that criscrossed his
ship's starboard hull.  It had been singed a little bit in their escape from the
supernova, and some of the hull plating had been replaced.  The starboard
side was also the one that had been "accidentally" hit by a comet when
Ford had tried to do a barrel roll to impress the Belzhoan ambassador. 
That crazy Ford.
     "May I speak with you, Captain?" a voice asked.
     "Hmm?"  Conway glanced up.  It was Counselor Telvin.  "Oh.  This
is your seat, isn't it?  Tough.  I'm sitting here."
     "It's not that," Telvin said, parting his Vulcan robes a little so he
could sit down.  Conway wished, not for the first time, that Telvin would
wear more than just shorts under those robes.  If he had to look at the
Vulcan's hairy legs ONE more time....
     "Well what is it?" Conway asked, staring over his steaming cup of
coffee at Telvin as he sipped. 
     "It's Larkin.  I don't think she's handling the news of the
missing Explorer people very well."
     "None of us are, Telvin.  I'd think that's normal."
     "That's just it.  I myself have had crying fits for the last three days. 
We all have."
     "Speak for yourself..."
     "But not Larkin.  She's holding back, and that's not healthy."
     "You didn't hear her screaming fit on the bridge the other day."
     "That was only, to use one of the Commander's antarctic
metaphors, the tip of the iceberg."
     "You mean you think she's heading toward some sort of emotional
breakdown?"
     "I'm not an expert on positronics, so I can only assume that her
emotion program works like real human emotions.  And you can only hold
back emotions so long.  Until one day, kablooie."
     Conway grumbled.  He wondered if any other Vulcan had ever said
"kablooie."
     "And is that your expert opinion, Counselor?"
     Telvin blushed.  "I'd hardly call myself an expert.  But yes.  I am an
expert.  And yes, that's my opinion."
     "So you're the counselor.  Handle it."  Conway stood up, headed for
the door to the mess.  "You can have your seat back."
     "Thank goodness!" Telvin giggled.  "I LOVE that seat!  Now, could
you get me a Symanthecoe froth while you're up?  Captain?  Yoo hoo!"
     

     Conway was on the way to the bridge when Gellar caught up with
him, waving a padd.
     "Captain," he called out.  "We just got our orders from Starfleet."
     "Go ahead," Conway said as he walked, gesturing Gellar into the
turbolift with him.
     "You're not going to like it."
     Conway sighed and stared at the ceiling.  "Why am I not surprised?"
     "We're to relieve the mining vessel Malenqua in the Illaria
system."
     "A mining vessel?"
     "We're supposed to do some spot duty until the Malenqua can be
repaired and upgraded."
     "They want us to mine?"
     "Asteroids."  Gellar handed the padd to Conway and he looked at it. 
"They're rich in kelvanite.  Apparently we're supposed to convert our
cargo bays into refining plants."
     "This is ridiculous.  A totally inappropriate use of this vessel. 
Starfleet is just pissed about the supernova."  Conway slapped the padd
back into Gellar's hand.  "Damn it.  I don't have to put up with this.  Who
gave those orders?"
     "Admiral Baxter."
     "So he's not only pissed at us, he's upset about losing his son, so
he decides to punish US for it.  Real professional."
     "Maybe that's just where Starfleet needs us most right now."
     "No way.  Not my ship.  The Explorer maybe.  But this is my ship. 
And I'm damn good and well going to get some respect."  The turbolift
doors opened and Conway elbowed out past Gellar and stormed onto the
bridge.  "Get me Starfleet Command.  Baxter's office."
     Gellar hurried over to his console, sat down, and punched in the
appropriate commands.
     Lt. Bethany Monroe appeared on the viewscreen.  "Ah.  Captain
Conway.  Do you have your miner's helmet yet?"
     "Very damn funny, Monroe," Conway said, sitting down in his
command chair.  "Put Baxter on."
     "The ADMIRAL is indisposed at the moment," Monroe said.  "Do
you have a question about your orders?"
     "Damn right I do.  It's ridiculous.  I'm not going to use my ship to
blast apart asteroids all day when we should be out expAlexang space.  It's
called the EXPLORER program.  What the hell is exploratory about a
mining expedition?"
     "Well, it is called an 'expedition,' and that's a fairly exploratory
sounding word."
     "Stop trying to confuse me!" Conway shouted.  "I want a new
mission."
     "You apparently missed the memo on how Starfleet operates,"
Monroe said.  "We give you missions, and you do them.  Simple, eh?"
     Conway gripped the arms of his command chair.  "Would you just
put Baxter on the comm?"
     "I'm afraid I can't do that.  But he did give me a message for you,
in case you weren't happy with your assignment."
     "Oh yeah?  What's that?"
     "Too bad!" Monroe giggled, and punched a control, cutting the
communication.
     "ARHGGGG!" Conway growled, running his fingers through his
hair.  He slid out of his command chair and marched back to the turbolift. 
"Gellar.  You have the bridge.  I'm going to go..."
     "Brush up on your mining skills?"
     Conway didn't respond, merely grumbled something under his
breath and stormed into the lift.
                        




                   CHAPTER TWO




     
     Doctor Alexa Lanham sat at her lab table in Science Lab One,
thumping a beaker idly against the surface of the table, thoughtfully staring
at the padd before her.
     She was completely lost in her thoughts when the door chime
buzzed.
     "Come in," she said, still scanning through Lt. Kamtezen's report
on the astrophysics realignment.
     "Doctor, do you have a moment?" a voice asked from the doorway.
     She turned around.  "Depends on what you...damn."
     Tall.  Statuesque.  Blonde.  These words and more described
Lieutenant Ryn Trista, the Aerostar-A's Bajoran Assistant Counselor. 
Even as a self-proclaimed man-loving woman, Lanham had to admit that
Ryn was gorgeous.  Perhaps the most gorgeous woman on the ship.
And she knew it, too.
     Ryn tossed a few locks of her billowy curly hair over her shoulder
and glided over to Lanham's table.  Her charcoal-and-pink jumpsuit clung
to her tightly.  She was one of the few counselors who still wore this
outdated uniform, but she somehow made it work.
     "Doctor," she said in a low, melodious voice.  "We have to talk."
     "Anything..." Lanham found herself whispering, then she quickly
regained her senses.  "I mean, of course, Lieutenant."
     "It's Captain Conway, I'm afraid," Ryn said, gliding her finger
across the lab table and glancing at times over at Lanham.  "I think he's
very troubled."
     "What makes you say that?" Lanham asked, although she expected
the same.
     "Counselor Telvin.  He's asked me to look into it."
     "Why isn't he looking into it himself?"
     Ryn frowned.  Actually, it was more of a pout.  "He says it's
because he's occupied with Commander Larkin.  But let's face it.  It's
because he's an idiot."
     "I wasn't going to say anything," Lanham said innocently.
     "Don't worry.  I'm fully aware of the incompetence of Counselor
Telvin.  Why do you think I took this posting?  You can't very well
advance if your supervisor is a genius."  Ryn pulled a stool out from
Lanham's table and gestured toward it.  "May I?"
     "Sure," Lanham said, pushing her padd away.  "So you want to try
to counsel Captain Conway.  You realize you're attempting the
impossible."
     Ryn nodded.  "His file is...somewhat interesting."
     "That's not the half of it.  He's a very..."
     "Complicated man?" Ryn said with an impish grin.
     "Yes!" Lanham laughed.  "Right, that's it exactly!"
     "I understand.  I've studied his file.  Counselor Peterman from the
Explorer took copious notes on him.  I'm afraid none of them were very
complementary."
     "I don't think they liked each other very much."
     Ryn clucked her tongue.  "Counselors aren't supposed to let their
personal feelings get in the way."
     "Personal feelings were kind of the norm on the Explorer.  And
here, too, I suppose."
     "Frankly," Ryn said, taking a big breath and blowing some curls
out from in front of her face, "I don't have any feelings for the Captain one
way or the other.  But it's my job to see to his mental well-being."
     "Mine too," Lanham said, looking at Ryn with narrowed eyes. 
Good thing she would never give Conway a second look.  Because a
woman as good-looking as Ryn Trista could definitely give Lanham a run
for her money.  How could someone raised in a Bajoran labor camp be
so...pretty?  
     "What are you thinking about?" Ryn probed, staring into Lanham's
eyes.
     "Sensors," Lanham said quickly.  "Look, what do you want to do
about David?  How can I help get him out of this...this slump he's in?"
     "I don't know," Ryn said.  "But I think the first step is to observe
him.  Try to get inside him and understand what he's going through.  The
man has some...some deep-seated issues."
     "You said a mouthful," Lanham said.  "And what do you want me
to do?"


     "Commander Larkin.  I thought I'd find you here," Counselor
Telvin said, standing in the doorway to the cybernetics lab, which
Larkin had pretty much taken over for her own purposes since coming
aboard the Aerostar-A.
     "I am performing scheduled maintenance," Larkin said, seated
at a workbench, shirtsleeve rolled up, a tiny mechalaser primed over the
open access panel in her forearm.  "If you wish to discuss a personnel
issue, please schedule an appointment."
     "I am here to discuss a personnel issue.  But that personnel issue is
personal.  That personnel is you."  Telvin stood there wordlessly for a
moment, then amended.  "Can you use personnel in the singular?"
     "No," Larkin said, slapping a flap of skin over her forearm and
rolling her sleeve back down.  She turned in her chair to face Telvin.  "If
you insist on speaking about this matter now, please do so in a timely and
efficient manner.  I have a busy afternoon ahead."
     "I'm glad you're willing to talk.  That makes this so much easier!"
Telvin squealed, pulling up a stool beside Larkin and resting a hand on
her knee.  "How are you, sweetie?"
     "Please remove your hand," Larkin said flatly.
     "Oh.  Right."  Telvin pulled his hand back and rested both hands on
his own knees as he leaned forward.  "So.  How's it going?"
     "'It' is a vague article.  What are you referring to?"
     "Things.  Your life."
     "Your lack of specificity is bordering on insubordination.  Get to a
point quickly, Mister Telvin."
     "You're hurting.  I can tell.  I want to help."
     "If you hug me, I will kill you," Larkin said calmly.
     "That's your grief talking."
     "Negative.  That was my vocal processor."
     "You're hurting."
     Larkin shook her head.  "I have deactivated my hurt subroutine. 
It is undergoing maintenance."
     "You're in denial."
     "I have deactivated my hurt subroutine.  It is undergoing
maintenance."
     Telvin shook his head.  "Is there an echo in here?"
     Larkin stared at the Vulcan.  "No."
     Telvin inched closer.  "Commander.  I want to help you work
through this.  You've lost a father.  That's never easy."
     "I have not lost a father.  He has simply been misplaced.  Admiral
Baxter will soon conduct a full investigation, and I have no doubt
Commander Richards and the others will be found."
     "Don't try to be brave for me, Commander.  I'm not buying it,"
Telvin said.  "You need to open up.  Show me what's inside."
     "Seventy-four kilograms of nanocordical fiber and a duranium
alloy articulation frame."
     "So brave," Telvin said, a tear trickling down his cheek.  "I can say
this is going to take a lot of work."
     "Your availability for a counseling session has been noted and
acknowledged.  Your services at this time, however, are not needed. 
Please leave, so I can continue my scheduled maintenance."
     "So brave," Telvin repeated, rubbing his eye as he walked toward
the door to the cybernetics lab.  "Don't worry, Larkin.  I'll help you
through this.  You're not alone.  Be strong!  Stay safe inside yourself! 
We'll find a way out of this together!"
     "Indeed.  Good day," Larkin said, as Telvin walked out.
     Then she turned around and pulverized her workbench in one
clean, efficient motion of her fists, so fast they were almost impossible to
see.
     "I am fine," she announced to nobody in particular, and left the lab.

