If things still were the way they were long ago, Star Trek would be a Desilu production, but it's not. If things still were the way they were a few years ago, Star Trek would be owned by Paramount, which it is, so I guess things still are the way they were...except for the minor detail that Viacom now owns Paramount. Star Traks is still owned by Alan Decker, which it has been since the beginning. Now where were we? Oh yes... Author's Note: For those of you who are die-hard Traks fans or timeline obsessive, The Way We Were takes place shortly after the Vexed Generation book, Worlds Apart. STAR TRAKS: WAYSTATION THE WAY WE WERE by Alan Decker CHAPTER ONE This is WAYSTATION! Far on the edge of explored space, sitting like a beacon of hope amongst the desolate and unfriendly void beyond, is WAYSTATION, your gateway to the astounding mysteries of the Beta Quadrant. Towering at over 100 decks, WAYSTATION has the facilities and resources to satisfy even the most selective galactic traveler. Come see the many shops and services available to you in Starfleet Square Mall, two full decks of the finest shopping in the known universe. There you will find exquisite dresses at Krilik's Klingon Formal Wear, experience the seductive allure of Breen lingerie at Nandegar's Secret, and be struck with awe at the incredible selection of merchandise available in Dillon's Supply Depot, your one-stop shopping extravaganza. And when hunger strikes, there is no better place to be than Dillon's, rated 4 stars by the prestigious Gornian Galactic Guide. Of course, many eateries are available on WAYSTATION, such as Soup on a Stick, Sandwich or What?, and an Andorian place. However, with Dillon's conveniently located right inside the hotel, guests of Starfleet Suites will find little need to go anywhere else. So on behalf of Bradley Dillon, Commander Lisa Beck, and the many residents of WAYSTATION, civilian, Starfleet, and Federation Marine alike... WELCOME TO WAYSTATION "Bah!" Dr. Orudek Hsell spat as he finished reading the Waystation promo piece and tossed the padd onto the coffee table in front of him. "Bad read?" Dr. Hsell's colleague, Dr. Bendan Ruped asked as the two Orion scientists sat in the lobby of the Starfleet Suites Hotel. By Bradley Dillon's standards, the lobby was opulent. For most people, it bordered on ostentatious. Burgundy marble columns rose up from a floor of white marble. In the center of the room flowed a golden fountain carved in the shape of the Starfleet delta. At the rear of the lobby, two staircases headed up to the second level. Bradley designed those himself based on the grand staircase of the Titanic, one of his little obsessions. But despite the gilded wall ornaments, neatly dressed and pressed staff members, plentiful marble, and fine furniture, Hsell couldn't find one decent thing to read. After rejecting this month's issue of Milky Way Moguls, which had a cover story on Bradley Dillon, Hsell had been forced to turn to the Waystation travel brochure. "Propaganda from that insufferable Bradley Dillon," Hsell replied. "This entire station reeks of him." Hsell looked at the chronometer on the wall again. "Bah! Where is Judel?" "You men always take forever to get ready," Ruped laughed. "You laugh now, woman. But a few decades ago, I would have had your lovely green ass dancing for me," the older man replied. "But this damn so- called progress..." "...has allowed us to finish the project," Dr. Judel Wynis said, walking up to the group. "Don't listen to him, Bendan." "I wasn't planning on it," Dr. Ruped replied. "He knows he needs me." "Can we just go eat?" Hsell said, using his cane to get to his feet. "If I spend much more time in here, I'm going to be sick." "You're just jealous, Orudek," Judel said. "Face it, this Dillon's a better pirate than your clan ever was." "Businessman! He's a good businessman! As was my father!" Hsell snapped. "Now let's go!" The three Orions exited the Starfleet Suites lobby out onto the upper level of Starfleet Square Mall. Beings of every description hustled this way and that as they enjoyed the amenities Starfleet Square had to offer. But, unlike the crowded chaos of the days before Waystation's renovation into the massive facility it was now, Starfleet Square was lively, but not a spark waiting to ignite. Arriving in the food court, which overlooked the zero-gravity hover-rink located on the lower level, Hsell, Ruped, and Wynis ordered from Wok-a-Chodok, the only stand serving anything remotely palatable to Orions, and found a table between some of the other scientists attending the conference and a pair of Starfleet officers. "Do you have the presentation ready?" Ruped asked Wynis as Hsell silently shoveled food in his mouth. "All set. It won't be fancy, but oh well. What about that mess with the station commander?" "I worked it out. She's going to let the prototype onto the station," Ruped said. "That's exactly my point," Hsell said suddenly, tossing his spork aside angrily. "You see what this human idea of progress has done to galactic society. Now we've got women telling us when and where we can take our masterpiece! If I had my way, that Beck woman would be working in a gentlemen's club on Orion where she belongs!" At the next table, Lieutenant Commander Walter Morales, Waystation's first officer, and Yeoman Tina Jones, the station's liaison officer stopped eating and looked at each other. Jones noticed the fury in Morales' eyes and put her hand on his arm. "You okay?" "You heard what he said," Morales said in an eerily disconcerting flat monotone. "Yeah, but he's an old fool just here for the conference. Don't worry about it. Commander Beck could squash him like a gnat anyway." "You're right. I'm fine," Morales said, exhaling a large breath of air. "No problem." Back at the Orion's table, Ruped glared at Hsell. "You could at least pretend to respect me, Orudek. I don't want to listen to your salacious drivel." "I'm not talking about you. I'm just saying I like those Earth redheads," Hsell continued. "Especially the tall, fiery kind like that Beck. It'd be fun extinguishing that fire. Lots of fun. I would..." A strong hand suddenly grabbed Hsell's head from behind and slammed it down into his plate of chodok stir fry. "That's just a warning there, sir," the controlled voice of Morales said as he stood over Hsell, holding the Orion's face in his food. "If I hear another line of talk like that, you're going to find yourself in the brig for threatening a Starfleet Officer. Have a good day." Morales yanked Hsell back up, slammed him into the back of his chair, and stormed out of the food court. "How's that for fiery," Ruped laughed as a noodle slipped off of Hsell's face. "Commander! Commander Morales! Walter!!" Yeoman Jones shouted as she raced to catch up with Morales. "I don't want to talk about it, Yeoman," Morales said as he headed into a turbolift. "I'm sorry, sir, but as liaison officer, I have a duty," Jones said, pushing into the lift just as the doors closed. "Ops," Morales said curtly. The lift started to move. Morales stared straight ahead as Jones looked at him in exasperation. "If I'm supposed to be a liaison to these people and make them feel welcome, you can't be smashing their heads into food," Jones said. "He was out of line." "With all due respect, sir, I think you were out of line." Morales turned on Jones, causing her to shrink back reflexively. "I sent a message, Tina. That's all. I don't like it when people threaten my friends." "He wasn't threatening..." "He might as well have been," Morales interrupted. "So, you would have done that if he'd been talking about me," Jones said. "Possibly. So what?" "Well, I've just noticed that..." Jones trailed off, unsure if she wanted to go forward. "What?" "Nothing, sir. I'm sorry." "It's okay." Morales' demeanor softened. "And I'm sorry I snapped at you, Tina. It was uncalled for." The turbolift slowed to a stop and opened into ops. "See if you can give that guy a dinner somewhere," Morales said, stepping out of the lift. "Charge it to my tab." "Yes, sir," Jones said. "I'll smooth things over." "Thanks," Morales said. He gave Jones a warm smile as the lift doors closed, shutting her in the lift alone. "Starfleet Square," she said distractedly as she put another little piece into the Walter Morales puzzle. "So, you looking forward to seeing him again?" Dr. Amedon Nelson asked as she and Commander Lisa Beck walked down the corridor headed towards Docking Bay 14. "We weren't exactly friends," Beck replied. "This is more of an obligation. We were shipmates. I can't just ignore his visit. Besides, better him than that Baxter twit. I couldn't wait to his ship to leave." Beck and Nelson arrived at the shuttlebay just as the arriving vessel, a Starfleet shuttle, completed its docking sequence. "You don't have to stay," Beck said. "I don't really have anywhere to be either," Nelson replied as the shuttle hatch opened. "Lucky me." Beck plastered on a fake smile and stepped forward to greet the figure emerging from the shuttle. "Jaroch! Great to see you," Beck exclaimed, extending her hands to the man. Commander Jaroch, science officer of the USS Secondprize, Beck's former posting, considered the offered hand then shook it. "You appear to be well," the Yynsian replied. "And the modifications to this station are impressive." "Awww. He's a big softy," Nelson said. "Jaroch, this is Dr. Amedon Nelson." "Yes," Jaroch said, shaking Nelson's hand. "I remember you from our last stopover here. It is a pleasure to see you again." "I bet you say that to all the girls," Nelson said. "He didn't say it to me," Beck said. "Quite," Jaroch replied. He and Nelson exchanged an amused look. "I can see this is going to be a joy," Beck mumbled. "Come on, Jaroch. I'll show you your quarters, and we can get some dinner." "Commander, if this simply an attempt to fulfill your perceived obligation to me as former shipmates, I assure you it is unnecessary. The fact that we spent three years on the same ship in no way requires us to spend time together now. I am solely here for the conference." "I thought dinner would be fun," Beck lied...of course, she wasn't about to admit Jaroch had been telling the truth. Somehow it seemed so callous coming from him. "Oh yeah. She was practically skipping down the hallway in anticipation," Nelson said. "In that case, I will accept the invitation on the condition that you join us, Dr. Nelson," Jaroch said. "Great idea!" Beck said quickly. "Come with us." "I wouldn't want to intrude," Nelson said. "You would not be intruding," Jaroch said. "Certainly not," Beck added. "Okay," Nelson said hesitantly. "Excellent," Jaroch said. "Now then, if I could see my accommodations." "It's not the Starfleet Suites, but you should find them comfortable," Beck said, leading the way out into the corridor. "They will be fine. I have no desire to stay in any facility associated with a Dillon." "Patricia's still with Commander Dillon, huh?" Beck said. "Yes. But I fail to see the relevance." "Of course you do," Beck said, suppressing a smile. "Don't worry, Jaroch. I'm sure you'll find someone." Beck looked over at Nelson, who quickly noticed the twinkle in Beck's eye. "Oh no," Nelson said. "Is something wrong, Doctor?" Jaroch asked, looking at Nelson with concern. "No. Nothing," Nelson replied, trying to ignore the huge grin on Beck's face as the commander mouthed, "He wants you" over and over. "Just a slight pain in the neck." "I see," Jaroch said, turning back to Beck, who by that time was the picture of innocence. "Shall we go on," Beck said, waving the group down the hall. She tried not to yelp as Nelson's foot suddenly connected with the back of her leg. "My apologies, Commander," Nelson said quickly. "The pain must be affecting my coordination." "Right," Beck said, limping off down the corridor. CHAPTER TWO Bradley Dillon stood at the rear of the Liaison Office in Starfleet Square Mall, impatiently flipping through a Simms Ship Lines brochure as he waited for Yeoman Jones to finish dealing with the two Hinarans in line ahead of him. "...and the saunas are on Deck 84," Jones said, pointing the location out of a large schematic of the station displayed on the office's large monitor. "But be careful only to use Saunas One through Eight. Sauna Nine was designed for use by Gynulians, Densotes, and other species that enjoy being encased in molten slime. It would boil your skin off, though. Did you want an appointment?" The two Hinarans shuddered and made a hasty retreat from the office. "Enjoy your time here at Waystation," Jones called after them. "Are you trying to ruin me?" Bradley demanded, throwing down the brochure and storming over to Jones's desk. "They didn't want a sauna. So what?" Jones replied. "Not them," Bradley snapped. "I'm talking about your charming Commander Morales, who is single-handedly trying to destroy my science conference before it even starts!" "I thought it was the Federation's conference," Jones said confused. "Never mind that. Now what about this Morales business? You're the liaison. Aren't you supposed to prevent events like this?" "Walter got angry and overreacted a bit. That's all. But he had cause. You should have heard what that awful man was saying about Commander Beck." "That awful man happens to be Dr. Orudek Hsell, one of the most respected scientists on Orion!" "Orion has respected scientists?" "Yeah, I was surprised, too," Bradley said. "But that's not the point. This conference is the first big event Starfleet Suites has had. I need things to go perfectly. It's your job to make sure things go perfectly. Understand?" "It won't happen again. Walter's not a violent person. You know that. That Orion just pushed him too far." "Well, we have Romulans coming to this conference, Yeoman. What if one of them pushes Morales too far? And since when did he have a too far anyway? That man was as meek as a lemur when he came on board." "People change. You were poor when you came on board," Jones said. Bradley bristled at the comment. "Just keep Morales away from the scientists. I've convinced Hsell not to file assault charges." "Thank you, Mr. Dillon. And don't worry. Walter will be fine." "Yeah yeah," Bradley said, turning and exiting the office. Commander Jaroch found himself in the unusual situation of being unable to pronounce, much less comprehend the sign outside of the restaurant Beck had chosen for dinner. "Trust me. You don't want to know," Dr. Nelson whispered into Jaroch's ear then headed off down the corridor of the mall. "I thought she was joining us," Jaroch said confused. "She'll be right back," Beck replied, leading Jaroch into the crowded eatery. Jaroch immediately noticed the waitstaff. They were all Andorian. He did not take this as a good sign. "Commander Beck, what a delight!" the Andorian matre'd exclaimed, rushing forward to shake Beck's hand. "I was here for breakfast, Ih'mad. Give it a rest," Beck said. "Of course. And who is this with you?" "Commander Jaroch. Ih'mad. Can we get a table?" "Right this way, Commander." Ih'mad picked up two menus and wound