Star Traks: The Vexed Generation was created by Anthony Butler.  It's
based on Alan Decker's Star Traks, which in turn is based on Star Trek,
created by Gene Roddenberry.  Paramount and Viacom, their dark 
masters, own everything.  Well we know where we're going, but we
don't know where we've been.  And we know what we're knowing,
but we can't say what we've see-eeen.  And we're not little children, 
and we know what we waa--aant.  And the future is certain.  Give
us time to work it ouuuuuuuuut...

Copyright 1999.  All rights, such as they are, are reserved.

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



STAR TRAKS: THE VEXED GENERATION   

"The Best Times We Never Had"
                                                                
BY ANTHONY BUTLER





This story relies heavily on material from the series
premiere, "The Road to Nowhere, Parts One and Two."
The author strongly suggests a brief skim of said stories, 
if the reader hasn't read them in a while.  It may prevent
headaches and partial brain damage.  Then again, it may 
not.


***


For Caleb and Madison, and the soon-to-be born
"Question Mark"--they're the real Next Generation.


***


"You got to be careful if you don't know where you're going,
because you might not get there."
                                           -Yogi Berra


***






     Irma Wilson free-fell through time.  Months had passed since
Mirk shoved her out of the space-time continuum, and oddly 
enough, she felt the passing of each day winding backwards.  
She'd smashed her bleepy-bleep Star Trek watch--which played 
the theme on the hour--after about the four thousandth bleepy-
bleep.
     Now she was alone, with only her thoughts, lost in a
maelstrom of swirly colors and sound echoes.  She was unstuck 
in time, as it were, and none too happy about it.
     She thought hard about Andy Baxter and the crew of the
Explorer.  Especially that damned Mirk, who'd put her in this
position in the first place.  She really wanted her revenge.  But
how to take it?  She was unstuck in time, and it wasn't like she
had the power to do anything about it.
     Or did she?
     Could she concentrate on steering herself into a faster-
moving back-in-time conduit?  Could she get her self stuck 
back into time, land herself somewhere that would be 
advantageous to her?
     Irma screwed her eyes shut and concentrated the full 
force of her hatred for Mirk and the Explorer crew.  If 
anything would conjure enough power to stick her back in 
time, that would.
     As the tides of time swirled around her, building into a
tidal wave that she would use to surf back to reality, Irma
pondered one important question:
     Where and when could she take advantage of the 
Aerostar crew at their most vulnerable?


USS AEROSTAR, NCC-83835
2374
STARDATE 51015

     Newly-promoted Captain Andrew Baxter rode the turbolift 
up to the bridge, brimming with a sense of satisfaction at being 
promoted all the way from lieutenant, without much of a resume, 
save his ten years of experience as an inventory officer.
     Perhaps things in Starfleet were changing for the better,
Baxter pondered.  He'd been on the command track at Starfleet
Academy.  All ready to get that favored helm position that would
one day lead to a captaincy.  He craved the red shoulders on the
uniform.
     Then a cadet named Alvin Ficker sabotaged it all for him. 
Baxter was routed to Inventory and doomed to a life of counting
padds and iso-chips.  Until quite recently, when Rydell, his
captain on the Secondprize, informed him that he was promoted to
Captain, and would take the Aerostar into a spatial disturbance
known as the Bermuda Expanse to investigate ship disturbances.  It
wasn't that great of a mission, but it didn't matter.  He had his
own SHIP.
     The turbolift suddenly sighed to a stop, and Baxter tensed. 
He'd barely glanced at the crew roster.  He certainly wasn't
prepared to chat amicably with an Aerostar crewmember.  What 
would he say to this mysterious person?  How would he begin 
building a healthy relationship with one of the hopeful souls 
destined to serve with him?
     The turbolift doors slid open, to reveal a large-ish woman
in a tight-fitting Starfleet uniform.  It hugged in all the wrong
places, Baxter noted, and he smiled wanly.
     "And your name is..." he probed.
     "Special Attache Irma Wilson," replied the large woman.
"Starfleet assigned me to advise you about the ship
disappearances."
     "I didn't hear anything about a special attache," replied
Baxter.
     "The arrangements were all quite last-minute.  Starfleet
Command has no sense of timing," Irma said, rolling her 
eyes.  "The paper-pushers don't know what it's like out here."
     "That they don't," Baxter said, a tad uncomfortable.  He
didn't like the idea of any attache looking over his shoulder. 
But he did his best to show this Irma person a friendly face.  
She was probably just as scared as he was, and would probably
turn out to be a valued asset to his crew.
     "I think this is a great ship, Captain," Irma said, after
some moments of awkward silence.  "She'll serve us well."
     "Good crew, too," Baxter said conversationally.
     Irma nodded, quietly grit her teeth.  "The best."



USS EXPLORER, NCC-87968
2377
STARDATE 54994

     "Face it Andy," Counselor Kelly Peterman said, hands-over-
eyes, as Andrew Baxter led her down an Explorer corridor.  
"You're not very good at keeping secrets."
     "We'll see about that.  Keep walking," Baxter grinned,
gently tugging Peterman by the hand.  "It's not much farther 
now."
     "I know just where we're heading.  I checked Ship's
Reservations.  You have the arena reserved.  The whole crew's
probably in there right now."
     "You never know," Baxter said vaguely.  "Now stop looking
for hints."
     "You should have let me plan this."
     "Then it wouldn't have been a surprise."
     "See!  You gave it away just now."
     "Did I?"
     "ERRRRRRGH!"
     Baxter led Peterman up to a pair of heavy double doors. 
"Okay.  You can uncover your eyes."
     Peterman put her hands down.  She read the writing on
the door.  "What did I tell you?  The arena!"
     "The arena it is," Baxter said mysteriously and tapped in
the entry code.  The great double doors spread apart and opened 
up into...absolute darkness.  "Right this way, my sweet!"
     Peterman padded past Baxter into the dark room.  "Let me
guess... everyone's waiting to jump out and say 'SURPRISE!'"
     "Guess again," Baxter said.  "Computer...lights!"
     Soft mood lighting rose up in the huge arena, which Peterman
immediately found to be filled with...no one.
     "It's empty?"  Peterman looked around.
     "THAT's the surprise!" Baxter giggled.  "Nice, huh?"
     "I...guess."
     Baxter led Peterman up to a square table at the center of
the arena, right where tip-off usually was during the basketball
or splatterball games.
     The table was set beautifully with Baxter's signature
Captain's Edition Pfaltzgraff Federation china and two candles.
     "Happy anniversary, sweetheart," Baxter said, and turned
Peterman to face him.  He pulled her to him and kissed her.
     They kissed for several moments, then gently pulled away
from each other.  "I have to admit," said Peterman.  "This is a
surprise."
     "Computer," Baxter said, and gestured for Peterman to have 
a seat.  "Cue audio."
     "...something about the way you look toniiiiiiiiiight..."
     "Elton John?"  Peterman crinkled her nose.
     "It's all the dreaded computer seems to feel like playing
lately," Baxter muttered, and took a seat across from Peterman. 
"Computer, cut the Elton John.  Play something more current, 
but still in the romantic vein."
     "Accessing..."
     "Can you believe it's been two years already?" Peterman
said, reaching across the table to grab Baxter's hands.
     "Yeah, it's amaze--"
     "Our bond is whole, made by pure logic, you know I gotta
stick my katra somewheeerrrrrrrrrrrrrre!"
     "Oh for cripe's sake, not T'Goro," moaned Baxter.  
     "They call him a modern day Elton John, you know," 
Peterman said, smiling.
     "Unfortunately for us."  Baxter sighed.  "Okay, computer,
something classical from Earth.  ROMANTIC, this time.  Strings 
and piano."
     The computer responded obediently with soothing piano and
violin music to the satisfaction of Baxter and Peterman.
     "So..." Peterman said, reaching forward to tickle under
Baxter's chin.  One of the captain's most tender spots.  "What
have you got planned for din-din, you calculating genius?"
     Baxter smiled.  "Computer...energize!"
     And the spread beamed in at the center of the table. 
Peterman looked it over approvingly.  "Andy, you know me so
well!  Three flavors of hummus, veggie pitas, and gobs and gobs 
of salad!"
     "All the stuff I love..." Baxter said with a plastered-on
smile.  "And half the fat.  Yum yum."
     "You're wonderful," Peterman giggled, and reached for the
wine bottle.  "Red?  Isn't that for beef?"
     Baxter rolled his eyes.  "Computer...WHITE wine goes with
chicken and vegetables."
     "Not since Martha Stewart revised her etiquette guide for
2377," the computer replied quickly.  "The new edition indicates
that red wine should be served with chicken, vegetables, and fish. 
White wine is to be served with beef and protoplasm by-products."
     "Why the hell did she go and do a thing like that?" asked
Baxter.
     "Unknown."
     "Let's not let it get to us..." Peterman said soothingly.
     "They never should have frozen that woman and shot her 
out into space, so she could be appreciated by future cultures,"
Baxter grumbled, kneading his napkin.
     "Well, if it makes any difference, the wine is excellent,"
Peterman said.  She was already on her second glass.  "Try some."
     "Don't mind if I do."  Baxter reached for the wine bottle,
just as the doors to the arena parted, sending brighter light from
the corridor streaming in.
     Janice Browning stood in the doorway, and, upon seeing 
Baxter and Peterman's table, rushed over.
     "Ooooh....hummus!" she exclaimed.
     "Can we do something for you, Janice?" Baxter asked,
irritated.  He'd announced his anniversary plans at the morning
staff meeting, while Peterman had been in the bathroom, re-
applying her make-up.
     "Actually, you CAN do something for me," Browning said, 
and circled around to face Baxter.  She sat a padd down in front 
of him, right on top of a veggie-stuffed pita.  "Accept my
resignation.  I quit!"
     She smiled, and it took Baxter a moment to catch on. 
"You...you quit?  You QUIT!"  He laughed heartily.  "Do you 
hear that, Kelly?  She quits!  She quits she quits she quits she
quits!"  Baxter stood and hooked his arm in Janice's, twirling her
around square-dance style.  "Janice quits!  She's off my staff! 
She's fired!  Gone, daddy, gone!"
     Peterman blinked.  "Can someone fill me in here?  Why
exactly are we so happy that Janice quit?"
     Browning and Baxter stopped dancing.  They looked back 
at Peterman blankly.
     "You never told her?" asked Browning.
     "Slipped my mind," admitted Baxter.  He rushed to 
Peterman, took her shoulders in his hands.  "Kelly...I made 
Janice promise me she'd stay on staff until you got 
pregnant!"
     "You..."  Peterman looked to Browning.  "You QUIT!"  
Tears filled her eyes; she leapt out of her chair and into 
Baxter's arms.  He twirled her around and around.  "She quit
she quit she quit!  SHE'S OUTTA HERE!  
YAHHHHHHHHHHHHH-
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
     Browning giggled.  "Glad I could make your day.  
Anyone else I can fire for you, Andy?


     "Folks, it's ALL OVER!" 
     Commander David Conway's green and yellow Mellow 
Yellow NASCAR slid to a stop in the winner's circle and he slid 
out, to be closed in on by a horde of fans.
     "Thank you, thank you, thanks very much," Conway gushed, 
as a gorgeous blonde woman in tight-fitting shorts handed him 
a trophy.  He held it aloft.  "This one's for the fans!"
     Another NASCAR, the Andorian Art Institute car, pulled to 
a stop beside Conway's.  Chris Richards slid out.
     "You rammed into me!" he persisted, pushing through the
crowd of fans that circled Conway. 
     "It's a cruel world, Commander," Conway returned, and 
went back to soaking in the adulation of thousands of pleased 
NASCAR fans.  "I'll rematch you at any time."
     "Forget about it."  Richards threw down his helmet. 
"Kristen told me you cheated.  I should have been ready for it."
     "This coming from the android who rigged the race for ship's
commander a few months back?"
     "No one can prove she did that!" Richards protested.  "But
I have dozens of cameras that can show you ramming into me!"
     "It's perfectly legal in NASCAR, buddy," Conway said, and
grinned as the tight-shorts girl kissed him on the cheek.
     "Great race, Dave!"
     "Thanks, Bunny!"
     Richards rolled his eyes.  He didn't even want to know
what that "Bunny" character was for.  "This is too much, Dave.  
If Andy weren't out celebrating his anniversary tonight, I
wouldn't even be here."
     "And alas, he is, so you had the horrible luck of facing me 
on the NASCAR track, you poor bastard!" Conway grinned.
     "You've been way to happy since Tyra Shar died," Richards
said.  "Without her crushing your spirits, it's almost unbearable
to be around you."
     "Me and the Captain are getting along fine, so it must not
be a problem with me," said Conway, and he and Richards 
headed for the stadium exit.  The hordes of fans trailed behind.
     "That's what makes it even worse," harrumphed Richards. 
"First, you take my girlfriend, then you take my best friend. 
What's next?  You want to adopt Larkin?"
     "There's not near enough room in my quarters for her," said
Conway.  "Anyway, I didn't take Janice, and even if I did, she's
not your girlfriend anymore.  If I recall correctly, Ensign
Madera is."
     Richards sighed.  "Not anymore."
     The cheering was becoming annoying.  "Computer.  Freeze
program," Conway said, and stopped walking.  "What do you 
mean 'not anymore?'"
     "We broke up last night," Richards said.  And why exactly
was he telling Dave Conway this, of all people?  After four 
years, was it possible that he thought of this guy as a human 
being, and not as an utter nuisance?  Not hardly.
     "That makes total sense," said Conway.  "It explains why
you've been so moody lately.  So why'd you break up?"  He 
almost sounded sincere, but Richards didn't fool easily.
     "We drifted apart," Richards said dully.
     "You mean she realized you still have it bad for Janice?"
     "I don't 'have it bad,'" said Richards.  "I just miss her. 
I miss things the way they used to be."
     "You guys both agreed to break up just before the 
wedding, as I recall," Conway said.  "Two years ago today."
     "I know," Richards said, and studied his helmet extra
close.  "I kind of like to think of Andy and Kelly's
anniversary as the anniversary of the end of my relationship 
with Janice."
     "Man, that's morbid."
     "But you still have a chance with her, Commander,"
Richards said.  "You shouldn't waste it.  She's still alone--
has been since we broke up.  If I can't make her happy..."  
Richards swallowed bile before he said the next bit, "...maybe 
you can."
     "You mean it?"  Conway's eyes lit up.
     Richards shrugged.  "I guess."
     "Computer, exit!" Conway called and rushed through the
opening holodeck doors.
     Richards sighed.  "Don't beat around the bush,
Commander."


