Star Traks, Waystation, and a fractured candleholder belong to Alan Decker. The Explorer, her fated crew, and all the mistakes and uncomfortable situations that come about because of her are gladly owned by Anthony Butler, Copyright 1998. Paramount owns everything else, including my eternal soul. 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 W O R L D S A P A R T A-PART TWO 0 0 \__/ By Anthony Butler :) CHAPTER SEVEN EARTH "Excuse me," a voice said from behind Mirk and Hartley. "Put on a happy face," Mirk whispered under his breath, and turned to face the source of the voice. The man wore a shiny bright canary outfit, and had a dangerous-looking cattle-prod-like device strapped to his hip. "Yes?" Mirk asked happily. "I don't recognize those clothes," the man said, looking at Hartley's Starfleet uniform. "And what race are you?" Mirk smiled proudly. "I am a Maloxian. I'm from...uh...the Malox system." "I've never heard of that system." "It's a very small system," Hartley said. "Very small," Mirk agreed. "And her?" Mirk looked at Hartley then back at the man. "Uh...garbage person?" "She's a pretty good lookin' garbage person," the man whistled. "That's what I've been trying to tell her," Mirk said, elbowing Hartley. "Isn't that right, hon?" Hartley elbowed Mirk back a little harder, smiling wide. "That's right, hon." "Well, you guys take care, and make sure to stay happy," the man said, trotting off along a path back into the woods. Hartley and Mirk kept on smiling until the man disappeared. "What was that all about?" Hartley asked, her smile fading quickly. "I think that was some kind of cop," Mirk replied, seeming vexed at the notion. "But what kind of cop wears yellow shiny pants?" Hartley said. "That just isn't normal!" "Well, it fits in with the rest of this damn universe. Now let's get into town and see if we can find some clothes that are a little less conspicuous." "I think more conspicuous is a better idea, considering the universe we're in." "Good point." "We have reached a safe distance, sir," Data reported, as Picard looked up at the stardrive section of the Enterprise on the viewscreen. The saucer section had angled away on thrusters as soon as the separation sequence had completed, in case the data cascade sent over by the Explorer had caused any harm to Enterprise's warp engines. "Picard to Woofie. Is there any sign of trouble in Engineering?" Picard turned to Data when there was no response. Data cocked his head quizzically. "It appears that the Explorer's cascade has disrupted our communications ability. Impulse engines have been rendered useless as well." "Fiddlesticks," Picard cursed. "Captain..." Data said. "Someone has just broken into the happyness lab." "Who? What's going on?" Data shook his head. "Sensors are severely limited. I cannot tell..." Suddenly the bridge was washed with light as the stardrive section exploded in a brilliant eruption of color. Picard withdrew his sword in a blindingly fast movement and thrust it up against Chrissie's throat. "I thought you said that was a trick!" "I thought...that is, I--" Before Chrissie could finish his stuttering, a phaser blast streaked across the bridge and connected with Mr. Data, sending him flying forward into his panel, a shower of sparks erupting from his back. Ducking a blast from one of the security officers near the aft stations, Manservant Jaroch whirled around and shot both security officers and the science officer that was stationed at the rear of the bridge as well. "What is the meaning of this?" Picard asked, swinging his sword around to face Jaroch. "The madness must end here," Jaroch said, leveling his phaser at Picard. "Jaroch, I never knew you cared," Dillon said wryly. "I don't. I still hate you, Dillon. It is Mistress Beck who I could never betray. When you are indentured to someone, it creates a bond that cannot be broken. That is something you'd never understand." "Nor would I want to," Dillon spat out. "Riker, baby! Take out Mr. Jaroch before it's too late!" Picard said, looking down the nose of Jaroch's phaser uneasily. "Ooog?" Riker asked, scratching his head. "RIKER!" Picard cried. "Baby, I need you!" "Grunch. Grunch Grunch Grunch," Riker said, seeming quite pleased with himself. "He's not going to help you," Jaroch said. "He is a loyal citizen of the Empire, even if you aren't. Now Binkyboo, go untie our friends." Picard's face was lined with hurt as he watched Riker dutifully untie Dillon, Lisa-love, Kelly-bell, and the others. "Binkyboo, how could you do this to me?" Picard asked. Dillon tossed his bonds aside and walked up to Picard, wrenching the sword out of his limp hands. It appeared that all the beans had gone right out of the good Captain. "You've caused me a lot of trouble, you bald twit!" Dillon shrieked. "And you'll pay for it. By the smileyface, you will SUFFER!" And with that, Dillon removed his white suede gloves and bitch-slapped Picard hard across the face. "Oh, the humanity," Picard said softly, dropping limply to the floor. "I can't take any more." "If anyone cares," Kelly-bell said, looking worriedly at the viewscreen. "The Explorer is getting away!" "We have to get off this dead ship," Dillon said briskly, looking back at Chrissie. "There should be a runabout available in the shuttlebay, your Happyness," Chrissie replied. "I'm rerouting power to turbolifts now." Dillon frowned down at Picard and put his gloves back on. "Very well. Prepare the runabout and then destroy all the other shuttlecraft and launch all escape pods. "What are you planning to do, you evil, evil man?" Picard asked, tears streaming down his eyes. "Come now, Picard!" Dillon said with a happy squeak. "It's about time someone else did the blowing. Up that is!" The Happymaster snickered to himself and turned away from Picard, moving briskly toward the turbolift, his cape fluttering behind him. "Quickly, now! We haven't much time to lose! If I know Rebecca Singer, she's only got one thing on her mind!" "You want us to topple the Federation of Fun?" Richards said in disbelief as he paced the battle bridge. "And just how do you expect us to do that?" "Leave that up to Fresca and me," Singer said, turning in the command chair to face the viewscreen. "We have an opportunity now to dethrone the Emperor once and for all." "What about Lieutenant Hartley and Mr. Mirk?" Browning asked. "They're trapped somewhere in this blasted universe." "I managed to track down Hartley's comm badge signal on longrange," Ensign Stuart reported from tactical. "Don't ask me how she got there, but she's on Earth." "And I'll bet anything Mirk is with her," Richards mumbled. "I guess we'll have to go along with your plan, Major Singer, as ludicrous as it sounds. We have to get Mirk and Hartley back." "It isn't necessarily ludicrous," Fresca said. "The Explorer has some defensive systems the Federation of Fun may not have developed yet. We should be able to get past Earth's defenses with a minimum of fuss." "I don't know," Richards said. "It still sounds risky. You're talking about taking down an entire empire." "It only takes one phaserblast to end that empire, Richards," Singer said, standing up and clapping a hand on Richards's shoulder. "And I'm going to be the one doing the firing." "Do I have any say in this?" Bradley Dillon asked from a corner of the bridge where he and Lana sat, plaintively watching the exchange. "No," Richards and Singer said at the same time. "Well, damn, we're back where we started," Peterman sighed, looking around the twirling expanse of the Bermuda Expanse Rift. "I don't know about you, J'hana, but I'm getting pretty darned tired of--J'hana?" An eyeball popped into existence in front of Peterman so suddenly she jerked back. "What kind of expertise? You mean counseling?" The eyeball brightened. "I see." Peterman thought about that a moment. "Am I getting paid for this?" J'hana materialized inside a gigantic white room, almost the size of a football field. She was thankful to be back in her original Andorian body, but confused as hell as to where she was. "Counselor? Eyeball?" J'hana asked, looking around. All she could find was a huge pile of marbles that appeared to take up the entire room. "Is anyone here or am I expected to wait here until I go completely insane?" Suddenly a man in a loud sequined suit appeared in front of J'hana and shook her hand vigorously. "George Sherbert, agent extroardinaire at your service! Nice to meet ya!" "Who?" J'hana asked, as the man led her towards the pile of marbles. "That's not important, my dear. I'm just a concerned friend of the Directors. They're in what we like to call a 'session' now, so I said I'd show you the ropes and get you started on the..." George made air quotes with his fingers, "'project.'" "Joy." "I knew you'd be excited, it's really a very exciting project from what I hear," George said, looking at his clipboard and examining it a moment. "Says here these marbles are a corporeal representation of the Directors' conciousness--don't you hate legalease?--anyway, you're supposed to separate the sane ones from the nutty ones." J'hana stared at the pile in horror. "And, pray tell, how am I supposed to tell them apart?" "Good question," George said, scratching his head. "Let's see here...says you have to look at each one and decide that for yourself." "Are you sure this isn't just busy work?" "You think they'd be paying me sixty percent over scale for busy work? Come on, babe! Listen, I'll be in the other room if you need me, and there's a pot of coffee brewing over there. Good luck!" "But--" J'hana said, as the man moved off toward a door on the opposite end of the large room. "Oh," George said, turning. "I almost forgot. You better work quick. The Directors said that if you didn't get the marbles straightened out quickly, the whole subspace fabric might rip apart." "And I suppose that's bad?" "Roger that, sweety! I'll see ya later!" J'hana grunted with dissatisfaction and stared up at the pile. "If I would have known I'd be doing this before I signed up for Starfleet, I'd have gone into my fourth father's cattle-rustling business instead." The Andorian sighed and climbed to the top of the pile, picking up a marble and inspecting it. "Let's see here. Insane or Sane?" Upon closer inspection, the ball reflected a tiny image of J'hana being stabbed over and over again with a ritual knife. "Hmmm." She thought for a long while and finally tossed the marble over her shoulder decisively. "Definitely insane. This will be easier than I thought." "I feel like a moron," Lt. Hartley said under her breath, as she and Mirk made their way through the streets of San Francisco. Mirk was sporting flowery bell-bottom pants and a shiny yellow jacket, and Hartley was decked out in a bright, ornate, vinyl jumpsuit that swirled with funky rainbow colors. The heels on the boots she wore were several inches too high, which was evidenced by the awkward way she tried to move through the streets. "When on Garibid, do like the Garibid do," Mirk explained. "Pardon?" "It's just an expression." "Right," Hartley said, looking around. "So what do we do from here?" "You tell me. You're the brilliant Starfleet officer. Doesn't your training cover stuff like this?" "I never read about anything even close to this at the academy. You've got me." "Well, then. Back to square one, I suppose." "Maybe we should start by asking ourselves why you transported us here of all places." Mirk thought about that as he looked around at all the sickeningly happy people around. "Beats me. It just kind of...happened." "There has to be a logic to it. What's here in San Francisco?" "Freaks?" "I mean besides the freaks." "Again, this is your planet, Megan." "Yeah, but I grew up on Beta Myrimad. I don't know that much about San Francisco or Earth for that matter. I mean, Starfleet Academy is here. And Starfleet Command. And a lot of nice coffee pla--wait a minute..." Mirk and Hartley looked at one another. "Starfleet Command!" they both said at once. "So do you think San Francisco is still the base of operations for this government?" Mirk asked. "At least it's worth trying. Hail us a trolley and we'll see what we can find." "Hail a what?" Hartley moved out into the street and stuck her hand up in the air. "Never mind." "Listen carefully, mister, no one calls my nephew spanky!" Admiral McGrath said angrily from the viewscreen in Ops. "Is that clear?" Behind Conway, Robby stuck his tongue out. "Yes, sir. I'll give Gellar a slap on the wrist. Now that we have the 'imporant' business out of the way, how about this little matter about the rift and the entire f***ing quadrant?" "You'd better change you tone quick, Commander!" McGrath ordered. "I'm not accustomed to being addressed that way." "I'm sorry, Admiral. Let me rephrase that. What about the rift and the entire f***ing quadrant?" "We'll reach Waystation tomorrow morning, and the Venture and the Dartmouth should be through the ionic storm by tomorrow afternoon." "You're coming...personally?" Conway asked uneasily. "With my nephew at stake, darned right I am. I'm coming with the Starship Pulitzer." "Pulitzer," Conway said thoughtfully. "I think I've heard of it." "You should have," the voice of Dr. Alexa Lanham, Conway's ex-wife said, as she elbowed Admiral McGrath out of the picture. "It's the science vessel I was assigned to. They've made me honorary first officer now! And I get to figure out the problem with that darned rift you've got there. See you soon!" "Are you trying to torture me, Admiral?" Conway asked meekly. "No, but if that's the case, so much the better! McGrath out." Conway looked back at his staff and the Waystation crewmembers as McGrath and Lanham blinked off the viewscreen. "The first person that says anything gets Court