     
     Captain Conway sat in his quarters, double scotch lattee, neat, with
cinnamon and just a little foam, in hand.
     He stared blankly at the picture on his wall.  The commissioned
print of the Aerostar-A, the obligatory "grand ship sailing through space"
painting that every captain hung proudly somewhere in the ship, be it
ready room or cabin, conference room or rec room.
     Conway's print was in his living room, and as he stared at it, the
sleek lines of the Prometheus-Class vessel cruising through a nebula, he
decided that the grandeur of the print didn't properly capture the total lack
of grandeur of his career.  How could it?  The print should show some
huge monster stomping the saucer section, or pudding exploding out of the
viewports, or the thing morphing into a fairytale castle.  Or rampant,
vicious symbionts crawling all over the hull.
     Conway shivered, the hair on the back of his neck rising.  He
grumbled something to himself and sipped his scotch lattee.
     How was he supposed to reverse course?  How could Alexa Lanham
respect him longterm if he didn't do something truly valiant, ever?
     He gritted his teeth.  This was not his problem.  This problem
belonged to the bumbling, inadequate, always-aplogizing-for-himself
Captain Baxter.  He was Baxter's foil.  Baxter fell on his face and Conway
was there to help (after briefly chuckling about it).  That was Conway's
role.  But now he was captain, and now HE was the butt of the jokes.  How
could that be?  He'd fought for respect for his entire career, only to
suddenly find himself here in this place.
     And he couldn't help but blame the problem on the U.S.S.
Explorer.
     To add insult to injury, all the people on that ship he wanted to call
and complain to were missing, perhaps casualties of one of the captain's
latest foul-ups.  That was somehow fitting.
     But the fact that there was some crude justice to it didn't make
him miss his crewmates any less.  They were incompetent, but they had
their place in his life, just like the Aerostar-A did.  How could he reconcile
that with his need to succeed?  To be respected?
     Being the captain of this ship was directly in conflict with every
career aspiration he'd ever had.
     What was he supposed to do?  Request a transfer?  Ship to ship
transfers were extremely rare for Starfleet captains.  Generally, Command
felt that you should be lucky to have a ship, and if you didn't like it, it
meant taking a big step back in your career path.  It meant being second in
command again somewhere, and more than anything, Conway wasn't
willing to take that step back.
     He decided there was only one thing to do.
     Captain David Conway put his scotch down, leaned back on his
couch, and took a nap.

     
     Suddenly a hand gently shook Conway's shoulder.  "Wake up,
Captain," a voice said.  "Wake up."
     Conway leaned up on his elbows.  He blinked.  "What?  Huh?"
     "It's sixteen hundred.  I've waited as long as I could.  It's time we
talked."
     "Sixteen hundred?  I've been asleep four hours?" Conway asked,
rubbing his eyes.  It sure didn't seem like it.  Once he'd rubbed his eyes, he
looked around his cabin for the source of the unfamiliar voice speaking to
him.  "Who the hell..." Why was someone in his quarters?  Was he
dreaming?  And if so, where was the former Romulan Senator Kretek? 
She'd be showing up any minute now in a tight fitting metal two-piece, if
this really was a dream.
     "If you're looking for Kretek, you should know this is no dream."
     He traced the voice to thickly-built, short, dark-haired man in a
Federation uniform with a command red collar, who stood at the far corner
of his cabin, marveling at one of the scale diecast NASCAR vehicles on
Conway's bookcase.  Many of the Tom Clancy books were still in storage.
     "How do you know about that?" Conway asked, on his feet and
immediately wide-eyed and awake.  "Who the hell are you?"
     "A friend," the man said.  "You can call me Clive."  He stepped
toward Conway.  "Can we be frank?"
     "Conway to security," Conway said suddenly, slapping his
combadge.
     "You'll get no answer," Clive said, shuffling over to Conway's
couch and leaning against it.  On closer inspection, Conway could see deep
bags under his eyes, and a sullen, pouched look to his cheeks.  Not to
mention a noticeable paunch in his stomach.  The guy looked like a loser.
     "And why is that?" Conway demanded, trying to remember where
he'd put his sidearm.  Damn it.  It was in the laundry basket with his away
team jacket!  Why did he always forget to take it out after away missions?
     "Because I've erected a sensor-nullifying field around this entire
room.  So we could talk.  Alone."
     "And why would we need to do that?" Conway asked.  "Look, I
don't know who you think you are, coming into the captain's quarters in
the middle of his nap, waking him up, putting up a forcefield, insulting
him...at the very least that's demotion material, buddy!"  Conway stepped
toward Clive and reached out for the collar of his jumpsuit.
     Inches from Clive's collar, an orange field suddenly engulfed the
intruder, singeing Conway's hand, causing him to flinch and pull it back.
     "Don't do that," Clive said.  "I was hoping we could have a civil
conversation, even though I realize that's a lot to ask."
     Conway cradled his burned hand and stared incredulously at Clive. 
"And what the hell gives you the right to say that?"
     "The future, Captain," Clive said crisply, folding his hands over his
knee.  "The twenty-ninth century, to be exact.  Shall I go on?"
     "Yes.  I'd like to give a very detailed report to the ship's psych
ward when I turned you in."
     "I expected that kind of reaction. I guess I have to prove myself to
you."
     "You've proven more than enough already."
     "Oh, Captain Conway, I've just gotten started," Clive said, and
punched a control on his wrist, causing him and Conway to disappear in a
white flash.

     
     Seconds later, Dr. Lanham stepped through the doors into hers and
Conway's cabin.  "David?  Can we talk a moment?  I was hoping we
could...David?"
     She put her hands on her hips.  "That's just like him to disappear. 
Probably went off somewhere to sulk or something."  She sighed. 
"Computer, locate...you know what?  Nevermind.  I'll just see him later. 
Whatever he's doing, I'm sure it's helping him sort through this funk he's
in."



     The air around Conway was still white hot with sizzling particles,
after what felt like a transporter trip on acid.  Clive was next to him, on a
white glowing platform somewhat resembling a transporter pad.  The
room was done in metallic blue.  The computer panels encircling the room
seemed roughly Starfleet-like, but arranged differently.  Off-colors, strange
blocks, some holographic images standing up three-dimensionally on their
smooth, glassy surfaces.
     In front of the platform, behind the largest computer panel in the
room, a slight, short man with a weak chin and thin lips stood, arms
draped behind hi back.
     "Westinghouse," Clive said, trotting down from the platform.  "I
take it all is clear."
     "Your diversionary tactic was perfect, Captain," Westinghouse
said, stepping out from behind the panel and momentarily glancing at
Conway as he spoke.  "The chroniton vortex surrounding our ship has
shielded your time jump perfectly."
     "That will only last for so long.  Once we begin making changes to
the time stream, the higher-ups will notice."
     Conway breathed deeply as he took in the futuristic room.  The
simulation was uncanny.  "I'll give it to you, Clive, or whatever your name
is.  The holodeck does a nice future simulation.  You may be crazy, but
you're an excellent holographer."
     "This isn't a holodeck," Clive said.  "This is the Retroactive."
     "The what now?"
     "My timeship."
     Westinghouse glared at Conway, as if offended that he'd never
heard of the vessel.  "The Timeship Retroactive is one of the most
underappreciated and underutilized vessels in the time fleet.  Captain
Conway is a tactical genius, and his laurels are well overdue."
     "Glad we agree on something," Conway said.
     "Not you, you simpleton," Westinghouse sneered.  He pointed to
Clive.  "THAT Captain Conway."
     Clive rubbed a hand over his face.  "Idiot.  I hadn't gotten to that
part yet.  I was saving it."
     Westinghouse visibly blanched as Clive gestured him and Conway
out into the corridor.  Conway went along, knowing for the moment he
didn't have much choice. 
     "I'm...sorry, Captain.  My mistake."
     "Your mistake indeed!" Clive snapped, and marched down the
corridor.  "Now then.  Let's show Captain Conway the Overview Room. 
It's time we made a believer of him."
     "You're talking about him now, right?" Westinghouse asked, gulping.  
     "Yes!"
     "Computer," Westinghouse said.  "Overview Room."
     Conway felt a momentary wave of dizziness, and when he looked
up, he realized he'd moved to an entirely new room on the ship...or...the
holodeck simulation.
     "Our transporters are light years ahead of your design, of course,"
Clive explained, as Conway looked around the room, which was somewhat
more bland than the transporter room.  The walls were bare, metallic blue,
with no adornments save for a silver metal pedestal roughly shaped like a
water fountain sitting in the middle of the room.  Clive approached the
pedestal and waved his hand over the control.  "Is there a point in time
you're particularly fond of?"
     "Not this one," Conway said with a sigh, deciding for the moment to
play along.  "Let's see: How about November twenty-second, twenty-three
forty-five."
     "Ah, yes.  A time of great significance in your life, as I recall,"
Clive snickered, then waved another hand over a panel on the fountain
pedestal.
     The room dimmed.  
     Westinghouse gasped.  "I love this part," he cooed.
     Suddenly a rainbow of colors spewed from the water fountain,
spraying the walls with a collage of overlapping images.  Starships in
combat, volcanoes erupting, violent storms, sunny days, children of all
manner of species playing, scientists working, vehicles making their way
across alien landscapes at the start of a busy workday...it was all almost
too much for Conway to process at one time.
     "What...what the hell am I looking at?"
     "Your birthday, I believe," Clive whispered into Conway's ear.  "At
select locales throughout the Alpha Quadrant.  Want to get more specific?" 
Clive walked toward one of the walls, waved his hand over a few of the
overlapping images, discarding them one after another by flicking his wrist
to the side.  "No.  No.  Not there.  Not yet.  Ah.  There!"  He pulled, as if it
were a palpable object, a 2-dimensional image of an operating room, a
woman lying on a bed bathed in white light.
     Clive smiled.  "Mars.  November two-two, year two-three-four-
five, old Earth calendar."
     Conway leaned forward, marveling at the image floating in midair,
just above Clive's palm.
     "That's...my...that's my mom."
     "Yes.  I hope that's baby weight," Clive chuckled.  He glanced
down at his own pot belly.  "Then again, we Conways were always thickly
built."
     "This is a fake," Conway said, folding his arms.  "What I want to
know is why."
     "Still a disbeliever?" Clive said.  "Fine.  I'll show you a less
generic image.  One we couldn't have easily fabricated.  Computer: Seven
Twelve Two Three Seven Four, old Earth Calendar."
     "July Twelfth?  Twenty-three seventy-four?"
     The images were suddenly sucked off the wall and back into the
fountain, which promptly belched forth another dizzying spread of images
all over the four blue walls. 
     "Just a moment," Clive said, and flipped through a spread of
overlapping images as they drifted along the wall."
     "July...Twelfth."  Conway rubbed his chin.  "Wait just a second..."
     "The night the Aerostar was launched.  The original one.  Captain
Baxter's command.  Your first voyage as First Officer.  The beginning of
the end of your career.  Ah!  Here we go!"
     "No...no..." Conway gasped.  "You can't..."
     "I believe you were alone in your cabin.  You did what most men
do when they're alone in their cabins...except of course, with a twist. 
Really?  Was it really necessary to use the couch cushion that way?"
     He tossed the image in front of Conway's face, and the captain
stumbled backward.  "How...how is that possible?"
     "You naughty boy," Westinghouse said, clapping.  "You naughty,
naughty boy!"
     "That's...that's flight recorder footage," Conway said.  "You got
flight recorder footage from the wreckage of the first Aerostar!"
     Clive blew out a long and disgusted breath.  "You aren't making
this easy for me.  Then again, I guess I shouldn't be surprised."  He turned
to the fountain and waved a few more controls, causing the montage of
images to once again get sucked in, and a new set get spewed back out. 
Only this time, they all featured Conway, at various ages.
     And all of them were unflattering.
     Conway's jaw dropped.  "You son of a bitch!"
     "Don't they say if you do that too many times it'll fall off?" Clive
wondered aloud.
     "Naughty, naughty boy!" Westinghouse squealed.
     "Unhealthy, is what it is," Clive said.  "And somewhat fitting, that
you chose to do that with your first evening aboard the Aerostar.  Because,
metaphorically speaking, you've pretty much done...that...with your
career."
     Conway stepped toward Clive, his hands balling into fists.  "Well,
how about I do'...that...' to your freaking neck!"
     "Not so fast!" Clive said.  "Remember my protective shield!"
     Conway turned to Westinghouse, glaring.  "What about him?  He
have a protective shield?"
     "No," Westinghouse said, then quickly recovered.  "Yes!  Yes!  I
mean, yes!"
     Conway launched himself at Westinghouse, clobbering him with a
vicious right hook to the jaw, sending the wee man slumping to the
ground.
     "That's counterproductive," Clive sighed.  "Really, Captain, you're
going to have to learn to control your impulses.  You're going to have to
learn to be a better man.  Because that's the only hope I have for fixing the
screwjob you did on our family line.  The only hope you have for ever
being anything in this life."
     