     The computer told Conway that Browning was just leaving 
the arena, down on Deck 14.  He thought that a bit odd, as 
that's where Baxter and Peterman's anniversary was scheduled 
to take place.  What could she have been doing there?
     "Janice!" Conway called, huffing and puffing to catch up with
Browning.
     "Commander?" Browning asked.  She had been strolling down
the corridor, looking around as if she were seeing that same old
corridor for the first time in ages.
     Conway skidded to a stop, braced himself up against a
bulkhead.  "Janice, I, uhhhf....have to...humph...ooof...tell you
something..."
     "You're hyperventilating?" Browning asked, looking Conway
over with concern.
     Conway shook his head.  "Only a byproduct....ummmmf...
listen..."
     "Bridge to Commander Conway," came the voice of Lt.
Commander Larkin.  "You have a communique coming in from
Starfleet Command.  Your eyes only."
     "My eyes only?" Conway asked, surprised.  "You sure,
Larkin?"
     "I am positive.  Would you like to receive it in your
office?"
     "Sure," Conway said.  "I'll be there in a minute.  Conway
out."  He looked to Browning.  "I have to take this.  Come with 
me?"
     "But Larkin said it was for your eyes only," Browning said.
     Conway shrugged.  "They're always recordings.  No one will
know."
     Browning giggled.  "Good point.  Okay."


2374

     Upon arriving on the bridge, Baxter and Irma found Ship's
Counselor Peterman and Chief of Security J'hana in heated combat. 
And something vicious-sounding growled behind the readyroom 
door.  He heard the sound of a phaser being fired.  Baxter didn't 
even want to know about that.
     "Ladies!  Ladies!  STOP IT!"  Baxter shouted, approaching
the two fighting women.
     The two women froze, looking at Baxter with the faces of 
two kids who had been caught stealing from the cookie jar.  
     Peterman blew her hair out of her face and let go of
J'hana's antenna.  "Sorry, Captain."
     J'hana straightened and saluted.  "Captain Baxter.  It is a
pleasure.  I want you to know that as a warrior, and as your 
chief of security, I would cut off my arm and feed it to you to 
keep you alive.  I would take a phaser hit for you.  I would 
give you my very..."
     "Okay, okay, great, just stop fighting and take your
stations, we're leaving in five minutes.  Where's Commander
Conway?"
     Peterman was checking her makeup in the side mirror 
attached to her computer console.  "He's in the readyroom, but 
it sounds like something weird's going on in there."
     "What a surprise," Baxter said, and looked back at Irma,
who had so far been surveying the situation with detached
amusement.  "Irma, will you check out the readyroom for me?  
I want to get familiarized with the crew here."
     "Sure," Irma said, and went into the readyroom.
     Once she was gone, Baxter looked at Peterman.  "Do I 
smell monkey s***?"
     Peterman shrugged.  "Why on earth would there be a 
monkey on the bridge of a starship?"
     "Good point."  Suddenly Baxter heard a particularly searing
phaser blast and a barely-feminine groan.
     Baxter and J'hana rushed to the readyroom doors.  
Peterman continued to check her makeup.
     Baxter keyed the door open to find his Executive Officer,
Commander David Conway, looming over Irma's unconscious 
form.
     "Whoops," he said noncommittally.  "I was aiming for the
dog."
     "Pleasure to meet you," Baxter said blandly.


2377

     "Please state authorization."
     "Conway Theta 229."
     "Authorization confirmed."  Conway grinned across his 
desk at Browning.  He had the viewer sort of turned halfway 
between him and her so both could see.  "Can you see okay?"
     "Sure," replied Browning.  She leaned forward.
     None other than Admiral Harlan Baxter appeared on the
desktop terminal.  "Commander, uh, Conway.  This is Harlan 
Baxter, Starfleet Command.  Got some news..."
     "He's always so casual," Browning commented.
     Conway nodded.  "What the hell could HE have to tell me?"
     "Yeah," Harlan said, and leaned back in his desk chair.  He
sparked up a cigar and put it in his mouth, took a few satisfied
puffs.  "Yeah, we got this new ship...mmm, that's a good cigar. 
Anyway, we, uh...yeah..."
     Harlan leaned over and scratched his backside.
     "Is he always like this?" asked Conway.
     "After a filling meal, he is," Browning said.
     Conway shook his head.  No wonder Captain Baxter was so
dimwitted.  By the time his father had imparted any fatherly
wisdom, Andy had probably lost interest.
     "Yeah, so this new ship, Aerostar-A...she's a Prometheus. 
What a beauty."
     "Get on with it!" barked Conway.  Of course it was a
recording, so it kept on at the same speed.
     "Well, she ah, she ah needs acamp'n."  Harlan said that 
last bit with the cigar firmly in his mouth.
     "What?"  Conway looked at Browning.  "WHAT?"
     Browning shrugged.
     "Computer," Conway ordered.  "Repeat, and augment!"
     The image reversed a few seconds, then repeated:
     "...she ah needs...ah...campn."
     Browning touched a finger to her nose.  "She needs a captain!"
     "What does that have to do with me?" Conway said blankly, 
as the Harlan message droned on.  "What the hell does that have 
to do with...holy SH**!"
     Browning lept out of her chair and leaned forward to hug
Conway.  "Oh, David, that's the third piece of great news I've
heard in the last fifteen minutes!"
     Conway smiled as Browning hugged him.  He squeezed back, 
leaned his head down on hers.  "What's the other good news?"
     "Kelly's pregnant, and I quit!"
     "Well, those are some great little tidbits of news," said
Conway.  He was still hugging her.
     "Well," Browning said, trying to squirm out from under 
Conway's chin.  "I'm sure you have a lot of preparations to 
make..."
     "First things first..."  Conway pulled back.  "Janice..."
     "Sure you can keep that book I loaned you."
     "No, I..."
     "We'll keep in touch, sure."
     "No, you don't understand..."
     "One last physical for old time's sake?  Okay, I guess..."
     "Janice, I want to be with you!" Conway blurted out across
his desk, just as Lt. Ford poked his head in the office door with
the ship's fuel consumption report.
     "I'll just back right out," Ford said, and ducked his head
out.  Then, as if as an afterthought, he poked his head back in. 
"Hahahahahh!  Commander Conway's a love machine!"
     "Captain Conway is a love machine!" Conway called back, 
and Ford gasped.
     "You mean it?"
     "Yep," Conway said, and smiled.  "Now get out.  And go 
find my boots.  I think they need a good scrub."
     "Yessir!" Ford saluted, and headed off down the corridor.
     Browning's mouth opened and shut, but no sound came out. 
Finally, "David...did you say what I think you said?"
     "Damn right I did.  I want you to be with me, on the
Aerostar-A."
     "But I thought we agreed..."
     "Forget our agreement.  We didn't get together because the
crew was going to get all bent out of shape about it.  Well, I'm
captain of my own ship now.  If a crewman has a problem with 
us being together, I'll damn well kick them off the ship!"
     "David, I just don't know..."
     "Well, at least think about it," Conway said.  "We've
got..."  Conway looked down at Harlan on the screen, who was 
still mumbling unintelligibly.  "Some unintelligible amount of 
time before we rendezvous with the new Aerostar.  Hot 
damn!"


2374

     "I thought you'd like to see this," Counselor Peterman said,
as Baxter followed her into her office.  
     "See what?"  Baxter looked around.  Some of her possessions
were still in boxes, but by what she'd already off-loaded, Baxter
could tell immediately that she was a flake.   Not the friendly,
hippy type of flake that his former Counselor, Claire Webber, 
had been, but a very bizarre, pet-loving, cutesie pink throw-
pillow annoying kind of flake.  "I'm very busy here, Counselor," 
said Baxter.  "I've got one officer down, and one who shot her.  
There's plenty of paperwork to be filled out, that's for sure."
     "This'll just take a minute."  Peterman turned her desktop
terminal around to face her and tapped a control.  "Look at this." 
Baxter looked over her shoulder.  Her perfume was exquisite. 
"Orion Slave," by Vellik.
     Baxter studied the screen.  "Crew roster."
     "Yes," Peterman nodded, as Baxter looked on.  "And there 
is no Irma Wilson on it."
     "Damn strange."  Baxter rubbed his chin.  He thought about
growing a goatee.  "Well, she told me she was a last-minute
addition.  I'm sure her paperwork just hasn't caught up with her
yet."
     Peterman straightened to face Baxter, aware that he was
suddenly quite close to her.  She took a few steps back, stepped
behind her desk.  "I thought you'd be a stickler for paperwork,
coming from inventory and all."
     "I have my moments."  Baxter stood there, trying to think of
something else to say.  "Listen, this is Starfleet, not the
Klingon Imperial Navy.  People don't sneak aboard our ships with
murderous intent.  Not unless they're changelings.  And what are
the chances we've got one of THOSE aboard!"
     Peterman's howler monkey, Raphael, slowly and quietly
sidestepped behind the Counselor's couch.


2377     

     "Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away.
     Now it looks as though they're here to stay.
     Oh, I believe in yesterday..."

     "Oh, Andy," Peterman said, leaning her head on Baxter's
shoulder as the pair slow-danced across the foul line and right
through the three-point shoot/deathblow circle in the Explorer
arena.  "This is the perfect anniversary.  I couldn't think of a
better time to get the news about our baby."
     "How about two months ago?" Baxter suggested, and 
kissed Peterman on the head.
     "Let's not get picky."   
     "Kelly, what are we going to name him?"
     "Or her?"
     "Either way."
     "I don't know.  We should sort of figure out what sex 
the baby is before we go naming him or her, shouldn't we?"
     "I guess.  Can you get any kind of feel for what sex...
uh, it is?"  Baxter slid his hand down to rub Peterman's 
midsection.
     Peterman giggled.  "It doesn't quite work that way, 
honey."
     "I remember, thank you very much."
     "Oh, that's right, you had a Q inside you.  How could 
I have forgotten?"
     "I don't know how.  I talk about it all the time.  Man 
did my feet swell."
     The Beatles played on, and Peterman sighed joyfully. 
"Nothing could make this day any better."
     "Conway to Baxter."
     Baxter grumbled something to himself.  "What?"
     "Just wanted to tell you sir, they gave me my own ship.  
I quit.  Enjoy the anniversary of your doomed marraige!"
     "I'll be darned," said Baxter.  "And we were just getting
to be friends."
     "You'll get over it," Peterman said giddily.  "There.  I'm
already over it!  See how easy it is?"


Captain's Log,
     Stardate 54994.7.  We've been re-routed from our stellar
survey of the Van Nostrin belt to go to Earth for the dedication
of the USS Aerostar, 83835-A, the newest addition to the 
Explorer program.  I go into this with mixed emotions.  I'm 
quite happy on the Explorer, and I think the Aerostar-A will be 
a fine ship for Captain Conway.   But it would have been nice 
if they would have at least ASKED if I wanted the new ship!

     Captain Baxter stepped out onto the bridge.  "How far are 
we from Earth, Larkin?"
     Larkin turned in her seat at ops.  "Two hours, at our
present speed of Warp Six.  The dedication ceremony is 
scheduled for oh-nine hundred tomorrow morning, so we will 
arrive well ahead of time."
     "Goody," Baxter said, and glanced around the bridge.  No 
one was in the center seat.  "Where's Conway?"
     "In his office."
     "Isn't he on-duty?"
     "That is correct."
     "He should be up here then.  Captain or no, he's still my 
first officer until we get to Earth."
     "Shall I retrieve him?" Larkin asked.
     Baxter sighed.  "No.  I'll do it.  You have the bridge."
     

     "I hearby resign my...no, that's not right.  I hope you
accept my...  nah, sounds too wishy-washy.  How about 'I quit!'"
     Lt. Commander Richards bent over his desk down in
Engineering and scratched his head.  He'd been working on
his resignation for nearly an hour, but couldn't get it to
sound exactly right.
     The doors to his office slid open and Lt. Megan Hartley
stuck her head in.  "Chris...I've got a coupling out here I
want you to take a--" She paused.  "What are you doing?"
     Richards turned over the padd he was working on.  
"None of your business."
     "Let's see it."  Hartley stepped forward toward his desk.  
He grabbed the padd.  She bent forward and snatched it.  
"Let's see, I said!"
     Richards tugged it back.  "No!"
     Hartley poked Richards in the ribcage and tickled. 
"Leggo!"  In a fit of giggles, Richards relented, and Hartley
read the padd.
     "You resign?" Hartley asked.  "Ten times, in ten 
different ways?"
     "I'm trying to figure out how to phrase it," said
Richards, and he stood.
     "Don't you have your old one on file?"
     "Deleted it."
     "Smart move."  
     "Can I have the padd back now?"
     Hartley held it back.  "Why are you resigning, anyway?"
     "Because I am not ready to serve on a ship where 
Commander Conway and Janice are a couple."
     "A couple of buffoons, maybe," Hartley said.  "But 
they'd never get together."
     "I gave Conway permission earlier today.  Trust me, 
he'll be dating her by the end of the day."
     "They do not make any sense as a couple."
     "And a thirty-year-old engineer dating a twenty-year-
old alien does make sense?"
     "We're talking about you, not me!"
     "I thought we were talking about Conway and Janice."
     "Which involves you," Hartley said.  "You still love her,
don't you?"
     "What does it matter."  Richards sat on the edge of his
desk.  "She made it implicitly clear who she wants to be 
with."
     "Women have ways of surprising you now and then, 
Chris.  Before you do anything rash, why don't you go and 
talk to her?"
     Richards thought about it.  "Nah...we've been apart too
long.  It would never work."
     "Either that, or it's just what the two of you needed.  
Ever think of that?"
     Richards blinked.  "No, not really."
     Hartley smiled.  "Go get her, Chris.  I'll look after 
things here."
     "Okay.  I will!  Thanks, Megan!"
     Hartley swung around Richards's desk, sat down, and put 
her feet up on it.  "Don't mention it.  And, just in case you 
decide you still want to resign, just remember, I'm here to 
take care of things!"


2374

     Richards and Hartley walked together down an Aerostar
corridor.   "You're being very difficult, Commander," Hartley
muttered.
     "I read Counselor Peterman's report, Lieutenant," Richards
replied.  "There's no way you can be an engineer on this ship. 
Not at this time, anyway.  I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do."
     "But you're my supervisor.  She's just a...a flake!"
     "I have to go by her recommendation.  For now, you're a
transporter chief."
     "It's not fair," muttered Hartley.
     "What can I say," Richards said.  "You're just going to
have to deal with it.  Meanwhile, I have to go try to re-
assemble our new chief of operations."
     Hartley decided not to ask for further details.
     The pair passed by Sickbay as they continued to their
separate destinations.  Just as they passed, the doors open to
allow Irma Wilson to walk out.
     "Excuse me," she said, and shouldered past Richards.  "I
have a dog to find."  
     Richards's eyes went wide.  "Didn't I see her before?" he
said to himself.
     "Probably.  It's not that big a ship," said Hartley.
     "But she appeared when we were still in spacedock," 
said Richards.  "I wasn't even chief engineer yet.  I was just
surveying engineering to make sure everything was in the 
right places.  She mumbled something about looking for 
someone named Mirk, then disappeared."
     "People show up and disappear all the time, Mister
Richards."
     "You don't understand, Lieutenant.  I mean she 
LITERALLY disappeared."
     "What can I say," shrugged Hartley.  "It's a strange
universe."


