[UF] Leap Years, Part 2 [FanFic]
Pearson Mui
The Strange Medium Guy with a Bad Haircut
In Association with
Wrong Side of the Ocean, Inc.
Presents
Leap Years, Part Two
Cast (in order of appearance)
Doc2.................................................Pearson Mui
Head Scientist...............................Dr. Richard Lambert
Anderson.....................................J. Random Assistant
Doc..................................................Pearson Mui
Priss...................................Priscilla Sonoda Asagiri
Largo...GENOM Corp. Type 481-A-S Hyper-Buma J-2073-D-2670-S-1871
Anri........................GENOM Corp. Type 33/S Replicant Anri
Gryphon/Don Griffin.........................Benjamin D. Hutchins
Nene...............................................Nene Romanova
Linna.............................................Linna Yamazaki
Q.................................................Corbin Bernsen
Sylia.............................................Sylia Stingray
Vision...............................................Reika Chang
Leon...............................................Leon McNichol
Pete......................................Peter David Ajlond-Mui
Techie.................................................Percy Mui
Maggie..........................................Margaret Simpson
Harry...........................................Harrison Maxwell
Elana.....................................Elana Irene Smythe Mui
Kilrathi Arms Dealer............................Pa'kath Karod'kh
Nigel...............................J. Random Weasel-type Person
Eiko............................................Eiko Magami Rose
PCHammer.............................................Martin Rose
Noriko........................................Noriko Takaya Rose
Murtaugh...................................Roger Thomas Murtaugh
Rouse........................................Michael Brian Rouse
Ditillio.........................................Markus Ditillio
Girl..............................................Ashley Stevens
MegaZone..........................................Brian Bikowicz
Q2.................................................John DeLancie
[?].This person's identity withheld for a cheap dramatic effect.
Acknoledgements
Once again, to Zoner, Gryphon, and ReRob. You guys have created something
truly unique, and I think it may haunt you for the rest of your lives. (Just
kidding! :-))
To Martin Rose, Chris Meadows, and the rest of the #Eyrie crew on IRC.
Whether it was discussing the capabilities of an ion gun or just cosplaying,
it's nice to know that you guys are there. If nothing else, it sure saves me
the trouble of constantly e-mailing you guys. :-)
To Mom and Dad, who *still* disavow any knowledge of this story.
To Percy and Betty, my sounding boards for technical suggestions and
comedy, respectively. All this, and they put up with me, too. Amazing what
siblings are for, hm?
To UIC, for the free Internet account, and for showing me what a
frightening thing bureaucracy can be. Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!
To the Internet, for obvious reasons.
To Vasiliki Manetas, aka Vasia, for reading parts of this story and
giving helpful hints. "I wanna know what happens to Doc during his second
leap! And how come he ends up there? Are you finished with the story yet?"
To those who wrote me about Leap Years, part 1, including Rydia, Jason
Low, Philip Moyer (hmm...P. Moyer, P. Mui...coincidence?), and Rei Nakazawa.
Thanks for the comments and compliments. Even I need an ego boost once in a
(big) while.
To anyone else I may have missed out of forgetfulness.
And, of course, last but definitely not least, to you, the reader. If I
wrote just for myself, nothing would get published. :-D
=0C
(Author's note: Because of the potentially confusing timeline of the story, I
have included, by request, an addition as to when the event occurs in Doc's
lifetime. A.L.=3DAfter Leaping, L2=3DLeap 2, L3=3DLeap 3. I hope this helps.)
Chapter 20---------------------------------------------------------------------
"A healthy dose of paranoia will greatly extend your lifespan."
--Mercenary's Handbook from _Mechwarrior_
SEPTEMBER 1, 2333
OUTSIDE THE ORBIT OF NEW JAPAN, ENIGMA SECTOR
(340 years, 10 months A.L.)
About 2 AUs from the world of New Japan, three warp distortions marred
the star-speckled tapestry of space. On the third distortion, a small craft
emerged. It was an odd vessel, even to those well-versed in space travel.
The silvery-grey exterior and overall quizzical shape was reminiscent of a
long-gone Terran groundcar, a DeLorean, rare even to devout collectors of 20th
century memorabilia. Not surprising, since it was unique (the only vessels
remotely similar were the WarpZone and his brother's hover-converted Grand
Prix).
The pilot, a young Chinese man (or so he appeared), looked over the
controls with only mild interest. Just days before, he'd reluctantly bid
farewell to the now-famous Thunder Force. He hadn't wanted to leave, but the
future of the space-time continuum took precedence over his own happiness.
Again.
Doc2 sighed as he replicated another Pepsi. [This job really sucks. I
don't envy my younger self any. Not at all.]
Cloaking the vessel, he slid easily into re-entry. New Japan wasn't even
aware of its unique addition to the population.