his way through the restaurant to a secluded table for two in the back corner. "Dr. Nelson will be joining us," Beck said, glaring at Ih'mad. "I see," Ih'mad said, annoyance visible on his face. "Perhaps another table is in order." "Definitely," Beck and Jaroch replied. Ih'mad led the duo to a slightly larger table in a more crowded area, bowed curtly, then headed back to the entrance as Jaroch attempted to make a meal selection from the menu. "The portions here are big, so you won't need to order much," Beck said. A waiter scurried over, depositing a large bowl of a mushy orange substance in the middle of the table. "A bottle of Kaxxx'irsst 2251, if you've got any left." "Ih'mad set aside several bottles just for you, Commander," the waiter replied, then scurried off again. Beck dug her hand into the orange mush, coming up with a big sticky glop which she popped into her mouth. "Bread?" she said, gesturing to the bowl. "Not of any sort I am familiar with," Jaroch replied, eyeing the goop with disgust. "Your loss." "Will Lieutenants Porter or Russell be joining us?" Jaroch asked. "I assumed I would be subjected to a Secondprize reunion." "Sorry to disappoint you, but Russell and Porter are out on a babysitting mission." "Excuse me?" "Our resident Federation Marine Colonel got cabin fever and demanded to go on our next scouting excursion. Craig and Sean get the joy of playing tour guide." "I see," Jaroch said as the waiter returned with the wine. "The staff here certainly is attentive." "Only to me," Beck said. "Ih'mad is very grateful for the bigger restaurant. His place on the old station was about half this size." "I had no idea Andorian cuisine was this popular." "I can't figure it out either, Jaroch," Dr. Nelson's voice said. She sat down out the table carrying a small container and a cup. She opened the box revealing a steaming helping of lasagna. Jaroch did not take this as a good sign either. "Two of the organs of the day," he caught Beck saying at the edge of his hearing as he longingly gazed at Nelson's pasta. "Right away," the waiter said. Beck scooped up another big handful of glop and started to munch. "I guess congratulations are in order," Beck said once she finished chewing...or whatever she had to do to consume that gunk. "How so?" Jaroch asked. "The extra pip. You finally got the promotion." "Finally is indeed the correct term. Unfortunately, I have Commander Dillon to thank for it." "He recommended it?" Beck said in disbelief. "Not exactly." "I don't like this," Lieutenant Commander Patricia Hawkins' voice said over Jaroch's commbadge. "You're sure he's all right?" Jaroch sighed, an unusual reaction for the Yynsian but one that seemed appropriate under the circumstances, and looked up at the monitor in the antechamber for the twenty- third time in less than an hour. On the screen, Commander Dillon and General P'Dar's were still seated at the conference table talking. "He is fine," Jaroch replied curtly. "Okay. I'll check in again soon," Hawkins said. "Try to wait longer than two and a half minutes next time," Jaroch said. "That is your current record." "Can it, nut-boy," Hawkins snapped and closed the comm channel. Jaroch sighed again, an even more unusual occurrence, and settled back into the anteroom sofa where he sat with Colonel K'i'illl'm of the Concititiciaisian Armed and Dangerous Forces of Doom, Death, Destruction and Considerable Mayhem and Loud Noises. Commander Dillon was currently sealed inside a soundproof, scan-proof, explosive-proof, earthquake-proof, climate-controlled chamber with the leader of the Concititiciaisian Armed and Dangerous Forces of Doom, Death, Destruction and Considerable Mayhem and Loud Noises negotiating an end to their war with the Concititiciaisian Republic of Peace, Light, Pretty Flowers, and Swell Tunes. Granted, the translations weren't exact. In any case, Dillon and Captain Rydell, who was currently meeting with the leader of the Concititiciaisian Republic of Peace, Light, Pretty Flowers, and Swell Tunes and presumably having a much better time than Jaroch was, were currently trying to convince the leaders of the warring groups to meet with each other for peace negotiations. Jaroch could only hope that Dillon was coming somewhere close to ending his talks with General P'Dar's. "Coffee?" Colonel K'i'illl'm asked, putting down the magazine he was reading. "Fine," Jaroch said. The black-clad military officer peeled his leather uniform away from the vinyl sofa and headed over to the coffee machine. "We've only got cappuccino and Elasian Mint. Either of those okay?" "Either is acceptable," Jaroch said, his glance falling on the article the colonel had been reading: 10 Steps to Better Roses. He looked back at the colonel, who was in the process of dumping several kilos of sugar into his coffee mug. "I just can't stand that bitter coffee taste, can you?" K'i'illl'm said, pursing his lips and shuddering. "And which side is the aggressor in this conflict again?" Jaroch asked. "We are!" the Colonel snapped. "Death to the damn peaceniks!" "I see." Jaroch returned his attention to the riveting spectacle on the monitor. Inside the sealed negotiation chamber, Dillon and General P'Dar's were standing up from the table and shaking hands. The two men approached the door, stepping out of the view of the camera. Jaroch rose from the sofa and stepped over to the door to meet the Secondprize first officer. The door shook a bit, then a bit more. He then heard a bit of pounding, followed by a muffled voice. Then muffled shouting. Jaroch was able to make out his name...barely. He sighed (Third time in a day. Undoubtedly some sort of record.) And tapped his commbadge. "Jaroch to Dillon. I can hear you better if you use the commbadge." "Oh yeah," Dillon's voice replied. "The door's stuck." "Are you sure you are using it right?" Jaroch's voice said over Dillon's commbadge as the first officer examined the sealed door in front of him. "What's to use?" Dillon said, pulling on the door handle again. "It's just a door." Dillon didn't notice the maniacal smirk on the face of General P'Dar's, who was at that very moment sliding a sharp, serrated knife out of his hat in flagrant violation of the "No Weapons" rule that had been instituted for the negotiation chamber. "Pull harder," Jaroch said. "I'm pulling as hard as I can," Dillon said, his voice straining as he pulled with all of his might against the recalcitrant handle. "Pathetic," Jaroch muttered as he began pushing against the door. A few seconds of this revealed that the door was indeed stuck; however, Jaroch detected slight movement. A bit more force should do it. P'Dar's suppressed a snicker as he leisurely held up the knife and got a good line of sight on Dillon's chest. Side entries like this were a little difficult, but P'Dar's hadn't gotten that Doom Scouts Terror Badge in Close Quarters Assassination for nothing. "It's...moving!" Jaroch grunted, straining against the door. "I...would...hope...so," Dillon said, pulling equally hard. His eyes happened to fall on a tiny latch near the door handle. "What the?" He reached over at flipped it, just as P'Dar's let the knife fly. The door, now unlocked, flew open, tossing a startled Jaroch into the room and right into the path of the knife, which painfully imbedded itself in his shoulder. "Jaroch! Get down!" Dillon shouted, springing into action. He yanked Jaroch's phaser out of the Yynsian's uniform and pushed Jaroch to the floor, causing him to land on his now sliced and profusely-bleeding shoulder. Dillon quickly stunned P'Dar's, who looked incredibly unhappy about the turn of events, then turned the phaser on K'i'illl'm, blasting the mug out of the colonel's hand then zapping the colonel himself just before he could read the tenth and final step to better roses. Just to be on the safe side, Dillon then blasted the camera in the negotiation room, the monitor in the antechamber, and the coffee machine because...well...you could never be too careful. Holstering the phaser, Dillon leaned down to see to his fallen comrade. "You saved my life," Dillon said smiling. "That was really great of you, Jaroch! Really!" "Joy," Jaroch muttered, then fell unconscious from blood loss. The last thing he heard was his commbadge chirp. "Hawkins to Jaroch. Is he still okay?" Jaroch sighed (fourth time), then everything went dark. "Saved his life, huh?" Beck said smirking. "How noble of you." "I know," Jaroch replied. The waiter arrived with the food and set a steaming plate of...something in front of Jaroch. "That must be killing you inside." "No worse than this meal will be." "Told you," Nelson said, taking another big fork full of lasagne. "So what are you presenting at the conference?" "A revised version of a paper about mind transference." "Uggh. That whole twentieth century mess with Captain Rydell?" Beck said. "The very same. The return of the Aerostar from the Delta Quadrant has given me some additional information that I found enlightening." "Nice to know they're good for something," Beck muttered. "Problem?" Jaroch asked. "We didn't enjoy our last visit from Captain Baxter and his crew," Nelson explained. "Happy universe, giant eyeballs, brainwashing. You know the drill." "Fortunately, I do not," Jaroch said. "You should look into it," Beck said. "Your mirror self is...unique." "I am unique enough for my needs," Jaroch said. "Even if it involves leather and chains?" Nelson asked. "Especially if it involves leather and chains." Jaroch looked down at his plate of food. "Did this just move?" "It's supposed to do that," Beck replied. "Ahh. If you will excuse me, I should go over my notes for tomorrow." He stood up to leave. "But you didn't eat." "A wise choice on my part, I believe," Jaroch replied, the pushed through the crowd towards the door. Once he was out of sight, Beck let out an audible sigh of relief and dove into her meal with relish. "That was...abrupt," Nelson said. "Not too soon for me," Beck replied. "We don't have much to say to each other. Never did. The awkward social obligation is out of the way. Now he can go to his conference, and I can get back to life as usual." Beck finished off her first organ of the day, pushed her plate aside, and started on Jaroch's abandoned meal. "Do your boyfriends know you eat like that?" "It's none of their damn business," Beck said. A malicious glint appeared in her eyes. "Besides, I have ways of making meals entertaining." "Oh do share," Nelson said, leaning in. "Not a chance." "Bitch." "Thank you. Besides, I don't hear you sharing. You've got a centuries old symbiont inside you, but have you shared one juicy story? No." "Lisa, this thing sat in a pool for five hundred years, was then transferred to a lab where it sat in another pool for a few months, then it was jammed into me. I can do a mean breaststroke, but that's about it." "Sorry." "Don't worry about it. So what about some dirt?" "I think that's Thursday's special," Beck said confused. Nelson fought down a wave of nausea, then smacked Beck gently on the side of the head. "Dirt on Jaroch! He seems so...stiff." "He is, unless he's in one of his past lives. Generally, they just shout a lot...and J'Ter kills people, but Jaroch's got one hell of a tailor in there. As for Jaroch himself, he had a thing for Patricia Hawkins, the Secondprize's security chief, for a while, but she fell for Dillon instead. That's been a while ago, though. Now, I don't know. But why do you care?" "Just curious." "You could go have a life of your own instead of poking around into everyone else's," Beck said. "Where would be the fun in that?" "If you don't know," Beck said, the glint returning to her eyes, "You've obviously missed out on quite a lot." CHAPTER THREE Out in the unexplored reaches of the Beta Quadrant (unexplored by Starfleet anyway), a ship cut through the endless void. If a Starfleet vessel had happened upon this vessel, they would have been hard put to identify it as a ship, much less figure out how the blasted thing propelled itself through space. These issues were of no concern to the occupants of the ship, however, since they didn't have the vaguest idea who or what a Starfleet was in the first place. The ship, and it really and truly was a ship as opposed to some bizarre space-faring life form, was made up of a series of shiny, silver spheres, arranged in a pattern resembling a pyramid that had been knocked on its side and thrown out into the cosmos. Each of the 14 spheres measured approximately 50 meters in diameter and was connected to the surrounding spheres by a silver tube. Some cultures would find the ship beautiful, others would find it repulsive, and some would ask for a cue stick and set up one hell of a shot. The ship's occupants, who were completely unaware of terms such as 8- ball in corner pocket, considered themselves explorers, which, in fact, they were. Each of the 20 D'Ceti which made up the crew complement of their vessel had been selected because of their mental prowess, natural curiosity, and extraordinary ability. They had set out two years before, their ship stocked with all of the supplies it could hold, from their homeworld on a journey of exploration. They wanted to see what was out there. After two years and one encounter with a culture also making its first foray into deep space, the D'Ceti had concluded to that answer was "not much." Undeterred, however, they had continued onward at a blistering warp three, the fastest speed ever reached by D'Ceti scientists, to continue charting the universe. The reaction of most humanoids upon seeing the D'Ceti and their bridge would probably be "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!" Of course, a small percentage of humanoids would probably instead say, "Mmmmmmm... calamari." If this particular brand of humanoid should attempt to follow up on this thought, however, he would find himself with a nasty series of whip marks inflicted by the ten leg flagella and eight arm flagella possessed by each D'Ceti. Granted, the D'Ceti generally weren't big on actual physical contact, but still, when pissed off, they could leave some painful reminders of your run-in with them. The captain of the D'Ceti ship stood in the bridge central pod, her flagella monitoring and manipulating controls all around her as she watched space go buy on the ship's viewscreen. While the D'Ceti may have generally appeared to be a species of orange, mutated octopi, their visual and auditory organs functioned very similarly to those of humanoids. They did tend to be a bit quiet, though, since speech just wasn't necessary. "Entering Gridisk 87," the ship's helmsman thought-sent to the captain. "Beginning scans," the chief scanner thought-sent from his station. "Very good," Captain Joros thought-replied. "How does it look?" "Empty," the chief scanner thought-sent. "How odd," the captain thought-replied, a heavy bit of sarcasm evident in her brain waves. The chief scanner was, unfortunately, a bit off in his assessment of the area of space they had entered. If the ship's sensors had been a bit more sensitive, he would