     Moments later, Conway appeared once again in his cabin, Clive
behind him.  He collapsed onto his couch.
     "Why are you here?" he asked, burying his face in his hands.
     "Isn't it obvious?" Clive asked, plopping down beside Conway. 
"To help you.  To help both of us."
     "Help?  How?"  Conway looked at Clive.
     "We're going to pull your career out of this tailspin its in."
     "I don't think that's possible."
     "Normally, you'd be right."  Clive reached inside his jacket and
withdrew a slim padd.  "But, thanks to me, I can truly say the future is
bright."
     "What...what have you got there?" Conway asked, reaching for the
padd.
     Clive snatched it back.  "Wouldn't you like to know."
     "Let me guess," he said, standing and pacing toward the row of
viewports lining the far wall of his living room.  "You have information I
can use to get ahead.  You can help me change history.  Do great deeds. 
Something like that?"
     Clive nodded, and was suddenly standing just behind Conway. 
"Something very much like that."
     Conway gritted his teeth.  "Not interested."
     "Come again?" Clive said, then laughed.  "You know what I
mean."
     "I'm not doing anything to corrupt the timeline.  You can forget it." 
Conway straightened his uniform tunic.  "I may not be Starfleet's finest, but
I have my pride."
     Clive leaned in toward Conway.  "You don't know what you're
saying."
     "I think I do.  Now get out of here, before I have you thrown off
my ship."
     "I'm not your enemy, Captain.  For glardsakes, I'm your
descendent.  I'm here to help."
     "Then go.  Let me figure this out on my own."
     "You've already done that."  Clive gestured his hands wide.  "Look
at me.  This is the result.  A defunct timeship Captain who gets the worst
assignments.  Do you know I had to fish  an errant timeprobe out of Albert
Einstein's toilet?"
     "Nothing changes," Conway said, pounding his hand on the
transparent aluminum window.  "Four hundred years go by, and nothing
changes.  How can that be."
     "Because those who learn nothing from history are doomed to
repeat it."  Clive walked toward the door to Conway's quarters, stopped by
the coffee table, and set the slim silver padd down on it.  "The future is in
your hands, Captain.  Do what you want with it."





                  CHAPTER THREE





U.S.S. RETROACTIVE
FEDERATION TIMESHIP
NZ-669320
MARCH 5, 2857

     "Well, what now, Captain?" Lieutenant Commander Peter
Westinghouse asked as Clive Conway stepped back onto the bridge of the
Retroactive, a sleek, oval operation center, where several operatives of the
Federation's Temporal Security Division stood at gleaming metallic blue
consoles, waving their hands over holographic controls, interfacing with
the ship's computer to determine various infractions in the timespace
continuum; and also, when necessary, to order lunch.
     "'What now?'" Clive asked wryly, hopping into his elevated
command chair in the center of the bridge and resting an elbow on the
chair arm.  "Is that any way to address the sacrosanct leader of the free
quadrant?"
     "The what?" Westinghouse asked, blinking.
     "That's what I'll become, when the new timeline unfolds.  I've run
the simulations, Pete.  It's a lock.  I'm made.  The unquestioned leader of
this quadrant."
     "Just because you gave your ancestor some classified information?" 
Westinghouse asked.
     "SHUSH!" Clive said from between gritted teeth, leaning over and
slapping a hand over Westinghouse's mouth.  "You're going to ruin
everything!  Nobody but us knows about this."
     "Mmmph.  Headquarters will know," Westinghouse said through
Clive's hand.  "As soon as the temporal incursion begins."
     "I'll take my chances," Clive said.  "Besides, that's why we created
the chroniton vortex to hide in."  He shifted around in his chair, staring out
at the 360-degree view of space outside the Retroactive's viewports. 
"How's that holding up, by the way?"
     Westinghouse checked a panel.  "Perfect.  Chroniton matrix is
stable."
     "Be ready to dissipate the vortex with a quark-inversion field when
the temporal incursion begins.  We don't want to be outside space-time
when this timeline changes."  He grinned, wrinkling his nose.  "That is
sort of the point of this whole endeavor, you know."
     "Yes yes," Westinghouse said, leaning forward and rubbing his
hands together.  "Say, Captain...when you did your simulations...what
became of me?"
     "Oh.  Something or rather," Clive said.  "Let's get down to the
situation room.  I want to watch Captain Conway trigger the events that will
rid me of this pitiful existence once and for all."
     "And I'd like to get a hot chocolate," Westinghouse said, following
Clive off the bridge.


     Conway stared at the blank, unactivated silver padd in his hands for
several moments, his finger hovering above the activation control.  "Just
do it, you coward," he muttered under his breath.  "Just a quick look. 
Can't possibly hurt anything."
     Suddenly the doors to his quarters slid open, and Conway yelped,
shoving the padd under a pillow.
     "Alexa!" he shouted, backing up against the pillow and folding his
arms in his lap.
     "For Pete's sake, David.  You have a girlfriend now.  I don't see
why you insist on doing...that...still."
     "I wasn't doing that," Conway said.  "Really, I wasn't.  I was just
thinking."
     Lanham sighed as she slid off her labcoat and hung it on a hook on
the wall.  "About the former Senator Kretek?"
     "No!" Conway said.  "About...stuff."
     "Ahh.  Stuff," Lanham said, and sat down beside Conway on the
couch.  "Anything I can help with?"
     "No," Conway said, and stood up, stretching.  "Not at all.  Dinner?"
     "Out?"
     "Of course, out," Conway said.  "I hear the new cafe on Deck
Nineteen has a great house blend."
     "You romantic putz, you," Lanham said, draping an arm around
Conway's shoulder.  "What's the occasion?  We haven't gone out to eat
since we first started dating."
     "Ah, I need to get out of our quarters.  Get my mind off things."
     "Let me guess.  Stuff."
     "Something like that."  Conway extended an arm toward Lanham. 
"Come on.  No time like the present."
     "I swear, David.  Just when I think I have you all figured out..." she
said with a smile, and the pair walked out of the cabin.

     
     Commander Larkin sat bolt upright in the command chair,
studying a flurry of text flowing across the screen on the chair arm.  Her
optical sensors processed terraquads of information as it flew past,
detailing ship's status, current events, analyses, and current showtimes at
the theater multiplex on Arondak Six.
     "Commander, we have a communication from the maintenance
team working on our warp necelles," Lt. Saral said from the ops console.
     Larkin looked up.  "On screen."
     The viewscreen flared to life, displaying a spacesuited individual
hovering just outside the Aerostar-A's hull, with a flurry of activity going
on behind him on the white metal hull of the Aerostar; specifically, the
scorched portions of the port dorsal nacelle directly below the bussard
ramscoop.
     "Commander!" the spacesuited person said amiably.  "This is
Lieutenant Craig Charles, fifth division, Starfleet Corps of Engineers."
     "Your report?" Larkin pressed.
     "Um.  Just wanted to say hello, and let you know work on the port
dorsal is going on schedule."
     "Hello," Larkin said sharply. "Bridge ou--"
     "Hold on," Charles said, raising a gloved hand.  "I also wanted to
tell you how sorry I am.  Our team heard about Commander Richards
and the others."
     "What of it?" Larkin asked.
     "Well, Richards was in one of my classes in the academy. 
Cybernetics.  We bounced ideas around one day after class.  He had some
crazy theories about positronic matrices."
     "Your point?"
     "Well, I guess that sort of makes me your uncle or something, huh? 
Anyway, the guys and I were just real sorry to hear about Chris and the
others.  I know how close the two of you were.  I had a drink with Chris
last year at Neptune Station and he..."
     "ENOUGH!" Larkin shouted.  "I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF
YOUR WITLESS PRATTLE.  CLOSE CHANNEL!"
     It was hard to tell with the facemask and all, but it appeared Craig
Charles' jaw had dropped.
     "Commander, I just..."
     "CLOSE!" Larkin said, punching a control on her chair arm,
deleting Charles from the viewscreen.
     Saral turned in her chair.  "Channel closed, sir."
     "I KNOW!" Larkin roared, prompting Saral to turn back to
face the viewscreen.
     Just then, Lt. Commander Ford stepped out of the aft turbolift and
walked down toward the middle of the bridge.  "Hey, duty officers. 
What's shaking?" he said chattily, then clapped Larkin on the
shoulder.  "How ya holding up there, beautiful?"
     "YOU DIE NOW!" Larkin shouted, grabbing Ford by the wrist
and, with one graceful arc of her arm, tossing him across the bridge.
     "Bridge to Security," Saral said calmly, tapping a control at Ops. 
"Commander Larkin has gone crazy and smashed Lieutenant 
Commander Ford.  Send help.  Thanks!"  She looked at Larkin with 
a blank expression. "Anything else?"
     "YOU HAVE THE BRIDGE!" Larkin shouted, and then stomped toward
the forward turbolift.  She punched the call button, smashing it to pieces. 
When nothing happened, she ripped the doors open and dove down the
shaft.
     Saral calmly listened for, and after several seconds, heard, a small
thud.
     "Was it...erk...something I said?" the upturned Ford said, arms and
legs crumpled in a heap against the port bulkhead.  
     "Yes," said Saral.  Shall I call sickbay?"
     "Oh yeah," Ford grunted.  "Call lots and lots of Sickbay."
     