2377

     On his way down to find Conway, Baxter ran into
Dr. Browning.  At least he was pretty sure it was Dr. 
Browning.
     She was dressed in a shape-hugging silk red dress 
and wore thick red lipstick.  Her hair was twirled up and
crimped.
     "Janice?" Baxter asked.
     "What?" she asked casually, picking up step next to 
Baxter.
     "You look like a...like a Dabo girl."
     "Thanks, I guess."
     "Where are you going dressed like that?"
     "To meet a friend."
     "What friend?"
     Browning sighed.  "You'll find out soon enough 
anyway.  Captain Conway."
     Baxter gasped.  "Janice!"
     "Andrew, I'm not going to argue with you about this.
I know your feelings...still..." she straightened her dress. 
"Warp speed ahead!"
     "Janice!"
     "Please don't be upset with me.  I'm going to the 
Aerostar-A."
     "JAN-ICE!"
     The pair came up to the doors to Conway's office.  
Baxter was still thunderstruck.
     "JANNNNN--"
     "Enough," said Browning.  "Either be happy for me or 
just be quiet"  She  took in an unsteady breath.  "I have to do 
this."
     "Janice!"
     "I told you, enough..."  Browning paused.  It wasn't 
Baxter that time, it was Richards, barreling down the corridor
toward her.
     "Janice!" Richards called, running down the corridor,
bouquet of flowers in his hands.  He dropped to his knees.  
"Marry me!"
     Just then, Captain Conway stepped out of his office.  He
looked around.  "Anyone got a few packing crates?"
     "We're in the middle of something here," Baxter muttered.
     "WE?" Richards asked.  "This is between me and Janice."
     Browning sighed.  "Christopher, there's nothing between me 
and you."  She turned to Conway.  "I'm going to be with Captain
Conway."
     "You mean you'll go to the Aerostar with me?" asked Conway.
     Browning smiled and leaned in to hug Conway.  "Uh...yes!"
     "CAPTAIN?  AEROSTAR?" Richards asked, perplexed.
     "My new ship," said Conway.
     "NOOOooooooooooooo!" cried Richards, and battered the
flower bouquet into a thousand pieces against the ship's deck.
     "Take it like a man, Richards," said Conway.  "Besides,
you gave me permission."
     Browning turned an angry look on Richards.  "You 
GAVE PERMISSION!"
     Baxter backed off down the corridor.  "I've got a lot
of...appointments. I'll see you guys, uh, around.  Bye!"
     

     "More couscous, my little Yak-liver?" Mirk asked, 
hovering over Hartley's plate with a steaming bowl.
     "Please, no more," Hartley said.  She put her fork down 
as Mirk retook his seat across from her at the table in their
quarters.
     Since he'd moved in a couple weeks ago, Hartley's quarters 
had taken on a much more festive tone.  They had been spartan 
for quite some time, but Mirk had a knack for decoration.  The 
room was now dressed up with plants and colorful fruit trees.  
And he'd switched out her Starfleet-grey furniture with some 
much more satisfying pastels.
     "So, Richards wants Browning, Browning wants Conway, 
Conway wants Browning, and all three want off the ship," Mirk 
summed up, spooning couscous into his mouth.
     "That's about the size of it," said Hartley.
     "Room for advancement for you, either way," he said.  "So
it's a good thing, right?"
     "Sure," said Hartley.  "I just wish they weren't in such a
romantic... quadrangle, or whatever you'd like to call it.  It
makes me wish they had the kind of relationship we have."
     "All three of them?"
     "Well, two of the three."
     Mirk munched thoughtfully.  "Which two then?"
     Hartley shrugged.  "Beats me.  I'm no counselor."
     "Well, whatever the case, I'm sure everything will work out
for the be-be-be-beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeooooooooo!"  
Mirk's eyes glazed over fiery red and energy bolts fired out of 
them, scorching the wall behind Hartley.
     Hartley stared across the table at Mirk, whose eyes returned
to normal.  Smoke rose from his head.
     "You okay?" she asked after a few moments' silence.
     "Yeah," said Mirk.  "That's been happening for a while now."
     "Any idea why?"
     "Not really.  Just hope it's not a bad omen."
     Hartley stood up to clear the table.  "Well, as long as it
isn't hurting anyone."  She carried her plate and Mirk's over to
the reclamator.  She sat them in the slot and turned on a heel. 
"Wait a minute.  If it's been happening for a while now, why
aren't our walls all scorched up?"
     Mirk shrugged innocently.  "Who knows?"
     Hartley marched over to one of the bulkheads, where Mirk 
had recently erected an artful Navajo Indian rug.  She ripped the 
rug down; sure enough, two scorch marks.
     "Mirk!"
     "I'll go have myself checked out tomorrow, hon," Mirk 
said sheepishly.


2374

Captain's Log,
     Stardate 51015.5.  We're on our way to the Bermuda Expanse.  
I've got to say, so far captaining is...well, weird.  I've got a 
grumpy First Officer, a grumpy transporter chief, and a grumpy 
tactical officer.  They're all grumpy in their own special ways, but 
grumpy all the same.  Then there's the counselor, who's cute but...
well, a flake.
     
     Captain Baxter sat in the center-seat, savoring the feel of
the soft cushion underneath his rear end.  It sure beat his seat
down in the Jefferies tube on the Secondprize.  Of course it did. 
He was captain.  Captain.  He loved the way it rolled off his
tongue.
     Baxter was stirred from his thoughts when Irma sat heavily
down beside him.
     "All checked out in Sickbay, Irma?" Baxter asked, trying to
sound semi-friendly.
     "Sure did!" replied Irma.  "You've got..." she choked it
out, "quite a Chief Doctor."
     "Her personnel record was...well, sort of favorable."
     Commander Conway glanced across Baxter at Irma, from 
his seat to Baxter's right.  "Sorry about shooting you, there, 
Irma."
     "No problem, Commander," Irma replied pleasantly.  
"We're all one big happy Starfleet family."
     "That's the spirit," said Baxter.  "I think we're all going
to become great friends on this mission.  I can just feel it."
     "If you say so," muttered Conway.
     "Say," said Baxter.  "Where's Counselor Peterman, anyway?"
     "Looking for her dog," Irma said, and smiled devilishly. 
"He's gone missing!"  She fingered the bandage on her arm
ruefully.
     "That's too bad," giggled Conway.
     "Yes," Irma said, also giggling.  "Too bad!"
     Baxter looked at the two of them and shivered.  Maybe he
spoke too soon.


2377

     In his readyroom, Baxter thought of Conway and Browning 
and shivered.  He wanted Janice to be happy, but not this way.  
Not with Conway, and certainly not off his ship.  Who would 
make him bacon and eggs and grapefruit each morning, or, on 
the mornings Peterman ate with him, a bran muffin and a 
grapefruit?
     Just as Baxter was about to open a channel to Browning and 
ask that very question, the doors to his readyroom slid open and
Richards shuffled in, still carrying the bashed bouquet of
flowers.
     "Wasn't that locked?" asked Baxter.
     Richards shrugged and sunk into the chair across from him. 
"Who knows."
     "Well," Baxter said.  "What seems to be the problem?"
     Richards glared at his friend.  "'What seems to be the
problem?  WHAT seems to be the PROBLEM?"
     "Sorry.  Couldn't resist."
     "I should get off this ship.  Give that art career another
try.  Maybe without Janice clouding my mind I  can really get 
some work done."
     "I've got a better idea."
     Richards sighed.  "What?"
     "Be my first officer."
     "Huh?"
     Baxter slid a padd across to Richards.  "Initial there and
you'll be a full commander.  It'll really raise your spirits."
     "You're trying to cheer me up by promoting me?"  Richards
scratched his head and looked at the padd.
     "What can it hurt?" asked Baxter.  "You're tired of
engineering, and I can understand that.  So why not give 
command a try?  You can still resign if you don't like it, but I 
have a feeling you'll enjoy it."
     Richards read the padd.  "Boss people around, huh?"
     "The whole ship," Baxter said with a grin.  He leaned
forward.  "Just think of it, Chris.  With us in command, things
will go so much more smoothly.  No fights over administrative
decisions like me and Conway had.  No silly arguments about
who's the better commander.  Just fun and friendship.  With you 
and me at the helm, the ship can't go wrong."
     "Sounds like this is more for you than me," Richards said,
tapping the padd idly.
     "Maybe so," said Baxter.  "But you still might find you
enjoy it.  Damn it, Chris, at least give it a shot!"
     Richards shrugged and thumbed his signature on the padd. 
"Fine.  My life can't get any worse, right?"
     Baxter stood and circled around his desk, clapping a hand 
on Richards's shoulder.  "That's the spirit.  Welcome to the 
team, Commander!"


2374     

     "I thought Andy was coming down," Lt. Commander
Richards asked, as Irma looked tiredly over Larkin's inactive
body.
     "He sent me in his place," said Irma.  Actually, Irma
thought, I argued to go in his place.  Just so I can get my 
hands on your big, fat, throbbing--
     "Warp core's acting up," Ensign Stuart said, approaching
the master systems table, next to which Larkin stood re-
assembled but totally inoperative.  Apparently, upon beam-in,
she'd blown into dozens of pieces.
     "I'll go check it," said Richards.  "Stay right here...Irma."  
He shot her a fearful look and headed for the warp core.
     Irma smiled and looked around the engineering 
compartment.  All the staff were humming happy tunes, 
checking the core for any sign of imminent breach.  It was her 
time to act.



2377

     "I've got to admit it, Kristen," newly-promoted 
Commander Chris Richards said, strolling down the corridor 
with Lt. Commander Kristen Larkin.  "I'm extremely jealous."  
He couldn't get Browning and Conway out of his mind.
     "As am I," Larkin said, as they rounded a bend.
     "I can only assume we're talking about different things?"
     "You assume right," Larkin said. "I was next in line for
command of the Explorer."
     "Your feelings are hurt," Richards said, and stopped
walking.  Larkin continued a few paces, looked back 
quizzically and returned to join Richards.  "That's so 
adorable."
     "I do not believe so," said Larkin.  "My emotional 
program is generating a plethora of programmatic responses, 
including jealousy, anger, rejection, inferiority, pride, 
selfishness..."
     "I get it," Richards cut her off.  "I'm sorry, Kristen.  I
can talk to Andy, if you like...to tell you the truth, it
doesn't make much difference to me."
     "That is unnecessary," Larkin replied.  "I have opted
instead to pursue the position of first officer aboard the
Aerostar-A."
     "You're leaving?!" Richards gasped.
     "That is correct.  I believe Captain Conway will be
receptive to my proposal."
     "Sure he'll be," Richards said, still shocked.  "You're a
damn good officer.  But I don't want you to leave, Kristen.  
You don't know how great it's been having a daughter for 
these three years..."
     "That may well be," Larkin said.  "In essence, you
will still have me.  I will simply be far away on the 
Aerostar."
     "It won't be the same."
     "Change is an inescapable truth of life, Father," said
Larkin.  "Neither of us can prevent it.  We must instead use 
it to our advantage, as you have, and as I will."
     "That's so mature of you, Kristen...I just..." Richards's
eyes began tearing.  "I love you..." He reached out and pulled 
the androide into a hug.
     Larkin sighed.  "Weeping subroutines initializing...now
you have done it, Father.  I too am crying.  I hope you are
happy."
     "I am, Kristen.  I really am," Richards moaned, and cried
on Larkin's shoulder.
     Reluctantly, Larkin cried too.


2374

     Richards rebooted Larkin and her eyes popped open.  
She glanced around engineering.
     "Where am I?"
     "You're on the Aerostar," Richards said, and he was
looking around too.  "Have you seen a large woman in an 
ill-fitting uniform around here?"
     "No, sir, as I was just now activated," Larkin replied. 
"If you like, I can perform a search--"
     "That's okay."  Richards tapped his finger on the master
system controls thoughtfully.  "Say, Larkin...have I seen you
somewhere before?"
     "I do not believe so."
     "Neither do I."  
     Larkin stood there staring at Richards for a moment,
then said, "I should go to the bridge."
     "Okay.  See you around."  Richards headed toward his
office, unaware of the pinging sound that resonated somewhere
deep at the bottom of the warp core.  Meanwhile, down in a 
Jefferies tube, Irma Wilson laughed uproariously.


2377

     "Poor Chris," said Counselor Peterman, standing idly at the
door to Browning's quarters as the former doctor packed her 
things.  "First he loses you, then his daughter, all to Commander
 Conway."
     "This is hard enough, Kelly," Browning said.  "Do you think 
this is how I pictured things going?  Just try to understand...ok?"
     Before Peterman could respond, Plato rushed out of
the back room, heaving a large bag.
     "I got all your replicator chips together, Mom!" he said
enthusiastically.
     "Great," Browning said, leaning down to kiss him on the
forehead.  "Go ahead and start packing your things."
     "I'm not guilting you," Peterman said.  "I'm just
saying...from a pure counseling perspective, that Chris must 
really be hurting right now.  It's going to be a tough job helping 
him bounce back from this."
     "It's time for me to go, Kelly," Browning said.  Then her 
tone softened somewhat.  "I care a lot about you and Andy.  
And," she sighed, "and Christopher.  But I have to do this."
     "Chris loves you, Janice."
     "I know.  I love him too.  There were plenty of times I
wanted badly to get back together with him."  She looked
around.  What else to pack up?  "But now I've finally moved 
on.  He will too."
     "I hope so."  Peterman sniffled.  "Oh, Janice.  Who's 
going to help me with this baby?"
     "Holly's a great doctor, Kelly," Browning said, moving 
over to wrap an arm around Peterman.  "You'll be fine."
     "But I was hoping you'd give me advice on how to be a
mom, give me hand-me-down baby clothes, help me get through 
all those temper-tantrums..."
     "What are you going to miss?  Me or my parenting skills?"
     Peterman shrugged.  "Both?"


     Captain Conway's quarters were almost entirely cleaned out. 
Everything had been transported to the cargo bay and gathered 
into crates, including the items from his office.  His coffee supply
had been very carefully removed by ship's security, and was 
standing by in the cargo bay, under a protective level 10 force 
field.
     BEEP-EEP.
     "Come on in," Conway said, and sat down on his couch.  He
loved that couch.  He considered taking it, then thought better of
it.  There was bound to be an even better couch in the captain's
quarters on the Aerostar.
     Lt. Commander Larkin walked in.  "I have a matter of some
importance to discuss with you, Captain," she said solemnly.
     "You want to be my First Officer."  Conway's eyes lit up. 
"Fantastic.  You've got it.  Can't wait to work with you."
     Larkin appeared confused.  "I did not have to beg?"
     "Of course not.  You're an android.  You have tactical
scenarios and historical databases big enough to fill our ship's
computer.  You're stronger than a razorbeast and invulnerable 
to most weapons.  You'd be the perfect first officer."
     Larkin seemed like she didn't know what to say.  After a
few nanoseconds of indecision, she said, "I will be pleased to
work with you, Captain.  I shall prepare for departure
immediately.  I can be ready within the hour."
     "Excellent," said Conway, and patted her on the back. 
"We'll have a great time on the Aerostar."  Conway led her to 
the door.  "Say, what gave you the idea you'd have to beg for 
your job?"
     "Lieutenant Ford, sir," said Larkin.
     "Oh.  He WILL have to beg."
     "I assumed as much."
     "See you in an hour," Conway said, and added with a grin,
"Commander Larkin."
     