have detected a tiny buoy several light years away emitting a faint message. Of course, even if he had detected it, odds are he wouldn't have been able to translate it, much less understand that it was a language at all. The message said, "This is the edge of Multek space. Beyond this point lies nothing but endless, empty void. Turn back now. Mention that you heard this buoy comm, and you and a guest will receive two free gellidaks at Piffle's Palace of Poultry." "Uh...sir?" The captain of the Multek patrol ship Kellog looked up from the game of Sugarville he was playing over the comm system with the activities director of the cruise vessel located a star system away. "What is it?" he asked the young science officer who had interrupted his turn and possibly blown his chances of entering the Hall of Danish. "Um...well...I think I'm pretending to detect an unreal ship on the sensors." A shot of cold fear raced through the captain. "Where?" "Outside of the Enclave and closing." "Time to imaginary boundary crossing?" "Two hours." "Can we get there first?" the captain asked the helm officer. "Yes," the confused woman at the helm replied. "But why should we go after a pretend sensor reading?" "Just do it," the captain snapped. Oh how he had hoped this would never happen to him. He'd heard a couple of hushed rumors. Talk of how Admiral Wuddle had once, when he was still in command of a cruise ship, encountered a ship of imaginaries, and then, having been honored with a military commission, how he returned to face a giant, imaginary space station. Why a man should be honored for his hallucinations was beyond Captain Gubbler, but he was not about to pass up a chance at a promotion. "Captain!" the chief scanner exclaimed-sent, startling the entire bridge crew into wildly and uncontrollably waving around their flagella. This was a little known danger of scaring a D'Ceti. If you should ever accidentally startle one, duck...quickly. "Report," Captain Joros thought-sent. "I have a scan contact. It is approaching us incredibly quickly. I've never seen anything like it." "Is it natural?" "No. I think...it's a ship." A collective and audible gasp echoed through the bridge. A ship. A real ship. The second ship in two long years of travel! And these beings were obviously highly advanced. "Send out greetings on all frequencies." "OOOUOUOUUUUUUUUUUOUOUOUOUOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUOUOUOUOUOOOOOOOOOUOU" "Shut that off!!!" Captain Gubbler screamed, clutching his hands to his ears as this Multek ship's comm system was overwhelmed with...whatever the hell that noise was. "Sir?" the science officer asked once the noise was gone. "What?" "Did we hear that or just pretend to hear it?" "I'm not sure." "Well, I sure heard it," the helm officer grumbled, her ears still ringing. "Then, did that imaginary ship just pretend to attack us?" the science officer asked. "Are they...real?" "Definitely not!" Gubbler snapped. "Helm, arm all weapons and prepare to fire." "At the pretend ship that you just said is not real?" the helm officer replied. "Exactly." The chief scanner looked up from his console. "No response to our greeting, but I am detecting large amounts of energy growing on their ship." "Perhaps they communicate visually," the captain thought-sent. In a way, he was correct. The Multeks were about to send a very clear message: GO AWAY!!! "FIRE!!!" Captain Gubbler shouted excitedly, bouncing up and down in his chair. For the first time in ten years of command he was getting to shoot something. What a day! Anyone viewing the spectacle on the M-class planet the D'Ceti ship was approaching as the Multek ship dropped out of warp and let loose a barrage of weapons fire would have seen quite a light show. But, as was the case with all planets near Multek space, the planet was uninhabited. Flagella whipped around at frightening speeds as the D'Ceti frantically tried to recover from the devastating pounding their ship had just taken. "Power loss to spheres seven through eleven!" "Propulsion fading!" "The planet's gravity well has us!" "My tentacle is stuck!" "I'm going to die a VIRGIN!!!" Gubbler watched the flaming bundle of spheres slowly plummet to the surface of Void World 23 with a look of smug satisfaction on his face. "Admiralty, here I come," he whispered softly. He straightened himself in his command chair and cleared his throat noisily. "Helm, take us home." "Yes, sir." The wedge-shaped craft turned away from the shattered remains of their hallucinatory enemy and warped back towards the loving arms of the Multek Enclave. Captain Joros watched helplessly as her ship descended towards the surface of a desolate, alien world. "Launch the distress sphere," he thought- sent. One of the spheres in the grouping at the rear of the D'Ceti ship broke free of the tunnels connecting it to the rest of the ship and hobbled out into space. Joros knew that this was most likely a futile act. The sphere, even though it would automatically return to the D'Ceti homeworld, could not travel at warp velocities. It would take decades for it to reach home. But it was the only option Joros had. Besides, she and her crew had more pressing matters concerning them at the moment...like surviving the crash. The unmanned distress sphere had already left the solar system as the D'Ceti ship slammed into the surface of the planet known to the Multeks as Void World 23. With the hopes of Joros and the rest of the D'Ceti crew riding on it, the sphere wobbled into open space. It was going the wrong way. Damage from the Multek's weapons had corrupted the sphere's homing systems, sending it away from D'Ceti, the conveniently-named D'Ceti homeworld. On the bright side, it was also heading away from Multek space. Of course, as far as the Multeks and the D'Ceti were concerned, that meant it was heading nowhere. CHAPTER FOUR Lieutenant Commander Morales fought back the urge to shout "Red Alert!" as he watched the Romulan vessel decloak on the ops viewscreen. Okay, that is a lie. Honestly, he fought back the urge to start screaming and hitting every weapons control in the room. Just one of those gut reactions to Romulans. What's a guy to do? But, as things stood, the Romulan ship was supposed to be there. Also, while the old Waystation would have been no match for a Romulan Warbird, the refitted version could pretty quickly reduce one to a lovely green cloud of debris. But, as things stood, this was only a scout ship. "They're hailing us," Lieutenant Stanton reported from the tactical console. "On screen." "It's audio only." "Fine by me. Put them on." "This is Subcommander Ondek," a crisp voice said curtly. "We have Dr. Sitrus on board and request permission to dock." "I hear he's chock full of vitamins and minerals," Stanton muttered drawing a glare from Morales. "You are cleared for docking in Bay 7," Morales said, checking the readout on the docking control console. "We're honored that Dr. Sitrus has chosen to squeeze our conference into his fruity...er, busy schedule." Out of the corner of his eye, Morales saw Stanton clamp his hand over his mouth then collapse to the floor in spasms of silent laughter. "Quite," Subcommander Ondek replied humorlessly. "Waystation out," Morales said. Stanton's hand reached up from the floor and slammed down on his console, closing the channel. "BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" "Oh, come on. It wasn't that funny," Morales said. "HAHAHAHA." "Have you considered therapy?" Standing at the end of the corridor looking down towards the row of quest quarters, Dr. Nelson really wondered what the hell she was thinking. Actually, she knew. It was all Beck's fault. After dinner the night before, Nelson had gone to bed thinking about Beck's comments. Here she was, a young, attractive (so she had been told) woman, but she'd never so much as had two dates with the same guy. Sure there had been some flings along the way, such as Captain Jack Woodall of the Orleans, but nothing that really qualified as a relationship. First, there had been school, then Starfleet Medical. She went straight from there to Bracktia Prime to start her research. One symbiont insertion later, she was on Waystation. Dating just hadn't been an issue. Of course, some people had tried to ask her out. Okay, one. Porter. But she'd brushed him off fairly effectively. Now that she thought about it, Russell had made one advance, but she'd broken his wrist ending that problem. The question running through her mind while she tried to get to sleep last night was "Why?" Why was she avoiding relationships? The obvious answer was that she was already in a serious, long-term relationship with somebody: Midon. Granted, they were technically the same being now, but there were definitely times that the symbiont's personality exerted itself to make its wishes known. And unlike marriage, there was no way to dissolve this bond. Despite that, Nelson now stood just meters away from Jaroch's door waiting for the Yynsian to emerge. She wasn't necessarily interested in anything romantic, but his company seemed like it would be...well, pleasant wasn't the word...non-threatening. That was a bit more like it. She could spend time with him(he was obviously intelligent and humorous)without any expectations. Besides, some of the conference presentations could be interesting. Jaroch emerged from his quarters, his head buried in a padd. He almost walked right by her without looking up. "Morning, Commander," Nelson said gamely. Jaroch stopped and looked up at her. "If you have come to escort me to the conference, you need to trouble yourself. I am well aware of the location of Bradley Dillon's hotel." "I just thought I'd come along, if you don't mind." "You do not need my permission to attend," Jaroch said. "I was hoping to sit with you. I would appreciate your insights into the presentations." "Ah, a wise plan on your part," Jaroch said, a hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. "If that is what you wish, then...DEAR GOD NO!" The sudden ferocity of Jaroch's response took Nelson completely by surprise. She was about to haul off and slug the obnoxious jerk when she realized he wasn't even looking at her. Following his gaze down the corridor, she saw an elderly man walking slowly behind a giant, cylindrical object being carted on anti-grav platforms by two Pakleds. "Careful," the older man admonished, swinging a here-to-fore unseen cane near one of the Pakleds. "I didn't use the transporter because I didn't want this damaged! Understand?" "We understand mean man," the Pakled replied. "You cannot expect me to believe that you were even allowed near a conference of this prestige," Jaroch demanded, storming over to the elderly gentleman. "Have we met?" the man asked, turning to face Jaroch. "Oh yes," Jaroch said, fighting to control his fury. "Three years ago you sent me and two of my colleagues 20 BILLION years into the future, you insane crackpot!" The man squinted, taking in Jaroch's features carefully. "Oh yes, you're that Starfleet chap. The snotty one who showed up with the bimbo and the smart-ass woman." "That smart-ass is a Starfleet Officer," Jaroch bristled. "What about the bimbo?" Nelson asked. "Commander Dillon." "Oh." "Are you going to introduce me to your lovely companion?" the man asked. "This is not a social call," Jaroch snapped. "Dr. Derrick Azar, at your service," the man said to Nelson, bowing as much as he was able. "Temporal physicist extraordinaire." He gestured to the device the Pakleds were pushing. "I have with me my greatest accomplishment." "Greatest folly," Jaroch grumbled. "The Azar TIME POD!!!" Dr. Azar finished, ignoring the dissent from the peanut gallery. "A device capable of sending anyone to any time and place they should wish. Furthermore, I can now, thanks to several enhancements based on transporter technology, pluck any individual out of the time stream. Want to meet Surak? No problem. Kahless? Child's play." "Does it work?" Nelson asked. "Of course it works!" Azar shouted. "Despite nay-sayers' comments to the contrary." "Pardon my skepticism after what happened last time," Jaroch said. "A minor snafu." "That almost destroyed the entire universe," Jaroch finished. "But it didn't. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to get to the conference center." He turned to Nelson. "I would be delighted if you would accompany me." "She has already made alternate arrangements," Jaroch said curtly. "With you? Madam, I beg you to spare yourself the pain you will inevitably suffer." "I'm a doctor. I'll manage," Nelson said. "You done here, Jaroch?" "Quite," Jaroch said, turning on his heel and following Nelson off down the corridor. "I sincerely hope," Jaroch said as the moved out of earshot of Azar, "this is not an indication of how the rest of the conference will progress." "Jaroch, it's a glorified science fair, no offense. What could happen?" "I have found that such a question usually leads to a most unfortunate answer." "You're worrying too much," Nelson replied, wrapping her arm around Jaroch's, an action that drew a confused look from the Yynsian. "Now let's go have a good time." "Yippee," Jaroch said flatly. "That's the spirit...sort of." The auditorium was packed. Backstage, Bradley Dillon rubbed his hands together gleefully. Starfleet Suites Hotel's first big event was an unqualified success. Now it was time to make sure they never went anywhere else. For part of his plan, Bradley had set up the main room auditorium-style, with comfortable seats and a stage as opposed to the folding chairs and podium usually found at these sorts of proceedings. These science-types just didn't understand anything about presentation and showmanship. Fortunately, Bradley possessed such skills in spades. Giving his tuxedo a quick tug to straighten the lapels, Bradley stepped out onto the stage, a spotlight following his movements. "Good morning, friends and science-lovers! My name is Bradley Dillon, and it is my great pleasure to welcome you to the 96th annual Federation Science Symposium. I sincerely hope that each one of you has been enjoying your stay in the luxurious accommodations of Starfleet Suites. But I know you came here for more than to listen to me. Without further ado, on with the show!!!" Bradley threw his hands into the air, sending streams of fire (emitted by hidden devices mounted on his fingernails) upward. The room went completely dark, then, as music began pumping through speakers mounted in each seat, lights on the stage started to strobe and flash varying colors. Bradley raced backstage to where Yeoman Jones, who was acting as Starfleet Liaison to the conference, had positioned herself to watch the proceedings. She was expecting to be bored out of her skull, an expectation that had just been sucked out an airlock. "What the hell is this?" she demanded as Bradley reached her. "The opening number," Bradley said as if it was obvious. Male and female dancers, all wearing labcoats that glowed in different flourescent colors, bounded onto the stage, moving in time to the music. "This is supposed to be a science conference!" Jones said. "Exactly. Do you know how long it took me to find a decent song about science that these folks could dance to? I had to go all the way back to the 20th century records, and I HATE 20th century popular music." She blinded me with science! She blinded me...with SCIENCE!!! As if to punctuate that last "SCIENCE," the dancers threw off the lab coats revealing well-toned bodies...and nothing covering them. Jones's jaw dropped. "What are you trying to do?" Jones gasped. "They're scientists. I figured they probably don't get out much." "Now this is more like it!" Dr. Hsell said, watching the gyrating bodies on the stage. "Why don't you get up there and join them, Ruped?" The Orion woman ignored her drooling colleague. Subcommander Ondek leaned over to Dr. Sitrus, who was watching the dancers in amazement. "Is this standard procedure at science conferences?" the subcommander whispered. "Not on Romulus," Sitrus replied hoarsely. "I am beginning to see many perks to allying with the Federation." "You're not s'vetten kidding." "Can you believe this?" Nelson said softly. Jaroch didn't respond. Actually, he hadn't so much as looked up from his padd since they'd sat down. "Jaroch?" "I am aware of what is transpiring, Dr. Nelson; however, I believe Bradley Dillon has a certain stature that will prevent any rioting on the part of the conference participants. Therefore, commenting on this is a waste of my energy." "So what? He's rich, so he can do whatever he wants." "In short. On the upside, I only have to tolerate him for three days. You, however, live here." "Thanks for reminding me." As the number ended and the dancers dispersed, the audience broke into smatterings of polite applause (except for Dr. Hsell and the two Romulans, who erupted into a loud standing ovation). Bradley retook the stage, smiling broadly. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. That was the Raisian Jahamaron Review. If you ever get to Raisa, they put on a show that will blow off your lab coats. Definitely leave your inhibitions in orbit. Now then, as a special treat before the conference begins in earnest, I want to introduce you to a scientist whose work you may not be familiar with. His endeavors were brought to my attention through other channels, but I found his work too fascinating to ignore. Here he is to present the dawning of a new day in temporal research, Dr. Derrick Azar!" "He's the one who invited Azar!" Jaroch shouted, suddenly tossing his padd to the floor. "I should have known. The Federation Science Institute would never let in a crackpot like that. The bastard is parsecs away, and still he finds way to make me miserable." "Who?" "Dillon!" "Bradley's on stage." "Not that one. His miserable brother who told him about Azar in the first place!" "You don't know that for certain." Jaroch suddenly stood up and shouted at the stage, where Bradley was standing. Behind Bradley, Dr. Azar's Pakled assistants pushed the time pod on stage, maneuvering the anti-grav units as gracefully as they could. "Mr. Dillon, did your brother, Commander Travis Dillon tell you of Dr. Azar's work?" Jaroch asked. "Yes, he did." Jaroch gave Nelson a quick "I told you so" glance, then started walking towards the stage. "Then, are you aware that this...man, for I cannot in good conscious call him a scientist, recklessly tested untried equipment on unprepared individuals with no regard for their safety or for the possible consequences to the time stream." "So, I made a typo. It happens," Azar protested, hobbling out from backstage just as Jaroch climbed up to face him. "You are a menace, and I recommend that this device be quarantined and dismantled before any more 'accidents' occur." "It was a damn typo!" "I know, but I, unfortunately, cannot have you dismantled as well." "You pretentious twit! You're just like all the others," Azar snapped. "You're all just jealous." "Of what specifically? Your ineptitude or you senility?" Azar lashed out at Jaroch with his cane, a move that the Yynsian dodged easily. The cane smashed into one of the anti-grav units on the time pod, shorting it out and sending the pod crashing down towards Jaroch. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite fast enough to dodge that one. Of course, if he'd been looking at the pod rather that smirking smugly at Azar, he probably would have had more of a shot. As it was, Jaroch fell to the deck under the weight of one rather large experimental time pod. Nelson made it to his side seconds later. "Jaroch, can you hear me?" "Ouch," Jaroch muttered, then fell unconscious. "Now this is a science conference," Dr. Hsell shouted from the audience. "Encore!" CHAPTER FIVE "This is ridiculous," Colonel Martin Lazlo muttered, his arms crossed and his face dark with anger as he sat stewing in his chair in the back compartment of the Runabout Cumberland. "I agree totally," Lieutenant Craig Porter replied from across the table. "Sean?" "Absolutely," Lieutenant Sean Russell concurred from the seat next to Lazlo. "I also think he's being an asshole." "Oh absolutely," Porter agreed. "A Klingon would have vivisected both of you with his bat'leth by now." "A Klingon would have had the honor to admit he was wrong," Porter replied. The Federation Marine stood up, his head almost touching the ceiling of the runabout. "Are you saying I've got no honor?" Russell stood up, putting himself toe to toe with Lazlo. "As much as I would love to take your ass down a peg or two, I'd really rather avoid making that kind of a mess in front of my friend Craig here." "Don't stop on my account," Porter said. "Stay out of this," Lazlo snapped. "I suggest you admit you were wrong, and we all move on," Russell said. "I was not wrong." "Look at the damn card," Porter said in exasperation as he tossed the padd towards Lazlo. "See. Jerry Theron." "Who happens to be a flight-back," Lazlo said, sitting back down at the table. "I said he was a flight-back." "The question wanted the name of the Astro-ball player, not his position," Russell said. "You didn't know it. It's my turn." He picked up his padd and pressed the 'roll' button. Two little holographic dice materialized over the gameboard on the table and bounced around a bit. Then, Russell's game piece floated six spaces ahead. "Well?" Russell asked expectantly. "What?" Lazlo demanded. "Ask me my question." "It's still my turn." "IT IS NOT!!!" Russell and Porter shouted. "Then we're done here." Lazlo stood up from the table and marched towards the runabout cockpit. "Could we have at least brought the Wayward so we could have gotten away from him?" Russell asked. "It hasn't been fully flight-tested yet," Porter said. "Maybe something will just accidentally kill him." "That'd be okay. So, are we still playing or what?" Russell suddenly feel silent and cocked his head curiously. "Did you hear that?" "Hear what?" "The phaser banks just charged." "No, but I did hear that?" "What?" "The engines just switched to manual control." Porter and Russell looked at each other for a second. "LAZLO!!!" They raced into the runabout cockpit where Lazlo was indeed powering up the phaser banks and switching off the autopilot. Then they saw why. Out the front windows was a large metal sphere, and it was heading their way. Frequoq Juletz stood silently staring out of his office window trying to absorb the information he'd just been given. Outside, a Quickie Travel Tram sped by making its rapid decent from the station on top of the governmental office building across the square. Juletz could just make out a face or two of the passengers, their mouths open shouting with glee. Unfettered glee. If they only knew... "Are you sure?" he said finally. "No doubt," Admiral Wuddle replied. "Damn. More imaginaries. Did Captain Gubbler hallucinate those Federations as well?" "I don't think so," Wuddle said, checking the report on his clip-comm- board. "His crew's description of the...hallucination doesn't match up to what we imagined before. And their location..." "Yes, I know," Juletz snapped. More hallucinations. This time on the opposite side of the Enclave from the imaginary Federations. They were becoming surrounded. "Gubbler and his crew dispelled the pretend threat, but I would like to take a team to investigate." "Why?" Juletz said, turning on Wuddle. "It's taken care of." "With all due respect, Your Frequoqness, I have had dealings with these beings before." "Don't remind me," Juletz replied, rubbing the bridge of his whiter- than-white nose. "You really should be at a Recovery Ranch instead of here." "You can't continue to ignore the truth!" "Stop being so melodramatic," Juletz said irritated. "If we're so sure there's no one else in the universe, why did we even bother arming our ships?" "The matter is done. Tell Captain Gubbler to resume his patrols and not breathe a word of this to another living Multek." "Frequoq..." "Get out!" Wuddle bowed stiffly and exited the office. The Frequoq was hiding, hiding like this problem would just go away. Wuddle had seen the truth, though. He'd felt the truth. The imaginaries were no such thing. He'd been on the Federations' space station; he'd talk to them. All Frequoq Juletz was doing was delaying the inevitable. One day, the population of the Multek Enclave would be forced to accept that they were not alone in the universe. It would be a painful process, but a necessary one. Wuddle had hoped his promotion to admiral and his position as Frequoq Juletz top military advisor would have allowed him to convince Juletz. Evidently, that was not to be. With this route closed off, Wuddle would have to resort to other avenues. "What the hell is that?" Russell asked as Porter leapt into his seat at the science console. "Some sort of alloy," Porter said. "I don't give a damn," Lazlo said, turning the runabout onto an attack course. "It looks Borg." "No life signs," Porter continued. "It's unmanned. I am picking up some sort of repeating signal, though." "Maybe it's a probe," Russell offered. "Probe this!" Lazlo exclaimed, sending the ship into a dive. Before he got much farther, the ship suddenly righted itself. "What did you do?" "Override," Russell said, control of the ship now on his console. "We like to think before blasting things to atoms. Sorry," Porter added. "This is why Starfleet loses ships all the time," Lazlo fumed. "That could be some sort of long-range tactical weapon designed to home in on the nearest populated world and destroy it." "That be tough considering it's completely unarmed and has a fairly non- volatile power source," Porter replied. "Yeah, but if it fell on you..." Porter and Russell exchanged a brief look. "I can't argue with him," Porter said finally. "I could shoot him," Russell offered. "Look," Porter said, making another attempt to reason with Lazlo. "If it wanted us dead, we'd be dead now. If it's heading toward a planet we have..." He looked at the sensor readouts. "Six days to stop it before it reaches a populated world. Now can you please let us do our jobs? You know, the whole seek out new life forms and new civilizations thing?" "Waste of time," Lazlo spat, getting up from the pilot's seat. He stormed back to the replicator and ordered a glass of Andorian fruit punch, guaranteed to grow facial hair and remove unwanted esophageal linings. "Well?" Russell asked. "Give me a minute," Porter replied. "This translation work is Commander Beck's specialty. If I had to guess, though, I'd say it was a distress beacon." "So you can understand it?" "I can understand the attached video feed," Porter said, calling it up on a monitor. The image, obviously shot from camera mounted on the outside of the sphere, showed several other connected spheres. Something warped in far in the distance and opened fire. Then, just as unexpectedly, the attacking vessel warped out again. The spheres began falling towards a planet, moving farther and farther away as the beacon sphere detached and flew out of the system. "A distress call for an unmanned ship?" Lazlo asked. "It could be a science probe they want to recover. Or maybe there are people in the other spheres," Porter suggested. "Oh great," Russell muttered. "What?" Porter asked. Russell adjusted the video feed, closing in on the attacking ship and sharpening the image. It looked like a small, sideways obelisk with wings. "Multeks," all three men said softly. "Sean, see if you can backtrack the path that sphere took," Porter said. "Do you have any medical training, Colonel?" "Front line first aid." "It'll work. I'll try to finish the translation on the way. For now..." Porter launched a small probe towards the sphere, which latched itself onto the sleek metal surface of the featureless globe. "Starfleet will at least be able to keep track of the thing." "Course plotted," Russell reported. "But we're going to be getting awfully close to the Multek Enclave." "Yeah, the attack ship kind of clued me in to that one. I'll let Waystation know what we're up to." "We should get reinforcements," Lazlo said. "I can have the Mongoose here in less than a day." "We may not have that kind of time," Porter said as Russell moved up to the pilot console. "We'll just have to improvise." "This is exactly why you people lose so many ships...and officers." "Risk is our business," Russell said. "It's in the fine print somewhere. Look it up," Porter said smiling. Lazlo ignored him and headed to the back of the ship. Suicide missions were one thing, but stupid ones were quite another. For the three millionth time since arriving on Waystation, Lazlo thanked himself for becoming a marine. Dusk was setting in on Multos as Frequoq Juletz prepared to go home for the day. He felt tired, more tired than he ever had since becoming Frequoq. Inside the very core of his being, Juletz was consumed with dread. In all the millennia the Multek Enclave had existed, never had their way of life been in so much danger. Something had to be done and soon...even if it meant sending the entire Multek space force out to destroy the imaginary Federations. Granted, the Multek military functioned mainly as an internal police and rescue squad, but Juletz had no doubt that they would give everything they had to protect the Multek way of life. The orders would sound insane, but the alternative was much, much worse. CHAPTER SIX Commander Beck walked into the infirmary wondering how she was going to explain all this to Captain Rydell. Jaroch didn't even make it 24 hours before something happened to him. Granted, it sounded like it was Jaroch's own fault, but she knew how testy Rydell could be when one of his officers was hurt. Fortunately, Dr. Nelson had been right there, and the Pakleds were able to get the time pod off of Jaroch fairly quickly. Now all that was left was to see how badly he'd been hurt. "Well that was fun," Dr. Nelson said, pulling off her red surgical cap as she emerged from the operating room. "Is he okay?" "I had to re-knit 156 separate bones." "But is he okay?" Beck said. "He'll be fine," Nelson said. "He should be waking up soon if you want to go talk to him." "Great. Let's go." Beck grabbed Nelson's arm and dragged her back into the operating room. "Damn, Lisa. He's injured. You can't even strike up a simple get well conversation without backup?" "Not now, Amedon. What were you doing at the conference anyway?" "Scientific curiosity," Nelson said quickly. "I'll bet." Jaroch lay unconscious on the operating bed, bioreadouts beeping softly around him. "It could have been a lot worse," Nelson said softly. "He's a thin, little guy, but it's all muscle." "I guess you'd know," Beck replied. "Take it easy on him from now on." "This is why I don't discuss my personal life with you." "What personal life?" "Wouldn't you like to know?" "I think I already do," Beck replied. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Jaroch begin to stir. She leaned down next to Jaroch and put her hand on his arm. "Commander, are you all right?" Jaroch groggily turned his head in Beck's direction. Seeing her, he smiled a weak, goofy smile. "Hey, beautiful," he said, running his hand along the side of her rather surprised face. "I guess he liked you more than you thought," Nelson said flatly. "Who's she?" Jaroch asked, looking back at Nelson. "Wonderful," Nelson said, throwing her arms up. "You took a bad blow to the head," Beck said consolingly. "You may have a little amnesia. Dr. Nelson will take care of it." "Okay." Jaroch lay his head back down. He started to drift back to sleep. "Don't forget to program the VCR, hon." "What did he just say?" Nelson asked. "Oh no." "What?" "I don't think that's Jaroch," Beck said standing up. "He does a damn good impression of him." "That's not what I meant," Beck snapped. "He's Yynsian you know." "I was aware of it," Nelson replied. "What's that got to do with anything?" "They have past lives. They tend to come out occasionally." "So he's just stuck in a past life," Nelson said visibly relieved. "That's not a good thing, Amedon," Beck said. "We've got to get him out of it." "All right. I'll check the database and see what I can find. If anything, we'll contact Yyns. Don't panic. I want Jaroch back just as much you do." "Not for the same reasons, I'll bet," Beck said, smiling knowingly at Beck. "Just leave. I've got work to do." Beck laughed and exited the operating room leaving Nelson with her sleeping patient. Nelson hadn't so much as had a complete meal with the man, and already Beck was making her life miserable. Maybe her no-dating strategy had been wise after all. "How is it?" Bradley Dillon asked for the eighth time in three minutes. "Everything seems to be in working order," Dr. Azar said, looking up from his readings of the time pod. The pod had been picked up and moved from the stage to a lab bay in the Research and Development section of the Dillon Enterprises complex on Waystation. After the accident, the science conference had proceeded as scheduled. Unfortunately, Dr. Azar had not been able to make his presentation. It was unfortunate for Dr. Azar anyway. Bradley really couldn't have cared less. Letting Azar speak at the conference was the only way Bradley could convince him to bring the time pod to Waystation in the first place. "Or at least it will be once I replace a couple of blown isostators." "Great." "I'll be back soon," Azar said, heading towards the door. "Shouldn't be anymore than a week or two." "WHAT???" Bradley shouted. "I don't exactly have them in my back pocket," Azar said. "And no one else has any?" Bradley asked, calming himself down a bit and returning to his professional demeanor. "I should hope not. I invented them myself," Azar said proudly. "Fine. I'll have Captain Robbins take you." Bradley touched his cufflink. "Abigail, darling." "Yes, Mister Dillon," came the reply. "Doctor Azar needs to return to his lab. Could you be a doll and take him in the Lusitania?" "Right away, sir." "Thank you. Dillon out." He turned back to Azar. "She'll meet you in our docking bay. End of the hall, take a left. Last door on the right. Stop before you fall out the airlock." Bradley headed towards the door at a rapid pace. "I look forward to your return." A moment later, Bradley was gone. "Insufferable bastard," Azar muttered. He patted his creation lovingly. "You'll be fine here, my love," he said to the time pod. "Daddy will be back soon." Azar picked up his tool case and left the lab, the door closing and automatically sealing itself behind him. Morales heard the turbolift approaching ops but didn't really pay any attention to it until Commander Beck stepped out. "Good morning, Commander," he said crisply. "Nothing to report." "Glad to hear it," Beck said. "Can I borrow you for a second?" "Me? Sure," Morales said, stepping away from the docking control console and following Beck into her office. "Have a seat," Beck said, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. Rather than going to her chair, she sat down on the desk itself right in front of him. "What can I do for you?" Morales asked nervously. "I heard about what happened in the food court." "I see," Morales said softly. "Anything you want to talk about?" "I don't know that there's much to discuss," Morales said. "Really? The way Jones tells it, you tried to force-feed that Orion half of the food on the station." "She's exaggerating." "Look, Walter," Beck said smiling and putting her hands on his shoulders. "This isn't a reprimand speech or anything. I just wanted to know if you're all right. Tina thought you seemed tense." "I'm fine," Morales replied. Oh how he wanted to be anywhere but here right now. "Okay then. That's all I need to know," Beck said, standing up. "But if you've got a problem..." "I know where Counselor Miller's office is," Morales finished quickly. "Yeah. But there are other people you can talk to." "Thank you." "You're welcome. And thanks for pounding that Orion. That last bit's off the record, of course." "Of course," Morales replied, unable to stop himself from smiling. "Nelson to Beck," the comm system interrupted. "What is it, Doctor?" Beck said. "Jaroch's awake again. And he's asking for his wife." "His wife?" Beck asked. "Yep. That's you apparently," Nelson replied. "Oh yeah. Forgot that part," Beck said, collapsing into her desk chair. She noticed the look of stunned shock on Morales' face. "What part would that be?" Nelson asked, the laughter apparent in her voice. "I'll be down in a second." "I can't wait. Nelson out." "You're married?" Morales gasped. "Not in this lifetime," Beck said humorlessly as she stood back up to leave. "We've got a Yynsian in a full-fledged identity crisis down in the infirmary. You might as well tag along, so I don't have to tell this story more than once." By the time Beck and Morales entered the infirmary, Jaroch had pretty much fully recovered...pretty much except for not knowing that he was Jaroch of Yyns, a commander in Starfleet. "Hey, beautiful!" Jaroch exclaimed upon spotting Beck. He rushed over and kissed her before she had a chance to react. Beck's gut instinct was to damage several of Jaroch's vital organs, but she restrained herself and instead focused on extricating himself from his bear hug on her. Morales just watched the whole scene in a fascinated disgust. "This is really great," Jaroch said. "It's not even my birthday. Where did you get all this? Where are we? Is this still Norfolk?" "Jaroch, can you go sit down for a minute? I've got to talk about what's next with Dr. Nelson and Commander Morales here." "Commander Morales. Right." "Hey!" Morales protested. Beck silenced him with a hand on his arm. "This is really great," Jaroch said again as he headed over to one of the biobeds. Nelson and Morales gathered close to Beck to get some sort of explanation of what the hell was going on. "Okay. That's definitely not Jaroch," Beck said. "You mentioned that," Nelson said. "I did a brain wave scan just to check. Turns out you're right. Jaroch's in there somewhere, but his pattern is buried under this one." "So who is this one?" Morales asked. "A past life," Beck said. "From twentieth century Earth. I think his name was Carl Jaroch. I really don't remember. Captain Rydell knows a hell of a lot more about this than I do." "What do you know?" Nelson asked. "Specifically anything about you being married to him." "This is going to sound insane," Beck warned. "And that's unusual?" "Point taken. In the late twentieth century, due to vagaries in the time stream or fate or coincidence or who the hell knows what, several people...ancestors of many of the Secondprize crew...ended up together at a university in Norfolk, Virginia. Weird part is they had the same names we do for the most part." "That is weird," Morales said, looking over at Jaroch/Carl. "So what? The twentieth century Lisa Beck was married to him?" "Bingo," Beck said. "That explains that," Nelson said. "But it doesn't help me get Commander Jaroch back." "What did Yyns have to say?" Beck asked. "I talked to Jaroch's sister at the Temple of Mi Clane. She said he should come out of it on his own." "When?" Morales asked. "She didn't know, but she didn't seem very concerned." "Great," Beck said. She noticed Jaroch/Carl blowing her kisses from across the room. She smiled weakly and waved at him. "So what do we do with him?" Nelson asked. "He should stay here," Morales said. "No way," Nelson said. "I am not babysitting. He's perfectly healthy and should not be held prisoner." "Doctor, he's mentally unstable," Morales replied. "We can't have some guy who things he's a twentieth century college student running around the station." "Better that than some of the people we've got here now," Nelson said. "I don't see what harm he could possibly do, Lisa." "Fine. Release him, but he needs an escort," Beck said. "I agree...Mrs. Jaroch." "What?" "He responds to you," Nelson explained. "He knows you at least. Who else are we going to stick him with?" Beck put her head in her hands. "Fine. FINE! I'll take care of him. Come on, Jaroch!" "And, Commander, he's a person, not a dog," Nelson said. "Don't push me, Nelson," Beck grumbled as Jaroch/Carl raced over. "What's next?" he asked excitedly. "I guess you get the grand tour," Beck said. "Sounds great," Jaroch/Carl said, taking Beck's hand. She tried to shake him off, but couldn't. He didn't even seem to be noticing her efforts. "I'll be around if you need me, Walter," Beck said joylessly. "Just contact me. About anything. Really." Her eyes were almost pleading as Jaroch/Carl pulled her out of the infirmary. "They make such a cute couple," Nelson said smiling. Morales grunted and stalked out of the infirmary, clearly unamused. For Nelson's part, she didn't mind a bit. Any jealousy she may have had subsided the second Beck explained what was going on. If there was anyone on Waystation who understood problems with split personalities, it was Nelson. CHAPTER SEVEN In the couple of hours it had taken the crew of the Runabout Cumberland to backtrack the D'Ceti distress sphere's course, Lieutenant Porter had gotten a pretty good translation of the sphere's message. There wasn't a lot to it. Mainly "Help. We're crashing. Come get us." and some coordinates. The part that bothered Porter was the specific nature of the distress call. The sphere's comm system didn't have a lot of range, so it was obviously heading somewhere, most likely to wherever this species' home planet was. Not that Porter was paranoid or anything, but he just had this nagging suspicion they wouldn't be incredibly friendly towards outsiders. Sometimes it just sucked to be the Good Samaritan. On the other hand, there was the thrill of first contact. In his entire Starfleet career, Porter had never been the one to meet a new species. Granted, that was the kind of thing people in the command branch usually handled, but Porter's scientific mind yearned to experience that sense of wonder and discovery upon encountering a race previously unknown to the Federation. Heading this close to Multek space was obviously risky, but this could be the one chance Porter ever got at first contact. Russell brought the Cumberland out of warp as close to the planet Porter had pinpointed as possible so as not to attract too much Multek attention. Close turned out to be very close. "SH**!!!" Russell screamed as a mountain peak seemingly materialized out of nowhere. He frantically pulled up the runabout's nose, almost overloading the inertial dampeners in the process. "DIOS MIO!" Lazlo cried, diving for cover. "Okay. All better," Russell said finally as he leveled the ship off and climbed into a low orbit. He looked over at Porter, who had maintained his seat and his silence through the entire thing. "You handled that well." "I was spot-welded to my chair by utter terror," Porter said shakily. In a sudden move, he smacked Russell upside the head. "Sorry. Delayed reflex action." "Forget it," Russell mumbled. "If the floor show is over, can we get on with today's romp into certain death?" Lazlo grumbled. "Hold on," Porter said, checking the sensors. It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. A large collection of spheres matching the general make-up of the distress sphere lay in a mangled mass near the base of the mountain range Russell nearly crashed the Cumberland into seconds earlier. "At least they cleared us a nice trench to land in," Russell said, observing the scans. "Land?" Lazlo said. "You aren't seriously going to just leave us that vulnerable in front of an unknown, possibly hostile species." "Better that than leaving an unmanned runabout in orbit where it can be blown to hell by a known, incredibly hostile species," Porter said. Lazlo really couldn't argue with Porter's logic there. He went to the back to get his gear. Russell set the runabout down in the alien ship's impact trench without so much as a bump. His general flying may have left a bit to be desired, but Russell was a virtuoso when it came to landings. He'd never really even had a special training. It was just an innate talent. An unappreciated talent to be sure, but it was his all the same. Lazlo returned a moment later with a long, black case, which he opened revealing an equally long, black rifle. Russell took a longing look at the sleek standard, marine-issue compression phaser rifle, then pulled one of Starfleet's ugly-ass version. Porter contented himself with a hand phaser. He figured he'd be spending most of his time looking at a tricorder anyway. "We ready?" Russell asked, slinging a couple of medkits onto his back and checking the charge on his rifle again. "I can barely contain my excitement," Porter remarked as he grabbed an engineering kit and programmed coordinates into the ship's small transporter. He joined Russell and Lazlo on the pad, then the three men beamed over to who knew what. "I am sensing others," the chief scanner thought-sent. "As am I," Captain Joros thought-replied. "We will stay here. We are too weak to fight." "They will destroy us!" "We shall see." Admiral Wuddle looked out at the gathered group of Multeks and sighed. After months of recruiting, a pitiful seven people were all he'd been able to convince. Of course, the