Martialed!" "Happymaster Dillon has instructed me to inform you that Captain Picard has attempted a coup, but it has been stopped thanks to the interference of beings from an alternate universe. Request a meeting to confer." Emperor Webber studied the image of the Bajoran officer with interest as she rapped her fingernails against her massive throne. "By all means, let's confer. Tell my sweet Dillon-baby that we'll confer until the cows come home!" Webber pressed a button on her throne. "This is Emperor Webber to the perimiter guard. Let that ship through!" "Thank you very much, your Happyness," the Bajoran said. "We'll be in touch in**BLEEP***" "Hold on just a mo, dear," Webber said. "Call waiting." She pressed another button on her throne and the image changed to that of Happymaster Dillon aboard a runabout. "Dillon-baby?" Webber asked in confusion. "No time to explain! Do not let Explorer through! It's a trap!" "Darn it all to heck, Dillon-baby, what have you gotten into now!" "I'll explain when I get there! Just stop the Explorer!" "We have a ship named Explorer?" "Just stop that ship, Emperor!" "Travvy, honey, I have one of those Explorer people on the other line. Should I switch over and see if she can help clear this mess up?" "NO! Just stop them, at any cost!" "Now why are you being so forceful with me? Last time we talked you were being so nice, and now this," Webber began to cry. The layers of mascara around her eyes began to drip down her white, powder-caked face. On the viewscreen, Dillon seemed to notice something on the monitor next to him. "Damn it, Emperor, they've already started beaming down there! Activate the intruder alert and wait for me! I'll be along as soon as I can." "Oh, Dillon-baby, I'm so scared!" Dillon just sighed and closed the channel. Webber activated the intruder alert and curled her legs underneath her, stabbing the comm button with a trembling finger. "Oh, guards, come and help me! The rebels are coming and I'm terrified!" "Interceptor ships coming in on several attack vectors," Stuart reported from tactical. "They're no match for us." "Take them out, Ryan," Richards said from the command chair. "And get our shields back up. It's up to Singer's team now." "I don't like the looks of this," Lana said worriedly from behind Richards. "We're only one ship. How can we expect to topple an entire Empire?" "The Explorer has held up under worse than this," Richards said. "Stuart, what's the status on that runabout?" "Out of firing range, sir. They've entered Earth's atmosphere and are attempting a landing." "Damn. Dillon's going to get through after all. What about the Enterprise saucer?" "Right where we left it, though it appears to be building up to a self-destruct." "Wish I could say I felt sorry for them," Richards muttered. "Sir, I'd start feeling sorry for us right now," Stuart said worriedly. "Three starships just entered the area and are on an intercept course directly for us." "Damn," Richards cursed. "Janice, take the helm. Get us out of orbit. Stuart, increase power to shields and weapons!" Browning blinked at Richards's order. He'd never given her an order before. "Christopher, I'm a doctor, not a helmsman." "Do it, Janice!" Richards barked. "That's an order." "Aye, aye," Browning said wryly, scooting into the pilot's chair. "Don't say I didn't warn you." Captain Picard climbed over the wreckage of the bridge and pulled Commander Data down to the floor with him. "Data, speak to me...please!" "Zrtt...ritibbbbbbbb..." Data said, sparks flying out of his mouth. "Shit, Data, I need you!" Picard flipped open the top of Data's head and began fiddling with the circuitry inside. "You've always been there for me when everyone else wasn't...please don't leave me now! I don't know what I'd do without you!" "Self destruct in thirteen minutes," the computer said sweetly. Picard cursed and continued to manipulate the circuitry inside Data's head. Finally, a few syllables of his gibberish began to make sense. "Zrrrt...I...frrrttt...function...s-s-s-sir..." Picard hugged Data tight as he cradled him in his lap. "That's my boy. I need you to help me stop Happymaster Dillon. I can't get anything around here to work, much less you. I may be pretty, but I'm not very smart, I'm afraid." "I...grrrt...know, sir. I shall endeavor to help you, but first you must...vrrrrrrrt...reactivate my cortical...sbbbbbbbbbbbbb.... subprocessor..." "Right. What's that again?" "Self destruct in eleven minutes." "We m-must st-stop the srrrrf--destruct," Data said. "Excellent suggestion, Mr. Data. Just tell me what I have to do!" Richards stared at the viewscreen woefully as the Explorer threaded its way through the Mars-Earth asteroid belt. "Tactical status," he said uneasily. "Three starships, Excelsior class, right on our tail!" Stuart called out. "And I think they're EXTREMELY happy to see us!" "Damn!" Richards cried. "Try to shake them, honey." Dr. Browning turned away from the helm console for a moment. "Christopher, I'm trying as hard as I can to steer this thing. Starship helming was never in my job description!" Torpedo impacts crashed against the Explorer, causing it to pitch forward toward Earth. "You'll have to start learning, hon," Richards said, as the bridge suddenly rocked severely. "Nine torpedo hits, all direct on our shields. Down to seventy percent!" Stuart called out. "Janice, come about to 011 mark 032," Richards cried. "Ready on quantums and fire at will, Mr. Stuart!" "Aye, sir!" The Explorer barreled towards the three starships, pummeling at them with its quantum torpedoes. After repairing Data's cortical subprocessor, Picard watched as the Android briskly went to work on the guts of one of the computer stations on the bridge. "Data, what are you doing?" Lt. Commander Data's hands moved like lightening. "I am terminating the self destruct." "That's good," Picard said confidently. "I knew you'd get us back on the right track." "That remains to be seen," Data said, as suddenly lights flickered on around the bridge. "Self destruct terminated. Have a great day," the computer chirped. "You did it!" Picard exclaimed, hugging the android tightly. "Great work, Mr. Data. Now, how about getting those engines operative?" "Aye, sir." Captain T'poo of the Federation Funship USS Ruth Buzzy smiled weakly as he listended to the tactical report. He would have frowned, had he a choice, but all Funfleet officers new that was grounds for mutiny. "They destroyed the Piscopo and badly damaged the Radner," the tactical officer, a rather geeky, perpetually grinning Benzite reported brightly. "Our own shields are down to fifty-three percent." "Peachy," the Vulcan said. "What about the Unhappy ship?" "Their shields are down to thirty-two percent, Captain. Just a lil more work and we'll have 'em." "So it would seem," the Vulcan agreed, nodding. "But they're awfully resourceful, these Unhappys. I wouldn't put anything past--" "Sir!" the Benzite called out. "The Enterprise saucer is making a move for Earth!" "Really?" T'Poo asked, arching an eyebrow. "I thought the Happymaster had put them on self destruct." "Obviously something has changed. What should we do?" T'poo shrugged. "Send the Radner after them. Stopping the Explorer is our top priority." "Indeedily doodily, sir." "I have managed to extract a small amount of power from the back-up fusion reactors," Lt. Commander Data explained, typing furiously at his panel as the Enterprise thundered towards Earth. "It will not be a comfortable ride, due to the cascade's effect on our inertial dampers, but we will be able to land nonetheless." "Very good," Picard said, leaning against the helm console and putting a hand on Data's shoulder. "We may stop Webber yet, you know." "Stranger things have happened, Captain." Suddenly, Data's panel bleeped. "Sir, one of the ships that was doing battle with the Explorer has broken off and come after us." "Can you evade it?" Picard asked, growing worried. "I do not believe so. We barely have the power to make it to Earth as it is." "We must make it there, Data!" Picard said. "Do we have any weapons to work with?" "Negative." Data thought a moment. "However, I may be able to offer an alternative." Picard smiled. "I knew you would. I'm all ears, friend." "The Funship will undoubtedly lock a tractor beam onto us. All we have to do is send a disruptive pulse along the beam. Since my sensors indicate that the Funship is already badly damaged, I believe the pulse will be significant to stop them." "Ooh, that sounds absolutely naughty. Make it so!" On the small screen on Data's panel, Picard watched the Excelsior-class Funship Radner come toward them. Meanwhile, they were steadily nearing Earth's outer atmosphere. As Data predicted, a blue beam lanced out and connected with the Enterprise saucer, causing the hull to tremble ever so slightly with strain. "Initiate the pulse, Mr. Data!" Picard commanded. "Aye, sir," Data said, watching as green electricity crackled back along the tractor beam, spreading along the hull of the Radner. With a hideous explosion, one of the Radner's warp nacelle's blew off, causing the vessel to pitch foward, smashing directly into the saucer. "Oh dear," Data said, as the saucer rumbled around them. "I must have miscalculated the amount of damage done to the Radner." Picard gripped Data tight as the saucer streaked down toward Earth. "Stop us, Data! We're going to crash!" "I am aware of that," Data said. "However, I see no alternative at present. We have barely enough power to push away from the Radner so that she does not pull us down with her." Picard felt the saucer buck underneath him as the Radner streaked by on Data's tiny screen, trailing fire behind her. "At least try to put us down near San Francisco," Picard ordered. "If we survive the landing we still have an opportunity to destroy that bitch Webber. And get a half-caf latte while we're at it." Data considered this. "I believe the odds of our failure are increasing exponentially, sir." "Protect the Emperor!" the leader of the Royal guard cried, as he and his swarm of Happytroops moved into the throneroom. "Oh, thank you all for coming on such short notice," Webber said happily, placing her arms around the two nearest soldiers as they made a circle around her. "I hate to get you all so...shaken up, but I heard there were people attacking here...and I got so terribly scared." "It's okay, Emperor. We're here now." "You don't know how much better I feel," Webber smiled. "Let me by, you imbeciles!" Happymaster Dillon cried, his cape fluttering behind him as he pushed through the mass of troops and entered the room, with Mistress Beck, Manservant Jaroch, and Captain Riker on his heels. "Oh, darling, you're finally here!" Webber cried, pushing away from the leader of the guard and running to embrace Dillon. "Yes, Emperor, I'm here. But hold off on the pleasantries. We have an empire to save." :) CHAPTER EIGHT "Yes, Emperor, I'm here. But hold off on the pleasantries. We have an empire to save." "Oh, you smug f***er, will I be happy to wipe that smile off your face," Singer said quietly, watching Dillon through binoculars from the window on the palace's lofty rooftop and pulling the reciever from her sound enhancing device out of her ear. "So do we get to kill them now?" Fresca asked excitedly. "Not just yet, Fresca. We have to wait till they let their guards down." "There they are!" Tilly cried, clambering onto the roof and running for Singer and Fresca's position. "I knew you were trouble from the beginning, Fresca! You should never have come here after betraying us!" "Get moving, Singer!" Fresca cried. "I'll take care of the Betazoid!" Tilly fired a phaser at Fresca and barely missed. "You're no match for my powers, weakling!" "Maybe that was true before we were integrated with Maloxian DNA, but now it's a level playing field, you telepathic bitch!" Fresca said, ducking a punch and throwing Tilly over her shoulder. Tilly pulled herself up, concentrated on Fresca, and squeezed her eyes shut. Fresca just laughed and bowed her head in Tilly's direction. The Betazoid reeled backward as if she'd been hit by a huge explosion. "Did you find them, Til--" Chrissie said, climbing up onto the roof. Before he knew what hit him, Tilly slammed into him and both of them fell to the ground. "Come on!" Singer cried from the maintenance hatch in the roof. "Let's make ourselves scarce!" "And to your right is the Imperial Palace," Sally the tourguide said, leading Mirk, Hartley, and the rest of the tour group around to the front of a huge, sprawling building. "This is where Starfleet Command should be, judging by where the bridge and some other landmarks are in relation to it," Hartley whispered. "Emperor Webber made many alterations when she took the throne three years ago," Sally continued as the group moved toward the palace. "She completely changed the government and enacted many interesting laws that keep us safe and happy today." "I hate this universe," Mirk said under his breath. "We're very lucky to get a glimpse into this glamorous world," Sally said, leading the group thorough the massive front doors and into the lobby. "And if you look to your left you'll--" just then a security guard in a "Nutcracker Prince" outfit stepped forward and whispered something in Sally's ear. The tourguide smiled. "Fantastic. Folks, it seems like there are some little...eventualities going on today, so we're going to be asked to stay well away from the Emperor's suite and any other secured areas. But don't you worry, that still leaves some amazing places to explore. We're going to start with the Royal shoe-shine room, located to the left and down the East wing..." "Wonder if those 'eventualities' have anything to do with our friends..." Mirk