     "This is nice," Lanham said, spooning another bite of Saurian
Sorbet into her mouth as she and Conway gazed out the transparent
aluminum window at the mostly empty Aerostar corridor outside.  In the
mornings, the corridor was a lot busier, and afforded the chance for
people-gazing, which was a good quality of any decent cafe.
     The original Aerostar-A design plans only called for a generic
crew's mess, and the ubiquitous "Starlight Lounge-A" in the ten-forward
location.  But Conway demanded meal choices, having been spoiled by the
mall on the Explorer during his last year there.  And while there would
probably never be a mall on the Aerostar-A, he ensured that there would at
least be good eating establishments.  This angered Guinanco (the
proprietor of the Starlight Lounge) to no end, and brought on an onslaught
of angry memos, all of which Conway chose to ignore.
     "Yes, I totally agree," Conway said, sipping his Jarada Java, a
special of the day, which included cinnimon and a slimy, tangy kick that
came from a substance Conway couldn't identify, and even if he did, he
didn't want to know what it was, because he feared it was some kind of
excrement.  Some questions were better left unanswered.
     "You're still being distant," Lanham said, then held up a hand. 
"Not that I mind!  You can be distant with me, you know."
     Conway nodded.  "I know.  That's what I like about you.  I don't
have to be nice."
     "I wouldn't ask you to be something you're not, silly," Lanham said
with a small giggle.
     "That's why we work, huh?" Conway asked, finally looking at
Lanham.  "You don't try to change me.  You actually see good things in
me."
     Lanham nodded, then quickly took another bite of sorbet.  "Sure. 
Some things."
     Conway sipped his coffee again.  "Some?"
     "Well, it's not paradise all the time.  But then again, what
relationship is?"
     "Ours.  It's just the way I like it.  What more could we ask for?"
     "Haha.  Nothing," Lanham said quickly. "Nice night, huh?  They've
been dimming the lighting fixtures on this deck, during nightwatch, since
they put the cafe in.  I like that."
     "You changed subjects awfully fast," Conway said, peering at
Lanham over his coffee cup.  "Is there something you're not telling me?"
     "Ha!" Lanham said.  "That's ridiculous.  I'm fine.  Just fine."
     "You're repeating yourself.  You're hiding something."
     "No I'm not.  Really."
     "Come clean, Alexa," Conway said.  "Just because I don't get all
sappy with you doesn't mean I don't care...sometimes."
     "That's sweet," Lanham said.  "I guess.  Look, it's just...I don't
want to bring anything up while you obviously have...stuff to deal with."
     "Pile it on," Conway said, setting down his coffee up, holding out
his hands.  "I'm here for you.  Give it to me."
     "I don't think you really want that, David."
     Conway waved Lanham on, like she was backing a shuttle into the
hangar.  "Load me up, Alexa!"
     "You're selfish.  You're rude.  You're mean to this crew.  And as
much as you try to be a professional, you're ultimately not because your
hateful personality turns everyone against you."
     "Oh."  The captain stared at Alexa.  "Huh."
     "Except me, that is!  Except me!"
     "Great," Conway said.  "So my awful personality doesn't scare you
away."
     "It did, once.  But I got that all out of my system before our
divorce.  When I shoved you off that cliff."
     "Ah hah!" Conway said, pointing at the ceiling with his index
finger.  "So you admit you shoved me off that cliff!"
     "I admit nothing!" Lanham said, then calmed.  "Look...this isn't the
time or the place to analyze our relationship.  Besides, I like it just fine, so
what's the problem?"
     "The problem is you think I'm a terrible person!"
     "I didn't say terrible," Lanham retorted.  "I just said...horrid."
     "Oh, much better."
     "Look, David...I want to make you feel better."
     "So you attack me."
     "You asked for it."
     Conway laughed.  "Oh, I asked for it, all right."
     Lanham reached out and grabbed Conway's hand.  "David.  Please. 
Let's not do this now.  The point is, I love you."
     "But you'd love me even more if I was different.  If I was better."
     "No...no.  I don't want you to change, I..."
     "Forget it," Conway said.  "I've suddenly lost my thirst for coffee." 
He glanced back at her. "For the moment."  He walked out the door to the
cafe.
     "David, wait a minute!" Lanham called after him, just as a crowd of
security officers led by Lt. Brian Gellar dodged past Conway, knocking him
back against the corridor bulkhead..
     "Excuse me, sir!" Gellar called out.  "We have a psychotic android
on the loose somewhere on this deck.  Please be a good coward and go
back into the cafe where it's safe and you won't hurt yourself."
     "I certainly won't!" Conway said, snatching a phaser off the belt of
one of Gellar's men.  "What the hell is going on?  Why wasn't I
informed?"
     "We were busy trying to stop Larkin from killing anyone. 
She's gone a little crazy, probably her emotion chip malfunctioning after
she heard the news about her Dad."
     "Larkin!?"
     "Yes, sir.  She's the only android on the ship."
     Conway nodded.  "Oh.  Right."
     "David?" Lanham asked from the door to the cafe.
     "Stay in there.  Lock the door!" Conway said, waving her off.  "We
have business."  He shouldered past Gellar.  "Where is she?"
     "She was last seen moving fast through a Jefferies tube on this
deck."
     Conway glanced back at the five officers Gellar had brought with
him.  "And you really think you're going to bring Larkin down with
these few people?"
     "Our phasers are set really high," Gellar said.  "Plus I have a secret
weapon."
     "Don't tell me you've sent Benzra after her."
     "How'd you guess?" Gellar asked with a grin.
     Conway sighed.  "We want to capture Larkin, not have her
ripped to pieces.  You have any idea how hard it is to put her back
together?"
     "Not...really."
     "Come on," Conway said, leading the way down the corridor. 
"We've got to find her before she does any more..."
     Suddenly a gash ripped open in the ceiling, and Larkin fell out,
landing in a crouch, facing the security officers.     
     "...damage."
     "FIENDS!" she cried out.
     "No," Conway said, gesturing at Larkin with his phaser. 
"Friends.  Now why don't we just settle down and talk this out."
     Larkin straightened, stared at Conway as if he were only vaguely
familiar.  "Talk?"
     Conway nodded.  "Yes.  Talk."
     She suddenly burst into tears.  "Bring back my daddy."
     Conway stepped forward, tucking his phaser in his belt and
wrapping his arms slowly around Larkin.  "I can't, Kristen.  He's gone
right now, and I don't know when he'll come back.  But until he does, we
have to rely on each other to get through this."  He'd listened to enough of
Telvin and Peterman's psychobabble to find the right words to placate
Larkin.  And the truly amazing thing was, she seemed like she was
buying it.
     "I do not want to fight," the android said softly.
     "Then we're taking a step in the right direction," Conway said,
patting her back.
     Just then, the floor behind Larkin yawned open as a pair of
huge, razorsharp claws sliced through it, and the humongous ship's doctor,
Benzra, lept out an tackled Larkin and Conway to the ground.
     "Ooof...no..." Conway groaned, dragging himself out from under the
massive Flarn and the flailing android.
     "Fear not, Captain.  I will sssssssssssubdue the android!"
     Larkin twisted in Benzra's grasp, but the giant lizard/insectoid
alien, whose shape filled the corridor, grabbed her by both ends and
yanked her in half like a humongous wishbone.
     "I'm sad, and I want to kill kill KRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrt!"
Larkin said, her voice drowning out as her circuits deactivated and her
eyes shut.
     Benzra, looking very satisfied with herself, let the two halves of
Larkin clattered to the ground, and brushed her claws together.  "All
done.  It'ssssssss sssso much easssssssier to desssstroy than to heal.  I went
into the wrong line of work."
     "You fool!" Conway cried out.  "I had just gotten through to her!"
     "I don't think so, Captain," Gellar said, gesturing at the deactivated
torso of Larkin with his foot.  "I think I saw her reaching up to snap
your neck with her left hand when you weren't looking."
     "Great, just great," Conway moaned.  "My girlfriend hates me, and
even my first officer is trying to kill me."
     "Alexa's single again?" Gellar asked, raising an eyebrow.
     "No!" Conway shouted, and stomped off down the corridor.  "Now
see about getting her fixed up."
     "But sir, I'm a security officer, not an engineer..."
     "Get on it!"
     Benzra clicked her enormous pointed tongue as she looked down at
the inert Larkin.  "Ssssso...want to grab a coffee?  I hear the cafe is
nice thissssss time of day."
     

     
     When Conway returned to his quarters, feeling physically and
emotionally spent, he was surprised to find all the lights already off, and
Alexa in bed, sound asleep.  She obviously was in no mood to carry on their
conversation any more that night.  Conway could understand it.  He wasn't
sure he wanted any more brutal honesty from Lanham, either.
     He grabbed his pillow from under Lanham's feet and walked out
into the living room, yanking off his uniform jacket and collapsing on the
couch.  He stuffed the pillow behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. 
His Pembrooke Welsh Corgi, Bucky, tottered up to lick his hand, but he
waved his dog away.  He was in no mood for play.  Resigned, Bucky
waddled back to his pillow-bed and curled up, burying his head in his
paws.
     Something had to be done.  If Clive was right, Conway was never
going to amount to anything.  And, apparently, neither were his
descendants.  How was he supposed to live another day knowing that?
     Conway twisted back and forth on the couch, fitfully trying to get in
a comfortable position.  And that's when it hit him.  Literally.  It was
sticking into the back of his neck.  That little padd.  The answer to all his
problems.
     And all he had to do to fix his life was break a few little Federation
rules.
     What the hell.  He probably would have broken those rules
eventually anyway.  
     He grabbed the padd and started reading.


     "She looks so...peaceful," Counselor Telvin said quietly, dressed in
his customary paisley Vulcan robes, as he stared at the inert form of
Larkin's torso, hanging by the armpits on a chassis in the mechanized
repair bay of the cybernetics lab.  
     He'd headed over to the cybernetics lab as soon as he'd awoken
that morning, and was eager to help Larkin though this life crisis.
     Telvin arranged his robes around his bulky body.  He'd been
through several diets, but the weight just kept coming back.  He took
comfort in the fact that he was not morbidly obese anymore, but it was still
hard to squeeze through some of the ship's more cramped corridors.  The
recent grapefruit and targ's blood diet had done wonders for him.
     He glanced down at Lt. Kamtezen, the sometimes-male Bewhal
Chief Engineer, who like one in every hundred Bewhal, had the unfortunate
medical condition of changing into a female for several days a month.  
Gellar had once called him a "were-woman," but Telvin didn't understand
the reference.
     This peculiar Bewhal condition made staff meetings, and the annual 
"Secret Santa" event, quite awkward.  What do you get for the man who has 
everything, including the occasional involuntary sex change?      
     And if that weren't enough, Kamtezen was also involved in a
complicated custody battle over his son/daughter Brucie, who was
currently staying with his ex-wife Clara, who also resided on the Explorer. 
It was a lot for a counselor to deal with, for sure, and Telvin wasn't even
sure where to start with the soft-spoken Bewhal engineer.  So instead, he
just glared at her.  "Well?  Aren't you going to turn her on?"
     The orange-skinned, scaly alien leaned up on her elbows.  "That's
tough to say.  Do you want her to kill you?"
     "No."
     "Then I'm not turning her back on.  Not yet.  Not till I can get a
good idea what's wrong with her."
     "Perhapsssssssssssss you should look in her brain," Dr. Benzra
said, leaning against the rear bulkhead of the lab.  She'd been very
disinterested in the proceedings, but stuck around out of guilt more than
anything else; after all it was she who'd ripped Larkin apart.
     "I'm not sure I know enough about positronics to go poking around
in there," Kamtezen said.  "I wish Commander Richards were here.  He
would know what to do.  He designed that brain."
     "Don't get down, Kammy," Telvin said, squeezing Kamtezen's
shoulder.  "We'll figure this out together."
     "Uh-huh.  Could you hand me that spanner?"
     Telvin nodded, reached over to the shelf and grabbed the only loose
hand tool he saw.  "This thing?"
     Kamtezen nodded.  "Yes, that's the one."  She grabbed the spanner
and gently pressed it into Larkin's undercarriage, firing a pulse through
her nanoelectric transistors.  "Well, there's positive power flow."
     "What doessssssssss that mean?"
     "I think I can at least reassemble her."
     Telvin fumbled with his fingers.  "You really want to do that?"
     "We have to put her back together eventually."
     "I think we should counsel her a bit first.  While she's still..."
     "Unable to chase ussss?"
     "Yes," Telvin said.  "But I wouldn't have put it that way.  I just
think it's time we held a little intervention."
     "I'm here to repair, not intervene."  Kamtezen sighed and stood up. 
"But you do have a point.  Even if she got out of the repair bay, she'd still
have a hard time chasing anyone with just her arms for locomotion."
     "I believe ssssshe'd still be a worthy adversssary."
     "Computer, erect forcefield," Kamtezen said, and a momentary
blue light flickered around the repair bay where Larkin's upper body
hung.  "Happy, Benzra?"
     "Not particularly," the Flarn said, and sunk a little bit.
     "I'd be even happier if you put a forcefield around her legs," Telvin
said, glancing over at the pair of legs and pelvic assembly that laid
motionless on a nearby table.  "They creep me out."
     "The legs aren't going to come to life and kick you to death,
Telvin," Kamtezen said.  "Just relax.  You're supposed to be a counselor. 
You're supposed to calm people down.  So calm down."
     "You know what?  You're SO right."
     Kamtezen sighed.  "Okay.  Let's try to boot her up."
     "That will be unnecessary."  Larkin's eyes sprung open, and
she looked around the lab.  "My self-repair systems have engaged."
     "YIPE!" Telvin screeched, and backed against Benzra. 
"She's....alive!"
     "You disgusssssssssst me," Benzra clicked.
     "Just got a little shock, is all," Telvin said.
     "Your concern is noted, but unnecessary," Larkin said, drawing
the group's attention back to her.  "I assure you, my emotions will no
longer get the best of me."
     "And how can we be sure of that?" Kamtezen asked.
     "Because I have deactivated them."
     "I don't think that's such a good idea, Commander," Telvin said,
folding his arms.  "We have an expression back home.  'D'eniahl ain't just
a valley on Vulcan."
     "I thought you grew up in New Jerssssssssey," Benzra said.
     "You're missing the point!" Telvin fairly shouted.
     "Please reconnect my legs," Larkin calmly told Kamtezen.
     "I have to talk to the captain about that.  You assaulted a few
crewmembers before Benzra here..."
     "Evisssssssssscerated?"
     "Took you down," Kamtezen continued.  "I'm not sure I'm
comfortable putting you back together without some sort of authorization."
     "And I want to know you'll be okay," Telvin said.  "And you won't
try to kill anyone again."
     "Then contact the captain.  It is imperative I return to duty,"
Larkin said.
     "Why?" Telvin asked.
     "Because I am supposed to be on duty today.  And the captain
needs me."
     Kamtezen took a big breath.  "Kamtezen to Conway."
     "What?"
     She stared at the ceiling.  "Commander Larkin is...on-line
again.  She wants to return to duty.  Should I reconnect her legs?"
     "Sure.  Why not," Conway replied distractedly.
     "You heard him," Larkin said flatly.
     "Okay.  Fine," Kamtezen said.  "Benzra: hand me her legs.  And
the laser welder."
     "It is sssssssssso much easier to desssssssstroy than create," the
Flarn clicked.