2374

     "Lieutenant Larkin, is that class of vessel on record?"
     "No sir," Larkin replied, as Captain Baxter watched the
tiny, oblong freighter on the Aerostar's viewscreen.  "I cannot
find a match in any Starfleet database.  However, by design it
appears to be a modified light freighter."
     "Cargo?" Baxter asked.
     "Sir," said J'hana, "I am picking up Starfleet equipment,
photon torpedo launchers, sensor clusters, and tractor beam
emitters."
     Baxter leaned forward and snapped his fingers.  "That's 
our bandit, I'll wager.  Ford, match course and speed with him.  
This mission may be easier than we thought."
     "Don't count on it," Irma said under her breath, at Baxter's
left.  She'd returned from engineering just in time to watch the
fireworks.  Peterman was probably still searching for poor
Charlie.
     Larkin studied her panel.  "Sir, the vessel is on a direct
course for the Bermuda Expanse."
     "Curiouser and curiouser.  Well, let's follow this white
rabbit and see where he leads us," Baxter said.
     "Dumb idea."  Baxter heard Conway mutter.  On the other 
side of Baxter, Irma chuckled low and fierce.
     "Do you have a better idea, Commander?" Baxter said, 
ignoring Irma.
     "No sir, but I don't know if it's such a good idea, charging
into that region, when every ship that goes in there is never
heard from again."
     "I know what I'm doing, Conway.  Trust me."


2377

     "I feel like I'm being touched by a stranger," Baxter sighed
as Doctor Holly Wilcox continued on with his physical.  She'd
wanted a hands-on look at the senior staff as soon as possible,
since she didn't really trust Browning's record-keeping.  For
goodness sake, there was a smear of raspberry jam on her 
desktop terminal screen that very well might have been there 
since the Explorer's launch in 2375.
     "I'm a professional, Captain," Holly said, and sighed. 
"Now, cough."
     Baxter did, and Holly stood to face him as he sat on 
the biobed.  "Good.  Now let's go over your tests, shall we?"
     "Sure," Baxter said, and nodded.  As Holly looked over 
her medical padd, filled with all of Baxter's test results, 
Browning crept into Sickbay, and headed to the office.
     "Forgot my pizza sauce," she said with a giggle.
     "At any rate," Holly said.  "Everything checked out,
except..."
     Baxter gasped.  "Except I have an awful degenerative 
illness that can't be cured."  He stared at the ceiling.  "Oh, 
why me God!  WHY ME!"
     Holly sighed again.  "Not exactly, sir.  I just detected 
a slight irregularity in your hairline."
     "In my..."  Baxter touched the top of his head.  "In my
hair?"
     Holly nodded gravely.  "I'm afraid so.  Listen..."
     Browning suddenly stuck her head out of her former 
office.  "Oh, Holly?  Could you come back here and help me 
with something?"
     "I'm a bit busy right now, Doctor," Holly said.  She 
didn't feel right suddenly calling Browning by her first name.
     Browning marched up to the biobed and grabbed Holly's 
arm.  "Now, Doctor!"
     Holly let out a squeal of shock and Browning dragged her
backward toward the office.  "I'll be right back."
     Baxter stared at himself in the reflection of the biobed
monitor.  "My...hair?"
     Browning dragged Holly into her office and shut the door. 
"Holly, I forgot to tell you something."
     "Is this about the manicotti that's in stasis in the morgue?"
     Browning shook her head.  "No, no.  It's Andy's hair..."
     "The guy is going bald, Janice," Holly said worriedly.  
"And he hasn't a clue.  How could you have not known about 
this?"
     "I have known," Browning said.  "Just before we left on the
Aerostar's first mission, the Secondprize doctor contacted me
about it.  Under orders from Claire Webber, the counselor 
on the Secondprize, no one is to ever tell him about that male-
pattern baldness.  It would push him over the edge."
     "Preposterous," said Holly.  "He's got a counselor for a
wife...!"
     "Who agrees wholeheartedly with Webber's prognosis."
     "There are all sorts of cures that we can try on him--"
     "Doctor Aldridge on the Secondprize tried it all," said 
Browning.  "There's nothing that can be done.  Except for the 
eventual implants or toupee.  But let him find that out on his 
own, Holly."
     "This is silly."  Holly turned for Sickbay.  "I'm a doctor,
not a counselor.  I'm putting it to him like it is."
     Browning sighed.  "You are the CMO now, Holly.  Just 
don't say I didn't warn you."
     "I'll remember you said that," said Holly.  "Just do me a
favor and don't forget that pizza sauce."
     "I already ate it."


     Baxter left Sickbay feeling, well, sick.  Holly gave him a
detailed analysis of his shrinking hairline, coupled with
courageous stories of people like Picard and (gasp, really?) 
Kirk who had made great careers for themselves, though bald.  
Then there was Sisko, who made himself bald on purpose.  
Baldness wasn't just a disease he could live with, but it was 
entirely sheik.  Still, Baxter was saddened by the awful thought 
of his dusty blonde mane being nothing but a wrap-around 
comb-over one day.  He resolved to shave it all if it came to
that.
     He stepped into the turbolift and ordered it to the bridge.
     When the turbolift opened up onto the bridge, Baxter 
found himself, not for the first time, totally and utterly 
confused.
     Richards was in the command chair, and Ensign Sefelt 
was at ops.  Madera was at helm.
     Baxter stepped out onto the bridge and glanced around.  
He sighed relief; Tilleran and J'hana were still at their rightful
stations.
     "Isn't this alpha shift, Commander?" Baxter asked, circling
around toward the command center.
     Richards shifted one chair to the right.  "Yep," he said
simply.  "Captain Conway drafted a few of your officers."
     "Would've been nice if he'd asked first," Baxter said
moodily.
     "Remember, you two are growing to be great friends."
     "Screw all that, I want my android back."
     "Now now, Captain," said Richards.  "I'm her father, 
and if I can deal with the loss of Larkin, I'm sure you 
can."
     "You probably cried like a baby," muttered Baxter.
     "Like a baby who lost his blankie, sir," Richards said.
     "As long as that's the case, I don't feel so bad."  Baxter
looked to Sefelt at ops.  "Ensign, how long until we reach 
Earth?"
     Sefelt turned in his chair.  "I'm a lieutenant now,
actually," he said crisply.  "And we're on course for Earth 
at warp six.  We'll reach our destination in twelve point five
minutes."
     Baxter glanced at Richards.  "Who the hell promoted 
him?  And why does he sounds so...not scared?"
     "I promoted him, and Kelly thinks he might be cured of 
all his neuroses, just by the simple fact of getting promoted," 
said Richards.  
     "But...YOU...promoted?"
     "Remember how you made me First Officer?" Richards
grinned.  "I can do that now."
     "Sure," said Baxter.  "It'll just take a bit of getting used
to."
     "You're telling me.  Conway's office smells like wet dog."
     "I believe he used to wash Bucky in there."
     "It shows."
     Baxter nodded and looked at the stars rushing toward them
 on the viewscreen.  Best buddy at his side, Sefelt and Madera
doing a passable job up front.  He could get used to this.
     "Prepare us for arrival at Earth, Ensign Madera," Baxter
said.
     "You mean Lieutenant Madera?" she asked impishly.  
"Chris promoted me too."  She glared back at him.
     "To soften the blow of the break-up," Richards explained
quietly.
     "Keep promoting," replied Madera.  "You're not out of 
the woods yet."
     "Just man your post, Lieutenant," sighed Richards.
     "You're really getting the hang of this command stuff,
Chris," laughed Baxter, "or should I say...Number One?"
     Richards leaned his chin on his hand.  "Oh, be quiet...
sir."
     

     Conway leaned against the viewport in his now-empty 
quarters and watched spacedock loom into view as Explorer 
sailed into the Terran system.
     Browning stepped up next to him, leaned her head on 
his shoulder.
     "What are you thinking?"
     "Trying to remember where I put Bucky," Conway said
thoughtfully.  Finally, he snapped his fingers.  "Oh, yes.  Ford's
washing him.  I told him he'd get full lieutenant for a weekly
wash.  Lieutenant commander for wash and pet-icure."
     "You're certainly a born leader, Captain," Browning 
giggled, and kissed Conway on the cheek.
     Conway took a deep breath as Explorer swung up around
Earth and headed toward Starbase One.  "So...when are we 
going to have sex?"
     "You really know how to romance a woman," Browning 
grimaced, and turned away from the viewport.
     "It's just been a bit since I, uh, broke up with Tyra."
     "You mean since you killed her?"
     "Same difference," Conway mumbled. 
      The Explorer slowly drifted through the spacedock doors 
and Conway beamed.  Over at the far end of the spacedock sat 
the silvery-white, four-nacelled, missile-shaped Prometheus-class
Aerostar.  Only the second Prometheus model cleared for active
Starfleet duty.  Supposedly, as the reports read, they got all the
bugs out.
     Browning carried two flutes of wine over from the replicator
slots.  "Now, Commander, let's celebrate.  To new beginnings..."
     Conway watched as the Explorer drifted up next to the 
Aerostar-A.  He blankly took the proffered wine glass and downed 
it.  "Yeah, to new beginnings."  He belched.
     Browning grinned weakly.  "How romantic."


2374

     "Nanny Nanny Nee, ya can't catch me!" 
     "What the hell?"  Baxter sat down, perplexed.  The voice on
the other end of the communication sounded young, full of
mischief.  Not the kind of voice he expected from a grand
larcenist.
     Conway leaned over toward Baxter.  "I recommend we go 
to yellow alert, Captain."
     "Excellent idea.  Go to yellow alert.  Lieutenant J'hana,
see if you can lock a tractor beam onto our friend."
     "At warp, sir?"
     "It's been done."
     "But it's not recommended."
     "There may be a glorious death in it for you!"
     "Locking on tractor beam, sir."
     "I like your style," Irma said, leaning over to speak to
Baxter.  "I think we'll make a great team."
     "Me too," Baxter grinned, then glanced back at J'hana. 
"Engage tractor beam."
     A blue beam of light reached out at the vessel on the
viewscreen.
     "Success, Captain!" J'hana said with pride.
     Irma looked on gleefully.
     "Great," Baxter said.
     "Nanny Nanny Nye, your all gonna die!"  The voice had
actually become more mocking.
     Baxter frowned.  "I'm really getting irritated.  Lock
phasers on that ship, target their engines and fire on my mark!"
     "Captain..." said Ford.
     "Just enough power to disable them, J'hana, we don't 
want to kill 'em yet."
     "Captain..." Ford repeated.
     "Phasers locked, sir."
     "Captain..." Now there was actually fear in Ford's voice.
     "What is it, Ensign?" asked Baxter, irritated.
     "Sir, we're headed straight for the Bermuda Expanse.  We'll 
be in the center of the disturbance in fifty-eight seconds!"
     "Ho boy..." Baxter sighed.
     "Maybe we could just let him go and take scans from 
outside the disturbance..." Conway suggested.
     "That's an excellent idea," said Irma.  "I agree."
     "I don't know," Baxter said.  "We can't just let him go."
     "Why don't we pull back full on the tractor beam?" 
suggested Irma.  She got up and stepped around to the 
Engineering control panel to her right.  Usually an engineer 
manned that post, but none was available.  She swung behind it.  
"I can configure the engines to maximum output.  We can jerk 
him to a stop, I guarantee."
     "I think we can trust her, Captain," said Conway.
     "I tend to agree," Baxter said, in spite of the fact that he'd never
even been told what Irma's department was.  "Do your thing, 
Irma," he said.
     Irma did her thing, and panels shorted out all over the
bridge.  She cackled like an insane banshee, the struggling
freighter on the viewscreen slammed to a stop, engines wiped 
out, and the Aerostar stopped too, just out side the purple
roiling Bermuda Expanse.  The tiny taunting ship flew on
in. 
     One of Aerostar's nacelles exploded outright.
     The warp core dumped and exploded in a ball of gorgeous
flame, pitching the bridge crew out of their seats and too the 
deck.  Through it all Baxter wondered just what Irma thought 
was so damn funny.
     The Aerostar's power grid coughed up one last slew of
electric sparks then shorted out altogether.
     Then everything went dark.


2377

     Mirk shot up in bed, dripping sweat.  "Nanny...nanny...?"
     Hartley curled up next to him, didn't open her eyes.  "What
are you mumbling about, hon?"
     "Nanny Nanny Nee?  What was I thinking?"
     "What do you mean?"
     "That's what I said when the captain was trying to capture
me in the Bermuda Expanse four years ago.  Why did I say 
that?"
     "He always figured you were just being a bastard," said
Hartley.  "Does that make you feel better?"
     Mirk shook his head.  "Not really."
     "What had you thinking about that, anyway?" Hartley asked. 
She yawned and worked her eyes open.
     "A dream," Mirk said.  "A really weird dream."  He 
neglected to tell Hartley that Irma was in it.  No need to worry 
her needlessly.
     "Didn't you say the Directors teach that all dreams mean
something important?  Kind of how my dream about making out 
with you meant I really wanted to make out with you?"
     Mirk chuckled.  "Nonsense.  I always say that to get girls." 
He wish he didn't have to lie to her.  But she'd be likely to
freak out if he said his dream probably did mean something.
     But really, what were the odds that Irma was out there,
right at that moment, some four years ago, somehow working to 
undo the future?
     Mirk shuddered at that thought and leaned back in bed. 
Everything would look better in the morning.  He was all worked 
up over nothing.


     Everything was bright in the Baxter/Peterman quarters as
morning lighting rose up throughout the living room.  Baxter 
was at the replicator, fixing coffee and muffins, and Peterman was
in the bathroom, preparing her hair sufficiently to celebrate the
Aerostar-A's send-off.
     Charlie, the golden retriever, sat nibbling on a chewtoy, glaring
from time to time at Pandora the Jack Russell terrier, who kept a 
safe distance up on Baxter's barcalounger.
     Fritz, Peterman's kitten, meanwhile perched atop Baxter's
bookcase, right in between Sun Tzu's "The Art of War" and "The
Bridges of Madison County."
     "Muffins are ready, hon," Baxter called out, and Peterman
emerged from the bathroom, hair piled atop her head in an
impressive, frizzy bundle.
     "You like?"
     Baxter grinned.  "I like."
     They sat together at the breakfast table and Baxter buttered
his muffin.  "Say, honey, would you still love me if I were bald?"
     Peterman stopped chewing.  "What would make you possibly
think you might go bald?"
     Holly'd sworn him to secrecy.  "Nothing.  Just a feeling."
     "I'd still love you, for what it's worth," Peterman said,
leaning forward.  "But you won't go bald.  I'll see to that
myself."
     "How?"
     Peterman shrugged, sniffing back tears.  "I don't know.  
But I promise you, Charlie as my witness, I damn well will!"