whispered. "I wouldn't put it past them," Hartley replied. THE FEDERATION FUNCAMP FOR THE TERMINALLY UNHAPPY OUTSIDE SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA "Afternoon, Earl," Inmate 0200 said, pulling up a chair and looking up at the beautiful blue sky. "Nice day, huh?" "Yeah, Carol, I guess it is," Inmate 0210 replied. "Reminds me of back home." "Does it make you happy?" Carol sighed. "Not really. Guess we're still stuck here, huh?" "Yeah. Unless we...you know, lied. Pretended we were happy. D'ya think we could do that, Carol?" "Trust me, Earl. It's just not worth it." "Yeah, you're right." After several moments of silence, a low rumbling sound approached Earl and Carol. "Do you hear something, Earl?" "Yeah. Like thunder or something." "That can't be it. There's not a cloud in the sky." Suddenly, a large grey, metal disk swooped out of the sky and whizzed over the Funcamp compound. "You see that, Earl?" "Wait a sec..." The PA system crackled to life. "Attention all Funcamp participants: What you have just seen flying over your heads is not a crashing Funfleet vessel. Please return to your Twister and Scrabble games and remain docile. Anyone attempting to be unhappy or stimulate original thought will be forced to submit to Conflict Resolution Therapy. Thank you." "Guess I didn't see anything," Earl said. "Yeah. Me neither. Nice day, huh?" "So what's through there?" Mirk asked, looking down the long hallway that was adjacent to the Emperor's "Rubber- walled Playpen" room. "Those are the Emperor's chambers, but we won't be able to see them today," Sally the tourguide said sweetly. "But if you follow me this way, you'll get to see the Emperor's tapioca swimming pool!" "Yay," Hartley said unenthusiastically. "You go ahead, Mirk. I've got to use the ladies' room." "Okey doke," Mirk said, pulling out his imager and taking a picture of the Rubber-walled Playpen room. "Get off me!" Tilly cried, as the med-tech attempted to run a tissue regenerator over her bruises. "So they're loose on the compound?" Happymaster Dillon said angrily, pacing back and forth in Webber's throneroom. "Great. Just great." "You should have seen what Fresca did to her, Happymaster! She just looked at her and used kinetic powers to throw her halfway across the roof!" Chrissie said. "Don't you all have powers of your own?" Webber asked impatiently from her throne. "Mine were increased, but evidently not enough," Tilly said, rubbing her forehead painfully. "What about you?" Webber asked. "Perfect beard-growing capabilities," Chrissie said proudly. "Great!" Dillon said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "And I suppose you acquired perfect hair- combing capabilities, Peterman?" Kelly-bell drew her legs up as she sat on the steps that led up to Webber's throne. "I didn't get jack squat, how's that for fair?" "At least your brain wasn't scrambled like poor Riker's," Webber said reasonably. "Speaking of which, where is he?" Dillon asked. "Jaroch's walking him around the compound, last I heard," Chrissie replied. "Take two of the guards and go find them. I don't trust either of them to be frolicking around the palace grounds at a time like this," Dillon said sternly. "Aye, sir," Chrissie replied, pointing to two guards and moving off. Dillon turned to Mistress Beck. "Lisa-love, what news do you have on the crashing saucer section?" Lisa-love shrugged. "The Federation FunCamp near here sighted it going down about fourteen kilometers to the east. I dispatched our security forces. Whoever survives the crash won't survive for long." "Good," Dillon said viciously. "Just tell the squad leader not to kill Picard. I want him for myself." Lisa-love bowed. "Whatever you say, Happymaster." "I don't know about any of you, but I really have to pee," Kelly-bell said, pushing off the stairs and heading out toward the door. "Don't hurry back," Mistress Beck grumbled. Kelly-bell looked back at Lisa-love and sneered. "You're just mad because I can satisfy him and you can't." "Satisfy who?" Webber asked. "Don't worry about it, darling," Dillon said with a smile. "'Don't hurry back,'" Kelly-bell said angrily into the mirror in the Executive bathroom. She frowned in the mirror in an attempt to mimick Mistress Beck. "Hi, I'm Mistress Beck, I'm a twisted sex-starved freak!" Kelly-bell continued to grumble as she pushed into a stall and began to do her business. "Pardon me," a voice said from the stall next to Kelly-bell. "There's no toilet paper in my stall. Do you have any?" "Sorry. I don't have a square to spare," Kelly-bell said defiantly, pulling genrously from the roll beside her. "Isn't that always the way. You know, this day has just gone downhill since I woke up." Kelly-bell looked up and listened carefully to the voice. Something about it was very familiar. "I know what you mean," Kelly-bell replied slowly. "So what are you doing here at the palace?" "Just taking the grand tour. You?" "Oh, a little of this and a little of that." "Mmm hmm," Hartley said with a flush of the toilet. Kelly-bell likewise flushed and peeked out of her stall. "You know...your voice sounds very familiar. Are you sure we haven't met before?" Hartley turned around. "Not that I know--oh, f***!" Kelly-bell laughed with a fierceness that echoed throughout the ceramic walls of the bathroom. "You don't know how long I've been waiting for this you little shit. I don't know how you got here, but I know how you're leaving! In a body bag!" The Counselor lept toward Hartley, who grabbed her by the back of her uniform and smashed her into the mirror. Kelly-bell kicked Hartley away, rising to her full hight on top of the sink and leaping catlike down to the floor, right on top of Hartley. Mirk rapped his fingers gingerly on the bathroom door. "Megan? Are you okay in there? We finished the tour of the tapioca pool. You should see it." "I'm a litte busy right now, Mirk!" Hartley cried from within the bathroom. "Jeeze," Mirk said. "You'd think she was fighting for her life in there." "You are the reason everything went sour in the Delta Quadrant!" Kelly-bell cried, slamming Hartley into the stall and shoving her head into the toilet. "If it weren't for you, Riker's head wouldn't have turned to jelly and the whole crew wouldn't have rebelled! I'm going to kill you!" Hartley lifted her head up just in time to see a full roll of toilet paper hanging beside her. "I'll be damned, you had plenty of toliet paper to spare! You liar!" "Sorry!" Kelly-bell cried, dragging Hartley up by her hair and trying to slam her head into the rim around the bowl. But Hartley kicked Kelly-bell in the stomach, knocking her into the stall door. "I hate toilet paper hoarders!" Hartley cried, grabbing the collar of Kelly-bell's uniform and hurling her out the bathroom door. Mirk knocked on the bathroom door again. "Megan, what's the--" Suddenly the door swung open and a body slammed into Mirk, knocking him to the ground. Kelly-bell scrambled to her feet, just in time to notice who she'd knocked into. "Mirk? But I saw you die! You died, dammit!" "Not in this universe, lady!" Mirk said, concentrating his powers on Kelly-bell and levitating her off the ground. Kelly-bell's limbs flailed in all directions. "Help me, for Happyness' sake! Get me down from here!" "Let me at her, Mirk!" Hartley cried, jumping and reaching for Kelly-bell as Mirk levitated her. "Goodness, you're worked up," Mirk said. "What's the problem?" "She hoarded her toilet paper!" Hartley said indignantly. Suddenly Dillon and the palace guards appeared, moving quickly down the hallway toward Mirk and Hartley. "Put her down!" Dillon cried. "I'll put her down, all right," Mirk said, nodding in Dillon's direction, sending Kelly-bell flying into him. "Help me!" Kelly-bell cried, as she soared through the air into Dillon. "Not now, honey," Dillon said, pushing Kelly-bell aside and marching toward Mirk. "You're an impudent little troll, aren't you?" "And that goatee looks awful," Mirk countered. "Get behind me, Megan." "Sure you can be brave when you have powers to back you up," Hartley scoffed, as Mirk looked Dillon up and down. "So are you in charge here?" Mirk asked. "I might as well be. Now will you two be nice enough to come with--" "'Fraid not," Mirk said, forming a ball of energy in front of him and firing it at Dillon. Dillon laughed and caught the ball in his hand. "Cute. Can you make a quarter appear behind my ear, too?" "I don't get it," Mirk said, starting to panic. "You're no match for me, little one," Dillon said, laughing fiendishly and tossing the ball of energy back at Mirk and Hartley. "You're no match for him, little one," Hartley repeated, zombielike, as she stumbled back to her feet. "Did I just say that?" "Now that's a neat trick," Mirk said, winding up his arm like a baseball pitcher. "Try this one on for size, buster!" From seemingly out of nowhere, Mirk formed a huge net in front of him, hurling it at Dillon and the guards. Dillon stared the net down as it approached them, causing it to crumble to pieces before reaching him.. "Got any other tricks?" Dillon asked with amusement. "Just one," Mirk replied. "Grab onto me, Megan!" "I swear you enjoy this, Mirk," Hartley cried, grabbing Mirk around his waist as he exploded towards the roof in a puff of billowy smoke. "Can you fly too, sir?" a guard asked, as Dillon watched Mirk fly right through the roof and out into the sky beyond. "Sure I can," Dillon said in annoyance. "I just choose not to. Now I want those two found immediately. Get the air patrol after them if you have to!" "Yes, sir." Picard held fast to Mr. Data as the saucer section sailed over the outskirts of San Francisco. "I left my heart in San Franciscoooooo!" Picard howled, cackling madly as the hull rumbled underneath him. "Touchdown in approximately forty-five seconds," Data reported. "I am attempting to use thrusters to level our descent." "Just in case we don't make it, I have to tell you something, my robotic friend." "Sir?" "I love you, Data." "And I you, sir." Picard squeezed his eyes shut when he saw the bottom of the saucer section scrape along the treetops below it. It wouldn't be long now. "Touchdown in ten seconds," Data reported calmly. "Put this baby down, old friend!" Picard cried, as Data tapped the final landing instructions into his panel. With a furious rattle, the Enterprise saucer pounded into the ground, levelling an entire forest in the process. Picard flew forward toward the viewscreen, and would have slammed into it, had Data not grabbed him by the back of his frilly pirate shirt. Everything on the bridge flew forward as the inertial dampers tried desparately to compensate for the tremendous decrease in speed. Picard cried out in fear and ecstasy as the ship thudded to a stop, kilometers outside downtown San Francisco. Outside the shattered skylight above Picard, the sun was just starting to go down. He stared up at a flock of gulls that soared over him, dropping a generous amount of feces right through the skylight and onto his command chair. Picard had to face facts. This was the end of an era. "Come on, Data," Picard said, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. "We have a lot of work to do. Start rounding up the troops." Briefly wondering if it was thunder that he heard in the distance, Jaroch waited impatiently for Riker to do his business. "Come on, Riker, do your business already." Riker climbed the monstrous statue of Emperor Webber that stood in front of the palace and began getting very familiar with it. "Boobies!" Riker replied happily. "Whatever. Just urinate already." Chrissie Richards and two of the Palace guards approached from behind Jaroch. "Come on, Mr. Jaroch. The Happymaster wants you inside." "I don't answer to the Happymaster," Jaroch barked over his shoulder. The Engineer raised his phaser and poked it into Jaroch's back. "You'll answer to this, won't you?" "You little..." Suddenly there was a loud crash as two figures exploded out of the roof of the palace, hurtling into the umber sky and looping around to hurtle back toward Earth somewhere behind the palace. "What the hell was that?" Chrissie asked. "It appeared to be two people flying out of the palace," Jaroch said plaintively. "We'd better get back into the palace now," Chrisy- watty said urgently. "Come on, both of you!" "Urg!" Riker cried, climbing back down from the statue. "Be careful," Captain Kramer, the leader of the SFFP (San Francisco Fun Patrol) said, as he climbed out of one of the several Funfleet interceptors that had descended on the Earth-bound saucer section. "Captain Picard is reported armed AND unhappy. Let's proceed with all due perkiness." "Okey doke, sir," one of his lieutenants agreed, instructing the squad to bring their phaser rifles to bear as Kramer led them towards the bridge module atop the saucer. "We're going in. Instruct squads four and five to secure the perimeter," Kramer ordered, approaching the small dome of glass above the bridge. He peered in, covering the area with the beacon that was mounted on his rifle. "All clear," he whispered, waving the group in behind him. Kramer slid down through the broken dome, touching his feet down on the soft padding of the center command chair. Suddenly the Captain of the Fun Patrol slid backward, arms pinwheeling. Two of the other patrol members slid in after him, touching down to either side of the command chair, rifles ready. They bathed the bridge in phaser fire, until Kramer finally raised a hand, scrambling to his feet and barking for them to stop. "It's groovy," Kramer said cheerily. "I just slipped in some bird dookie." "Thank goodness," one lieutenant said. "We were worried about you," the other agreed, waving the other members of the patrol inside the bridge. "They may be belowdecks," Kramer said, rubbing his chin. "Scoobie, I want you to get the internal sensors operative. I don't want any spooky surprises. Doodle, I want you to check the computer logs. See if you can figure out what went down around here." "Yes, sir," Scoobie and Doodle said in unison, going about their tasks with zeal. Kramer looked around the darkened bridge, taking in his surroundings with a smile. No worries here. His people were well trained. They would simply find the traitors and apprhend them--killing some, sending the others to the Federation FunCamp. And Picard, of course, would go directly to the Happymaster. This assignment was bound to get Kramer promoted, and he felt giddy at the thought of it. Goodbye San Francisco Fun Patrol, hello, Imperial Guard. A squeak of alarm from Doodle shook Kramer out of his reverie. "Captain!" Doodle called out. "Look at this!" Captain Kramer peered over Doodle's shoulder at the text that scrolled across the readout screen on the main science station. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN BLOWN BEFORE 10...9...8...7...6... "Well, what the holy heck is that supposed to mean?" Doodle asked, scratching his head. By the time Kramer put the pieces together, it was too late. All he could do was curse himself for his ignorance. "Oh, fudge." ...5...4...3...2....1... With a blast that rocked the steadily darkening California countryside, the Enterprise saucer exploded violently, vaporizing everything for blocks. From the safe distance of a nearby hilltop, Picard, Data, Reggie Barclay, Bevvy Crusher, and Gorgeous LaForge watched the saucer tear itself apart. The rest of the surviving Enterprise crew had gathered at the foot of a hilltop, trying to hitch a ride aboard a passing shuttle. "Whoo hoo!" Gorgeous whistled. "That's a hell of a blast." The Captain ignored Gorgeous, weeping openly. "I shall miss that ship." After taking a moment to compose himself, he whirled around, affixing the pirate hat firmly to his head. "Never forget her, friends. Those times will never come around again. Now, let's set about what we have to do. By morning, I swear to you all that the Federation of Fun will be ours!" Later on that evening, Emperor Webber and Happymaster Dillon had returned to their quarters to rest up, after the guards had reported that there was no sign of Mirk, Hartley, or the Enterprise crew. "Are you asleep, Travvy ?" Webber asked quietly. "Not anymore," Dillon sighed. "I'm scared, Travvy . The last report I heard said that the Explorer destroyed one of our ships, and Picard's saucer section destroyed the other before it crashed. What if the rebels succeed in taking us over?" "Not likely, Emperor. We've got everything under control." Webber snuggled closer to Dillon and closed her eyes. "You're right, Snagglepuss. Thanks for making me feel better." "Not a problem." "They're falling asleep..." Fresca whispered down the length of the air shaft, as Singer began hitching up her gear. "Perfect," Singer whispered back. "Do you remember what I told you?" "Sure...just lower you down and let you do the rest." "But make sure you keep hold of me. The sensors in Webber's room can detect even the slightest movement on the floor. If I'm going to take them both out, I need to place the detonator directly between them." "Gotcha. I'm ready any time," Fresca said excitedly. "Okay, let's do it," Singer said, taking a deep breath and checking her cables once more as Fresca removed the ventilation cover over Webber and Dillon's bed. Singer climbed out and held her ropes tight as Fresca lowered her, careful not to brush against Dillon or Webber as she was lowered within inches of the bed. Singer was about to place the detonator when Dillon shifted in his sleep, rolling over noisily and slinging his arm over Webber's face. Seeing that Singer was in trouble, Fresca jerked up on the rope, which caused Singer to swing around like a marionette. The Major looked up at Fresca angrily and gave the signal to be lowered again as Dillon and Webber shifted again in bed. Singer got ready to set the detonator, and had it almost placed on the headboard when the door to Webber's quarters burst open. "Emperor, the Palace is under siege!" Manservant Jaroch reported. He stopped dead when he saw Singer, who simply waved. "Hi. I'm the window washer, and I got really mixed up," Singer explained. "Singer!" Dillon cried, shooting up in bed. "How lovely to see you again!" "Likewise I'm sure!" Singer said, shoving the detonator underneath the covers and jerking her line. "Up, Fresca!" Singer bounded up through the air, but not before Dillon hurled the detonator up into the air duct. "Damn!" Fresca cried from inside the duct. "I'll get it!" "No! Get me up fir--" Schwarts yelled. Before she knew it she was flying back toward the bed, right on top of Webber. "Goodness, Becky, you're looking well," Webber said, sliding out from underneath Singer. Suddenly the detonator flew back down into the bedroom, and Singer was jerked once again back up into the ceiling. "Ta ta!" Singer cried. "Run!" Jaroch ordered, dragging Webber out of the room, with Dillon hot on his heels. Jaroch, Dillon, and Webber lept for safety, just as Webber's bedroom exploded in a cloud of flying debris. "Find them!" Webber cried out. "That was my favorite bedroom set! They won't get out of here alive!" "If I may, your Happyness," Jaroch said, bowing, "we have other problems to attend to." "Which are?" Dillon prodded. "What appears to be the bulk of the Enterprise crew, families and all, are charging the palace!" "Sugar," Webber muttered. Singer and Fresca bounded out onto the roof of the Palace, madly slapping their comm badges. "Explorer! Come in!" Singer called out. Fresca shook her head. "They may not have made it, Major." Before Singer could reply, her comm badge crackled to life. "This...errrrt...is...Explorer," Lt. Commander Richards's voice replied. "We still can't shake that last ship. Can't talk long. We're trying...zzzt...to play hide and go seek around Earth's sun. What do you need?" "We need to be beamed out!" Fresca cried. "The coup didn't work out the way we planned." "It appears that Picard's crew is taking over the palace instead!" Singer added. "What a turn," Richards mumbled. "We'll come around to get you as soon as we can. Meanwhile, try to find Lt. Hartley and Mr. Mirk. I'm transmitting the coordinates from Hartley's comm badge now." "Can't you just call her yourself?" Singer asked, annoyed. "We've been trying. There's no answer, and we can't get close enough for a beamout." Singer sighed. "Very well. Just hurry up. I have a feeling Earth isn't going to be a safe place to hang out for long." Guards surrounded Webber, Jaroch, and Happymaster Dillon, pushing them quickly through the cramped corridor toward Webber's Emergency Eventuality Shelter. It was actually a bomb shelter, but Webber had felt that "bomb" was just too harsh a word. "Okay, what happened?" Dillon barked, bulling through the opening door to the shelter. Webber, Jaroch, and the guards squeezed through after him, while one of the guards slammed a control, causing the shelter's heavy door to grind shut. Mistress Beck turned from her place at the shelter's operations array, grimacing. Kelly-bell, Tilly, Bri-Bri Gellar, Riker, and Chrissie were with her. "Apparently, the Enterprise crew hijacked a caravan of senior citizen tour shuttles and used them to sneak past the Palace perimeter." "What about the seniors?" Webber asked worriedly. Lisa-love shrugged. "Left to their own devices somewhere on the outskirts of town, I guess." Webber clenched her fist angrily. "Those cold hearted bastards. Those old people may freeze to death out there!" Trying to ignore the sounds of explosions and shouting from the palace above, Dillon turned to Webber. "We can't worry about the old people now, darling. We should be more concerned about ourselves." "Not to worry," Tilly said from behind Lisa-love. "This shelter can stand a barrage of half a dozen tri-cobalt devices. Nothing's getting through." "So what do we do?" Webber asked, panicking. "Rule the empire from down here for the rest of our lives?" "Not at all," Lisa-love said, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "We can destroy the palace from down here." "Do it, then!" Dillon ordered. "Before it's too late!" As if to confirm the Happymaster's fears, a heavy thud shook the door at the front of the shelter. "What was that?" Webber asked fearfully. "Trouble," Jaroch said, suppressing a grin. "Frere Dillon!" a muffled voice called out. "We've come for you! Turn the Federation of Fun over to us right now!" "Do your worst, your french tart!" Dillon spat. "You're not getting in here!" "That's what you think," Lisa-love said sweetly. Before Dillon could stop her, the Mistress stabbed a control on the operations panel, causing the heavy door to slide open, admitting Picard and a slew of his troops. "Of all the impudence!" Dillon cried, turning on Lisa-love with anger burning in his eyes. "You'll die for this!" "You're the one who's going to die," Jean-jean Picard said, reaching out for Dillon's throat. "You're not going to kill me," Dillon sneered, focusing the awesome power of his Happy mind trick on Picard. Picard laughed with the abandon of a twelve year old girl on a Ferris wheel. "You can't stop me, Dillon." When the Frenchman's hands slid away, Dillon realized that Picard hadn't wrapped his hands around Dillon's throat to strangle him, but to attach a psi-suppression collar to his neck. "God damn you, Picard!" Dillon cried, stomping his feet with unrestrained fury. "Settle down," Jean-jean replied, bitch slapping Dillon across the face. "There. Now we're even." He turned to Mistress Beck. "Mistress. Why did you help me?" "Because that twit has controlled me for long enough. I am tired of being his lapdog, and I'm tired of watching Webber run this Empire into the ground with her twisted, ludicrous little ways." "Amen to that," Picard said, patting Lisa-love on the shoulder. "I have all new twisted, ludicrous ways to bring into the fold." "I'm sure you do." Nearby, Tilly whispered to Kelly-bell through clenched teeth. "What do we do now? Do you have the faintest idea whose side we're on?" "Well," Kelly-bell sighed, "I hate Mistress Beck, but the vast majority seems to be leaning in her favor. We must turn the way the wind is blowing, Tilly." "I don't like it," Chrissie muttered. "That isn't my concern," Kelly-bell snapped back, turning to Lisa-love. "Mistress, my crew and I are at your service." Lisa-love looked Kelly-bell up and down with skepticism. "I don't trust you, Kelly-bell. And I don't like you. But I need a good Counselor Supreme, if I am to be Happymaster." She turned to Picard. "Does that suit, Emperor Picard?" Picard laughed with girlish glee. "It's absolutely splendid. Now let's get out of this dingy place and begin redecorating the Palace. I'm seeing lots of puse and lime!" "Tie them up and set all the photon charges in the room," Mistress Beck ordered, glaring back at Tilly and Chrissie. "Do as she says," Kelly-bell sighed, following Lisa-love and Picard out of the shelter, with Lt. Bri-Bri at her side. She'd just have to bide her time with Mistress Beck until something better came along. One thing was for sure, she wouldn't be able to use her feminine wiles on Lisa-love as she had done with Dillon. After Tilly had tied Webber and Dillon back-to-back to the operations console with electronic force bonds and Chrissie had set the photon charges, both officers took off quickly for the entrance to the shelter. "It was wonderful serving with you both," Chrissie snapped, sliding the massive isolation door shut with a metallic crank. A tear dribbled down Webber's face. "Oh, Travvy , this is just awful. What will happen to us now?" "I suppose we'll die," Dillon said curtly. "I'm so afraid of death, Travvy . Say something to comfort me. Please!" "Webber, I've listened to your pedantic whining for four years now and I'm about sick of it. Could you at least grant me five minutes of silence before I die?" "So this is all about you," Webber huffed. "Don't I get any say in this?" "For the love of Happyness," Dillon muttered. As the timer on the photon charges counted down, Webber looked at the floor thoughtfully. "I think we made the right choices, Travvy . Don't you? I mean, this whole Federation of Fun thing--it wasn't too rash, was it?" "It was a fine idea," Dillon said patronizingly. "There were just a few kinks in the implementation." Webber sniffed quietly and thought about that. "Well, if we ever get a second chance I'm going to make sure we do it right the next time." "Don't hold your breath," Dillon said. "Now please, let's just die in peace. "Okay Travvy-wavvy . We'll die in peace. You and I, the eternal bringers of joy. The leaders of the Federation of Fun, going out in a tremendous blaze of--" "SHUT UP!" Dillon cried, as the counter reached one. "Jeeze, what's got you so--" BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMM! And the roof of the shelter thundered down on top of Dillon and Webber as the room was consumed in flame. "What was that?" Lt. Hartley asked, peering out the window of the tiny windmill. She and Mirk had sought refuge on the grounds of the Imperial Mini-golf course about the time that Picard's troops began to storm the palace. Their plan was to lay low there until the dust settled, then try to find Baxter and the others. "Beats me," Mirk replied, looking up at Hartley. "My guess is that one of the groups over there has won control. But we'd better wait a little while longer just to make sure." "Yoo-hoo," a female voice said, ducking in the entrance to the tunnel. With a gust of psychic power, Mirk blasted the woman away