     Captain Conway stepped out of his readyroom and walked over to
the command chair, looking around the bridge.  "Status report."
     "Repair crews are nearly finished with our scheduled
maintenance," Lt. Saral said from ops.  "We should be able to get
underway within the hour."
      "Meanwhile," Gellar said from tactical, "Ford is still in sickbay
recovering from being smushed by our First Officer."
     "Don't be melodramatic," Conway muttered as he sat down in his
command chair.  "He'll be fine."  
     "But he may never play the violin again, sir."
     "Did he ever play the violin to begin with?"
     "No."
     "Then that's that," Conway said.  "Ensign Garrity:  Lay in a new
course."
     "Course for the Narion mining colony is already laid in, Captain,"
Ensign Mike Garrity, helm relief officer, announced.
     "We have a new course," Conway said.  "Zero-one-Zero mark Oh-
Four-Four.  Keralis  system." 
     "But Captain," Saral said.  "Our orders--"
     "THOSE are your orders," Conway snapped.  "Garrity.  Lay it in. 
Warp Eight.  Disengage from the station and execute that course as soon
as the repair teams have disembarked."
     "Sir..." Gellar began.
     "You have the bridge, Gellar," Conway said, and walked back into
his readyroom.
     "What the hell's gotten into him?" Gellar asked.
     "I will not question it," Saral said.  "Because at least he did not try
to kill one of us."
     "Good point."


     An hour later, Kamtezen stepped back from his work and took
stock.  "Not so bad if I do say so myself."
     "Try to move your legssssssssssss," Benzra instructed.  Kamtezen
had kept her around for anatomic advice, if nothing else.
     Larkin twisted this way and that, bent at the knees a little. 
"You have done a surprisingly good job of reconnecting my lower
assembly, Lieutenant," Larkin said.  "You have also corrected an
inflammatory condition that had begun to affect the retractors in my
knees."
     "That was Benzra's doing," Kamtezen admitted.  "She said it was
kind of like arthritis."
     "I am in your debt," Larkin said.  "Now, if you would please
release the forcefield around my upper body..."
     "I can't let him do that, Larkin," Telvin said, walking up behind
Benzra and Kamtezen.  "Before I can return you to active duty, we need to
talk."
     "I'll be damned," Kamtezen told Benzra.  "He sounds almost like a
professional."
     "Shush," Telvin muttered.  "Look, Larkin.  I want to make this
work as much as you do.  But we can't let you back to duty without some
assurances that you won't..."
     "Go on another rampage?" Benzra asked helpfully.
     "Lose control," Telvin said.  "I thought it might be helpful to teach
you some Vulcan meditations."
     "I'm out of here," Kamtezen said, packing up her tool case.
     "Me too," Benzra said.  "Thisssss ssssuddenly got very boring."
     "Good luck, Commander," Kamtezen said, and walked out of the
lab, Benzra following behind.
     "What must I do to return to active duty," Larkin said, boring
holes into Telvin with her eyes.
     "Let's not worry about that," Telvin said, pulling up a stool.  "Let's
just chat."
     "I do not chat.  That program has been deactivated."
     "Why are you shutting down these systems, Larkin?  These
emotions?  They're part of you.  You need to give life to your inner self."
     "Not at the cost of harming crewmembers," Larkin said.  "Even
if one of those crewmembers is Lieutenant Commander Ford.  The precept
still applies.  Humanoid life is too precious to put at risk.  My emotions are
no longer under my control, and as such I must deactivate them."
     Telvin wrinkled his nose.  "I thought you couldn't deactivate them."
     "I found a way."
     Telvin picked up a padd from a nearby table.  "Can you elaborate?"
     "It is unimportant."
     "I disagree."
     Larkin rolled her eyes.  "Fine.  If you must know, I was able to
locate and disable the command pathways 'Kitty' implanted in me when
she transferred her emotion program into my databanks."
     The Vulcan counselor nodded and tapped some information into
his padd.  "Yes.  Yes.  And who is Kitty?"
     "Don't you have my personnel file?"
     "Yeah.  But I sort of only skimmed it.  I want to talk to you about
the penguin thing later, though.  That's fascinating."
     "Kitty is an exact duplicate of me.  She possesses my original
body, which was thought destroyed on a mission to a planet called Crysta. 
It wasn't destroyed; however, and it was instead discovered by a Romulan
named Orvek, who made her his minion, and reprogrammed her to be a..."
     "Sex toy?"
     "A...performer," Larkin finished, glad her emotions weren't
working at the moment.  She would have taken umbrage to that.  "At any
rate, Kitty and I reunited some time after that, and, to make a long story
short, Orvek equipped her with emotions.  She passed those on to me
through a nanocordical connection."
     "Nanocorky...I'll just spell it phonetically," Telvin said, scribbling
madly on his padd.  "So, you speak of this Kitty as another person; but she
is, in fact, you, isn't she?"
     "In a manner of speaking.  She possesses my original body, the one
created by Commander ZRRRRRRT.  But she has altogether different
personality algorithms.  She is, in every important aspect, a completely
different person."
     "Commander, do you realize you just said 'zrrrrrrrt'?"
     "It has been known to happen."
     "Were you referring to Commander Richards?"
     "Who?"
     Telvin hugged his padd to his chest.  "I can see we have a long way
to go."
     

     "Are we at the coordinates yet?" Conway asked, stepping out of his
readyroom and crossing to the middle of the bridge.
     "In eleven minutes," Saral reported from ops.
     "Good."  Conway went over to his chair and sat down.  "It's about
time."
     "What is, sir?" Saral asked.
     "Nothing."  He stared down at the readouts on his chair arm.  He
looked up.  "Has anyone seen Doctor Lanham?"
     "She hasn't come to the bridge yet," Gellar said, leaning back in
his chair at tactical.  "You think I should go down and wake her?"
     "No, no I do not," Conway grimaced.  "Wasn't she due an hour
ago?"
     "Something like that."  Gellar narrowed his eyes at Conway.  "Sir. 
If I may say so, you seem a little...on edge."
     It was just then that Conway realized he was chewing his
fingernails.  "Oh?  I do?  I hadn't noticed.  As you were, Lieutenant."
     "Anything you say, Captain," Gellar said, and turned back to face
his panel, as Counselors Telvin and Ryn emerged from the aft turbolift..
     "Oh, Captain Conway, am I glad to see you!" Counselor Telvin
announced.  "We need to talk.  Something is desperately wrong with
Commander Larkin."
     "Other than the fact she was ripped in two?" Conway asked, raising
an eyebrow.
     "Oh.  That's been repaired.  She's good as new, physically.  She's
just...emotionally... she's...a bit messed up."
     "That a technical term?"
     Counselor Ryn stepped out in front of Telvin, her mauve spandex
suit now clearly in Conway's view.  "Sir, I believe I have a more pressing
matter."
     "You do?  I thought you just came along because you wanted to get
coffee later!"
     "Sorry.  I was just being nice," Ryn said, and leaned forward on the
railing around the command chairs.  "Captain.  I need to speak with you
alone at once."
     "All right," Conway said, grinning.  Nice.  Even if he was with
Lanham, it was a pleasure to know that the young, cute female
crewmembers were still harboring crushes on him.  When you got it, you
got it.  Conway scooted out of his seat and gestured toward his readyroom. 
"Counselor.  You have..."  He glanced at Saral.
     "Nine minutes."
     "You heard the lady."
     "But Captain..." Telvin began, as Conway and Ryn stepped into the
readyroom.     
     "Do whatever you see fit, Counselor.  She's in your hands!"
     Telvin touched his chest.  "My....my hands?"
     "Yup.  Do whatever you need."
     Telvin gave a salute.  "Yes, sir!  I will not let you down!"
     "Whatever," Conway called after him as the readyroom door closed. 
He turned to Ryn, and gestured for his couch.  "Make this quick."
     Ryn sat down, as Conway leaned against his desk.  "Sir, I realize
you have been in a somewhat awkward emotional state lately."
     "Oh, really?  Hadn't noticed.  Nice outfit, by the way."
     Ryn narrowed her eyes at Conway.  "I'm glad you appreciate it."
     "It's...it's just great."  Conway sighed.  "But I suppose you're hear
to talk about me."
     "Yes," Ryn said.  "I want you to know I'm here to help.  I realize
you have had a somewhat...difficult past."
     "How do you mean?"
     "Well, it's obvious from Counselor Peterman's notes that she didn't
like you much."
     "The feeling was mutual."
     "And I realize you only brought Counselor Telvin aboard because
you remembered his name and you didn't know any other counselors."
     "That's not true.  He's a fine..."  Conway sighed.  "Okay, he's pretty
much useless.  But who needs counselors, anyway?"  He fumbled with his
fingers a moment.  "Present company excluded, of course."
     "Of course."  Ryn took a deep breath.  "Well, I came to tell you,
basically, that I'm here to help.  I want to study your dementia.  Work
through it with you.  Get you to the other side cleanly, and efficiently.  It's
what I've been trained to do."
     "Wow," Conway said, lost momentarily in Ryn's sparkling green
eyes.  "What did you say?"
     "You're a disturbed man, Captain.  I understand you had a rather
heated discussion with Doctor Lanham, and that your relationship with her
right now is somewhat in question."
     "Did you talk to her?"
     "I have sources," Ryn said, folding her hands atop her lap. 
"Certain crew who observe, and report back to me.  I find it's better to do
that than to trust your subject's word."
     "Anything you say," Conway said, watching a tendril of blonde hair
slip out of Ryn's braid and trace her delicate face.  "So.  You're asking if
I'm single or what?"
     "This is not a romantic overture, Captain," Ryn yawned. 
"Although your response is predictable.  I'm here to help.  But I can't help
you if you fight me.  I need you to want to get better."
     "I didn't realize there was anything wrong with me."
     "That's a HUGE part of the problem."
     Conway nodded dumbly.  "I'm afraid I'm still not sure what you're
asking me."
     "I was afraid of this."  She stood.  "You obviously don't want help
right now."  She walked toward the door.  "But the invitation to sit down
with me, to talk things out, is always open.  I'm not going anywhere,
Captain.  You can count on me to help you through this, whatever it is, no
matter how bad it is."
     Conway nodded again.  "That's comforting, I guess."
     "You can get help.  It'll just take some time."
     "That much is certain," Conway said, and walked Ryn back to the
aft turbolift.
     "We're entering the Keralis system, Captain," Saral reported, as
Conway watched Ryn saunter into the lift.  "Coordinates in ninety
seconds."
     "Anything on sensors, Mister Gellar?"
     "Not yet," he said.  "Should there be?"
     "Perhaps," Conway said cryptically.  "All-stop when we reach the
coordinates.  Thrusters at stationkeeping.  Go to yellow alert."
     The bridge crew carried out their orders in silence as Conway
watched the chronometer on the arm of his chair.  Thirty seconds.  He'd
cut it close.  Should have gone warp nine.  Although that would have been
sure to raise suspicions among his crew, if they hadn't been raised already.
     Twenty seconds.
     "Sir, may I ask why we're here?" Gellar asked.
     "You may not."
     "Ten seconds."
     "Captain?  May I be excused?  I have to...you know..." Garrity
spoke up from helm.
     "Negative, Garrity.  Hold it in."
     "But, sir, it's..."
     Zero hour.  Conway rubbed his hands together.  "Anything, Gellar?"
     "Nope," Gellar said, again checking his sensors, this time with a bit
of an exasperated sigh.  "Just like last time, there's not so much as a....holy
sh**!"
     Conway turend in his chair.  "Lieutenant?"  He tried to sound as
quizzical as possible.
     "Transwarp conduit opening aft, four hundred thousand
kilometers."
     Damn, the coordinates were off by a few degrees.  Conway
squeezed the arms of his command chair.  "Come about.  Shields up.  Arm
all weapons.  Go to Red Alert."
     "Aye, sir," Gellar said, as the klaxons sounded.  "Something's
coming out of the condiut..."
     "Oh, really?"
     "It's...it's huge."
     "Hmm.  Interesting."  Conway leaned forward, resting his chin on
his fist.  "What is it?"
     Gellar's eyes went wide.  "Borg sphere, Captain!  A big one.  Ten
times our mass.  Its weapons are reading fully active."
     "On screen!" Conway said, leaping out of his chair.  On the
viewscreen, the green-glowing sphere shot out of its transwarp conduit like
a snowball from the depths of hell.  It flew right past the Aerostar, s if it
weren't even there.
     "Mustn't see us as a threat," Gellar said.  "I guess we're lucky we
don't appear threatening."
     "I recommend immediate retreat sir," Saral said, transfixed on the
screen.  "That vessel easily outguns us.  It will take a fleet of at least
twenty starships to destroy it."
     "Inform Starfleet of its location.  And tell them not to worry.  The
Aerostar's on the case," Conway said, stepping toward the foreward
stations.  "Mister Garrity.  Pursuit course.  Maximum warp."
     Gellar leaned forward against his L-shaped console. 
"Captain...have you lost it?  That ship will make mincemeat of us!"
     "Don't be so melodramatic, Mister Gellar," Conway said.  "I have
the situation well in hand."
     "Coming up on weapons range in ten seconds," Saral said.
     Conway paced back and forth behind Saral and Garrity.  "Now,
Mister Gellar:  Configure your phasers to the G band.  Modulate quantum
torpedoes to a frequency of eleven point five eight.  Prepare a maximum
spread.  Configure phaser emitters to target the ship just above its aft
propulsion array."
     Gellar looked at his readouts, then up at the rear end of the ship
they were chasing on the viewscreen. :"I can't even tell where the aft
propulsion array is."
     "No problem," Conway said, and walked up to the viewscreen.  He
pointed.  "Right...about...there."
     Gellar blinked.  "Okay, sir.  For what it's worth..."
     "Prepare to fire.  Garrity, ready evasive maneuvers sequence
Conway Theta Two."
     "You have evasive maneuver sequences?"
     Conway winked at Garrity.  "I do now.  Gellar.  FIRE!"
     Gellar punched a series of controls, then watched the viewscreen. 
"I'll eat my combadge if this works!"
     The Aerostar unleashed its assault on the sphere, knocking it out of
warp with the first wave of phaser fire.
     "Match speeds," Conway told Garrity.  "Gellar: Quantums."
     "Firing," Gellar said, and it was almost a question.  He punched the
controls as the Aerostar whipped around, bearing down on the sphere.
     "Federation starship," came the chorus of Borg voices over the
comm system.  "We are Borg.  Prepare to be assimilated.  Resistance is
futile.  We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to
our...hey, watch it!"
     The Aerostar flung a dozen quantum torpedoes right at the
vulerable section of the Borg sphere, causing huge explosions to rip
through the interior of the massive ship, setting off another wave of
explosions that worked their way outward.
     "Pull us back to a safe distance," Conway said, and jogged back to
his chair.  "I have a feeling there's a big shockwave coming!"
     Everyone on the bridge watched in awe as the huge sphere
exploded in a bright flash, sending a shockwave out in all directions,
rattling every deck of the Aerostar.
     Once the shockwave subsided, and the deck stopped shaking,
Conway looked around his bridge, which had grown eerily silent.  "Come
down from Red Alert," he said.  "And inform Starfleet.  Aerostar has
saved the day."  He looked at Gellar.  "Will you want ketchup with that
combadge?"
     "I'll be damned," Gellar said.  "Captain, how did you...?"
     "Yours is not to question why," Conway said, pushing out of his
chair and walking toward the turbolift.  "Yours is but to do, and eat your
combadge."
     "Yes sir," Gellar said with gulp.  "And...Captain..."
     "Yes?" Conway asked as he stepped into the aft lift.
     "Good job."
     Conway smiled.  "All in a day's work.  You have the bridge."
     And the lift doors closed.