     Richards just happened to be waiting outside the arboretum
as Browning jogged by.  He knew her route implicitly.
     "Morning, Janice," he said, and picked up step beside her 
as she jogged.
     "Christopher."
     "Still mad at me?"
     "Are you kidding?"
     "I could promote you.  It worked with Lieutenant Madera!"
     "I'm not in Starfleet anymore, but if I were, you'd have to 
make me an admiral."
     Ouch.  "Janice, listen, I didn't mean to give Conway
permission to date you.  I didn't mean to put it quite that way. 
I just realized I was holding you back by...by staying attached 
to you.  Dave knew that.  And in spite of all his faults, he was a
good enough man to stay away so as to not cause problems 
between you and me."
     "That may have had something to do with me," Browning said. 
"I'm the one who told him he and I couldn't be together, not as long 
as you and I entertained even the smallest notion of getting 
back together ourselves."
     "So now you're not entertaining those notions anymore?"
     Browning shook her head.  "Christopher, I can't do this."
     "Listen, I'm just asking you to think abou--OOOOF!" 
Richards tripped on a plastic shuttlecraft playset.  Even as he
fell to the deck, he knew Kassie Stuart was to blame.  Her
father Ryan had bragged nonstop about assembling that for 
her.  Now Richards had crushed it, and worse, fallen flat on 
his face and lost sight of Browning.
     "You smashed my toy," little Kassie said stormily, 
looming over Richards.  "Make me a new one!"
     "No," Richards grumbled and pushed himself up.
     Kassie punched him in the gut.  "NOW!"
     "Okay, okay!"  Ensign Stuart was getting serious 
demerits for this.  And he could forget about that gratuitous 
promotion!


     "I will miss working with you," Commander Larkin said, in
full dress uniform, leading Lt. Commanders Tilleran and J'hana 
to the transporter room.  "It is an unfortunate truth of the
promotion process."
     "You will be an excellent first officer," J'hana said.  "In
addition, you will be missed here."  J'hana glanced at Tilleran. 
Nudged her in the gut.  "Ariel..."
     Tilleran glanced at Larkin distractedly.  "Oh, yes. 
Congratulations, et cetera, et cetera."
     "Are you all right, Commander?" asked Larkin, dropping
back to walk with Tilleran.
     "I suppose.  I guess all these changes on board are really
starting to get to me."
     "She is lying," J'hana said simply.
     "Explain," Larkin said to Tilleran.
     "Okay, okay.  I'm not really all that upset about you and
everyone else leaving.  That guy I was promised to back on 
Betazed keeps petitioning me to marry him.  It's stuck in the 
courts now, but he's relentless.  He keeps leaving messages on 
my Federnet account, and he appears on my viewscreen every 
time I turn around.  It's enough to drive a girl nuts."
     "Certainly there is a peaceful solution to your problem,"
said Larkin.  "Perhaps you can offer him an alternative to
marriage."
     "He can't be dealt with," Tilleran said.  "He's got amazing
lawyers.  One of them is a Klingon."
     "I already offered to kill the man for her," J'hana told
Larkin.  "She did not accept."
     "It was a nice thought," Tilleran said comfortingly.  "But
in the end that would only make it worse.  I can't very well
become a widow before ever getting married."
     "Whatever happens, Commander," Larkin said, "please
promise me that you will follow your heart.  That, above all 
else, is of paramount importance."
     "This from an android," Tilleran said with a chuckle. 
"Hilarious."
     "Paramount my shnarz-sphincter," said J'hana.
     "I do not understand," Larkin said, but the trio reached
the transporter room before they could discuss the issue 
further.
     "Enjoy your move-in," J'hana said.  "We will see you at 
the ceremony in an hour."
     "I look forward to that..."  Larkin searched her
memorybank for a few nanomoments.  "My friends."
     "Go ahead and energize, Megan," Tilleran told the
transporter operator.
     "My name is Craig," said the indignant operator. 
"Lieutenant Commander Hartley was promoted to Chief 
Engineer."
     "Whatever."
     

     Captain Conway stood next to Ford as he piloted the 
shuttle Earnhardt toward the Aerostar-A, in the customary, 
unnecessarily long, first go-round.  Somewhere along the way, 
Starfleet had picked up the annoying tradition of having their 
captains circle the ship forever in a shuttle to get a feel for her 
looks and curves.  Conway just wanted to get in and try the 
coffee processor already.  
     He liked, at least, that he was riding in on the Earnhardt. 
En route, he'd personally authorized that all the shuttles have
their names changed to those of NASCAR greats.  They had 
been artists or some silly thing.  He personally preferred names 
like Earnhardt, Petty, and Jarret to Picasso, Matisse or Da 
Vinci.  Of course, there was no shuttlecraft Gordon.  Not on 
his ship.
     "Coming up on the shuttlebay," Ford said, after what felt
like a year of circling the Aerostar.
     "Excellent.  Take us in, Lieutenant Commander," Conway 
said pridefully.  Bucky's fur had never looked so shiny, nor had 
his toenails ever seemed so sharp and preened.  They were even 
painted a pleasing sparkly green!
     "I'll be glad to, Captain," Ford said with a wink.
     Conway shook his head.  He was going to find out just 
how much sucking up he could take.  Not that he was 
complaining.


     Conway and staff had an hour to get settled in on the
Aerostar-A before dignitaries began arriving for the send-off
ceremony.  Chief among them was Federation President 
Bradley Dillon, who, thanks to the little matter of buying Earth 
back from the Ferengi, had sealed a deal with a shipyard in the 
Rigel system that would ensure that bigger better starships be 
built for some time to come.
     As such, a new ship was granted to the Explorer project.  It
was Conway's great luck to be put in the center seat.  Then again,
who else would they get?  Who else had the kind of experience 
with the project that Conway had, the kind of experience needed 
to pilot the program into the twenty-fourth century?
     And who else was so damned handsome?
     Conway grinned and looked around his bridge, all white,
gleaming and new, with a rear bank of science stations, smooth,
streamlined tactical controls at his left, and an array of
complicated-looking engineering controls to his right.  The
curved, one-piece console at the front of the bridge served as the
station for conn and ops, harkening back to the joined "helm/nav"
design from the days of the original Enterprise.
     "Sir," asked Larkin, who sat at his left.  The primary
change to the original Prometheus bridge design, besides some
splashes of color, was that the command chair was no longer on 
a high-raised dais, all by itself.  It was now sufficiently lower,
on a level with the quarterdeck, and featured a trio of chairs
similar to those found on Sovereign- and Galaxy-class vessels. 
Whatever the case, it was Captain Conway's ship to command.  
All his...all forty shiny decks...
     "What, Larkin?" he said, finally responding to the
android's inquiry.
     "What, may I ask, are you smiling about?"
     "I'm just thinking about the warp engine field tests,
Commander," Conway said, and turned away from Larkin.  She 
made him uncomfortable, sitting there watching him.  He hoped 
she'd quit that relatively early on in their mission together.
     He thought about the empty seat to his right.  No counselor
yet.  He thought about Telvin.  He was really the only counselor
other than Peterman that Conway knew.  He wasn't thrilled about
Telvin, but how often did Conway go into counseling, anyway?  
They didn't need anyone all that good.  And more than likely, a 
tour with a top-notch operation like the one Conway planned on 
running would be just the kind of thing to snap Telvin into shape.  
He glanced down at the crew report on his chair arm, which 
pleased Conway to no end.  The monitor on the chairarm was the 
size of a desktop terminal, and it folded neatly to the side when 
he wanted it out of the way.  
     Conway studied the crew roster on the terminal.  With 
Benzra on her way in a couple weeks, despite the objections at 
Starfleet Medical (the Flarn doctor DID get him through a 
horrible symbiont situation, after all) there was just one more 
empty spot to fill in the senior staff.  Chief Science officer.  He 
wasn't fond of Elton, and Dawson really only made a good 
backup.
     He wanted people on his senior staff that he knew well, that
he could trust.  He'd have to call Alexa Lanham.  Sure, she 
pushed him off a cliff back when they were married, but Conway 
had the capacity to forgive.  Besides, Elton was still on the staff, 
and he nearly blew up the first Aerostar at a time when he had
accidentally turned himself into a god-like being.  Starfleet was
definitely willing to accept a person's willingness to change.
     "Sir," said Lt. Saral from ops.  "All the members of the
send-off party have beamed aboard.  They have assembled in 
the cocktail lounge."
     "Good.  Tell Spacedock control we're ready to begin," 
Conway said, shifting in his chair.  It was a little lumpy, but he'd 
get the kinks worked out soon enough.  "Larkin, call the 
dignitaries up to the bridge."  Conway reached down for the 
stainless-duranium cup that was fixed in the holder at his right.  
He put the cup to his lips and sipped the coffee.  Perfect 
temperature.  The blend was randomly selected and did not 
disappoint.  "Community" coffee, tasting so pure and delicate, 
and only a bit sharp, straight from New Orleans.  A mix approved 
by old man Sisko himself.  "So this is what Earnhardt must have 
felt like on his first test-ride," Conway said warmly.  "It doesn't 
get any better than this."
     "What is he going on about?" Saral asked Ford as the two
worked at the forward console.
     "It's best not to ask," said Ford.

     
     "Glad you guys could make it," Baxter said, tugging at the
collar of his white dress uniform and picking up step next to
Harlan and Lucille Baxter as the group of dignitaries made their 
way up to the Aerostar's bridge.  Baxter's senior staff brought 
up the rear.
     Lucille glowered.  "Harlan pulled me off an important
diplomatic mission for this."
     "It's a big day for the Explorer Project, darling," said
Harlan most seriously, chewing on a cigar.  "You're one of two,
now three, captains assigned to Explorer ships.  You have to
attend."
     "It's such a waste of time," muttered Lucille.  "Conway of all
people.  I just cannot believe it.  That man is an imbecile."
     "Like I said, glad you guys could make it," sighed Baxter. 
He glanced up to see the huge entourage moving toward him 
and rolled his eyes.  "All right, you two.  On your best behavior. 
Here comes the chief.  Ugh."
     Bradley Dillon elbowed his way out of the cluster of Starfleet
security officers and went to shake Baxter's hand.  "Glorious day
to launch a ship, wouldn't you say, Captain?"
     "Yeah, I guess."
     "Well, I just wanted to thank you again for making it
possible for me to be President of the Federation," Bradley 
grinned.  "It's been absolutely fantastic.  You know, I signed a 
treaty with the Gorn today.  A TREATY!"
     "I'm very glad for you, Mister President."
     "Oh, it's been a roller coaster ride the last few months. 
But I'm not forgetting the little people.  I sent a subspace
birthday card to my brother just today."
     "Wasn't Commander Dillon's birthday last month?" Baxter
asked.
     "That's neither here nor there," said Bradley, and he 
ushered Baxter into the turbolift.  Harlan and Lucille squeezed in 
with him, and then all the security guards.
     Peterman, leading the pack of Explorer staff, huffed
indignantly as she came down the corridor toward the lift.  
"Andy!"
     "You can take the next car!" Baxter said as the doors
closed.
     "Have you told them yet?" she asked, and the doors sealed
shut, cutting her off from the group in the 'lift.
     "Told them what?" Bradley asked conversationally as the 
lift made its way up through the bowels of the Aerostar.
     Harlan puffed his cigar.  "Yeah.  What?"
     "Kelly's pregnant," Baxter said quickly, and looked to
Harlan and Lucille for reaction.
     "About time," said Lucille.  "I thought the woman was
infertile."
     "It did take a while," Baxter said sheepishly.
     "Your boys c'n swim!" Harlan chortled and puffed his 
cigar.  "Well, that is some n'ws.  Les smoke one!"
     He withdrew a latinum cigar case and offered one to 
Baxter, who reluctantly grabbed one.  Lucille snatched 
one too.  Bradley looked at the case eagerly.
     "I do love a good cigar, Admiral!" he said, and grabbed 
one.  "What is this, a Mocambo?"
     "Not at all.  Havanna.  The best."
     Bradley puffed happily at the cigar.  "You have 
excellent taste, Admiral."
     Baxter puffed his cigar and tried not to choke.  "This 
is great....ahch ...Dad.  Thanks."
     "Thanks for finally churning out a grandchild for us," 
Lucille said, puffing on her own cigar.
     Baxter sighed.  "Least I could do."


     When the turbolift opened up onto the bridge, smoke 
poured out.  At first Conway thought there was some sort 
of electrical fire, but then he saw the reason: Harlan Baxter 
sidled out, carrying a padd under his arm.  He, Lucille Baxter,
and Captain Andy Baxter, as well as Federation President Dillon 
were all smoking up a storm.
     He reached forward to shake Conway's hand.  "Congr'tulatns,
Campn," he growled, chewing his cigar.  He took the stubby 
stogie out and withdrew his padd.  "Captain David Conway, I 
hearby transfer command of USS Aerostar, NCC-83835, to you 
as of this date, signed Admiral Harlan Baxter, Starfleet 
Command."  He looked up at the ceiling.  "Computer...transfer 
command codes and such, authorization Baxter Phi Delta 
Kappa Four Three Zero."
     "Command codes transferred.  Have a nice command," the
computer said, and Conway beamed, rubbing his hands together.
     "I'm in command!" he said joyfully.     
     "Let's get on with this, shall we?" Baxter said, as the
turbolift once again opened to admit Peterman, Richards, Mirk,
Hartley, Tilleran, and J'hana.
     "This is really good," Bradley said, indicating the cigar he
was smoking to Harlan.  "Have any more of these?"
     "A whole stash down in my guest cabin," replied Harlan.
     "Let's have a look."  Bradley looked around the Aerostar-
A bridge.  "If you've seen one ship launch, you've seen them all,
really."
     "Are you sure, Mister President?" asked Conway.  He
certainly wasn't aching for Bradley Dillon's company, but he
appreciated the honor of having the Federation president 
along for the launch.
     "Quite sure," Bradley said, then extended his hand to 
Lucille Baxter.  "Madam, would you give us the pleasure of
your company?"
     Lucille scanned the faces on the bridge.  "Given my 
choices, absolutely."
     "Escort them down to the residence decks, Mister 
Gellar," Conway said, and Lieutenant Gellar rose from his 
seat at tactical and led Bradley, Lucille, Harlan, and the 
whole security entourage, into the aft turbolift.
     Once his parents were gone, Captain Baxter felt entirely
more relaxed.  He surveyed the bridge.  "Quite a little place
you've got here, Dave," he said to Conway.  "I'm sure she'll 
be a great ship."
     "Big of you to say that, Captain," said Conway.  "Have a
seat in my counselor's chair."  He grinned at Peterman.  "Even
once I get one, he probably won't be allowed on the bridge."
     Peterman smouldered.  "Small of you to say that, Captain."
     "Spacedock has cleared us for departure," said Saral from
ops.
     "Is the champagne bottle prepared?" Conway asked, 
grinning over at Baxter.
     "Negative," replied Saral.  "They could not find champagne. 
They have substituted root beer."
     Conway sunk in his chair.  "Well, it's bubbly.  Good enough. 
Tell them to launch the root beer.  Mister Ford...let's get
underway."
     Ford nodded and swung around in his chair to face the helm
controls.  "Ready for full impulse once the...root beer...hits."
     On the viewscreen, the Explorer and Aerostar staff watched
as a long-necked bottle of root beer sailed toward the Aerostar's
engineering hull and smashed against it.
     Led by Conway, the assembled group clapped half-heartedly.
     Aerostar shot forward toward the spacedock doors.  The 
crew watched the departure angle on the viewscreen as the 
docked Explorer disappeared in the distanc.
     Guided by Ford at at full impulse, Aerostar streaked out into 
open space.
    