upside of this was that their group had not been discovered by the authorities. One of these days, though, Wuddle knew that someone would notice that every week, the same seven people came to his house. "Our moment has come," Wuddle began. The seven others stopped their various side conversations and turned all of their attention towards him. "You have proof?" Hypple asked hopefully. Hypple had been Wuddle's first recruit. He'd been a crewmember on the cruise vessel Wuddle was in command of when they first encountered the Federations. The others had been able to convince themselves that they had imagined the whole thing, but not Hypple. Now that Wuddle had fully realized that the Multek government had no interest in verifying the existence of the Federations, he needed people like Hypple to help him pursue the matter unofficially. "Not in my hands," Wuddle said. Hypple visibly deflated. "But I received word today that one of our ships shot down an 'imaginary' vessel." "What is the Frequoq going to do?" another follower asked. "What he always does about such things: nothing," Wuddle said. "This is our chance, True Believers! We have to take action when those who lead us will not. The people of the Multek Enclave must know the truth about the so- called-imaginaries." "Do you have a plan?" Hypple asked. "Of course," Wuddle snapped annoyed. "We're going to go to this crashed ship ourselves." "We are?" the seven asked in surprised unison. "I don't think I can find a baby sitter." "I have to work." "I get space sick." "Are you nuts? We'll be arrested!" "That's it. I'm out of here." "Admiral, my blue hair!" "I'll go." One voice broke through the chaos. Six of the followers were already on their way out the door, but Hypple remained. "I'm glad someone understands the importance of what I'm trying to do," Wuddle said. "We need a ship." "You're an admiral. Can't we just take one of yours?" "And alert the entire Multek fleet about our plan? I don't think so." "I guess we could take one from the cruise line. Lukoquo Kibble just got in a small, luxury yacht for the really rich clients." "Is it armed?" "Yeah. A little." "Perfect," Wuddle said, rubbing his hands through his blue hair excitedly. "We'll swipe the ship tonight. Before Kibble wakes up tomorrow, we'll be out of the Enclave." "Ou..ou..out?" Hypple asked fearfully. "The ship is crashed beyond our borders." "Bbbbut, no Multek has been beyond the borders." "Yes they have. How else would they have shot the alien ship down?" Wuddle said. "Uh...okay. You've got a point." "Be strong, son," Wuddle said, putting a reassuring arm around Hypple's shoulders. "You're going to get fired, and we both may be arrested or killed, but we WILL have the TRUTH!" "Um...er...sure. That's good...I guess." "Great. I'll meet you at the shipdock in five hours. Try to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow." Hypple smiled weakly and headed out into the darkness of the Multos night. The lighted upside-down loop in the Quickie Travel Tram track gave him some comfort as he walked home. "Big day tomorrow. Oh yeah. There's an understatement. I'm throwing my life away because of what?" Hypple remembered seeing the strange beings running through the corridors of the cruise vessel a couple of years earlier with their funny colored skin, odd voices, and bizarre clothes. He was positive that he'd been hallucinating until one of them shoved him aside in their rush to get by. Hallucinations usually didn't push people around. Now he was going to get some answers...maybe. Deciding he really didn't feel like walking, Hypple hailed a bumper-cab. Yep. Big day tomorrow. Wuddle had better know what the Yudinel he was doing. Porter, Russell, and Lazlo materialized in the middle of the central sphere of the wreckage. Despite whatever weirdness they may have been expecting, the inside was a fairly normal corridor...well, normal except for being a bent wreck with debris scattered everywhere. Porter scanned around with his tricorder. "Lovely," he muttered. "I can't scan out much farther than about five feet. Some sort of radiation." "Harmful?" Lazlo asked. "Most radiation is," Porter replied. Lazlo took one of the medkits off Russell's back and injected each man with a hypo. "That should protect us for a while...assuming this isn't some sort of super-nasty alien radiation." "Seems pretty weak actually," Porter said. "The tricorder just doesn't like it." "I guess this means we're splitting up, huh?" Russell said. "Wise man," Porter replied. "I'll head to the fore and see if I can find some kind of bridge. You two look for survivors. I don't know how this radiation will affect the commbadges, so we'll meet back here in an hour." "You got it," Russell said. He headed off towards the rear of the deck to start checking rooms. "Problem, Colonel?" Porter asked, noticing that Lazlo was still hovering around. "Why are you heading to the bridge instead of one of us?" "Because I'm the one with a chance in hell of getting some systems operational," Porter said. "If this thing's got a functioning shield grid, I'd like to get it up and running before the Multeks swing by to finish the job." "Agreed. But don't think I'm going to start taking orders from you, Porter." "Frankly, Colonel, I really don't give a damn what you do as long as it involves finding the crew of this ship," Porter said, moving towards the front of the sphere. "Smug bastard," Lazlo muttered once Porter was out of earshot. He cradled his rifle in the ready position and headed towards a connecting tunnel to the next sphere. The tunnel itself was almost blocked by wreckage, but Lazlo was able to crawl over it while still keeping a finger on the trigger of his rifle. Who knew what the residents of this ship looked like? He had to be ready. The main part of the next sphere seemed to be some sort of hydroponics bay. Dripping plants lay limply along the floor. Then Lazlo realized what he was seeing. This whole chamber had once been filled with water, some of which was still leaking out of a large gash in the bulkhead. Moving on, Lazlo found a ladder down to a lower chamber of the sphere. Swinging the light mounted on the front of his rifle back and forth, he scanned for movement. Nothing. Satisfied, he descended to the next deck, jumping down the last couple of rungs. They were odd rungs too. Widely spaced and positioned all over the descending tube. Feet firmly on the deck below, Lazlo continued his search. "They are coming." "Hostility. It is all hostility." "I am ready," Joros thought-said. Lazlo followed the corridor to a door. Normally, it looked like it would have been a formidable barrier, but crash damage had left it unable to completely close. He kicked the door in, aiming his rifle into the room and spotting for targets. Nothing. He walked inside and realized he was wrong. "OOOOH! PRETTY!" he exclaimed in a daze. Yes, very pretty. Hypnotizing, actually. And then the voices started. CHAPTER EIGHT "I just can't get over this, Lisa," Carl/Jaroch gasped looking around the Waystation food court. Normally, Beck would be having lunch at the Andorian restaurant, but she figured the food might be a little much for a 20th century human. "Where are we? I've never heard of a Star Trek exhibit this elaborate." "Jaroch..." "All these uniforms. And the make-up. This must have taken forever." "Jaroch..." "And it's so damn big! Or is there a matte painting down there somewhere I can't see." Carl/Jaroch looked down over the foot court railing, craning his neck to see as much of the lower level of Starfleet Square Mall as possible. "Carl!" Beck snapped. Carl/Jaroch immediately returned his attention to her. "Yes, beautiful," he replied adoringly. "Listen to me very carefully. You are not who you think you are or even when you think you are." "You aren't making a bit of sense, hon." "I'm not surprised," Beck said, rubbing her temples. She couldn't tell if her headache was coming from Jaroch or that miserable excuse for plomeek soup she'd just had from Soup on a Stick. "But try. Please oh please try to get this. You are Jaroch." "I know that." "But you're a different Jaroch. You are from a planet called Yyns. Right now, one of your past lives is in control. The personality I'm talking to now is of a person who has been dead for a couple hundred years." "Right," Carl/Jaroch laughed. "I can play along." He reached over to run his hand along her cheek. "No, Jaroch!" Beck said, grabbing Carl/Jaroch's arm and slamming it down on the table. Now she had his undivided attention. "It is now 2375 by your calendar. I am Lisa Beck, but I am not the one you married. She's long since dead. YOU are long since dead." "So this is heaven? I thought it'd be less...crowded." "This isn't a joke." "Prove it," Carl/Jaroch said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. "What?" Beck said in disbelief. "Look around! That thing over there with all the...things growing out of its head. Do you have those on Earth in your time?" "Great make-up job." "I don't have time for this. I need to be in ops," Beck said, getting up from the table. "There are surely more important things going on on this station." Carl/Jaroch got up from the table with her and followed her all the way to the turbolift...and into the turbolift. Beck really didn't know what to do with him. She couldn't just leave him to wander the station alone. "Ops," she said, just pushing the issue from her mind. Maybe he'd just be quiet. "This isn't my hand," Carl/Jaroch said a couple of moments later. Sure enough, he was staring at his hand. "I don't have this little birthmark on my thumb." "I told you," Beck said. Carl/Jaroch proceeded to peer into the turbolift control panel, examining his reflection as best he could. "Holy sh**!" "I know." "This is the future." "Yes." "HOLY SH**!!!" "I'm glad you've finally come around." "Oh, Travis and Alex would love this!" Carl/Jaroch said. "This is...unbelievable. Can I stay?" "Only until Jaroch takes his mind back," Beck said as the turbolift started to slow. The doors opened out into ops, and Carl/Jaroch practically pushed past her to get to the viewscreen. It was just showing a starfield at the moment, but he was fascinated. "It's just space," Lieutenant Commander Morales muttered, voicing Beck's thoughts. "Easy for you to say," Carl/Jaroch replied. "I've never been here." "Commander, is this a good idea?" Morales asked hesitantly. "I doubt it," Beck said. "But I couldn't think of any better ideas. Anything going on here?" "Not a thing. You know, you could show him a holodeck," Morales suggested. "Put him on his home turf." "And leave him there," Beck said, hoping Carl/Jaroch wasn't paying attention. He seemed far too busy trying to get Lieutenant Stanton to show him where the weapons controls were. "We could lock it." "No. But the idea's not bad. Carl, you want to see something else?" "Sure," Carl/Jaroch said, beating Beck to the turbolift. "Have fun," Morales said flatly. "Yippee." "Okay, so what do you want to see?" Beck asked as she and Carl/Jaroch stood in an empty holodeck. "This is REALLY a holodeck? Like on the show?" "What show? I have no clue what you're babbling about." "Never mind." "Look, why don't we go with something familiar," Beck said. "Computer, create Norfolk, Virginia." "Please state the desired era." "Twentieth century. Late 1990's." "Please narrow parameters," the computer replied. "Old Dominion University," Beck said, remembering the name of the place Captain Rydell had mentioned. "Please narrow parameters." "Carl?" Beck said, gesturing for him to take over. "Powhatan Apartments. Outside building AA." "Working...........Program complete." All around them, the world shifted, revealing a walkway running between two rows of greyish-blue buildings. As usual in the holodeck, the weather was perfect. The sun shone brightly, but not oppressively as a cool breeze blew by. "Wow," Carl/Jaroch said softly. "What about people? Can this thing make Alex and Travis?" "Sure. I guess as long as there's some record of them," Beck said. "Computer, add Alex Rydell and Travis Dillon characters based on historical records from the late twentieth century." Two figures appeared. Beck was amazed how similar they looked to the present Captain Rydell and Commander Dillon. There were definite differences, but the similarities were spooky. She resisted the temptation to call up her twentieth century ancestor. "Is this all they do?" Carl/Jaroch asked, looking the pseudo-Alex and Travis over. "No. They're fully interactive...as long as there's some personality records." "Hello?" Carl/Jaroch said, waving his hand in front of Alex. "Hi. I'm Alex Rydell," the pseudo-Alex said. "I like computers and pizza." "Hi. I'm Travis Dillon," the pseudo-Travis chimed in. "I like writing and movies." "That's it?" Carl/Jaroch said. "There must not be a lot of information available about them. We lost a lot in the Third World War." "It's okay. This is cool and all, but it's just wrong. It's missing the details. I can't smell the Elizabeth River and it's lovely aroma of sewage. I can't hear music blaring out of a dozen open windows. And I sure as hell can't talk to those two." He pointed at the pseudo-Alex and Travis, who just stood quietly with smiles pasted on their faces. "Morales to Beck." "Go ahead, Walter," Beck replied. "We just received a message from Russell and Porter. They're on their way to check out a distress call," Morales replied. "They'll contact us if they need help in retrieving survivors." "This will be so much easier when we get the Wayward into service," Beck said. Waystation's new support ship had arrived just the week before and was waiting for final flight testing. It wasn't anywhere near as spectacular as she would have liked. Deep Space Nine had gotten the Defiant. She got a glorified scout ship. Granted, it could handle a crew of 20 and was armed to the teeth, but it wasn't a Defiant. "Do you want me to get the Roanoke prepped just in case?" Morales asked, referring to the Waystation's newest runabout. The station had been forced to operate with only the Cumberland for a while after the Yadkin was destroyed by the Starshine Kids in their failed attempt to take over the renovated station. But now, with the Roanoke, and the soon-to-be-spaceworthy Wayward, Waystation would be up to three support craft. It wasn't exactly a fleet, but it was better than nothing. "Yeah. And keep me informed. Beck out." She turned back to Carl/Jaroch ...who wasn't there. "Where the hell did he go?" "Beats us," pseudo-Alex and Travis replied smiling. "Computer end program and delete Alex and Travis characters...painfully if possible." She stormed out of the holodeck, barking orders as she went. "Beck to security. Find Commander Jaroch and bring him to ops...but be gentle. He's not who he thinks he is right now." "Um...okay," the responding security officer replied confused. Beck charged into a turbolift. "Ops." This would all have been much easier if Jaroch's commbadge were functioning, but it'd been crushed in the accident. They were just going to have to do this