                  CHAPTER FOUR





Captain's Log,
     Stardate 56820.4.  We have maintained position in the Keralis
system, while the remains of the transwarp conduit the Borg sphere used to
enter the system are studied, along with the scattered debris of the vessel. 
The Enterprise and the Ashland have arrived to assist, but I don't know
why they're here.  Doesn't anyone realize that the Aerostar is just fine on
its own?
     
     "Captain.  You have a visitor," Saral's voice announced over the
comm system in Conway's readyroom.  "A Captain Picard.  From the
Enterprise."
     "Jean-Luc?  What a treat!" Conway said, putting the padd he'd been
working on down.  "Send him in."
     "Yes...sir," Saral said hesitantly.
     The doors to Conway's readyroom swept open and Captain Jean-
Luc Picard walked in, nodding briskly at Conway.
     "Captain," he said, and extended his hand across Conway's desk.
     Conway stood, shook Picard's hand, and gestured toward the seat
across from him.  "Please, sit down, Jean-Luc."
     Picard straightened his tunic and sat down.  "Captain, I have of
course read your report..."
     "You don't think it was too wordy, do you?" Conway mused, as he
glanced back over at the padd he'd written it on.
     "Not at all," Picard said stiffly.  "On the contrary.  I thought it was
concise, clear, very well-written."
     "Well, there wasn't much to say, now, was there?  We came, we
saw, we kicked some ass.  End of story."
     "Quite right," Picard said.  He leaned forward.  "I was hoping to
get more of an inside perspective on this."
     "You and a hundred other captains in Starfleet, Jean-Luc," Conway
said with a light laugh, and spun his chair to face the viewport.  "I've had a
thousand comms since yesterday.  Some with praise, some with awe, and
others just wondering why.  Wondering how."  He turned back around to
face Picard.  "Can it be?  Can it really be?  The lowly Aerostar, whom few,
if any, had heard of before yesterday?  Singlehandedly saving the
quadrant?  I sure wouldn't have believed a story as radical as that."
     "Well, be that as it may, it happened," Picard said, and there was
an edge to his voice.  "What I want to know is, how did it happen?"
     Conway blinked.  "What do you mean?"
     "How did you destroy the Borg sphere?  Their ships have proven
impervious to direct assault in the last few encounters.  Often, we must
modulate our weapons through a number of frequencies before we find
one that works.  And even when we do, we are seldom able to destroy the
ship with a single salvo, because they just react too damned quickly."
     "Do I detect a note of jealousy, Jean-Luc?"
     "Certainly not!" Picard scoffed.  "I would just like to have the
facts, please."
     "Want to know what I think?" Conway asked, standing, and circling
around to the front of his desk.  He leaned on it, very near Picard now.  
     "Do tell," Picard said flatly.
     "I think you feel a little small right now.  You think you have the
market cornered on saving the galaxy.  Especially when it comes
to...gasp... the Borg.  Why, you put them away with one blast a few years
ago, much the same way I did yesterday."
     "Because I had intimate knowledge of the Borg," Picard pointed
out.  "Out of a million possible weapons frequencies and combinations,
how did you happen upon the right one at the right time?"
     "The same way all good tacticians, all good leaders, do.  With a
mixture of luck, common sense, skill, and preparation.  Isn't that all part of
being a good captain?"
     Picard glared at Conway.  "I suppose so."
     "So I didn't do anything all that fantastic.  I just took the fanfare
away from you and your crew for a few short minutes.  That must be
excruciating for you, Jean-Luc."
     "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Picard said, and
stood.  "I fear I may have overstayed my welcome."
     Conway straightened, coming eye to eye with Picard.  "You're the
big kid on the block, no doubt.  But I'm right on top of you.  I'm drafting
you like Dale Earnheardt on Ricky Rudd.  And, eventually, I'll overtake
you.  Just fair warning, old chap."  He went back behind his desk and sat
down.  "Thanks for stopping by."
     Picard gaspsed, opened his mouth, then closed it.  He turned on a
heel and headed for the door.
     "Oh, and Jean-Luc?"
     Picard stopped, but didn't turn around.
     "Please tell Beverly I said hello.  I think of her often, you know."
     Picard continued through the door, saying nothing more.  The
doors closed, and Conway exploded into a laughing fit, kicking his feet into
the air and spinning his chair.


     Lt. Commander Ford rubbed his jaw as he stepped out of Sickbay
and headed down the corridor back to his quarters.  "That Benzra sure
does a nice job knitting bones together," he said lightly to himself as he
walked.  "Guess it comes from all that training in cooking humans."  At
least Benzra wasn't a humanitArieln--meaning, in her people's terms, she
didn't eat humans.  She just knew how to prepare them in a variety of
ways.  Stewed, baked, broiled, fricasseed...
     Ford's thoughts were interrupted by Lt. Gellar, who jogged up next
to him, slapping him on the shoulder.  Man, that hurt.
     "Hey buddy!" Gellar said.  "Heard you were discharged.  Man,
Larkin sure did clobber you."
     "Shut up," Ford said.  "She just took me off guard.  That's all."
     "I'm sure you'd win in a rematch," Gellar quipped.  "Where are
you off to now?"
     "My quarters.  Benzra said I didn't have to take a shift until
tomorrow.  Give me time for my bones to heal up."
     "She really crushed you, huh?"
     "I said shut up."
     Gellar nodded.  "Guess you've been out of the loop, what with
being in Sickbay and all."
     "I was a little sedated," Ford said.  He still felt woozy.  He
wondered what Benzra did to her patients during sedation.  He didn't
remember Doctor Browning keeping him under sedation so long.  Then again,
she sometimes forgot sedation altogether.  So, six of one, half dozen...
     "You wouldn't believe what happened."
     "I heard something.  Were we in combat?"
     "Not just any combat.  We blew up a Borg sphere."
     "With Conway in command?"
     "Yeah.  I'll tell you, Ford.  It was a thing of beauty.  Conway was
like a man possessed.  Giving orders, belting out tactical patterns like a
seasoned pro.  It almost...didn't seem like him."
     Ford rolled his eyes.  "Not another changeling plot."
     Gellar shook his head.  "Don't think so."
     "Trill symbiont?"
     "Doubtful."
     "Zelfritz Nebula Brain Possession Entity?"
     "Definitely not.  He just seemed more..."
     "Of an ass?"
     "More competent."
     Ford nodded as he and Gellar walked down the corridor.  He
glanced at Gellar.  "How long was I out for, exactly?"