     Half an hour later, Browning stepped out of the aft turbolift. 
She circled around to stand by Baxter.  "Andy, did you realize
your parents are down in the crew lounge smoking cigars and
drinking brandy, talking about politics on Tellar with 
President Dillon?"
     "Frankly, it doesn't surprise me," Baxter said dully.
     "It's good to see you back up here," Conway said, and
touched Browning's hand.  "Have a seat here in 
Commander Larkin's chair."
     "As you wish," Larkin said gruffly, and stood so 
Browning could sit next to Conway.
     At the back of the bridge, Richards smouldered, 
folding his arms.  "Why am I even here?"
     Next to him, Lieutenant Commander Hartley kept her 
fake smile on.  "Because it's the nice thing to do.  Even I 
know that."
     Beside Hartley, Mirk was nervously tapping the science 
panel he was leaning on.  He glanced around the bridge.  
Everything seemed filmed over with a kind of energy.  He 
felt hot.  What the hell was happening?
     Tilleran studied the science panels with approval.  "The
science equipment on this ship is amazing.  I could have a
research field day."
     Next to her, J'hana growled.  "But the Explorer's facilities
are adequate, correct?"
     "Sure," said Tilleran.  "It's not like I'm thinking of
leaving."
     "That is...good," said J'hana.  "If you left, I would miss
you.  In the most platonic of ways."
     Tilleran clasped J'hana's hand.  "That's sweet, Jan."
     Peterman circled around to the front of the bridge and
Baxter gave up his seat to her.  "Have a seat, honey.  I'm 
sure that baby's quite a load."
     "I'm a week pregnant, Andy," Peterman said, but took 
the seat anyway.  "I can't feel anything yet."
     "Just in case," said Baxter, and Conway rolled his eyes.
     "Well, what now, Captain?" Browning asked Conway.
     "We'll do a quick run around the solar system.  Pluto and
back," Conway said, and squeezed her hand.  "And from 
there, eternity!"
     "How cheesy," muttered Ford from the helm.
     Standing off to the side of the bridge, looking quite
uncomfortable, Commander Larkin turned and headed for 
the rear conference room.  "If you will excuse me, I have seen 
quite enough."
     "I'll go talk to her," said Peterman, and she glared at
Conway.  "Since you don't have a counselor of your own."
     At the back of the bridge, Mirk clutched his chest.  He
could feel the energy building inside him.  Something was
definitely, definitely wrong.  He squeezed his eyes shut as 
the energy grew too great to bear...
     "Whatever," muttered Conway, and he turned to head 
back to his seat.  He locked eyes with Richards, who stood
up by Hartley on the quarterdeck, and he felt a cold chill. 
     Browning saw them lock eyes.  She looked from one to 
the other, feeling the awesome weight of what she was 
about to do.
     Richards looked at her, with eyes that told her he 
wanted to be with her again, more than anything. 
     "Chris, I..." she said softly, and Conway glared at her.
     And then Mirk exploded into a million particles of light.
     

     The bridge was awash with white light, so blinding no one
could see anything.
     Hartley stared at the blank space next to her, trying to 
make out the shape that once was Mirk.  "MIRK!" she 
cried.  
     "Someone tell me something!" Conway barked, shielding his
eyes with his arm.  
     Saral's hands navigated the ops console by touch.  "We're
caught in some sort of space-time flux, sir!"
     <We're unstuck in time, folks,> came a voice from all 
around that was eerily Mirk's.
     "Where the hell are you?" Hartley asked angrily.
     <I'm forming the energy field that's surrounding you all
right now,> Mirk explained.  <It's the only thing keeping us 
safe from whatever's happened to the universe.>
     "Just great!" shouted Conway.  "I get my own ship, then 
the universe collapses in on itself!"
     <Not quite collapsed,> said Mirk.  <Someone has just
rewritten time in her favor, and I'm damn sure I know who!  
What's worse, I can only protect the area inside this sphere 
I've made.  And I can't keep us unstuck for much longer!>
     "What will happen when your field collapses?" asked 
Tilleran.
     <We'll end up in the new timeline, hopefully with the
knowledge that it's not the correct one.>
     "Mirk!" said Baxter, blinking through the blinding light. 
"You said only the people within this field are protected?  
What about Kelly and Larkin?"
     <I cannot protect them.>
     Baxter rushed for the conference room door, caught
Richards out of the corner of his eye, doing the same; but
J'hana beat them both to it--shoved past Baxter so quick 
he stumbled backwards, fell on his butt to the deck.
     <Don't do it J'hana!  You can't help them!> Mirk's
voice called.
     "Saral!" Conway ordered, as J'hana disappeared through 
the conference room doors.  "Go get J'hana and the others!"
     Saral dashed for the conference room.  The light got
brighter.
     <Stop doing that!> Mirk's voice chided.  <Aren't you
listening?  I said you can't help them!>
     "SORRY!" Conway grumbled.
     Baxter covered his eyes as the white light grew more
intense, more intense, and electricity crackled all over his 
body.
     "KELLLLLLLLLLLLY!" he called out,
          ...then everything went white...


     "KELLLLLLLLLLLLLY!"  Baxter shot up in bed, 
slammed his head on the ceiling.
     What a nightmare.  He was on the bridge of a starship, but
not his own.  People around him were shouting things, an eerie
voice spoke to them, and he was worried about someone...
someone called Kelly.
     Baxter swung his legs around and hopped off his top bunk. 
He idly wondered why no one shared this cramped cabin with 
him.  The rumors about the deck being flooded with radiation 
were exaggerated, anyway.  He was living proof.  He'd served 
on that ship, lived in that cabin, for twelve years, and showed 
no sign of radiation poisoning.
     Except, of course, for the distinct impression that he was
starting to go bald.  There were also chances he wouldn't be
able to conceive a child.  But without a girlfriend, that hardly
seemed important.
     Baxter stepped into the closet-sized sonic shower and
switched on the soothing sound waves.
     Halfway through, he dropped the soap.
     Baxter sprinted, naked, out into his cabin.  "I'm not
supposed to be here!"
     He rushed out into the corridor, to the shock of
passing officers.  
     "I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE, DAMN 
IT!"
     "You're telling me," said one engineer, and she 
hurriedly rushed by him.
     Baxter looked around, looked down.  "Ooh.  
Whoops."  He backed into his cabin and quickly 
got dressed.
     

     "So," said Captain Alexander Rydell, "that's 
how you tell a Nausicaan beach party from a 
Nausicaan funeral dirge."
     "Fascinating," said Commander Jaroch 
boredly, leaning on his science console.
     Commander Travis Dillon shifted uncomfortably 
in his seat at Rydell's right.  "We could be doing many 
more productive things right now than discussing your 
vacation."
     "Be quiet, Dillon," said Rydell, "or I'll pull out 
my holoslides."  He smiled devilishly and Dillon 
immediately turned to his panel and tried to look 
very interested in crew reports.
     Suddenly the aft turbolift doors opened and 
someone hurried out.
     "I have a big problem, everyone!" Lt. Commander 
Andy Baxter said, and Alexander Rydell sighed.
     "Is it already inventory time again?" he asked.
     "It certainly is not," replied Dillon.  "We did inventory
six weeks ago."
     "The problem isn't inventory-based," said Baxter.  
"I'm not supposed to be here."
     "I can confirm that," yawned Jaroch.
     "I mean I'm from an alternate universe."
     "Would that be a universe where inventory isn't 
despised across the galaxy?" asked Emily Sullivan from 
the conn.
     "Actually, it's been eradicated in my universe," Baxter 
said proudly.  That got everyone's attention.
     "What kind of wonderful universe is this?" Rydell asked.
     Baxter sighed.  "One where I'm captain of a starship, 
have a beautiful wife...and soon will have a beautiful little 
baby..."
     "This alternate universe is sounding less interesting by 
the second," mumbled Jaroch.
     "Commander Hawkins," Rydell said.  "Why don't you 
escort 'Captain' Baxter here down to Counselor Webber's 
office?"
     "Computer," said Baxter, as Hawkins retrieved her phaser 
and approached him.  He pleaded to whatever deities 
protected spacefarers that his all-purpose command access 
still worked in this universe.  "Lock down the bridge and flood
it with anesthezine, and beam me to the Deck one conference 
room, authorization Red Seven Seven Omicron!"
     "That code won't work," Commander Dillon said 
confidently, and slumped unconscious in his chair as Baxter 
dematerialized and the gas knocked out the bridge crew.


     Baxter savored the irony of the situation as he dragged 
he limp bodies of the Secondprize bridge officers into the 
conference room for safe keeping.
     Once they were all tucked away, he locked the room 
and proceeded to the command chair.  
     "Computer, re-instate bridge command, authorization 
Red Seven Seven Omicron.  Recognize Baxter, Andrew 
Jackson.  Transfer all command codes to me."
     "Command codes transferred."
     That was almost too easy, thought Baxter.  He sat down
and activated the tiny monitor on Rydell's command chair.  
Time to find out exactly what went wrong.
     As he paged through the Federation history books for 
the last four years, he heard a trill on his comm badge.
     "Ford to Baxter."
     "Ford?" Baxter asked, glancing up.
     "I'm down on the residential decks, sir.  And I'm with 
a woman!"
     "Congratulations, Commander."
     "Alternate universe poon tang is great!"
     "I bet so.  How about joining me on the bridge so we 
can get back to our own universe?"
     "Sure, why not.  She's asleep anyway.  I like to be out 
the door before they wake up."
     "You're a true ladies man."  Baxter closed the channel 
and returned to his studies, making a mental note to gas the 
hell out of the rest of the ship once Ford got to the bridge.
     He looked up Aerostar.  Apparently, the original one 
was still around, and commanded by Conway.  It appeared 
to be a very low-level ship relegated to simple cargo and 
ferrying tasks.  Less prestigious, even, than the Secondprize, 
by the look of things.
     He found records of Tilleran and Hartley on the Aerostar, 
but no J'hana, Peterman, or Browning.  Wait a minute...Chief 
Medical Officer Janice Conway.  Oh no.
     Even in this universe, fate conspired to link those two
together.  Baxter shook his head.  It was probably a good 
thing he found no sign of Richards on the Aerostar.
     He dug deeper into the history of the Aerostar.  
Apparently the ship suffered total engine failure just 
before entering the Bermuda Expanse.  Mirk was captured
later, by another crew, and the Aerostar was repaired and 
towed back to Waystation, thanks to the vigilance of...
Baxter gasped...Starfleet Attache Irma Wilson.
     ...who was later found to be an imposter, and quickly
shipped off to Tantalus.
     At last a bit of good news.  Irma sabotaged the lives of
Baxter and his crew, but ended up at the Federation Funny 
Farm.  There was some justice in the universe.
     Reading further, Baxter gasped again.  He'd been 
demoted back to lieutenant and returned to the Secondprize 
three days after being put in command of the Aerostar.  
Apparently Starfleet realized the error in their ways.  That, or 
they found the Admiral Neilson changeling who'd authorized 
the whole thing.
     He did a search for Kelly.  The computer scoured its
database, then came up with Tantalus, the Funny Farm itself.  
She apparently became a doctor and left the Aerostar, to do 
research on Irma.
     Baxter was torn--did he take the Secondprize to the 
Aerostar to pick up his former crewmates, or did he go right 
to Tantalus to get Kelly and find out from Irma exactly what 
he needed to do to make things right?
     And where the hell was Mirk, anyway?
     

     "Another scotch and soda, sir?" Mirk asked, annoyed, 
and held up the tray for Harlan Baxter.
     "Sure thing, boyah," Harlan said with a grin and grabbed 
the glass.
     Mirk had quickly calculated, upon arriving in the new
universe, that he was put into service as a waiter for the chic
Admirals' Club on Earth to make up for stealing all that 
Starfleet equipment.  Apparently, he was serving year four of
a twenty year sentence.  And the Federation claimed to be 
enlightened.  
     Yeah, right.
     He had to get to the others.  But he was stuck serving 
cold drinks to admirals.  For some reason he was destined to
stay in the food service industry.  
     He only hoped the others were faring better.


     "Well, isn't this...interesting," Janice Browning said, 
and glanced over at Conway, who was next to her in bed.
     "It's certainly a shock," said Conway.  "Who knew we'd 
end up together," and he looked around, "and apparently in 
the captain's quarters on the old Aerostar."
     "She's held up nicely over the last few years," Browning 
said.  "Unlike in our universe, where she blew up."
     "Indeed."  And Conway nervously steepled his fingers. 
"Well, let's get on with it, then."
     "Get on with what?"
     "Well, judging by the rings on our fingers, I'd guess 
we're married.  Let's make the most of it."  He rolled over 
on top of Browning, who quickly slipped out from under 
him.
     "I think not!  We've got to find a way back to our old
universe!"
     "Hey, we ended up like this for some reason, and I'm
certainly not one to complain.  I'm a captain, you're my wife.  
I can live with having a slightly lesser ship.  Let's just get it
on!"
     "You're really starting to get on my nerves, David," 
Browning said, and slid off the bed, realizing she was wearing
her flannel PJ's which were painted with Peanut Butter and Jelly
sandwiches.  Her PB&J's.  At least some things didn't change.  
"Now where the heck are my clothes?"
     

     "Do you realize where we are?" Tilleran said, looking 
around in shock as she and Hartley shared a round of Andorian 
fwarz-sharshers, blue-bubbly drinks with fizz and a burn that 
rotted your throat out.
     Hartley nodded.  "It's the crew lounge on the Aerostar."
     "Creepy, isn't it?" asked Tilleran.  "It doesn't even have
Mirk's nice decorations!"
     "I sure wish I knew where Mirk was," Hartley muttered.
Then she looked up and grinned.  "Hey, that's Lennie, the
Aerostar's original bartender!"
     Tilleran glanced over at the bar.  "I can't say I remember
him."
     "I do, but only because I saw him back when I went back 
in time and tried to sabotage the Aerostar's mission."
     "Well, good thing you didn't do that," Tilleran mumbled,
and sipped her drink.  She savored the burning in her throat. 
J'hana loved fwarz-sharshers.  She tried not to think about that. 
They'd already determined she wasn't aboard.  Browning and 
Conway were the only ones from the senior staff who were on 
board the Aerostar.  Who knew where everyone else was?


     Commander Richards reeled back in shock as the crowd
closed in on him.
     "Autograph your latest one for us Chris!"
     "Tell us what inspired you!"
     "Who's the 'Janice' you dedicated 'Janice's Nebula' to?"
     "Let me have your love child!"
     "Back away!" Richards said, scrambling backwards across
the slick floor of the arena-like museum.  People everywhere
scrambled for his autograph, or a lock of his hair, which he 
noted with annoyance, was long and in a ponytail.
     "Love me, Christopher, love me!" cried one woman, who 
lept on Chris, crushing against him with a barrage of sloppy 
kisses.
     He glanced up at her and sighed.  "Fresca?"
     "Formerly Jen Prescott, of Internal Affairs, and current
Chris Richards enthusiast!" the woman shouted joyfully.
     "You mean stalker!" a voice cried from the back of the 
room.
     "I have to get out of here," Richards said, and dashed for
one of the exit doors.  "You all need to get a life!" he cried
over his shoulder.
     How twisted, Richards thought, that his dream of becoming 
an artist came true just to evolve into a nightmare.  As he 
headed out the exit door, he noted with great dissatisfaction that 
one of his paintings was of the Aerostar approaching the Bermuda 
Expanse, one nacelle blown off.  What really annoyed him was that 
the shading and cross-hatching were ALL wrong.