from the entrance before he could even get a look at her. The woman got up and dusted off her rear end. "Ouch. Not a very nice way to greet your rescuers." "Prescott?" both Mirk and Hartley asked at the same time; Mirk looking out from the entrance to the windmill and Hartley peering out from the tiny window at the top. "Not the one you two know," Fresca replied breathlessly. "Lt. Commander Richards wanted us to try and find you guys before beaming back. Said he had tracked down one of your comm badges and has been calling for like an hour now." "I didn't bring a comm badge," Mirk said, looking to Hartley. "Whoops," Hartley said, reaching into her purse and pulling out her badge. "I had it set to vibrate and I guess I didn't notice because it was in my purse. Sorry." "Well, now that we've found you guys, we have to get you out of here," the woman next to Fresca said. "Captain Picard has control of the Emperor's palace and half his crew are guarding it. We have to cut our losses and get you all back to your own universe now." "You won't get any arguements from us," Hartley said, as her and Mirk slid out of the windmill. "Singer to Explorer," Singer said, slapping her comm badge. "Do you guys read me?" "We're here," Richards returned. "We're going to swing by and pick you guys up so we can get the hell out of here. I just got word from the resistance. They're fighting a pitched battle with the Federation of Fun near the Bermuda Expanse and they need all the help they can get." :) CHAPTER NINE In front of the Imperial Palace, Emperor Picard ran to join his Binky-boo, with Jaroch, Lisa-love, Kelly-bell, Tilly, and Chrissie not far behind him. "Riker, baby!" Picard cried out, running to leap into Riker's arms. "It's so good to have you back." "Oooogggg," Riker said, cradling Picard lovingly. "I knew you wouldn't really betray me," Picard said sweetly. "How touching," Jaroch said, glaring at Riker. "I thought I had purged all that from your system." "You're the only one who is going to be purged," Picard said sternly to Jaroch. "You shouldn't have betrayed me back on the Enterprise. I was going to put you in my new cabinet...but now..." "Now he'll be in my cabinet," Lisa-love said. "You're looking at the new Emperor." "Afraid not," Picard said. "I am the new Emperor." Jaroch withdrew a phaser and aimed it squarely at Picard. "You are in no position to dictate anything, Picard!" "I thought we had put aside these petty differences," Picard said worriedly. "Wrong," Mistress Beck said, shrugging. "We used you just long enough to get what we wanted out of you. Now, we will command your crew to follow us and dispose of you and this..." she sneered at Riker. "Thing." "Oh, I see how it is, then," Picard pouted. "I destroy the Emperor, offer you all positions at my side without hesitation, and this is how I'm repaid. That's not very nice at all!" "You've lost, Picard. Now it's time for you to go back where you came from," Lisa-love spat. "Back home to France?" Picard said, his face filling with wonderment. "I've always dreamt of returning to my vinyards." Picard turned toward the twinkling stars of the night sky and seemed struck by the beauty of all of it. "I've seen blue skies, through the teaaarrrrs, in my eyyyyes, and I realize...I'm going hoooooommmmme..." "Dreadfully sorry if you misunderstood me, Picard," Lisa-love said, as Jaroch aimed his phaser at Picard's back. "But when I said that it was time for you to go back where you came from, I referred to nothingness. A great man once said, 'We come from nothing, we go back to nothing. So what have we lost? Nothing!'" "Oh, dear," Picard said. "There was so much I wanted to do...so much I wanted to see...you can't just...I won't let you!" Picard took off toward the huge statue of Emperor Webber and began climbing up it. "Pity. I was hoping this was going to be easy. As it is, he had to break into a musical number," Jaroch sighed, pressing the firing stud on his phaser and blasting Picard right in the back. The Frenchman let out a girlish shriek and clambered to the ground, the toes of his stylish black leather boots curling. "Errrrrgh!" Riker cried out, running to Picard's aid. "Now, Riker, don't be that way!" Jaroch called after Riker. "Do him too, Jaroch," Lisa-love said. "All that work wasted," Jaroch muttered. "I was hoping we could fix him." Jaroch and the others watched as Riker slung Picard over his shoulder and grunted in anguish, lugging him up the statue of Webber once again. Manservant Jaroch fired his phaser at Riker several times, but it seemed to have no effect. "Raise the setting!" Lisa-love cried, as Riker climbed up to the top of Webber's crown, with Picard in tow. After tapping the setting up several notches, Jaroch fired again just as Riker reached the top, beating his chest with victory. "Orrrrrrg!" Riker cried out, as the blast sent him and Picard toppling back to the ground. The group watched the two bodies thud against the soft ground. "I hope you're happy, Mistress," Jaroch muttered. "Happy?" Lisa-love cackled. "I'm ecstatic." :) CHAPTER TEN Counselor Peterman let out a long sigh. The eyeball had been talking to her for hours. The funnny thing was, she wasn't physically tired or hungry. That was a nifty side-effect of hanging out with the Directors, but it was still annoying. the eyeball asked in annoyance. "Sure, sure. Squash tournament. Right. So you resent the Directors of this universe?" Peterman asked. "What do you want me to tell you? That you're some kind of heroes for interceding on their behalf and trying to put this portal together?" "Well, listen, that's not how it works. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices, and you can't keep complaining about them because then they wouldn't really be sacrifices, would they?" "You guys really have an attitude problem," Peterman said, letting out a long breath of annoyance. "I think you're asking for a little more than I can do." Peterman released a cry of agony as the Director rattled on, praying for release from her confinement in the cursed purgatory of the eyeball's home. And the eyeball just kept on talking. Mirk and Hartley bent over the Happyness reversal ray, quibbling over exactly how the jury-rigged device should be assembled. Richards looked on, tapping his feet impatiently as sparks flew from the machine. "How much longer?" "Just a minute or two," Mirk snapped. "Why? What's your hurry?" "I'm tired of being in command," Richards said, glaring back at Baxter and Beck as they swung Dr. Browning between them like a rag doll. "And I'm sick of these two!" Browning muttered. "Stop it, guys, this is making me dizzy!" "Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy!" Beck said joyfully. "There," Hartley said, welding the final connection. "This is as close as we can come to the device the alternate Peterman used. Thanks to Mirk's contribution of DNA, it should put the Captain and Commander Beck back in order." "Should?" Richards asked. Hartley shrugged. "Only one way to find out." "Do it then!" Richards snapped impatiently. After Browning positioned Beck and Baxter in front of the device, Mirk unceremoniously jabbed a control. Beck and Baxter were bathed in blue light. "This is fun," Baxter mumbled happily to himself. "Wheeeee!" Beck said with glee. "If this doesn't work we're going to have to kill them," Browning grumbled. "For their good as much as ours," Richards agreed. "That should do 'er," Hartley said, deactivating the ray. "Uh-huh," Richards said, looking Baxter over cautiously. He waved a hand in front of Baxter's face. "Andy...can you hear me? Are you okay?" "Of course I can hear you," Baxter said, slapping Richards's hand away. "What the hell is going on, anyway?" "He's back to normal, all right," Browning said. "How are you, Commander Beck?" Beck rubbed her head. "Confused. Wondering what the hell has happened in the past few hours." "Hey, do you guys feel any powers coming on?" Richards asked. "Levitation? Telepathy? Mind-tricks?" Baxter blinked his eyes several times. "Powers? Hmm...let me see...nope. How about you, Beck?" "Unless you count my powerful headache, nothing." "There's a good reason for that," Mirk explained. "Instead of giving them a whole strand of my DNA, I had Dr. Browning extract specific codes. Sorry, guys." "How selfish of you," Baxter mumbled sarcastically. "Never mind the powers," Richards said. "I think we'd better get to the bridge." "I agree," Baxter replied. "I have a feeling I missed a lot of action while I was off in Happyland. I'd like you to explain it all to me on the way up to the bridge." Richards followed Baxter out of Sickbay. "That's a tall order, Captain. Believe you me." USS RUTH BUZZY "Mistress Beck, how good to see you," Captain T'poo said, standing from his seat at the center of the Buzzy's bridge as Lisa-love, Kelly-bell, Chrissie, Tilly, and Bri-Bri emerged on the bridge. "We didn't know what to do when we heard about all the rukus down on Earth." "I'll tell you what we're going to do," Lisa-love said, approaching the Vulcan and folding her arms. "We're going to make way for Playstation at maximum speed. I understand that the rebels are making their stand there?" "That is correct," T'poo nodded. "But are you sure you can trust Picard's people to keep things together down on Earth?" "They recognize my new position as Emporer," Beck said. "And so will you." "But...Webber, Dillon?" T'poo said calmly. "Both dead," Emporer Beck said, trying to muster some semblance of a tear. "They fought valiantly for the Federation of Fun and we'll remember them well, T'poo. But for now, we're needed elsewhere. Set a course for the Bermuda Expanse and engage at maximum warp." T'poo nodded, repeating the orders to his helmsman. "And as for you," Lisa-love said, running a hand along Kelly-bell's face. "If I have even the least suspicion that you're going to stab me in the back...I'll have Mr. Jaroch here gut you like a Saurian Salamander." "I wouldn't dream of betraying you, Emperor Beck," Kelly-bell purred. "Emperor Beck," Lisa-love said warmly. "I think I'm going to like the sound of that." "So, a combined fleet of Cardassian and Multek ships was able to save the Aerostar from the Klingons. Since then, Funfleet has sent every available ship to that sector. It seems as though things are coming to a head pretty fast in this universe, sir," Lt. Commander Richards said, as the Explorer streaked toward the Bermuda Expanse at high warp. Captain Baxter stumbled into the command chair wearily. "Glad to hear Conway and my curly-haired counterpart made it. What about the civilians that came along with you? Lana and Bradley?" "They're safe belowdecks right now, Captain," Richards replied. Baxter rubbed his chin and watched the stars streak by on the viewscreen. "Given the circumstances, I'd have to say that safe is a pretty darn relative term." "Captain, may I speak freely?" Mirk asked from beside Baxter. "Go right ahead, Mirk." "I hate this f***ing universe. I hate it with a fiery, hellish passion." He turned to Singer and Fresca, who were manning ops and the helm, respectively. "Present company excepted." "No offense taken," Singer said. "We're not too wild about the universe the way it is right now either." Baxter nodded at Singer and Fresca and turned back to Mirk. "I share your sentiments, Mr. Mirk. That's why we're heading back to the Bermuda Expanse as fast as we can, so we can stop the Happys and get the hell home." "What if the Happys find some way to get through to our universe?" Mirk asked worriedly. "I'm about ready to open a can of whupass all over those f***ing Happys, Mr. Mirk. No way they're getting near our universe." "Do you think we stand a chance against the Funfleet, Captain?" Richards asked. "I don't know. But we're sure as hell going to find out." "Mr. Dillon?" Lana asked, peering into the Deck Fifteen lounge and looking around. "Computer, lights." The lights came up to reveal Bradley Dillon passed out on one of the tables in the center of the room with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and his pack of cards in the other. "Whoops, sorry to disturb you," Lana said, turning back for the door. "No--no, don't leave," Bradley said, stirring. "I found a bottle of Aldebran whiskey in the stockroom and thought I'd have a little nip. Why don't you pull up a glass?" "I don't think so. I'm not much of a drinker." "Hee hee. Neither am I." Lana pulled up a chair and sat down, examining Bradley's bloodshot eyes. "Tonight appears to be an exception to the rule." "I really don't have anything else to do anyway. All those Starfleet people seem to be taking care of things pretty easily." "They're good people, if a little eccentric." "And here I thought they were spoiled by technology. Turns out they need every bit of it." "Having second thoughts about the pioneer business, Mr. Dillon?" Lana asked, raising an eyebrow. "Of course not. I just never realized how hard Starfleet officers have it. I'd hate to do stuff like this on a daily basis." "Life on a starship isn't like this on a daily basis, thankfully," Lana said. "Just every now and then." "Well, I'll take my space station any day over this overwired hunk of junk." "What about your interest in 'exploring the far reaches'?" Bradley poured another shot and downed it. "I'm going to leave that to you guys from now on...well, and the people that visit my shop." Lana stood up and turned to leave. "That's too bad. And I was going to ask you to explore the caverns of Breen Six with me next month." Bradley tried to get up and follow after Lana, but he just collapsed to the floor instead, slipping back into his alcoholic stupor. "My hero," Lana said with a grin. Captain Baxter looked over his shoulder at the door to his cramped readyroom. "Come on in." Commander Beck stepped in and looked around the tiny office. "What on Earth happened in here?" "That's anyone's guess," Baxter sighed, placing his wet-dry vac back on its holster next to the desk and sitting down. "By the looks of it, Happymaster Dillon got a little too happy in here. With about a gallon of silly string and one of his fellow officers." Beck picked up a piece of silly string reproachfully. "Sorry to hear about that, Captain." "I'll have to have the whole place sonically wiped clean when we get back to our universe. For now, at least I can sit down at my desk without feeling...icky." "The sooner we get back, the better," Beck said, collapsing onto the couch. "Was there something you wanted to ask me, Commander?" Baxter asked. Beck leaned forward, trying not to slide on the leather of the sofa. There was some kind of petroleum jelly-type substance there that Baxter's wet-dry vac hadn't quite picked up. "I was just thinking about this universe, and how lucky we have it back in our own universe. Think how difficult our jobs would be if we had to deal with a fascist monarchy bent on mind control to deal with on top of everything else." "And someone waiting to stab you in the back and take your position at every turn..." Baxter said, nodding agreement. "This is a scary place. I'd almost want to have my head scrambled if I had to live here." "Do you remember anything about the experience? About being... 