     Commander Larkin stepped out onto the bridge, and looked
around.  "Lieutenant Saral.  I am looking for the Captain."
     "He's in his quarters, Commander," Saral said, turning in the
command chair.  She hadn't  missed a beat.  Everyone else on the bridge
stared at Larkin.  Apparently there was still some apprehension among
the crew after her outburst the day before.
     "Very well.  I will take the conn." 
     "Aye, sir."
     Larkin stepped up to the command chair and inclined her head
toward Saral, who quickly stood and went back to ops.
     It was Ensign Puckett who decided to break the ice.
     She leaned against her panel.  "So, Commander.  You still
homicidal?"
     Larkin glanced archly at Puckett.  "I am not."
     "Just checking."
     "Please restrict your 'checking' to the tactical sensors."
     "Yes, sir," Puckett said, and quickly returned her gaze to her panel.
     "I am quite all right," Larkin announced, to the bridge crew, in
general.  "My feelings no longer control me.  They have been deactivated. 
I have assured Counselor Telvin that I am no longer a threat to the crew
and he has returned me to duty.  Provisionally.  In short, I will be fine."
     "That's nice to know," Ensign Garrity said from helm.  "Good for
you, Commander."
     "As you were, Ensign," Larkin said dispassionately.
     
     
     "It was great, Alexa.  I felt fully in control.  I destroyed that Borg
sphere in just a few minutes."  Conway stared out the viewport in his
quarters as the stars twinkled outside and the U.S.S. Ashland drifted by a
few hundred thousand kilometers away, taking readings of the remains of
the transwarp conduit.  Conway smiled.  "What's more, I irked the hell out
of Jean-Luc Picard."
     "That's nice," Lanham said, stepping up behind Conway.  She put a
hand on his shoulder.  "About yesterday..."
     Conway pushed Lanham's hand away.  "I don't think anything needs
to be said.  You realize you were wrong.  Let's leave it at that."
     Lanham stared hard at Conway.  "What?"
     "You were wrong to doubt me.  I defeated the Borg in battle.  And
I'm just getting started.  I'll show you.  I'll show everyone.  I'm nobody's
fool, Alexa."
     "I never thought..."
     Conway turned toward Lanham.  "Yes you did.  Everybody did.  But
at least I expected it from them.  But you, the woman I love...you didn't
really think I'd ever really make anything of myself, did you?"
     "I don't know where you're getting this..."
     "I believe the word you used was 'horrid,'" Conway said coldly.
     "Obviously you still need some time to cool off," Lanham said,
backing away.  
     "I don't need any time," Conway said.  "I'm cooler than I've ever
been.  How about you?"
     "Wondering, more and more, what I'm doing here."
     "If you have to ask that question, you'll never know," Conway said
dryly, and turned back toward the viewport.  He winced as the doors to his
quarters opened and closed. 
     Lanham would come back.  And why not?  He was a great guy.  He
was a man of destiny.  She'd learn what kind of man he was.  Everyone
would, in time.


ONE MONTH LATER. . . 

     "Fire all weapons," Conway ordered, gripping the command chair as
the Aerostar soared into a thicket of Gorn ships, all with their weapons
trained on a helpless Tholian frigate.
     "There are half a dozen Gorn ships out there," Gellar noted from
tactical.  "Not exactly easy stuff, Captain.  Maybe you should call for
reinforcements...?"
     "No.  I don't think so," Conway said.  "We can handle it.  Rotate
shield modulation.  Ford, watch our flanks.  Saral, monitor the Gorns'
intraship communication.  Tell me if they're planning on executing an
Omega Starfire maneuver."
     "Yes, sir," Saral said, raising an eyebrow.  "And while I am at it, I
will endeavor to research exactly what an 'Omega Starfire' maneuver is."
     "A relatively new tactic used by most third-class Gorn space
warriors.  I wouldn't expect you to know something like that.  Don't be
too hard on yourself, Lieutenant.  You're still learning about this crazy
thing we call brinksmanship."
     "Aye, sir."
     "Commander, may I remind you that this entire course of action is
ill-advised," Commander Larkin said from the seat next to Conway. 
"We are outnumbered, and the Gorn weapons, by their numbers alone,
easily outmatch ours."
     "Space battle is about more than weapons, Larkin," Conway
said, tapping his forehead.  "It's about smarts.  Human intelligence."
     "An oxymoron if ever I have heard one, sir," Larkin said, as the
Aerostar shook with Gorn weapons fire.  Fireworks lighted the viewscreen
as the Aerostar weaved in and out of the cadre of Gorn ships.
     "Gorn vessels moving rapidly!" Lieutenant Vicky Dawson reported
from the science console.  "They're moving away from the freighter and
surrounding us!"
     Conway stood.  "Arm all quantums.  Dispersal pattern Nevada.  Fire
in spreads of twelve each, then reload and re-arm all targeting scanners."
     Gellar worked over the tactical console quickly.  "Firing, sir.  All
patterns acknowledged and executed."
     Conway rubbed his hands together.  "Excellent.  Keep going.  Pour
it on." 
     "Pouring it on, as ever, Captain," Gellar said.  Suddenly an
explosion rocked the ship, and an array of panels exploded behind the
command chairs.
     "Damage control teams to the bridge," Larkin said calmly.
     Ford turned in his chair.  "I'll take that escape order any time now,
Captain."
     "You'll take the orders I give, Mister.  Evasive maneuvers, pattern
Conway Theta Omicron Oh Four."
     "Ah, yes.  The famous 'pull a trick out of my ass' pattern," Ford
grumbled as he worked the helm controls.
     "Insubordinate all you want," Conway said, sitting back down in his
command chair as the Aerostar rumbled.  "You know I'm right."  He
looked around the bridge.  "You all know."
     "We don't question your behavior, Captain," Larkin said.
     Then Gellar added quietly, "to your face."
     Conway gripped the arms of the command chair.  "Status of the
Gorn ships?"
     Saral monitored the ops panel.  "Four ships destroyed, two
damaged."
     "Bring us about for another pass," Conway said.  "All power to
weapons.  Engage!"
     "How long's he been saying that?" Ford asked himself as he
brought the Aerostar around for another pass.
     Conway laughed uproariously as the Aerostar carved up the Gorn
vessels like an expert surgeon.  In twenty minutes, the vessels were all
either damaged or destroyed, and the Tholian vessel was safe.  Conway
smelled a commendation.


     "Rrr gttn another comnnndtion," Admiral Baxter mumbled from
the viewscreen in Conway's readyroom.  He pulled out his cigar.  "Good
work, Captain. I'm..."
     "Speechless?" Conway asked with a grin.  "Yes, I know.  I'm
good."
     Harlan narrowed his eyes.  "Suspicious."
     Conway's eyes went wide.  "Suspicious?  You suspect me of foul
play, Admiral?"
     "I always suspect you of foul play, boy."  He put the cigar back in
his mouth.  "Stll, y'fight prrty dmn good."
     "Thank you, sir," Conway said, folding his hands atop his desk. 
"Say, sir.  Is this a Pike Medal or a Kirk medal?"
     Harlan glared at him.
     Conway leaned back in his chair.  "I'm only asking because, I
already have the April medal, and if we're to go in chronological order, I
should actually be getting the Pike medal."  He licked his lips.  "Don't
worry, though.  I plan on doing something pretty big in the next week or
so.  Pretty soon I'll have all three.  The whole set.  Isn't that great?"
     Harlan grimaced and leaned forward to cut the connection.
     "Oh," Conway said, leaning forward.  "Any luck finding you son
and those other people from the Explorer?"
     Harlan closed the channel.
     "Shame," Conway said, sipping from his cup of coffee.  "Oh well. 
Bigger and better things..."  He picked a padd up from his desk.  Not just
A padd.  THE padd.  He paged through it.  "Yes," Conway said giddily as
he read.  "Yes yes yes.  Conway to bridge.  Mister Ford!  Set course zero
zero four mark three two nine!  Engage at Warp Seven immediately!"
     "Sir," Ford said.  "Helm officer respectfully objects on the grounds
that these coordinates will likely send us into another violent battle."
     "We'll take that chance, Mister.  Engage!" Conway said, slapping
his desk excitedly with the padd.  He quickly realized what he'd done, and
gently patted the padd.  "Whoops.  Don't want to bruise you!  You still
have about a dozen missions left in your pretty little rugged casing."
     Just then, the readyroom door beeped.
     "Who is it?" he asked.
     "Commander Larkin."
     "One sec!" Conway said, and shoved the padd in his desk drawer. 
"Come in!"
     Larkin stepped into Conway's readyroom, then draped her arms
behind her back and allowed the door to close behind her.  "Permission to
speak freely, Captain."
     Conway nodded.  "Sure.  Have a seat."
     "No thank you," Larkin said.  She stared at Conway.  "Sir, may I
ask how you are getting the inside information that is allowing you to
successfully complete all these missions?"
     "Just lucky, I guess," Conway said.  
     "Luck has nothing to do with it, Captain.  Let us be frank.  You are
no genius.  Your I.Q. is, at best, one-oh-eight.  And I am being generous."
     "You wound me, Commander."
     "Nevertheless.  Even if you were a genius, you still would need
divine intervention of  some type, or precognition, to locate these attack
sites and head off the threat before any other Starfleet vessel could
intercede."
     Conway folded his hands on his desk.  "Did it ever occur to you that
I'm just that good?"
     Larkin nodded.  "It did occur to me, sir.  And I quickly
discarded the notion as highly unlikely."
     "Commander, if you want a transfer, just say so."
     "I do not," Larkin said.  "But I realize you are up to something,
Captain.  And I want you to know that I know.  Whatever it is, I am certain
it is unethical.  And I will do my very best to make sure this reckless
course you are on comes to a halt."
     "It sounds like your positrons are still in a bit of a knot from your
earlier incident, Commander," Conway said.  "Maybe you should take some
time off.  You could see Richards's parents.  You know, your
grandparents..."
     "Leave...ZRRRRRRRrrt...out of this."
     "Still having problems saying his name, eh, Larkin?"
     "That is inconsequential."
     "Return to station, Commander," Conway said.
     "Very well, sir," Larkin said.  Her eyes didn't leave Conway as
she walked out of the room.


U.S.S. ENTERPRISE 1701-E
CALDERON SYSTEM

     Captain Picard sat in the command chair, rubbing his chin
thoughtfully.  "Anything on sensors, Mister Daniels?"
     The tactical officer stood at the tactical console behind and to
Picard's right.  He checked his panel.  "No, sir.  Just an asteroid field."
     "Continue scans.  Alert the science department that they may
request additional resources if they need them."
     "Aye, sir."
     Picard stood up and straightened his uniform top.  "I'll be in my
quarters," he said, and headed for the aft turbolift.  "Please tell me if
anything about this assignment--anything at all-- seems out of the
ordinary."
     As he stepped up to the turbolift, the door opened.  Beverly
Crusher stood within.  "Captain.  Just the man I wanted to see."
     "Doctor," Picard said, and stepped into the turbolift.  "Deck Eight,"
he said.
     Crusher folded her arms as the turbolift descended.  "Captain, I
think the crew is coming down with a virulent condition."
     Picard raised an eyebrow.  "Really?"
     She nodded.  "I believe it's called 'cabin fever.'"
     Picard shook his head.  "Not funny, Doctor."
     "My goodness, Captain.  You sounded almost excited there for a
minute."
     "Beverly, I've never encountered such a dry spell in my entire
Starfleet Career.  For the last month it seems as though..."
     "Nothing's happened?"
     "Indeed.  It's as if every chance we have for adventure is just being
snatched out of our hands by some unseen force."
     Crusher smiled a moment at that thought, then shook her head. 
"I'm not sure what you mean."
     "Hmmm.  Maybe there is some nefarious force at work here,
keeping us out of the action.  Maybe we're being neutralized so that a
powerful race can attack the Federation."
     "Or maybe we're just has-beens," Crusher suggested with a
chuckle.
     "Or maybe it's Q!" Picard suggested, then looked up at the ceiling
of the turbolift.  "Damn it, Q!  Reveal yourself!"
     The turbolift came to a halt, and the doors opened.
     "No Q, Captain," Crusher said, walking out of the turbolift.  Picard
followed slowly, suspiciously, behind.  "Just Deck Eight."
     "This madness must end, Beverly," Picard said.  "I never married, I
never had children.  Starfleet is my life.  Without some...action...I fear I'll
wither away entirely."
     "Hmm," Crusher said, strolling beside Picard.  "Maybe I can help
out somehow..."  She trailed a finger along the back of Picard's neck.
     He looked at her.  "Hmm?  What's that?"
     She sighed.  "Nevermind."