     Commander Travis Dillon awoke with a start.
     "Commander, are you all right?" asked one Lieutenant Kristen
Larkin, android and second-string ops officer on the Secondprize.
     Dillon looked around.  Everyone was still unconscious on the
floor of the conference room.  "I'm...okay, I guess.  What about
the others?"
     "I cannot wake them," said Larkin.  "They inhaled too much
gas.  You, luckily, lost consciousness so quickly you did not 
have an opportunity to inhale as much as the others."
     "An old Starfleet trick," Dillon said, rubbing his hands
together.  "Can you give me a status report?"
     "Negative," said Larkin.  "I was en route to the bridge
when I was told by the turbolift that the bridge was locked 
out.  I asked the computer where you and the others were 
located, and it alerted me that you were unconscious in the 
conference room.  I decided to investigate, and climbed in 
through the Jefferies tube."
     "Good thinking," Dillon said.  "Well, we have to get the
ship back, at all costs."
     "Agreed," she said.  "Orders?"
     Dillon thought a moment.  "Why don't you go out to 
the bridge and find out what's happening.  Try to disable 
Commander Baxter.  If you can't, at least report back to 
me and try to give me some sense of what he's up to."
     "And what will you do in the meantime?"
     "I will go into the Jefferies tube and supervise from
there."
     "You mean you will hide in there?" asked Larkin.
     Dillon frowned.  "Get going, Lieutenant."
     

     "So what's the plan?" asked Ford as he and Baxter 
leaned over the ops control panel at the front of the 
Secondprize bridge.
     "The plan," Baxter said, "is to get a message out to the
Aerostar, and try to get Conway and the others to meet us
at Tantalus so we can find out what damage Irma's done,
then go back in time and fix it!"
    "I see," said Ford, and then he glanced over his shoulder. 
For lack of a phaser, Kristen Larkin wielded her arm high 
over her head, prepared to strike a killing blow on Ford.
     "Larkin!" Ford cried, and rolled to the side just as the
arm came crashing down on the ops panel.
     "She's not from our universe," Baxter surmised quickly.  
He looked Larkin over: She'd made a huge tactical error 
by removing that arm.  It left her on/off switch vulnerable.  
He kicked out at it with his foot, and Larkin quickly tossed 
her arm aside, grabbed the foot and upended Baxter with 
android-like reflexes.
     Baxter crashed to the deck and Larkin returned her
attention to Ford.  She picked up the arm and swung it at 
him again.  He crab-crawled backwards up against the 
viewscreen and she prepared to strike again, but Baxter 
lunged at her and stabbed his finger into her on/off switch.
     The android slumped thankfully unconscious, 
unfortunately right on top of Ford.
     "That was close," Ford choked out and rolled the android 
off him.
     "I'll say," Baxter said.  "Get on the comm panel.  Try to
raise Captain Conway."
     "Faster than you can say ass-kisser, sir," Ford said, 
and headed to the back of the bridge.
     Baxter looked down at Larkin.  "Sorry.  I know this 
wasn't your idea."
     "Quite correct, Commander," said a voice over the 
comm channel.
     "Dillon!" Baxter called out.  "Where in the hell are you?"
     "Oh, you'll find out soon enough.  Why don't you save
yourself some hardship and just surrender now.  Make it 
easier on all of us."
     "You've seen one too many crimefighter movies, 
Commander," Baxter said.  "This isn't where you chat with 
the hi-jacker and he tells you all his plans."
     "What makes you think I think it'll go down like that?"
     "Go...down?  Please, Commander.  I know you a little 
better than that.  Face it, you're a geek.  You don't have the 
guts or the smarts to retake this ship.  Listen: We don't want 
any trouble.  We're stranded in this alternate universe, and we 
just want to set things right.  We'll give you your ship back as 
soon as we find out how to put things back to normal, I 
promise."
     "And what's your guarantee that our universe will 
continue on once you set things right?"
     "I give you no guarantee, Commander," said Baxter.  
"I'm no quantum mechanic.  For all I know, you'll cease to
exist as soon as we set things right."  That was the wrong thing 
to say, and Baxter realized that as soon as he said it.
     "Enough talk, Mister Baxter.  We'll just see if you
can...put things back to normal, as you say."
     "Dillon, come here and let me gas you again.  For all our
sakes!"
     "Never!  Be ready to take a fall, Mister Baxter.  Yippee ki
yi yay, motherf***er!"
     Baxter rolled his eyes as the channel closed.  He looked to
Ford.  "If I kill him in this universe, it really won't have an
affect on ours, right?"
     Ford shrugged.  "At any rate, I got the Aerostar.  
Commander Conway said he'll meet us at the Bermuda Expanse.  
I told him to expect a delay since we have to go to Tantalus."
     "Good thinking.  Hope he didn't raise any suspicion by
diverting the Aerostar from its normal mission," Baxter said,
rubbing his chin.  "Speaking of which, divert us to Tantalus."
     "Aye, sir."

     
     "Good Morning, Captain," Colonel Martin Lazlo said, 
and trotted out of the center turbolift shaft into Ops.  "You 
wanted to see me?"
     Captain Lisa Beck stood in front of the Waystation's 
massive view-wall.  She glanced back at Lazlo.  "There's 
something of a tactical nature I thought you'd like to take 
a look at."
     "Gladly," said Lazlo, and he watched the movement of a
Starfleet delta symbol on the viewscreen, overlaid on a map 
of the sector.  He squinted at the registry number:  
NCC-83835.
     "I don't recognize the ship's registry," said Lazlo.
     Beck glanced back at Craig Porter at sciences, who 
quickly posted a schematic on one of the smaller monitors 
beside the view-wall.  "Nebula-class.  USS Aerostar.  
Commanded by a guy named Conway.  Came through here 
about four years ago, but you may not have run across them.  
Luckily.  They've recently passed through this sector on a
cargo run.  To make a long story short, Starfleet just commed
us to say that the Aerostar went off its course and refuses to
respond to communiques.  They asked us to investigate.  
I hailed them, and this Conway fellow was totally evasive 
with me.  Seemed nervous about something.  And damn rude, 
too."
     "Rude to you?" Lazlo asked.  "That bastard."
     "Well," said Beck.  "Needless to say, I'm concerned.  It's a
tad weird for a Starfleet vessel to change its course like that
and to respond with such..." Beck smouldered, "attitude.  I told 
Starfleet that, since we're the closest outpost, we would send 
someone to intercept them, find out what they're up to.  Stop 
them if necessary."
     "My forces, as usual, are at your disposal."  Lazlo
grinned toothily.
     "I was hoping you'd say that," said Beck, and she strolled
toward the back of Ops.  "It may be nothing, but if Conway has,
for some reason, broken off from Starfleet, we have to stop him
before he does any damage."
     "Would you like me to put my...specialist on it?"
     Beck grinned wide.  "Absolutely.  Dinner tonight?"
     Lazlo grinned wider.  "Absolutely."
     

     Down in the Andorian restaurant, one of the most 
frequent customers sauntered in, causing the cafe's occupants 
to shrink back in fear.
     Baughb rushed for the kitchen, and began hastily 
preparing the usual meal.  Gabavga, drenched in targ's blood, 
with a side of fharbus.
     The frequent customer arrived at a table, her table.  Its
current occupants, the elderly couple who ran the isolinear 
chip rental place, hurried out of their chairs and hobbled over 
to another table on the far end of the restaurant.
     Major J'hana, Warrior Supreme of the Ninth Hive of 
Andor, turned a chair around, lowered herself into it, withdrew 
a curved, razorsharp dagger, and stabbed it into the center of 
the table.  She wore a cut-off vest, grey camouflage pants, 
several dark tatoos, and the IDIC symbol hooked through a 
piercing in her right antenna.  An odd choice, to be sure.
     Baughb rushed out with the steaming meal and set it 
before J'hana.  "Piping hot and still breathing a little, just like 
you like it!" Baughb said worriedly, glancing at J'hana as she
surveyed the plate.
     "Where is my twist of lemon?" she demanded.
     The cursed chef forgot it! 
     Baughb rushed for the kitchen.  "I'll get it.  I'll just be
a mo--"
     In one swift, graceful action, J'hana plucked her knife out
of the tabletop and hurled it at Baughb.  It struck him in the
shoulder with such force, it threw him a meter forward into the
wall and pinned him there, helpless.
     "Damn," Baughb said, holding back tears.  "That had 
nearly healed, J'hana!"
     "Next time perhaps you will not forget my lemon twist!"
     Baughb wept.  "I'm sorry!  I can't be perfect!"
     "You can try harder!"
     Another waiter hurriedly yanked J'hana's blade out of
Baughb's shoulder, wiped it off and returned it to its owner.
     "Thanks," J'hana said dully, and stabbed the knife back into
the table.
     "Glad to see you're enjoying yourself as usual tonight," a
voice said from behind her.
     "Lazlo."  J'hana stared at the knife in her table.  "I
have had a rough day.  My entire battalion was wiped out in 
a confrontation with some Breen on Brysalis."
     "I can see how that would..."
     "Why could *I* not die honorably?" demanded J'hana.  "It 
is not fair."  She yanked her knife out of the table, picked a 
random person, and hurled the knife at her.
     "OUCH!"
     She turned to look at Lazlo.  "Are you here for smalltalk
or are you here to assign me another mission?"
     "Another mission," Lazlo said, and handed a padd to
J'hana.  She read the details, just as Beck had described them 
to Lazlo.
     "Aerostar," she said wistfully.  "I once served on that
ship."
     "I realize," Lazlo said.  "I know Starfleet life was
cruel to you, Major.  I'm glad Marine life appeals to you 
more."
     "I enjoy fish as much as the next woman," J'hana 
muttered, "but what that Betazoid did to me was 
unforgivable.  I was JUST trying to be friendly."
     Lazlo nodded.  "I realize that, Major.  Listen, if you
feel like you can't handle...."
     J'hana rose.  "Oh, I can handle it.  Do not worry about 
me.  J'hana to Docking Arm One.  Have the Razorbeast 
prepared for immediate departure."  She looked to Lazlo. 
"Find me some more soldiers.  Draft civilians if you have 
to."
     "Good to see you back on the horse, Major," Lazlo 
said, and turned briskly on a heel, headed out of the cafe.
     J'hana looked around at the gathered crowd in the
restaurant, who looked much quieter than when she'd 
walked in.  "I may never see any of you again.  Pray I die 
a hero's death on this mission."
     "That's what she always says," Ih'mad whispered to 
Baughb, who was still nursing his shoulder.  "Maybe this
time she really will die."
     Baughb sighed.  "Could we be that lucky?"
     "Probably not."


     "Time is running out for us," Conway said, pacing in 
front of his couch, where Browning, Hartley, and Tilleran 
were seated.  "I can't keep the others off my back forever."  
They'd been talking for quite a while, poring over the library 
information Baxter had sent them, about how this whole 
mess had been created simply because the Aerostar hadn't 
been flung into the Delta Quadrant.
     "Apparently I'm First Officer as well as science officer, 
so at least you don't have a second-in-command to worry 
about," Tilleran said helpfully.
     "And I'm your Chief Engineer," Hartley added.  "With 
Janice as CMO, who does that leave on the command staff
as a threat?"
     THWUMP!
     "Did you hear that?" Conway asked, and walked over to 
his door.  He hit a control and it slid open.  Counselor 
Telvin Abromowitz fell forward, on his knees, dropping his 
tricorder to the ground.  He scrambled for it but Conway 
stepped on it.
     Hartley sidled over and grabbed it out from under 
Conway's boot.  She studied it.  "Recording us, huh?" she 
asked.
     Telvin looked up at Hartley.  He nodded sheepishly.
     "Baaaaaaad idea," Hartley said, and punched a couple 
buttons on the tricorder.  She tossed it over her shoulder 
and it landed on Conway's ottoman with a thump.
     BLAM!  It exploded into a puff of tiny plastic pieces.
     "I really liked that ottoman!" Conway railed.
     "It's an alternate universe ottoman," Hartley said 
matter-of-factly.  "What did you need with it?"
     "Good point."  Conway turned his attention back 
down to Telvin.  "You've been a very bad boy, Mister.  
And to think I wanted you for my counselor."
     "I don't know what you all are planning," said Telvin.  
"But I'm bound by my loyalty to Starfleet to try to stop 
you."
     "How quaint," said Tilleran with a giggle.
     "We've got to do something with him," Browning said.  
"We can't risk him jeopardizing our plans."
     "We could always kill him," Hartley suggested.
     Conway frowned down at Telvin.  "Now that's a bit rash, 
isn't it?"
     Hartley shrugged.
     "Well," Conway said, and brought Telvin up to his feet.  
"I wouldn't dream of doing anything like that to such a 
valued officer."
     "Besides which," said Tilleran.  "I hardly think he's
capable of mounting a ship-wide revolt."
     "You'd be surprised," Telvin said defiantly, mustering up
some sense of pride.  "I'll find a way to stop you. I can get 
word to the ops chief Brazeau, helm officer Holly...chief of 
security Gellar!"
     "No you won't," Conway said, and led Telvin back to 
the bedroom.  "Know why?"
     Telvin shook his head worriedly.  "Because you're going 
to spend the whole rest of this time locked in the bedroom 
closet.  How do you feel about that?"
     "Claustrophobic."
     "You'll get over it.  Nighty night!"


     "Can I interest you in some dessert, Admiral?" Mirk 
asked, hovering expectantly over Harlan Baxter.  At the very 
least, he'd have to give some good service and get a nice tip.  
That would make this whole alternate-universe thing a little 
more palatable.
     "Nah," mumbled Harlan.  "I have places to be, an Internal
Affairs division to run..."
     Then, as if on cue, his comm badge chirped:
     "Yvonne to Baxter.  We just learned of two Starfleet 
vessels behaving a little oddly."
     "Go on," Harlan garbled.
     "The Aerostar refuses to speak with Starfleet and got
downright snippy with Waystation when they attempted
to make contact."
     "Has Captain Beck sent someone out to investigate?"
     "She sent Major J'hana from the Federation Marines.  I 
guess you could call it an investigation."
     Harlan nodded.  "She'll get the job done.  What about 
the other ship?"
     "That's...a bit more delicate, sir.  It's the Secondprize."
     "And where are they headed?" Baxter asked, without 
missing a beat.
     "Tantalus."
     "I see.  Which of our ships is closest?"
     "Explorer, sir."
     "Good.  She's a fine ship, with a good skipper.  
Have Captain Ficker intercept them immediately."
     "Even though your son's aboard?"
     "ESPECIALLY since my son's aboard," Harlan said, 
and added, "Baxter out. Now, Mirk, about that dessert."  
He glanced around.  "Mirk?"