'happy'?" Baxter allowed himself a little shiver. "Very little. But enough to give me nightmares for the rest of my life." "All I know is that I never want to smile again." "That makes two of us." "Bradley Dillon to Commander Beck," a slightly drunken voice said over the comm. "Commander, can I talk to you?" "Speaking of never smiling again," Beck said, standing up. "Excuse me." "Go right ahead," Baxter said, grabbing his wet-dry vac and setting upon the greasy end of the couch Beck had just vacated. Emperor Lisa-love Beck flipped a finger through her hair as she examined the viewscreen. "The Klingons are all moving toward Playstation to help us," Captain T'poo said, gesturing at the tactical layout. "As are all of our loyal starships. It will be a difficult, but fun, fight." "All of this discussion of tactics and strategy is awful boring," Lisa-love said, looking over to Jaroch. "Do I really have to sit through it?" "Only if you wish to, Emperor," Jaroch said. "We are taking care of all the details for you." "Good. I feel like a long massage." Lisa-love stood up and clapped her hands. "Mr. Jaroch..." "As you wish," Jaroch said, bowing and following Lisa-love out of the room. Kelly-bell watched Lisa-love and Jaroch leave, shaking her head. "She'll never make it as Emperor if all she's interested in is massages." "Do not say that too loud, Counselor," Captain T'poo said, taking a seat in the command chair. "Execution for disloyalty comes about quite easily these days." "Chrissie, join me in the conference room, please," Kelly-bell said, glaring at T'poo. "All right," Chrissie said, once Kelly-bell was sure that the conference room was safe. "What are you really planning on doing in Beta Quadrant?" "Whatever do you mean?" Kelly-bell said whimsically. "Just doing my best to save this little old empire." "You have something bigger in mind. Don't try to hide it," Chrissie put his arms around Kelly-bell's waist. "I know you better than that." "All right, darling," Kelly-bell said, smiling devilishly. "I do have something bigger planned. I want to go into the Bermuda Expanse." "The Bermuda Expanse...whatever for?" "Because, there's a power in there greater than you can imagine. A power that makes ruling this crumbling empire look small by comparison." "And how do I fit into this?" "You'll have to help me convince Emperor Beck that all my actions are purely for the good of the Empire. Can you do that?" "Are you kidding?" Chrissie said. "All I want is your assurance that I'll be getting something out of this." "Don't be silly," Kelly-bell said, leaning forward and closing her eyes. "You have me, remember?" "I'd like the power too, if it's all the same to you," Chrissie said, pulling away. "Ask and you shall receive," Kelly-bell said sweetly. "Now, will you help me or not?" "Of course," Chrissie said. "But if you try to leave me behind, I'll rat you out faster than look at you." Not like it will matter much, Kelly-bell thought to herself. Once she was joined with the Directors, Chrissie and the whole Federation of Fun would be a distant memory. Commander Beck found Bradley Dillon stretched out on a couch in Deck Fifteen's Visitor's Lounge. "Mr. Dillon, have you been drinking?" Beck asked with mild amusement. Bradley slid off the couch and collided loudly on the floor. "As a matter of fact, yes I have. But I'm much better now." "What can I do for you?" Beck asked, helping Bradley push himself back onto the couch. "I need to go to Waystation." "We'll get you back as soon as we can." Bradley shook his head. "That's not what I mean. I want to go to the Waystation here." Beck sat down on the couch next to Bradley. "You mean Playstation?" "If that's what they call it. I hear my counterpart is a complete gimp." "That's not far from the truth. Evidently 'Happymaster' Dillon tied his mind up in a knot." "Well, I was lying here in a drunken stupor thinking about him, and how he hasn't had the breaks that I have, and I figured I had to do something to help him." "What did you have in mind?" "I figured we could stop by Playstation on the way out of here and rescue him...maybe get him some help somewhere." "Bradley...you're talking about risking your neck to meddle in this universe's affairs. The Prime Directive..." "Commander...if our places were reversed, I know you'd never be able to live with yourself if you'd passed up the chance to help your counterpart." "You've got a point there. Listen, I'll see what I can do." "Thank you, Commander." Before Beck reached the door, she stopped a moment. "Mr. Dillon ...forgive me if I'm wrong...but did you just offer to risk your life for someone else?" "Strictly speaking, I'm just looking out for myself. Just an alternate myself." "Right. Then it makes sense. The world hasn't really turned upside down yet." "Give it time, Commander," Bradley said, smiling. "This sucks," Captain Baxter said, as he bellied up to the mini-bar and looked around the minuscule cabin with dissatisfaction. "Well, Captain, the stardrive section was never designed for comfort. That's what we have the saucer section for," Richards said, stuffing another fork-full of bannana split into Dr. Browning's mouth. "I sure miss Mirk's cafe," Baxter said with a frown. "How do you think I feel," Mirk said, rising up from behind the mini-bar. "I've got nothing to work with here. What do you want, anyway?" "Just give me a large grapefruit juice and hold the kibbitzing, Mirk," Baxter said. "Aye-aye," Mirk said, ducking back under the bar. "So..." Baxter said, watching Richards feed Browning with interest. "I trust you guys didn't have too much trouble while you were held hostage by the Happys." "Nah," Richards said. "They were pretty decent folks as fascists go." "Here you go," Mirk said, rising back up to hand Baxter his glass of grapefruit juice. "They could at least have put some pictures in here. Or even some nice, decorative drapes. Maybe someone should talk to Yeoman Briggs when we get back," Browning said as Baxter sipped at his drink. "If we get back," Richards muttered. "Captain," Commander Beck said, walking into the tiny lounge. "There you are. I wanted to run something by you." "Don't run it by too fast, I may not see it," Baxter said with a giggle. When he noticed no one was laughing, he straightened. "What's on your mind, Commander?" Beck pulled up a chair, realizing Mirk was staring at her. "Are you going to have a drink, Commander, or are you just going to take up precious space?" Mirk asked, hands on hips. "V'haspant, extra cream," Beck said. "Andorian coffee? Wow, I thought only Andorians drank that stuff," Browning said incredulously. Beck narrowed her eyes at Browning. "It's an acquired taste, Doctor." "But what about the horrible stomach pains that go along with the high acid content...and the high level of nitrates and poly--" "You get used to it," Beck said curtly, as Mirk handed her the drink. "How do you know so much about it, anyway?" Browning smiled proudly. "I'm a xenonutrition specialist. I specialize in the dietary habits of nonhuman cultures." "I knew I shouldn't have asked that question," Beck grimaced, turning to Baxter. "Captain...I want to borrow a shuttlecraft." "A shuttlecraft?" Baxter asked, "whatever for?" "When we visited this universe a couple years ago, we went to Playstation and discovered an alternate version of Bradley Dillon that Happymaster Dillon had...abused quite a bit. And our Bradley Dillon wants to rescue him." "Sounds risky to me," Baxter said. "To say nothing of the Prime Directive implications." "Is that a no?" "Of course not. I've been known to violate the Prime Directive on a few occasions myself." "I noticed," Beck said. "So do I get the shuttlecraft?" "Why not," Baxter said through a sip of his drink. "But Bradley Dillon is a Federation citizen. If something should happen to him, it's going to raise a stink with the Federation Civil Liberties Union and all those other liberal pansies." "Pardon me," Richards said. "It's those liberal pansies that separate us from the fascist bastards in this universe." "Not now, Chris," Baxter barked, looking over his shoulder at Richards. He turned back to Beck. "You've got yourself a ride, Commander. But be careful. The station is evidently swarming with Klingons." "I've dealt with Klingons before, Captain. It's nothing I can't handle," Beck said. She neglected to say that the Klingon she had dealt with was a cross-dresser, but she felt that wasn't really pertinent anyway. "Thanks for the help, Captain." "Don't mention it," Baxter said as Beck left. "She was pretty snippy with me," Browning said with a frown. "Do you think she's still ticked about that whole skewer thing?" "I imagine. You almost caused the death of her security chief," Baxter said. "'Almost is the operative word there, Andy. He pulled through," Browning said defensively. "Oh, well," Baxter said. "You can't please everyone. Sometimes there are going to be people who just don't like you." Browning sucked on the ice cream spoon Richards had stuck in her mouth thoughtfully. "I don't see why that has to be. I'm going to make it up to her. I don't know how, but I will." "Just don't operate on her, whatever you do," Baxter said with a grin. He stopped grinning when a chunk of bannana hit him square in the face. :) CHAPTER ELEVEN Station Log, Stardate 52606.3. Lt. Commander Walter Morales recording for Commander Beck. Things have been rather quiet around here since we sealed up the Bermuda Expanse. No ships are scheduled to dock today other than the two Starfleet ships that are en route to protect us should the Bermuda Expanse reopen. Additionally, the Starship Pulitzer is arriving shortly to investigate the phenomenon and try to find a way to get through to the mysterious beings known as the Directors. I can only hope that Commander Conway and his staff go with them. "So, you don't like us being here," Lt. Tilleran said as she observed Lt. Walker's work at the science station. Lt. Commander Morales looked up from his log entry. "Come again?" "You think we're incompetent and annoying!" "I said no such thing," Morales said defensively. "Yeah, but you were thinking it!" "You know what's annoying? Betazoids who probe your mind and tell you what they think you're thinking. Isn't there some regulation that says you can't probe us unless we want you to?" "Well, it's a matter of courtesy, but it's not a regulation. Besides, I wasn't really probing you. I just kind of...overheard." "Sure, likely story. Well, overhear someone else," Morales grumbled. He didn't like to be so grouchy. That wasn't really his way, but the crew from the Explorer somehow brought out the worst in him. "He's usually not so grouchy," Lt. Porter said, as he and Tilleran continued to work. "I can't help it if my powers are a little sensitive sometimes," Tilleran muttered quietly. "I think it's kind of cute," Porter said with a grin. "You do, do you?" Tilleran said, smiling. Suddenly her expression changed. "Well, I never!" "What, what did I--" Suddenly Porter realized that Tilleran could tell what he was thinking. "Stop thinking, stop, stop!" "You really need an outlet for that sexual frustration," Tilleran said, shaking her head. "It's not healthy to keep that kind of stuff pent up." "Stop thinking, stop thining!" Porter kept telling himself, running into the bathroom. "I can still read you, Craig!" Tilleran called out. The bathroom door slid open and Porter made a bee-line for the turbolift. "I'll be belowdecks if you need me, Commander Morales." Tilleran watched Porter disappear into the turbolift and raised an eyebrow. "Was it something I said?" "This has to stop," Morales muttered. Conway sipped at his double strong Cappucino, watching the mallgoers pass in front of him as Larkin gave him the status reports from the previous night. "And there was a three percent decrease in neutrino emissions from the Bermuda Expanse," Larkin said. She looked up at Conway. "Are you listening, Commander?" "Sure, sure, Larkin. Three percent decrease. What else?" "The Starship Pulitzer should be here within the hour." "Damn," Conway said. "I was hoping I'd be able to avoid Lanham for another four years at least." "I found Dr. Lanham to be a competent scientist and a decent person overall," Larkin surmised. "That's because you weren't married to her for eight