the old fashioned way. Besides, how many Yynsians could there be on the station anyway? "127," Morales said as Beck stepped out into ops. "We've got 127 Yynsians on board right now. There's some sort of travel club passing through." "Perfect," Beck muttered. "Why can't this ever be easy?" "You were really mean to someone in a past life," Morales said. "Don't even say past life," Beck said. "Jaroch couldn't have gone far. Look for lone Yynsians on the mall level. He seemed to really like it there." Carl/Jaroch was actually a couple of decks above the mall in the corridors of Dillon Enterprises. A voice in his head he couldn't explain but that seemed very familiar had been directing his actions. First, he'd used a computer terminal to gather information concerning the location of a device. Then, he'd accessed a map of how to get to that location. Now, the voice was leading him down this corridor. Actually, it wasn't so much a voice. It was more like he just knew, but the knowledge wasn't really his. It was an odd sensation to say the least. The knowledge in his head stopped him at a particular door, which was locked. Somehow, Carl/Jaroch innately knew how to disable the lock and enter the room. Inside was a large cylinder. The words "time pod" echoed in his mind. This was how he could get what he wanted. The knowledge in his head protested. It hadn't liked the idea all along, but was powerless to fight Carl/Jaroch's desires. The knowledge may not like what was happening, but it had no choice but to serve Carl/Jaroch, as it had been doing up to now. Carl/Jaroch examined the time pod, the knowledge telling him that components were broken and how to fix them. He set to work. "We're starting to get complaints," Morales said. "Security just frisked two Yynsians older than most of Jaroch's past lives." "This is just perfect," Beck muttered. "So you keep saying. Do you want me to call out the marines?" "Definitely not. And tell security to show a little common sense." "I'm on it...not that it will do much good." The repairs were complete, and Carl/Jaroch had, with the help of the knowledge, zeroed in on his targets and programmed in their coordinates. This was going to be so great. He activated the pod. "Is it getting dark in here?" Beck asked, noticing that she was having to squint to see the internal sensor readouts. Then, she realized the readouts were dimming too. "We've got a major power fall off," Lieutenant Stanton reported. "Morales, I told you to pay that damn bill," Beck said humorlessly as she joined Lieutenant Oliver Mason at the engineering/science console. "The core's being drained," Mason reported. "Something on Deck 16." "Bradley," Morales said. "Beck to Bradley Dillon." "Shouldn't you be seeing to whatever is disrupting my conference, Commander?" Bradley replied. "That's what I'd just love to talk to you about." "Me? What help can I possibly be?" "Well, it's coming from one of your labs on Deck 16." "There's nothing on Deck 16," Bradley replied testily. He fell silent for a moment. "Except the time pod," he finished softly. "I'm heading there now." "We'll meet you. Beck out. Beck to Nelson. We may need you. Deck 16. Room C-47." "Acknowledged," Doctor Nelson replied quickly. She could obviously tell this was no time for humor. "Let's go, Commander," Beck said to Morales. The two entered the turbolift and descended through the station. "I just know it's him," Beck said, breaking the silence in the turbolift. "The thought did cross my mind." "I tell you, Walter, times like this remind me why I'm so glad to be here with you instead of back on the Secondprize with those psychos...no offense to Captain Rydell." "We're glad you're here, too," Morales replied. Beck gave him a brief smile, then her face hardened back into business mode. The cycle was complete. Carl/Jaroch could hear voices within the pod...then silence...then screaming. They had to be surprised and confused. He activated the door control. Beck, Morales, Nelson, and Bradley Dillon all converged on the door to the research and development lab at the same time. Bradley quickly deactivated the lock, allowing the group to rush inside. It was Jaroch all right. He was standing at the pod control panel, smiling broadly. Beck breathed a sigh of relief. He was still there. She'd worried that he'd sent himself back in time to Norfolk, Virginia of the twentieth century. She really had no desire to have to go retrieve him from the past. That's when she noticed the door to the pod opening. Morales instinctively went for his phaser, but Beck gestured for him to put it away. Two figures stepped out of the pod, arguing with each other as they went. Beck recognized them right away even though she desperately wanted not to. It was Alex Rydell and Travis Dillon. The twentieth century versions. Live and in the flesh. Right about then, the time pod started humming and shaking wildly. It exploded a moment later, knocking everyone to the floor. "Perfect," Beck moaned, cradling her head in her hands as she surveyed the smoking ruins of the time pod. "Just perfect." CHAPTER NINE Wow, those voices had been great to be with for a while. And they had such wonderful ideas. Kill Russell and Porter! Wonderful! That would just be the BEST!!! Lazlo continued on his way back to where he'd last seen Russell. There was only one way to describe it. For the first time in his life, Colonel Martin Lazlo felt absolutely, positively groovy. "Groovin' on a Sunday afternoon." What a day! What a universe! Lazlo rubbed his rifle lovingly. Life just did not get any better than this. "Groovy, groovy, jazzy, funky." The echoing all around was starting to get unnerving. Porter tried to put his nerves back together after once again having them shattered by a bit of debris falling somewhere and sounding for all the universe like...well, the end of the universe. The one consolation he had was that his wrist-beacon was providing more than sufficient light to see what was around him despite the incessant flickering of the ship's own lighting. Leave it to Starfleet R&D to develop a smaller, better flashlight. Now if only they could figure out some way to keep people from falling out of their chairs when a ship got hit. While he realized that assuming the bridge would be in the front sphere of this alien ship was an incredibly Feder-centric was to think, Porter suspected that he was about to be proven right. The rooms he'd found so far looked like a briefing room, offices (he guessed) and some sort of dining facility. There was one other room with several holes and tubes mounted all around it that he didn't really want to know the function of. In any case, they were the sort of administrative rooms Porter would expect to be near a bridge on a starship. One thing he had noticed was that there were no chairs to be found on the entire ship. Instead, there were stool-like objects. Either these folks weren't humanoid, or they had the worst back pain in the known universe. Russell had thus far found his part of the search fairly easy. Assigning himself the rear eight spheres of the crashed ship had turned out to be the right move to make. He'd been through four spheres already and found nothing but cargo, cargo, and more cargo. At one point, Russell assumed the spheres in question must have been stacked from floor to ceiling with various boxes and containers. Now it was sort of all over the place. Actually, (and Russell no expert on this by any stretch of the imagination, Russell had concluded that these particular spheres must not have been equipped with artificial gravity. This would account for the complete lack of stairs or ladders. Instead, the door to the sphere was mounted in the middle of the wall. If there were gravity, someone walking it would have just slid right down to the bottom, which is exactly what Russell had done in the first sphere he'd entered. This action was accompanied by a great deal of screaming, which got worse when he slid into something that could only be described as squishy. Russell thought he'd found one of the dead crew. It turned out to be some sort of food substance (he guessed) spilling out of a broken container. Stacking several of the undamaged containers together, Russell had managed to get up to the opposite door of the sphere and continue his search. The next three cargo spheres had gone much more smoothly, but he still hadn't found any sign of anyone. He made his way through the connecting tunnel to the next sphere which was filled with mangled machinery and collapsed catwalks. Probably an engine room. This was more Porter's department. Russell tapped his commbadge to report in. "Russell to Porter." "Wa...re...nt...ar...you ver..ell," came the mangled reply. "Craig, you're going to have to turn on the universal translator. I can't understand a word you're mumbling." "I...speak...nglish...y...oron!" "If you can understand me, I still haven't found anyone, but I think I'm in engineering. You got that? Ennnnginnneeeerringgggg." There were days when Porter really wished that he'd smothered Sean with his pillow back when they were Academy roommates and saved himself a lot of aggravation. "Got...at...Ennn...innnn...eeerin...g," Russell's voice shouted through Porter's poor, straining commbadge. "Sure. Fine. Porter out," Porter snapped, closing the channel. Russell had apparently found engineering. That was good to know at least. Porter meanwhile was pretty sure he'd found the bridge. It wasn't a huge room. Actually, it only seemed to have stations for four...beings, whatever they were. Each station had one of those uncomfortable looking stools (there was barely enough seat there for Porter's rear, and he wasn't exactly a big guy), but the stools were mounted in the center of what looked almost like a cage-type structure. Consoles were mounted in various positions on the inner surface of these "cages" and at various levels. Without even realizing he was doing it, Porter let out a low whistle. These aliens had to be very, very skilled at their jobs. To handle that many consoles at once, Porter would have needed six or seven arms. Of course, these aliens could always have six or seven arms. Pushing the idea out of his head with a nervous chuckle, Porter moved in closer to examine some of the stations. He needed to find whatever one of these stations handled shield operations. The bridge lights flickered again reminding Porter that he also needed to see if he could restore main power to this battered hulk. All of this would have been a lot easier if he or Russell or Lazlo could find the crew and get them to help. The idea passed through Porter's head that they were wasting their time. The crew could have very well detached an escape pod sphere much like they had with the distress sphere. But if they'd done that, why send out the distress sphere with a message saying the crew was on the crashed ship? No, Porter's instincts were telling him that the crew was on board somewhere. They were possibly incapacitated or maybe just plain scared, but they were there. Once Porter was able to make contact, everything would be fine...assuming, of course, that Lazlo didn't shoot them on sight. Lazlo had a very perceptible bounce to his step as he bopped through the corridors of the ship. "I'm your boogie man. That's what I am. Gonna kill Sean, however I can." Spheres, spheres everywhere and not a sign of life. Russell smiled at his clever poetry manipulation (actually, it was the only line of poetry he knew) and headed into sphere number eight. "And what do we have for our contestants, tonight, Krinok?" Russell shouted, looking into the sphere and mocking a popular Klingon game show he'd been unfortunate enough to find himself a contestant on at one point. "Well, you dishonorable pitakh, it's more broken engine parts. WOOOOOO!" He headed it, checking his tricorder as he went for some sign of life or movement or something. Nothing nothing nothing nothing... BEEP BLIP BLEEEEEEP! Something! It was coming from between two large engine reactors...or possibly laundry machines. Who knew with these aliens? Russell aimed his wrist light into the darkness of the path between the two huge, spherical (what a surprise) machines. The light fell on Colonel Lazlo... ...and the phaser rifle he had pointed directly at Russell. CHAPTER TEN The silence that had fallen across the Dillon Enterprises Research and Development Lab after the explosion of the time pod was broken by a scream...Bradley Dillon's scream to be precise. The multi-billionaire businessman scrambled out from under the table he'd hidden under and rushed to the smoldering remains of the time pod. "No no no no no," he muttered softly, holding his hands to the side of his head. Soon after, Carl/Jaroch recovered and rushed over to help Travis and Alex to their feet. The two uninvited guests were still a bit dazed and confused. Okay, they were very dazed and confused. Travis's head was turning right and left as if on a high speed pivot as he tried to figure out where the hell he was. Alex, meanwhile, stared at Carl/Jaroch, squinting as if it would help him see some hidden truth. "Carl?" he said finally. Travis stopped looking around and followed Alex's gaze to the man standing in front of them. "Him?" Travis said. He looked more closely. "Carl?" "It's me," Carl/Jaroch replied. "It sort of looks like you...er, him, but you're not..." Alex began. "You brought us to the future!" Travis shouted. "You're like 40 now, right? This is...2013!" "Not even close," Morales muttered. "You're nuts," Alex said. "How do you explain it then?" Travis said. "Um...well...How do you explain that?" Alex said, pointing at the uniforms Morales and Beck were wearing. "Uh..." Travis ran his hand nervously through his hair as his mind raced. "Um..." "Think about it," Alex said finally. "We were walking to your car. We passed by a gas main. It must have been leaking. We're in a hallucination. That's all." "We're both hallucinating the same thing," Travis said incredulously. "Unlikely, but possible," Alex said. "Certainly more possible than being transported to the future be someone who looks like Carl." He then turned to look at Bradley. "And your brother." At these words, Bradley perked up, his eyes locking on Travis and filling with demonic hatred. "YOU!" Bradley screamed, diving across the wreckage and clamping his hands around Travis's throat before Travis could so much as scream. The two fell to the floor, Travis desperately trying to pry Bradley's hands off of his neck as Bradley squeezed with all his might. Alex and Carl/Jaroch quickly moved in to pull Bradley off of him. "I'm really enjoying this, but I suppose we should do something," Beck said, straightening her uniform. "Doctor, I'm pretty sure I know who these two are, but would you scan them just to be sure." "Better than just standing here doing nothing," Nelson said, pulling out her tricorder. "And Morales, get Bradley out of here and calm him down." "You don't want me to stay here to assist you?" Morales asked warily. "Amedon and I can handle things," Beck said. "Yes, ma'am." Morales