     "I've located Richards," Ford said, looking up from the
rear library computer access on the Secondprize bridge.  
"Seems he's a famous artist.  Everyone around the quadrant
loves him!"
     "You're kidding me," Baxter said, amazed.  "How 
about that."
     "Apparently he's doing a show right now on Bolarus."
     "Can we get a message to him?"
     "We can try leaving one at his hotel room."
     "Tell him we'll swing by and pick him up.  How late 
will we be meeting the Aerostar if we swing by Bolarus 
first?"
     "Not long, if I take a few shortcuts."
     "What do you mean 'shortcuts'?"
     "Shortcuts like the one that got us from Earth to 
Waystation in a few hours.  That's usually at least a daylong
trip!"
     Baxter rubbed his chin.  "You're kidding."
     "Nope.  And you know the legends about me and the 
Jovian run."
     "I don't, but it doesn't really matter.  You're Conway's
helmsman now."
     "Sorry, sir.  It's nothing personal.  He's just more
receptive to my sucking up."
     "I totally understand," muttered Baxter.                     
                                          
     
     "Boy am I glad to see you!" Hartley grinned, leaning 
against the U-shaped tactical railing on the Aerostar's bridge.  
On the viewscreen, Mirk looked extremely anxious about 
something.  "Where have you been, anyway?"
     "Servicing a slew of cranky admirals," Mirk said.  "My 
feet are killing me already.  Bartendering is fine, but watering
is a pain in the ass."
     "Is there a point to this?" Conway asked from the command
chair.  It was odd to see the stations on the Aerostar's familiar
bridge so unoccupied.  Since they were breaking major Starfleet
rules going to Tantalus, he had to send everyone that wasn't from
his normal universe home for the day.  That left Tilleran at ops
and Browning at helm, with Hartley running tactical and
communications.
     "Darned right there's a point to this.  There are marines
after you, and Starfleet is moving to intercept the Captain."
     "And just how do you know this?"
     "Because Harlan Baxter just ordered the Starfleet people
after you.  And the Marines, apparently, sent J'hana."
     Conway shook his head.  "And how long until she intercepts
us?"
     Mirk waved his padd at Conway.  "This thing doesn't come
with starcharts.  I can tell you what the soup of the day is, and
that's about it."
     Conway sighed.  "Thanks for all your help."
     "Can you call the captain and let him know about Starfleet
chasing him down?  I'm only on a five-minute break."
     "Sure," Conway said.  "Can I tell him which ship he'll have
to fight off?"
     "You won't believe it."
     "Let me guess.  It's the Explorer."
     "How'd you know?"
     "It just figures."
     "Anyway, you won't believe who's in command..."
     Conway rolled his eyes.  "Ficker." 
     "Well, I can see I'm wasting my time talking to you.  You
know everything already.  Just promise to come by and pick me 
up before you go heading off to try and rectify the timeline."
     "Earth's not exactly on the way," Conway grumbled.
     "I saved us from getting changed along with the rest of the
time-line.  You owe me, buddy!"
     "He's got you there," Hartley said, glancing down at 
Conway.
     "I don't suppose you can hitch a ride?
     Mirk waved the padd again.  "Does it look like I can hail 
a starship with one of these babies, either?"
     "Powers?" Conway suggested.
     "Drained, thanks my efforts to preserve us from the 
timeline change."
     "Fine, then," Conway said.  "We'll just have to arrive at
Tantalus a little late.  We'll change course to go get you."      
     "Thanks very much."
     "If we don't get to you, you can pretty much assume 
J'hana creamed us."
     "Good luck with that, by the way."
     "Thanks EVER so much!" said Hartley, before Conway 
could comment.


     "Pick him up already," Baxter ordered, hovering over 
Ford's shoulder as he worked at ops.
     "Transporting now," Ford said, and Richards suddenly
materialized at Baxter's side.
     "Great to see you Chris," Baxter said, clapping a hand on
Richards's shoulder.  "Get our shields back up, Ford, and 
head for Tantulus, maximum warp!"
     "Aye, sir," Ford said, and brought Secondprize out of her
Bolarus orbit.  He shot her into warp and studied forward 
sensors.  "Our path looks nice and clear for the trip to 
Tantalus, no real threats on the--"
     Richards and Baxter paused on their way back to the 
center command chairs.
     "What is it?" Baxter asked, turning to look at Ford.
     Ford glanced back at Baxter.  "It's the Explorer, sir.  
On an intercept course right for us."
     "Of all the stupid ironic frigging luck," Baxter grumbled,
pulling at his hair.  "Can you beat her there?"
     "You know the Explorer, Captain.  She can outrun the
Secondprize with one nacelle tied behind her back."
     "Then you're going to have to get creative."
     Ford turned to face the viewscreen.  "Well, that's what 
I'm best at.  Second to sucking up."
     Richards glanced between Baxter and Ford.  "Well, isn't
anyone interested in how my alternate universe experience 
has shaped up so far?"
     "No," said Ford and Baxter.
     

     "Almost to Earth," Browning said, studying the helm 
controls.  "And let me warn you again, I'm no wizard at the 
helm."
     Conway shifted uneasily in the command chair.  He'd
forgotten how stiff the foam padding on the Aerostar chairs
was.  "Hopefully, you won't need to be."
     "I'd guess again," Tilleran said.  "J'hana will probably
still pursue us, even if we aren't heading for Waystation at 
the moment."
     "Sure she's tenacious, but..."
     Tilleran glared at Conway.  "Captain...trust me."
     "Betazoid instincts?" Conway ventured.
     Suddenly a bleep sounded at Tilleran's station.  "That, 
and very good sensors."  She looked woefully up from ops.  
"I'm picking up a Peregrine-class ship on an intercept course, 
closing fast.  Weapons range in two minutes."
     Conway lept out of the command chair and hurried to the 
ops panel.  He leaned over Tilleran's shoulder.  "Can you 
identify it?"
     Tilleran shot Conway an "I-told-you-so" look.  "It's
called the Razorbeast.  Listed as 'Major' J'hana's ship."
     Browning looked to Conway hopefully.  "Well, maybe she's 
been saved from the timeline changes like the rest of us, perhaps..."
     And the comm system chirped to life:
     "Rebel Federation vessel: This is Major J'hana, Supreme
Warrior of the Ninth Hive.  I command an elite force of marines,
all trained to destroy rogue Federation citizens.  Give me one
good reason not to blow you out of the stars!"
     Conway glared at Browning.  "You were saying?"  He leaned 
over and tapped a control on Tilleran's station.  "J'hana, this is
Captain David Conway.  I'm on a secret mission for Starfleet. 
Keep your distance and DO NOT ENGAGE, do you hear me?"
     "Of course, Captain," J'hana's voice replied darkly. 
"Simply provide me with your Starfleet top-secret indent-code 
and your mission number and I will confirm your orders with 
Starfleet intel."
     Conway gritted his teeth.  "I can't do that, J'hana."
     "Why not?"
     He sighed.  "Because this is a top-top secret mission."
     "Doesn't sound familiar."
     "Of course not!  That's what makes it top-top secret."
     J'hana mulled that over.
     "She'll be in weapons range in twenty seconds," Tilleran
called out.
     "Weapons running hot?" Conway asked quickly.
     "Hot and heavy," replied Tilleran.  "She's got quantums 
and compression phasers on that little ship.  Twice the armament 
of the Escort, or this ship."
     "I've thought it over," J'hana finally said.  "I'm still going to 
destroy you.  We'll sort out the details later."
     Tilleran's eyes widened.  "She's going to come out of warp
right on top of us!"
     "Prepare for evasive!" Conway fairly shouted, and rushed
back for the command chair.
     Browning shuddered.  She'd never piloted a starship this size
before, and certainly not in combat.  She pressed a control on the
helm, which brought up a list of maneuvers.  "Hmm.  Delta sounds
fun."  She punched a control and the Aerostar surged ahead, just
as the first string of quantum torpedoes soared by.
     "Good work, Janice!" Conway said, clenching his fist.  The
Razorbeast suddenly appeared on screen, weapons blazing.  "Fire
back at them, Tilleran!"
     "On it," Tilleran said.  Full weapons control was transferred to
her station.  It was a lot to handle, what with ops and science 
operating off that panel too.  Of course, there really
wasn't much need to scan anything, or... operate it, either. 
Tilleran fired everything the Aerostar had.
     The tiny Razorbeast revolved on the screen like a paper
airplane spiraling to the ground...it swerved in space and darted
right toward them, quantums blaring.  The Aerostar shook.
     "Shields are gone!" Tilleran cried, and sparks poured from
her station.
     Conway held fast to the command chair as the blasts hit. 
He'd forgotten the Aerostar was a puny fighter compared to the
Explorer.  He'd almost taken that firepower for granted.  
"We're not going to surrender.  Janice, evasive pattern 
omega!"
     "Where does that fall in the alphabet?" Browning asked
frantically, as a blast pounded the saucer section, blowing 
clear through.
     Conway held rigidly to the command chair.  "We're not
going to last much longer in this fight, Tilleran!  There's got to 
be something you can use against J'hana...anything!"
     Tilleran shook her head.  "Her ship is tiny, but it outguns
us three to one.  There's nothing I can think of to use
against...her..."  Tilleran paused. "Her!"
     "Come again?"
     Tilleran scrunched her eyes shut.  "Just a hunch!"
     "What the hell is she doing?" Conway asked.  Then, after 
a few moments, he noticed the shooting had stopped.
     "You're going to stop the attack," Tilleran broadcasted. 
"Stop the attack, Imzadi!"
     Suddenly the comm chirped again.  "This is J'hana.  I'm
stopping the attack."
     "You'll return to base.  Tell your commander you failed."
     "I'm going to return to base.  I'll tell my commander I
failed."
     "You're really sorry you did that.  You'll be more
considerate next time."
     "I'm really sorry I did that.  I'll be more considerate 
next time."
     "Goodbye, Jan," Tilleran said softly.
     J'hana coughed uncomfortably over the speakers.  "I 
don't know why I'm doing this.  Goodbye, Imzadi.  I shall 
always love you."
     Tilleran smiled.  "Me too, Jan.  Me too."  Once the
Razorbeast veered off, Tilleran sighed.  "I guess we still have
an Imzadi bond, even in this universe."
     "Nicely done, Commander," Conway said, and walked up to 
the front of the bridge.  "Janice--get us to Earth, ASAP."
     "Not an easy feat," she said, looking over her fried panel. 
"J'hana handed us a beating.  The warp engines are in pretty bad
shape."
     "Get down to engineering, Tilleran," Conway said, patting
the Betazoid on the back.  "If anyone asks what happened, tell
them it was just turbulence."  He'd nearly forgotten about all
those Aerostar crew that were still hanging out belowdecks. 
"While you're at it," he added, as Tilleran made her way to 
the turbolift, "why don't you start beaming the crew down to 
Mars or Venus or something.  Tell them it's a survival exercise."
     "THIS is becoming a survival excercise," Tilleran mumbled
and ducked into the aft turbolift."


     Travis Dillon slid out of the Jefferies tube and hopped down
onto the deck in Engineering.  He'd stripped down to his vest 
and ripped a swatch of cloth off the discarded uniform tunic.  He
wrapped the swatch around his forehead like a bandanna and
pocketed the phaser he'd picked up along the way.  Watching all
those action movies finally paid off.
     He scanned the engine compartment.  Everyone was passed 
out, as he'd feared.  Scott Baird was in his office, face-down in a
plate of macaroni.  When he woke up, he would NOT be a happy
camper.
     Dillon looked at the Secondprize's warp core and shook his
head regretfully.  Regulations were QUITE clear about what to 
do in a situation in which the ship had been taken over.  The crew
were all passed out like proverbial lights, and he lacked the
medical knowledge to revive them.  He could always mount a 
frontal attack on Baxter.  It wasn't as if the guy was all that
threatening.  But he had to have a failsafe.  He reached into the
satchel he'd brought along and removed a plasma grenade and
detonator.  He knew as much about engineering as he did about
medicine, but he knew where to shove that grenade in order to 
make his ship go "Boom!"  If he got into it with Baxter and saw 
he'd be defeated, he'd punch the button and blow up the 
Secondprize.  It seemed like the smart thing to do.


     Mirk wrapped his arms around Hartley and the two stared out
the Aerostar's conference room windows, as the stars behind the
ship stretched backwards infinitely.  Earth had become a dot among
the stars almost instantly once Aerostar went into warp.  Tilleran
got the engines fixed and Hartley had assisted in getting the crew 
beamed down to one of the abandoned outer Mars colonies.  
Afterwards, they swung around to get Mirk.  Luckily, the 
planetary guard was at lunch or something.
     The view outside the conference room window was rather
pleasant, with the possible exception of the phaser scar, J'hana's
handiwork, which gashed down the engineering hull.
     "Thanks again for coming to get me," he said, and kissed her
softly on the cheek.
     Hartley grabbed his hand.  "Thank you for saving us, Mirk. 
We wouldn't be clamoring to get back to our rightful place in
time-space if it wasn't for you."
     "And I wouldn't have ever had such a beautiful person to
spend the rest of my life with, if it weren't for you," Mirk said,
and leaned his head on Hartley's shoulder.
     "Mirk..." Hartley said softly.  "I...you want to spend the
rest of your life with me?"
     "I do."
     "You mean you want to..."
     "Yes, spend the rest of my life with you."
     "In other words, we should..."
     "Spend the rest of our lives together, yes."
     Hartley sighed.


     Captain Baxter anxiously paced the Secondprize bridge as 
the Exelsior-class vessel hurtled toward Tantalus.
     He wasn't quite sure what he could accomplish by capturing
Kelly and Irma.  Would Irma talk?  Could Kelly even get her to
talk?  Would she want to help him get the universe back to the 
way it was?  He wasn't quite sure he knew the answer to those
questions.  All he was sure of was that he didn't want to
jeopardize Kelly in any universe.  He'd just have to watch and
see how the cards would fall...
     "Captain!" Ford called, looking up from the helm.  "The
Explorer's closing on us.  We won't get to Tantalus for 
another twenty minutes.  She'll be in weapons range in under 
ten!"
     "Can't get much worse than that, can it?"
     Just then, the comm system buzzed.  "Baxter...this is
Commander Dillon.  This time...I'm coming for YOU!"
     Baxter sighed and glanced back at Richards, who manned 
the engineering station, diverting power to weapons and shields. 
"Chris, start beaming everyone that we knocked unconscious into
escape pods.  Be ready to blow them out if necessary.  I'll get
the weapons ready."
     "What about Commander Dillon?" Ford asked.
     "Starfleet regulation 2146.4:  If you're trying to retake
your ship, discard your comm badge immediately.  We'll have
nothing to lock on to."
     Richards checked his scanners.  "Either he did that, or
he's still in the conference room."  
     "Exactly," said Baxter, rounding his way up to tactical. 
"So start beaming already."
     After several anxious minutes, Richards reported that
everyone was aboard the escape pods.