months. And she didn't push you into a gorge." "Well, I suppose I can see how that might affect your evaluation of her character." "Damn right it affects my evaluation of her character." "It is said that forgiveness is divine, Commander," Larkin offered. "Is there some way I can disconnect that self- righteousness program of yours?" Conway griped. "Of course, Commander, but why would you want to do such a thing?" "It was just a thought." Suddenly Lieutenant Porter came running out of a turbolift. He saw Commander Conway and ran over. "Commander! That Betazoid science officer of yours-- she keeps poking into my brain! How can I get her out?" "Get a hold of yourself, Lieutenant," Conway said disapprovingly. "You are a Starfleet officer. You are trained to deal with telepaths as a part of day-to-day life. What if you were captured by some evil telepathic aliens that wanted to probe your mind for Starfleet secrets? Would you just give them up? No, sir. You've got to fight it!" "But I've never met a woman like her, Commander. I have thoughts about her, and I can't seem to stop them...it's like she's got this power over me I just can't fight." Conway grabbed Walker's shoulders and shook him vigorously. "Snap out of it, Mister! You're letting her win. You can't just let a woman control you like this! You've got to be a man and show her that she doesn't have your balls in a bag, telepathy or no." Porter straightened and smiled weakly. "Fight back. Right sir, I'll do my best." "That's darned right you will. Now take a few laps around the mall and return to your post. Dismissed!" Conway watched Porter run off with satisfaction. "Ops to Commander Conway," Lt. Commander Morales's voice said. "The Pulitzer has arrived at Docking Arm Three." All the gusto seemed to disappear from Conway as he heard these words. "Acknowledged," he said meekly. Larkin crossed her arms behind her back and followed Conway into the turbolift. "Balls in a bag, sir?" "Never mind," Conway barked as the turbolift doors closed. "A shuttlecraft?" Bradley said incredulously as he watched Beck detach the fueling servo from the rear end of the shuttlecraft Cabral. "How are we going to get onto Playstation with a shuttlecraft?" "You didn't think we'd just ring the doorbell, did you?" Beck asked, checking her tricorder as she swept it over the warp nacelles. "I thought we'd transport over," Bradley said, kicking one of the nacelles. "Not fly at them in this hunk of Federation junk." "It's too risky to transport," Beck explained, trying to be patient with Bradley. "The Explorer will be flying into a war zone. If they lower the shields for even a few seconds, they'll be open to heavy weapons fire." "They'd stand up to it better than this little shuttle," Bradley said. "Believe me, I used to be a used starship salesman. I know about Federation shuttles. They don't hold up well to concentrated weapons fire. We prefer to deal in ships of a higher caliber." Beck stopped working a moment to look at Bradley tiredly. "And I suppose the vessels you sold were more durable?" "Absolutely." "And that's why you're persona non grata with the Tellarites and the Alpha Centauri?" "That was a--" "--big misunderstanding. Yes, I know; you've told me that before," Beck said, running a hand over her face. "Listen, Mr. Dillon, if you want to do this, you'll have to do it by my rules. It's not going to be easy, and I can't guarantee that you'll come out of it alive." Bradley threw his hands up. "Fine, fine. I'll have to rely on that Starfleet training of yours to get me to that station. So be it." "Glad we have an understanding," Beck said, stepping inside the opening door at the rear of the shuttlecraft and sliding into the pilot's chair. "Now get your stuff loaded up and get ready to take a crash course in shuttle operations." "I know how to fly a shuttle," Bradley said defiantly. "I told you, that was my business." "That may be, but like you said, you prefer to deal in ships of a 'higher caliber.'" Bradley slung his duffel inside and sat down next to Beck. "Okay, fine. Show me what this little ship can do." "Hello?" a familiar voice asked from outside the shuttle. Beck turned around in her chair to find Dr. Browning peeking her head inside the shuttle. "Oh, there you are Commander. The computer told me you'd be here." "What do you want, Doctor?" Beck asked, turning back to her panel to finish the shuttle diagnostic. "I want to help," Browning said proudly, reaching into a holster that was at her side. "Look, I brought a phaser and everything." "You've got to be kidding," Beck said, turning toward Browning again. "I'm not kidding," Browning said. "I may be a medical doctor, but I've had Starfleet combat training, and my sickbay has been invaded before. I'd like to say I'm a darn good fighter for someone who's sworn never to do harm." "Does your Captain know about this?" Beck asked. "No, not exactly. My fiancee doesn't even know." Beck raised an eyebrow. "Huh. And why exactly do you want to help?" Browning sat down behind Beck. "I thought that maybe if I helped you and Mr. Dillon here that it might make up for that little skewer incident." "Is that what this is about?" Beck said, rolling her eyes. "Dr. Browning, that was over a year and a half ago." "So you're not holding a grudge?" "Of course not." "So you do like me?" Beck gritted her teeth. Starfleet officers were not usually given to lie to other Starfleet officers. "Well...'like' is a pretty strong word. What if I told you I tolerate you, would that be good enough?" "No," Browning said resolutely. "By the time this mission is over, I want us to be great friends." "That's asking a lot from a simple search and rescue operation, but I suppose we could use your medical expertise to help the other Mr. Dillon when we find him." "Great!" Browning said excitedly. "Let me just get my stuff." "I like her, Commander," Bradley said with a grin as Browning ducked out of the shuttle. "She's already taken, Mr. Dillon," Beck said. "Of course, incompetent physicians with voracious appetites are always high on anyone's list of prospective mates. Never level-headed, high-spirited, intelligent and attractive station commanders." "Do I detect a hint of jealously?" Bradley asked. "Of course not," Beck said, tapping a few buttons on her panel. "Now, this is an combat simulation. It'll teach you basic shuttle operations, damage control, and maneuvering subroutines. Get to work." Beck sighed and turned around in her pilot's chair as Bradley began the simulation. She ducked out of the shuttle to see what was taking Browning so long when she saw the Doctor re-enter the shuttlebay, accompanied by Fresca and Singer. "Hey, Commander!" Browning said excitedly. "I bumped into these two in the corridor. They want to come with us." "We're not running a cab service," Beck said. "No one said you were," Singer replied curtly. "We simply need a way over to Playstation. If the Klingons have taken it over, it's up to Fresca and I to get it back." "Just you two? Against a station full of Klingons?" Beck asked, laughing. "Good luck." "We aren't asking for your tactical analysis. We just need help breaking in. Leave the rest to us." "Have you talked this over with Captain Baxter?" Singer nodded. "We have his full support." "Well, it's his shuttlecraft. Welcome aboard," Beck said, returning into the craft, Singer and Fresca on her heels. Browning scurried in behind them, a rather bulky backpack slung over her shoulder. "What do you have there?" Beck asked as she took her chair again. "Weaponry? Medical supplies?" Browning shook her head. "Twinkies. I brought enough for everybody." "God help us," Beck sighed. It was going to be a long trip. "Commander," Admiral McGrath said, stepping out of the airlock. "Where's my boy?" Conway grimaced at McGrath and looked past him to Dr. Lanham, who stood behind McGrath at the airlock, seeming as anxious to hear Conway's reply as McGrath was. "He's at the Youth Center with the other Scouts. Listen, Admiral..." "Quiet, Conway," McGrath said. "Your Lt. Commander Larkin can show me to my nephew. You and Dr. Lanham are going to leave immediately." Conway gulped. "Me and Dr. Lanham? But, Lt. Commander Larkin is more--" "You heard what I said. Now get moving, Mister," McGrath said. "I'm going to coordiate from Waystation, with the help of your beautiful operations officer." "Although I am unnaffected by compliments, I do appreciate your remark," Larkin said. "If you will follow me, Admiral, the Youth Center is this way." McGrath took Larkin's arm and moved off down the corridor. "Have a lovely time, Commander!" Conway stared after McGrath with irritation. "Sometimes I think that man likes to antagonize me." "What can I say," Lanham said with a smile. "It's fun. I know I enjoyed it." "Enough out of you, Doctor," Conway barked. "Show me to the bridge." "My, your attitude hasn't changed much in the last couple months," Lanham remarked as she led Conway through the airlock into a corridor on the Pulitzer. "Is there any reason it should have?" Conway asked, without looking at Lanham. "Look," Lanham said, turning to Conway. "I know our marraige wasn't exactly a fairytale, but can we at least put our differences aside and be mature enough to go about our mission without killing each other?" "That depends on whether or not there are any fifty meter gorges between here and the Bermuda Expanse," Conway remarked. "You never will forgive me for that, will you?" "I almost died!" Lanham folded her arms. "It was your own fault." "And how do you figure that?" "You thought it was safe to go out on the precipice. I tried to tell you that it wasn't stable...but no...you had to go prove yourself. Had to prove you were smarter than I was." "That's a load of bull and you know it. You pushed me!" "I was trying to pull you back!" "Doctor?" the Captain of the Pulitzer said, turning in his command chair. Conway and Lanham had been so busy arguing, they hadn't noticed when the turbolift doors opened. "Captain Walt Green, Commander David Conway," Lanham said, leading Conway out of the turbolift and giving a hasty introduction. Green was a comfortable-looking, round- faced, middle-aged man with a genteel southern accent. "Pleasure to meet you, Conway," Green said. "We heard about what happened on the Aerostar. Pretty amazing stuff." "Uh-huh," Conway said. "I believe Admiral McGrath had orders for us to leave immediately for the Bermuda Expanse?" "Quite right." Green led Conway and Lanham around to the front of the bridge, where they took a place to the left and right of the command chair, respectively. "Ensign Delvecchio, clear all moorings and take us away from Waystation at one quarter impulse." "Moorings clear...we are free to navigate," Ensign Delvecchio reported from the helm. "Lay in a course for the Bermuda Expanse and engage at full impulse." Green turned toward Conway and smiled. "So, you and Dr. Lanham are already acquainted?" "Oh, yes, well aquainted," Lanham said with a smile. Conway grimaced. "I don't want to talk about it." the eyeball said wistfully. "I really don't think we're getting anywhere," Peterman said finally. The eyeball looked a little taken back. "I don't even know what I'm doing," Peterman said tiredly. "This is far beyond phobias and neuroses. You guys need a stellar physicist or something." "I don't know. I'm starting to feel like it's just too much for one person to solve." "I beg your pardon?" "I see," Peterman said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "So you're trying to take on the problems of this universe, and you're being weakened because of that..." "Yay me!" Peterman said. "So how does that help you?" "What about Andy and the others...and the Explorer?" "All stop," Captain Green ordered, gazing at the churning plasma that was the Bermuda Expanse as it roiled on the viewscreen. "Science stations, commence sanning." Commander Conway stepped forward and examined the viewscreen image. "Any activity from the rift?" "Negative," Dr. Lanham said, looking her science console. "We're picking up some minor neutrino emissions, but that can be explained by particle interactions within the graviton matrix." "Sure it can," Conway said. "But why is it changing color?" Lanham looked up. "Pardon me...changing color?" "He's right," Green said. "Explanation, Dr. Lanham?" "I...I don't know." Sure enough, the Fruitlands were changing from purplish to canary yellow. "I never bothered to look up at it. I was busy looking at the molecular scans and the particle--" "We don't have time for technobabble," Conway said. "Keep doing your tests and report all your findings back to Waystation." Suddenly Peterman found herself inside a vast warehouse full of marbles. "Hello?" Peterman asked. "Over here," a voice called out. Peterman looked up at the top of a huge pile of marbles. J'hana was sitting on top of the pile and picking marbles out. Some she threw to the left, some to the right. "What are you doing, J'hana?" Peterman asked, carefully crawling up to the top of the precarious pile. "Some fat guy instructed me to separate the good marbles from the bad marbles," J'hana grunted. "It has been long, tedious work." "Sounds like busywork," Peterman surmised. "That was what I was thinking," J'hana growled. "Hey, I hear the Directors are back on their feet!" a loud, obese man said, emerging from a room adjacent to the warehouse. "Good job, Counselor." "Thanks, I guess." J'hana nodded in the man's direction. "Counselor, this is George Sherbert. He's the Directors' agent." "Nice to meet you," Peterman said. "Yeah, they wanted me to tell you that you could stop doing that now, Miss J'hana." "What?" J'hana asked angrily, peering down over the pile of marbles at George. "Are you kidding?" "Actually, heh heh, it