stepped over to Carl/Jaroch and Alex, who had successfully removed Bradley's fingers from Travis's trachea and were restraining him, and wrapped his arm Bradley's shoulder. "Let's go, Mister Dillon. We'll get all this cleared up." "There's nothing left." "Only your billions and billions of credits. I hope that's enough consolation," Morales said, leading Bradley out of the lab. "You okay, Travis?" Alex asked, helping Travis to his feet. "Some hallucination," Travis gasped. He turned on Carl/Jaroch. "All right, Carl Jaroch, if that is your real name, what the hell is going on here?" "You're in the future," Carl/Jaroch replied. "I told you we were hallucinating," Alex said. "No. Really. This is the 24th century. I'm Jaroch, but a later incarnation. Carl Jaroch's personality is just in charge right now." He looked back at Beck. "Did I get that right?" "Close enough," Beck said. "Uh...Commander, can I talk to you for a sec?" Nelson asked as she waved Beck over to where she'd been unobtrusively scanning Travis and Alex. "What have you got?" Beck asked looking over Nelson's shoulder at the tricorder. "They're humans. By the pollution content in their lungs, the chemicals in their hair, and the crap in their stomachs, I'd say probably late 20th century. But you expected all that, right?" "Yep. Anything else?" "Well, they've both had Starfleet standard mindwipes. Two of them to be exact. I'd say both occurred within the last two months. You know why they would...?" "Unfortunately," Beck replied, turning her attention back to Carl/Jaroch 's conversation. "Carl, this is cool and all," Alex was saying. "But we've got finals in a couple of days." "And I've got graduation and a wedding in the next couple weeks...not to mention Christmas!" Travis added. "Don't worry. We'll get you back in plenty of time. We've got a..." Carl/Jaroch suddenly realized what he was about to say. "Oh sh**," he said softly. "Don't tell me that was your only time machine," Alex said. Carl/Jaroch grimaced and nodded. "Oh sh**," Alex and Travis said in unison. The two 20th century men were silent for a moment, mulling over their options. "This could still be a trick," Alex said. "Some trick," Travis muttered. "And why pull it on us? We're nobody." "We've only seen this room. This could still be a set or something. Let's not panic." "We can leave if you want," Beck said. Travis and Alex seemed to look at her for the first time. "Lisa?" they both asked. "Don't you start too," Beck said. She turned on her heel and led the newcomers out of the lab. "And this is Starfleet Square Mall," Beck said as she and the others stepped out of the turbolift onto the upper level of the mall. Alex and Travis rushed past her to the railing and looked out at the life teeming around them." "Aliens!" Travis shouted. "Out here, we're all aliens," Nelson said. "That was actually kind of deep," Beck said. "Stuff it, Red," Nelson snapped. "I told you," Carl/Jaroch said, walking up behind Travis and Alex. "Still think it's a hallucination?" "No," Alex said in stunned shock. "And we're stuck here?" Travis said with no hint of regret in his voice. If anything, he sounded ecstatic. "Looks like it," Carl/Jaroch said. "Morales to Beck," Beck's commbadge barked suddenly. "Beck here," she replied. "If you've got our guests taken care of, could you spare a few moments for Mister Dillon? He requires your special touch." "Understood," Beck said with a smile. "I'll meet you both in my office. Beck out." Bradley must be demanding money or for Jaroch to be prosecuted or something, and Morales' gentle diplomacy was most likely not working. She needed to come put things a little more forcefully. "Wait a second," Nelson said once Beck had closed the channel. "You aren't leaving me with these three." "Wouldn't dream of it," Beck said. "I have someone far more appropriate in mind...and here she comes now." Yeoman Jones was indeed approaching, her head buried deep in a padd. She didn't even notice Beck until Beck grabbed her arm as the yeoman was passing by. "Hey!" Jones snapped. She then saw who had grabbed her. "Commander! I'm so sorry. I didn't see you. How are you?" "Perfect," Beck said flatly. Her tone immediately made Jones nervous. Something she wasn't going to like was about to occur. She could just feel it. "I need you to do me a favor." "Um...okay," Jones said. "What is it?" "We have a couple of VIP's on board," Beck replied, gesturing to Carl/Jaroch, Alex and Travis. "I just want you to show them around." "Is that Captain Rydell?" Jones asked, peering at Alex. "Captain Rydell?" Alex and Travis said confused. "No," Beck said quickly. "Just a distant relative. But I'd like them to stay related, so don't let anything happen to him. Or Travis." "Dillon?" "Yes and no. Just watch them. Okay? I've got to go." Beck beat a hasty retreat down the walkway. "Ditto that for me," Nelson said, patting Jones on the shoulder. "Good luck." "Luck? Why should I need luck?" Jones said as she watched Nelson depart. Oh well. Time to slip into tour guide mode. She turned back to face her charges, starting her speech as she went. "All right, gentlemen, Waystation was established just over two years ago when the Starship Secondprize..." She trailed off as she completed her turn. Carl/Jaroch, Travis and Alex weren't there. However, a small Andorian boy seemed to be listening quite attentively. "You're pretty," the boy said smiling. "Can I go home with you for Viis'narttz? I'll fix breakfast in the morning." Damn, those Andorians started young. She didn't have time for this, though. There were VIP's on the loose. "Maybe when you're older," Jones said, patting the boy on the head. Before he could reply, she took off running down the walkway. They couldn't have gotten far. "You're being ridiculous," Alex said as he, Carl/Jaroch, and Travis descended through the station in a turbolift. "I'm just adapting to my new life situation," Travis replied. "Oh come on. You're supposed to be getting married in two weeks. You're graduating. You've got a whole life there. Now you're just ready to chuck it all and stay here?" "If I had to, it wouldn't be so bad. Now would it?" "Well, no. I guess not," Alex said. "You did say they have holodecks? Just like the show?" "Yep," Carl/Jaroch said smiling. "Do you want to head there first?" "That babysitter the commander stuck us with might find us there," Travis said. "I think we're old enough to not need chaperones." "Can we get off the station?" Alex asked. "Go check out the neighborhood?" "Cool!" Travis said. "I don't see why not," Carl/Jaroch said. He could feel the needed knowledge coming into his consciousness. This was so much more fun with friends around. Now if only he could convince Lisa to come along. She's not Lisa, the knowledge told him. Prove it, Carl/Jaroch replied to the knowledge. If I am here, she could be too. She just doesn't know it yet. Carl/Jaroch pulled up the station directory on the turbolift monitor and checked for a ship. Runabout, the knowledge told him. Suddenly, he knew exactly what he had to do. "Docking bay two," he said. The lift abruptly changed course, heading back towards the upper saucer. "I wish Trina were here," Alex said finally. "Just think of this as a guys day out," Travis said. "But we could be here for a while." "Okay. It's an extended bachelor party." "You're just in denial," Alex said. "This is going to hit you at some point." "If someone suddenly gave you everything you ever wanted, would you cry about it?" Travis asked. "Maybe." "Come on, Alex. I'm finally in space. We're about to go ride in a spaceship. They've got holodecks! We're set!" Alex thought for a moment. "There is that," he admitted. "I may need you guys to help me steal the ship," Carl/Jaroch said. "Hold on a second," Travis said. "Nobody said anything about stealing. We could get in some serious trouble." "Come on, Travis," Alex said. "You're the one who wanted to see space." "Hey, leaving the station was your idea." "If we stay here, Commander Beck will most likely put us in a room somewhere and not let us out until they figure out how to send us home," Carl/Jaroch said. "This is our one chance." "And I doubt this will go on our records back home," Alex said. "Okay, Mister Inconsistent," Travis snapped. "One second you're convincing me how great home is. And now you're practically pushing me out an airlock." He turned to Carl/Jaroch. "Is that what they really call them?" Carl/Jaroch nodded. "Cool. Anyway, explain that!" Travis said, pointing at Alex accusingly. "Just playing Devil's Advocate to see what you really want," Alex replied. "As usual. Well, not this time. What do YOU want to do?" Travis said, crossing his arms. "And you'll go with what I say." "Absolutely." "Then let's get ourselves a ship," Alex said smiling. "Aye, sir," Carl/Jaroch said, unsure as to why the knowledge made him reply that way. The three men exited the turbolift across the corridor from docking bay two. Carl/Jaroch straightened himself to his full height and strode into the docking bay where two crewmen were sitting on a couple of cargo containers playing cards. Behind them, the runabout Roanoke sat. The sight stopped Alex and Travis in their tracks. A spaceship. A real spaceship. "This area's restricted," one of the crewmen said without looking up. "I apologize for being out of uniform," Carl/Jaroch said, brushing off the blue tunic and pants Dr. Nelson had given him to wear. "I have been attending the science conference." "Who the hell are you?" "Commander Jaroch. Stationed aboard the USS Secondprize. This is Captain Alexander Rydell and Commander Travis Dillon." "How come you outrank me?" Travis whispered to Alex. "Shhh," Alex said. "Commander Beck has given us permission to borrow this craft for a quick scouting run." "Yeah yeah. Whatever," the other crewman said. "No one told us. We're supposed to keep the ship on stand-by. I think she's expecting some emergency or something." "I see," Carl/Jaroch said. The knowledge suggested a different route. Again, the suggestion came most unwillingly. Carl/Jaroch continued trying to speak in the measured tones that the knowledge used in his head. "In that case, we will not take the ship. But might I look at the controls. This appears to be one of the newer models." "Fresh out of the shipyards," the first crewman said smiling. "I think Commander Morales is the only one who's flown her." "Then may I look inside?" "Be my guest," the crewman said, waving Carl/Jaroch towards the ship. Carl/Jaroch quickly walked into the runabout followed by Alex and Travis. "Oh my God!" Travis shouted once they'd entered the cockpit. He immediately ran over and sat in the pilot's seat. "Don't touch anything," Carl/Jaroch said as Alex rushed over to join Travis at the controls. Carl/Jaroch opened the cockpit storage locker, pulled out a medkit, and quickly loaded two hyposprays. This is great, Carl/Jaroch thought as the knowledge guided his movements. How well do you know quantum physics? Child's play, the knowledge responded. Unfortunately, it will not do you any good. You are dead, remember. Only Alex and Travis are actually from another time. You are simply memories from that other time. Shut up. "Okay," Carl/Jaroch said, walking over to Alex and Travis. He held out the hyposprays. "You two inject these into the guys out there, and I'll cover out tracks." "I don't know about this," Travis said, turning the hypospray over in his hand. "It's too late to chicken out now," Alex said, pulling Travis out of his chair. Following Carl/Jaroch, they exited the runabout. Carl/Jaroch made his way over to the unoccupied docking bay control room as Alex and Travis tried as unobtrusively as possible to get as close to the two docking bay crewman as possible. "You should go for a flush," Alex said, peering over the shoulder of the first crewman. "We aren't playing poker," the crewman retorted. Obviously, he wanted to add something to that statement but was restraining himself. "Sorry about that. Just trying to help." "Well, with all due respect, I don't need it." "That's where you are wrong, foolish one!" Travis shouted suddenly, raising his hypospray into the air like a demented Luke Skywalker and jamming it down into the neck of the very surprised other crewman. "What the hell?" Alex and the first crewman exclaimed. Alex, realizing that he was about to be in a whole galaxy of doo-doo, quickly jabbed his hypospray into the arm of the first crewman. The first crewman swung at Alex, but collapsed to the deck unconscious before he could get all the way around. "Don't you ever do that again!" Alex shouted angrily at Travis. "What? It worked," Travis replied. "This isn't one of your stories. You can't write us out of it if things go wrong." "But they didn't," Travis protested. "And it sounded ridiculous." "It did?" "Yeah. Way over the top. 'Foolish one?' Who the hell talks like that?" "I was trying to be dramatic." "Well, you sounded like a bad martial arts movie except your lips actually matched the words...unfortunately" "What should I have said?" "How about nothing?" Alex replied. "Where's the drama there?" "Forget it. Just forget it." Carl/Jaroch returned from the docking bay control room saving Alex from whatever reply Travis was about to make. "That should take care of it," Carl/Jaroch said. "What did you do?" Alex asked. "I think I created a feedback loop in the sensors. It should mask our escape." Carl/Jaroch wasn't exactly sure. The knowledge wasn't talking to him anymore. It had protested about being used to fool Commander Beck and the rest of the Waystation crew and had submerged deep into Jaroch's mind. But Carl/Jaroch didn't figure it would matter. He'd already learned from it how to fly the runabout. What more could he need? "Then let's not hang around any longer than we have to," Alex said heading towards the ship. Carl/Jaroch took the pilot's seat and gracefully steered the runabout out into space beyond. "Wow," all three men said at once as the vastness of space opened up before them. "It's...incredible," Travis said softly. "So where to?" Carl/Jaroch asked. "That way," Alex said, pointing off toward the right of the front window. "I like the way that star's twinkling." "You got it," Carl/Jaroch said, turning the ship towards Alex's desired destination. "Let's see what's out there," Travis said. Alex just glared at him. "Too much?" "Yes!" Alex and Carl/Jaroch said. Unnoticed, the runabout sped away from Waystation. Finally somewhat appeased, Bradley Dillon left Commander Beck's office after half an hour of ranting and raving. Actually, he really didn't want anything more than for someone to listen to him go on and on. He seemed resigned to the fact that the time pod was destroyed and that he'd have to wait for Dr. Azar to return before he could do anything about it. "Well, that was pointless," Beck said, leaning back in her desk chair once Bradley had left. "I guess everyone, no matter how rich they are, needs someone to talk to occasionally," Morales replied. "You're probably right," Beck said. "Bradley doesn't exactly seem to ha