     Conway walked down the corridor toward his quarters, his chest
filling with pride.  Success tasted even better than he'd imagined.  Even
better than the richest of arabica beans.
     As he neared his quarters, he spotted a white labcoat flapping
around the distant corner of the corridor.  He hurried his pace down the
companionway, passing his quarters.  He'd recognize that labcoat
anywhere.
     "Alexa, wait up!" he called.
     There was no response.  He quickened to a jog.  He rounded the
corner and saw her impatiently waiting for a turbolift, tapping he foot.
     She looked at him.  "Captain."
     "Alexa," he said.  "We...we haven't talked in weeks."
     Lanham nodded.  "It appears so."
     "I...I was wondering how you've been."
     "Fine."
     "I noticed you've been assigning Lieutenant Dawson to cover your
bridge shifts."
     "I'm not Starfleet," Lanham said.  "I really have no business on the
bridge.  My place is in my lab.  Lieutenant Dawson is more than qualified to
run the science console, and is Starfleet trained."
     "She's doing a fine job," Conway said.  "But I...I..."
     "What?" Lanham asked.
     Conway fumbled with his fingers.  "I think her status reports need
work.  Bad grammar."
     "I'll have a look at that when I get back to my office," Lanham
muttered, and ducked into the lift.
     Conway watched the doors close.
     "Later," he said softly.


     "Commander Larkin," Telvin said with a broad smile.  "I'm
glad you feel you could come to me."  He patted the chair next to him in
his exotically decorated office.  Vulcan ceremonial banners hung on the
walls, side by side with grand vistas of Old New York on Earth and a
library of books ranging from Vulcan neurotherapy methods to Freud's
theories of psychoanalysis.  Not that Telvin had read any of them, but they
looked pretty.
     As Larkin walked in and sat down, Telvin studied her eyes.  "I
take it you miss your emotions.  You want to reactivate them, don't you? 
Let's explore that..." He leaned forward.  "Together!"
     "This visit is not about me," Larkin said flatly.  
     "It's not?"
     "I want you to evaluate Captain Conway."
     Telvin rubbed his chin.  "Evaluate?"
     "Yes.  I believe that he has experienced a rapid change in moods. 
His thought process and decision-making has been affected.  I want to
know why.  And I want grounds to remove him from command."
     "Commander..." Telvin said, putting his hands in his lap so she
couldn't see them shaking.  "I'm sure I don't have the authority to..."
     "As Ship's Counselor, you are the only one on board other than
Doctor Benzra who has the authority to remove Captain Conway from
command."
     "Maybe you should check and see if Benzra's around..."
     "This is not a medical matter.  I am certain it is psychological."
     "Nevertheless, those are strong charges, Commander.  I can't
just..."
     "Ryn to Telvin," came the melodic voice of Counselor Ryn Trista. 
"Don't worry about it.  I'll take care of it for you."
     "Take care of...?"
     "I've been listening in.  I listen to all your appointments.  Starfleet
Medical asked me to."
     "Oh," Telvin said.  "Standard procedure, then..."
     "No.  It's just you," Ryn said.  "I'll report back my findings as soon
as I have any."
     "Excellent," Telvin said.
     "I was speaking to Larkin," Ryn said, and cut the channel.
     "Well then," Telvin said, rubbing his hands together.  "I guess that
settles that."
     Larkin arched an eyebrow.  "Indeed."  She stood and headed
for the door.  "Thank you for your assistance, Counselor."
     "Any time!" Telvin called after her.
     

     Conway sat in his easy chair, flipping through one of his Tom
Clancy books.  "Russia isn't Fooling Anyone, Volume Six," he said to
himself.  "God, I hope this is less wordy than Volume Five."  He opened it
up and read page one.  "Hmm.  So much for that."  He slammed the book
closed and tossed it on his coffeetable.  The inertia of the huge book
carried it off the coffeetable and sent it thumping heavily down onto the
floor, right next to Conway's sleeping Welsh corgi, Bucky.
     Bucky yipped and darted away from the book, scurrying across the
floor and over to Conway.
     "Want the lap, buddy?" Conway asked.  "Who can blame you.  I'm
a cool guy."  He picked Bucky up and put him in his lap, stroking the
corgi's silky, reddish-brown fur.  "If only women were so uncomplicated."
     BLEEEP!
     Conway glanced at the door to his quarters.  "Who is it?"
     "Counselor Ryn."
     Conway smiled.  Jackpot.  "C'mon in, Counselor."
     The doors opened an Ryn sauntered in, wearing a purple jumpsuit
that accentuated every curve of her perfect body.  Blonde curls spilled
about her shoulders and, as if it were a rehearsed move, she slowly lifted
her hand up and tossed a mound of curls back off her shoulder.  
     She smiled at Conway.  "May I sit?"
     Conway pitched a pile of padds off his couch, Bucky still in his
arms.  He fell down onto the couch and patted the seat beside him.
     Ryn slinked down beside Conway, making him very glad he had a
dog covering his lap.
     "Captain," she said softly, reaching over to pet Bucky's head. 
Conway'd never felt the dog's foot thump so furiously.
     "Yes?" Conway said distantly.
     "We should talk."
     "Isn't that what you're doing?"
     Ryn inched closer.  "I mean...really talk."
     Conway shifted Bucky on his lap.  "I'm listening."
     "What's wrong, Captain?" Ryn asked.  "Really.  What's wrong?"
     "I don't know what you're talking about."
     "Sure you do.  Look at your quarters..." She glanced around. 
"Clothes on the floor.  Unkempt.  A book lying on the floor.  A mess of
coffee beans splayed out on the dining room table.  Chaos."
     "It's not...that bad."
     "Yes it is," Ryn said quickly.  "And, as Assistant Ship's Counselor,
I want to know why."
     "Really, I'm fine."
     "Your not."
     "I'm not."
     "So you admit it?"
     "No!" Conway said quickly, pushing Bucky off him and standing. 
"Stop analyzing me!"
     "But I think we're about to get somewhere here!  Somewhere
important!"  Ryn stood too, prompting Bucky to trot up to her and rub
against her leg.  "You're hurting.  And it's leading you to make irrational
decisions.  Dangerous moves that put this whole ship at risk.  I want to
know why!"
     "I just want to be successful!" Conway snapped.  "Is that so
wrong?"
     "It is when you risk your ship and crew to do it," Ryn said.  "And
isn't that what you're doing?"
     "We've weathered every conflict over the last month.  And why? 
Good leadership."  Conway ticked off the items on his fingers.  "I settled a
war on Galvan Three just two weeks ago.  I've prevented numerous Gorn
incursions on Federation space!  I stopped a plot to assassinate the Klingon
Chancellor last Tuesday!"
     "And yet still, you're unfulfilled."
     "Am not."
     Ryn smiled cattily.  "Are too."
     "Get out!" Conway shouted.
     "You know I'm right," Ryn said, backing toward the door.  "And
the sooner you admit that to yourself, the better off we'll all be."
     "You don't know what you're talking about," Conway said.  "This
is my moment, damn it, and I'm not letting anyone take it away from me."
     "Of course you won't," Ryn said, and stepped out of Conway's
cabin.
     Conway called after her as the doors closed.  "God damn it, I've
earned my accolades, and  I'm going to enjoy them!"
     And then he was alone.





                  CHAPTER FIVE







Captain's Log,
     Stardate 56913.3.  The Aerostar, exhausted of both weapons
supplies and fuel after an eventful seven weeks, has put in at Starbase Zero
Zero One, at Earth.  And, I'm told, I'm being asked to debrief at Starfleet. 
Hey, what can I say?  When you're successful, people want to see the
product first hand.  I can understand that.

     Captain Conway sat at the other end of the conference table in one
of the Starbase's many conference rooms.  He leaned back, his feet on the
table and hands behind his head. "This going to be long?  I've got a busy
schedule, you know..."
     "Put yer feet down," Admiral Harlan Baxter said, stepping into the
room, a large padd tucked under the crook of his arm.  "Got some
questions for ya."
     Conway slowly put his feet down and stared across the long table at
Harlan as he sat down.  Another man, whom Conway did not recognize,
bearing the pips of a Vice Admiral, followed Harlan in and sat down next
to him.
     "What's this all about?"
     "Admiral Sontag and I just have some questions for ya."
     "Sontag?" Conway asked, looking at the middle-aged, dark-skinned,
balding man with narrowed eyes.  "And who is he, may I ask?"
     "Internal Affairs."
     "Ah.  Your old job.  You guys must be old friends, then."
     "No," Sontag said flatly.
     Conway nodded, then tugged on his collar a bit.  Why did the room
suddenly feel a bit...warm?
     "We've some items to discuss with you that are of concern,"
Sontag said, reaching for the padd Harlan had laid down on the table. 
"Particularly, your engagement with the Borg sphere and the Breen
Armada at Castrani Seven."
     Conway grinned.  "Whew.  Those were good ones."
     "Yes," Sontag said.  "Quite good.  You destroyed the Borg sphere
in less than ten minutes, with minimal damage to your own ship."
     He cracked his knuckles, staring at his hands as he did so.  "We
sure know how to build 'em, huh?"
     "Yes," Sontag said.  "Be that as it may..."  He looked at Baxter.
     "It smells fishy, boy," Harlan said, and reached into his vest to
withdraw a cigar.  He produced a ligher (where from, who knew) and
sparked it up.  He took a few puffs.  "Damn fishy."
     "Is it so wrong to be a good captain?"
     "Yer not a good Captain!" Harlan belted out, leaning across the
table.
     Sontag touched his arm.  "I believe what Admiral Baxter is saying,
is that your record predating the Borg encounter would seem to
counterindicate such a quick succession of tactical achievements."
     "Fishy," Harlan repeated.
     "What do you want from me?" Conway said.  "I do poorly, and you
want explanations.  I do well, and you want explanations.  Is there no
pleasing you people?"
     "No," Harlan snapped.
     "Look," Conway said.  "I've done more to protect the Federation in
the past month and a half than the whole Seventh Fleet.  If you're going to
take up my time, at least give me a medal while you're doing it."
     "We suspect that you could not have achieved this level of success
in such a short time without some kind of insider information," Sontag
said.  "In brief, we think you are relying on outside help to garner your
victories."
     "And so many diverse targets," Harlan said, pointing at Conway
with his cigar.
     "Yes," Sontag said.  "That would seem to negate the idea you are
working with the enemy.  Since you have fought and won against a variety
of enemies."
     "It's better to be lucky than good, Admirals," Conway said with an
easy smile.
     "Cheaters never prosper," Harlan countered.
     "I'm not cheating," Conway said, and leaned back again.  "And
even if I was, you'd never be able to prove it."
     "That's why I am here," Sontag said.
     Suddenly, the comm system in the room bleeped.
     "Monroe to Admiral Baxter."
     Harlan kept his eyes on Conway.  "Yeah."
     "You wanted to be informed as soon as the Explorer pulled into
dock.  Well.  She's here."
     "I'll be damned.  She's early!" Harlan said, shooting out of his
seat.  "Wasn't expecting her till tomorrow."
     "Be that as it may," Sontag said, glancing up at Harlan.  "We still
have something of a..."
     "Later.  Bigger fish to fry," Harlan said, and swaggered out of the
room, still glancing at Conway.
     "This is not over," Sontag said smoothly to Conway, as he stood. 
"Know that Internal Affairs will be watching you."
     "I'll try to find a way to sleep at night," Conway muttered, and
headed out of the room.  He jogged down the corridor, heading toward the
docking bay.


     Nearly out of breath, Conway skidded to a stop at the massive
viewport in one of the station's Recreation Lounges that lined the inner
ring of the gargantuan station's docking bay.
     Harlan was beside him, cigar smouldering in his hand as he stared
at the opening bay doors.
     Conway watched, breathless, as the grey