was just some busy work to keep you occupied while Miss Peterman talked wit the Directors." "Uh-oh," Peterman said quietly. "You little worm!" J'hana cried, tossing marble after marble at George. "I will kill you." George batted marbles away from his face. "I have to remind you, Miss J'hana, that I ain't corporeal, just a representation of a non-corporeal lifeform. You can't really hurt me." J'hana rolled off the massive pile and lept towards George. "Then you have nothing to worry about!" "Actually, the marbles do sting a little--" The Andorian pile-drived into the squat agent and knocked him to the ground. An eyeball appeared above Peterman and joined her in watching J'hana thrash George Sherbert. "I'm afraid so. I've been trying to work on curbing her violent urges, but she can still be pretty spicy from time to time." "Tell me about it." "Yes, Robby, we're going to the command center. Won't that be fun?" Admiral McGrath asked pleasantly as the turbolift rose through the bowels of Waystation. "It's about time," Robby said. "I was cooped up with those inferior brats in the Youth Center for far too long." "Now, now, those brats are your fellow Starfleet Scouts. They're coming to view the Pulitzer's findings too. Think of it as a kind of field trip." "But, Unkie Frank!" Robby said angrily. "This way, Admiral," Larkin said, gesturing for McGrath to follow her out of the turbolift and into ops. "Admiral," Lt. Commander Morales said from the docking panel. "Allow me to welcome you back to Waystation." "Hi yourself." McGrath didn't want to think about his last excusion to Waystation, shortly before it opened for business. "Is there any word from Pulitzer yet?" Morales nodded. "Yes, sir, preliminary scans only so far. But one unusual thing to report: It has changed color." "Outstanding!" McGrath said excitedly. "Are you taking this down, Robby?" "Of course not," Robby said defiantly. "I have a photographic memory." "Lt. Tilleran, please begin coordinating with Lt. Porter in order to interpret the Pulitzer's scans," Larkin said, moving to the science console. "Aye, sir," Tilleran said, looking to Porter. "Are you up to it, Mr. Porter?" "Of course," Porter said, folding his arms resolutely. "I'm not afraid of you." Tilleran smiled. "Well, there's no reason you should be." "Uh-huh. Running a computer decompilation of the Pulitzer's scans," Porter reported, running his hands over the science panel's controls. "Communication coming in from Pulitzer on subspace," Lt. Russell suddenly reported from tactical. "On screen," McGrath said. Conway appeared on the screen with Captain Green at his side. "We've found something, Admiral." "What's that?" "I don't know how, exactly, but we were able to punch through the Bermuda Expanse with an active ion scanning beam, and we found--we found..." "Spit it out, Conway," McGrath said wearily. "We found a massive fleet of varying types of ships. I don't know what's going on over there, but whatever it is, it's big." :) CHAPTER TWELVE USS RUTH BUZZY Emperor Beck stalked onto the bridge. "What's going on out there?" T'poo shifted uncomfortably in his command chair. "The Klingons have control of Playstation, but we don't know for how long. The rebels are fighting us tooth and nail." "What about the Funfleet reinforcements?" Lisa-love asked. "A task force of six funships is here already, to be joined by some twenty or twenty-five funships that are en route as we speak," T'poo said proudly. Counselor Kelly-bell stepped out of the conference room, followed by Lt. Commander Chrissie. "Are we here already?" "Yes, Counselor," Lisa-love said. "Are you ready to take over operations on Playstation?" "More than ready," Kelly-bell grinned. "Has Mr. Jaroch informed you of my backup plan?" "Yes. I find it bold, audacious...and quite arousing." Lisa-love smiled. "You intrigue me, Counselor." "You didn't make me Counselor Supreme for nothing," Kelly-bell replied. "Chrissie has already taken care of all the arrangements. If we begin to take too many losses, then he is prepared to initiate the plan. All you have to do is give the word." Lisa-love put her hands on her hips. "Good." She looked at Chrissie. "But not a minute before, Chrisy. You take your orders from me--not the Counselor." Chrissie smiled. "Understood, Emperor." Lisa-love folded her arms and watched the battle on the viewscreen. "Well, don't just sit there, T'poo. Have one of the fleet ships cover us so that we can transport the Counselor aboard Playstation." "Yes, your Happyness." "Shuttlecraft Cabral away," Lt. Hartley reported from tactical. "Good luck, you guys," Baxter said quietly. "Time to Bermuda Expanse Sector, Lt. Hartl--" Suddenly Lt. Commander Richards appeared on the bridge, urgently leaning over the tactical panel. "Captain, I can't find Janice anywhere, and the computer says she's not on the ship." "What a coincidence. We just launched a shuttle," Baxter said, rubbing his chin. "She went with them!" Richards said incredulously. "I don't believe it. She didn't even consult me!" "Well, I suppose she didn't consult anyone. Open a channel to the Cabral, Lt. Hartley." Baxter turned to the viewscreen, which obediently displayed an image of Beck and Bradley Dillon, with Singer and Fresca hovering impatiently in the background. "We're kind of busy getting ready for a suicide mission, Captain. What do you want?" Beck asked. "Did you take Dr. Browning with you?" Baxter asked pointedly. "Actually, it was my idea to tag along," Browning said, sticking her head in between Bradley and Beck. "I finally found a way to make up with Commander Beck, Chris!" "But you could be killed!" Richards exclaimed. "Yeah, so could the rest of us," Commander Beck said. "But you sure as hell didn't seem in any hurry to stop us." "But I'm not engaged to any of you!" Richards replied. "And you don't know how much that hurts," Bradley said with a grin. Browning blew a kiss at Richards. "Don't worry, baby, I'll be back soon! Love ya!" The image flicked off and Baxter turned back to look at Richards, shrugging. "Women. Can't live with 'em, can't keep 'em on your starship." "I hate to interrupt this pleasant little interlude," Hartley said wryly from tactical. "But we're entering a war zone." Baxter motioned for Richards to take the engineering console and moved to the front of the bridge. "Go to Red Alert. Raise shields and arm all weapons." "Done, sir," Hartley replied. "Captain," Richards reported from engineering. "I'm pulling up a scan of the area. It's anarchy out there!" "On screen," Baxter ordered. The screen was suddenly filled with hundreds of battling starships: Federation, Multek, Cardassian, Ferengi, Andorian, Romulan, Klingon, and half a dozen others Baxter couldn't even identify. "The mini bar is all secure," Mirk muttered as he stepped out of the turbolift. He stopped short when he saw the melee on the viewscreen. "Wow. Looks like they started without us." "Better late than never," Baxter said, looking back to Hartley. "Alert Captain Conway that we're here and ask him where he needs our help most." "Yes, sir," Hartley said. "Mr. Stuart," Baxter ordered. "Take us into the fray." "The what?" Stuart asked turning back. "Never mind, just take us into the middle of the battle!" Baxter snapped. Counselor Peterman looked through the transparent clouds of gas worriedly. "Can't I get a closer look? What's happening out there?" the eyeball said, hovering between Peterman and J'hana as they watched the carnage. "Well, do something!" Peterman said urgently. "This is quite frustrating!" J'hana said angrily, pounding at the clouds of swirling gas around her. "I should be at the Captain's aid!" "I'll give you hurt feelings, damn it!" J'hana cried, punching the eyeball as hard as she could. The eyeball reeled back through the clouds, finally steadying itself and hovering back toward J'hana. "I like uncivilized," J'hana said, pushing up her sleeves. "Now how about we settle this honorably? I am tired of your mind games." the eyeball said angrily. Suddenly, massive, muscular arms protruded from the sides of the eyeball. the eyeball asked in a loud, echoing voice, as a boxing ring materialized next to them. "We don't have time for this!" Peterman shouted. "Didn't I teach either of you anything about conflict resolution?" "Not now," J'hana barked, slipping on some boxing gloves and crawling in between the ropes around the boxing ring. "I have some business with our ocular friend." "For five hundred points, try and find the intelligent one," Peterman said quietly to herself as J'hana and the eyeball took their separate corners. "Hold on, guys," Commander Beck said, expertly weaving the Cabral around Playstation's upper saucer. "This is going to be tricky." Bradley Dillon gripped the panel in front of him and held on tight as the shuttle rocked with fire from Playstation's defensive perimeter. "I have every faith in you, Commander!" Dr. Browning balanced herself in between the two front chairs. "Not that I don't have faith in you, took, Commander, but you do have a plan on how to get us in, don't you?" "Of course I do," Beck said, pausing as she wheeled the Cabral around another tricky corner. "Playstation is more or less constructed exactly like Waystation was before its renovation: two Constitution-class saucer sections and a connecting tube. It may have some additional bells and whistles, but I still know how to find its weak spot." Major Singer winced as another blast rocked the tiny shuttle. "And how do you propose we exploit this 'weak spot'?" "There should be a cargo bay on the lower saucer. It's designed for taking in grain stores and organic supplies. It's not very well shielded or protected, since the goods inside aren't high-priority." "But what if it's different in this universe?" Bradley asked nervously. "Then we're in trouble. Then again, they have to keep their organics somewhere, right?" "Right," Fresca said. "So should I get ready to activate the transporter?" "Two minutes ago I would have said yes," Beck said, pitching the Cabral forward over the edge of the upper saucer and flying along the length of Playstation towards the bottom of the lower saucer. "What happened two minutes ago?" Bradley asked. Beck ducked as a panel beside her exploded. "One of these many colorful phaser beams hit us and took out the transporters!" "How the heck are we going to get in, then?" Browning asked worriedly. Beck rolled the Cabral so tightly that Browning and the others almost lost her balance. "The old fashioned way. We're going to put full power to the deflectors and we're going to punch through the cargo bay door." "We're going to...what?" Bradley asked, gripping the panel tighter. "Don't worry, those saucers were taken from Constitution class ships. The duranium is of a slightly lesser grade then what most people use today. Me might get through." "MIGHT?" Singer asked frantically. "Well, we'll find out...um, right now! Hold on!" Beck cried, ducking as the Cabral shot toward the cargo bay door on the belly of the lower saucer and punched right through. "We're really taking a pounding, Captain Baxter," Captain Conway said from the viewscreen, gripping one of the consoles on Aerostar's bridge. "The Happys called in every starship from here to Rigel Seven to help them. Both sides are pouring on everything they have, but it doesn't look good for us." Baxter grimaced as the Explorer was pounded by enemy fire. "That was before the Explorer joined in. Don't you worry, Captain. We'll have these happy sons of bitches smiling all the way to the pain bank when we're through with them!" Lt. Hartley looked over at Richards quizzically, mouthing the words "pain bank?" Richards just shrugged. "Thanks for all your help, Captain. Good luck," Davey- wavey said, disappearing from the viewscreen. In his place was a view of the rear of a Klingon Battlecruiser that the Explorer was tailing through the mass of battling ships. "I want those maneuvers tighter, Ensign!" Baxter cried. "We should be smelling our own exaust, get it?" "Pushy pushy. You recall I'm not even posted as a helmsman," Stuart said. "I'm doing my best." "That ain't good enough, buster!" Baxter said. "Our rear is getting singed, here!" As if to punctuate that statement, Richards's engineering panel lit up like a Christmas tree. "Captain, the shields are taking a pounding!" "Lt. Hartley, get us some room to breathe," Baxter ordered. "We're not going to win this by being pansies!" Hartley fired spreads of quantum torpedoes at the Klingon ships that were descending behind them and leaned in Richards's direction. "He's being awful agressive today, isn't he?" "He was achingly happy for several hours," Richards explained. "He has to balance that out somehow." "Gotcha." Commander Beck rolled out of the wreckage of the Cabral, rubbing her aching toushie and bringing up her phaser rifle, firing at the two Klingons that rushed into the cargo bay. That seemed a good sign that the Klingons were in control of Playstation. Beck desperately hoped that she was wrong. "Is everybody okay?" Beck called into the shuttlecraft, peering down the corridor outside the cargo bay and making sure no one was coming. Phaser rifles at the ready, Singer and Fresca emptied out, with Browning and Bradley on their heels. "Oh, I've never been better. Can we do that again?" Browning said sarcastically. "We'd need another shuttlecraft," Bradley replied, taking stock of the ruined Cabral. "No more chatter," Beck said, ducking back into the Cabral. "It's time to put the plans into motion." "Plans? What plans?" Bradley asked. "We have plans?" "Sure do," Beck said from within the shuttle. "When were you planning on sharing them with me?" Bradley asked in annoyance. "Right about now," Beck said, stepping out of the shut