<<Back to the Future Part III, Main Theme--Alan Silvestri>>
NOVEMBER 4, 1992
THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT CHICAGO
BEHAVIORAL SCIENCES BUILDING
9:20 A.M.
The temperamental boards for the leap equipment had been replaced. How-
ever, the stench still remained in the air. Everything was operating, but at
jury-rigged levels, i.e., not nearly up to par. The scientists could observe
when Doc's leaps occurred, but they couldn't in any way bring him back, at
least, not yet.
"Professor Lambert!"
The hawk-nosed scientist looked up from his panel at his aide's cry.
"Yes? What's wrong?"
"I...don't know, sir. It's nothing like we ever expected."
"Cut to the chase, Anderson. What does it mean for our boy?"
"From this data, I'm guessing he'll be out of sync when he leaps in."
"How long?"
"Hmmm...shouldn't be more than a second. Should I try to correct his
field strength, sir?"
Lambert thought it over. "No. What could one second hurt? But, just in
case, make sure he doesn't phase through the ground or anything." [It'd be
too messy to pull him out if he's merged with the floor, and there goes my
chance for a Nobel.]
=0C
Chapter 21---------------------------------------------------------------------
"Huwaaah..." --Doc
OCTOBER 14, 2333
MEGA-TOKYO, NEW JAPAN
10:00 P.M.
(0 years, 0 months, L2)
(340 years, 11 months, A.L.)
White. Everything was white, then fading to a light blue. The light blue
then faded, and everything was dark.
Doc collapsed to one knee and rubbed the back of his neck, groaning
slightly. This did not get any easier with time.
Wait a minute. Something felt...wrong. He didn't feel all there. He
looked at himself in the darkened surroundings. Hmm...green jacket, blue
jeans, glasses, and cheap Casio watch all accounted for.
He rose up and tried to steady himself, still nauseous from leaping. To
his surprise, his hand went *through* the desk!
[What the hell's going on here?] Getting to his feet, he tried,
unsuccessfully, to touch various objects in his surroundings. [Ahh, GREAT!]
he thought sourly. [Looks like I'm out of phase or something...wait a sec...]
He thought he heard something...kind of like a loud thump. He looked around,
still disoriented, for the source.
A loud CRASH! from above him got his attention. That, and the fact that
a dark blue figure fell through him, scrambling to her feet. Reflexively, he
dodged, wondering how, if he was phased, he could be walking. That thought
was put aside as curiosity overcame alarm, and he approached her cautiously.
"Um, excuse me, but..." No response. She was readying herself for some-
thing. "Hello? HELLO?" He waved her hand in front of her helmeted face.
"HEY!" No dice. Nobody could see or hear him.
A man and a woman calmly walked down the stairs. Doc recognized him as
Largo from the WDF files. The woman had unusual longish green hair. After
the two of them walked towards the suited woman, four large, mechanical
monstrosities followed in their wake. Largo gestured, and the suited woman
was plastered against the wall, her helmet visor flying off and the internal
faceplate shattering.
Doc was numb. He made out bits and pieces of the conversation, which
was in Standard, something about the woman, Anri, avenging her friend's death.
Largo gave her a knife, and she charged towards the dark-blue armored woman.
"No, wait! STOP!!" Doc threw himself in her path, hoping to disarm her.
She ran right through him and stabbed the other woman in her side.
"Sylvie...your death is avenged." she said, her eyes shut.
The other woman, Priss, was crying, hugging Anri closer to her. She told
her the truth, that something called the D.D. was about to explode at the time,
and would have taken out the city with it. The bloodstained knife fell out of
her side, clattering on the floor.
Largo was smug. He asked Anri to move out of the way, and gestured. Anri
pushed Priss out of the way, taking whatever he threw in her abdomen. She
died in Priss's arms.
And through it all, all Doc could do was watch.
He watched as she took terrible hits, including a spike right in her
shoulder. Priss, realizing that she was severely outmatched, engaged an
emergency beacon, hoping for reinforcements to come.
Within minutes, they did, in the form of three more women in high-tech
armor. They fought Largo and his "SuperBumas," destroying the latter and dri-
ving off the former, in the process converting what was just another floor into
a rooftop. The damage was done, however. The others gathered around their
wounded companion.
Doc turned as he heard the sound of jets. It was someone else in an ar-
mored suit. That someone landed, and took off his helmet, letting it fall to
the ground.
It was Gryphon.
A thousand questions entered Doc's mind, but the foremost was, "why was
Ben Hutchins here?"
"Shit. Priss..."
Priss tried to get up, saying something about being back on the street in
a week. Not with those wounds, Doc thought grimly. In his experience, Priss
was lucky that she was still alive. She wouldn't be, though.
Doc blotted out most of the conversation, still in shock over what had
just happened. He watched as they exchanged weapons, some kind of samurai
tradition. Gryphon leaned over his dying friend. Doc did the same.
"You know something?" she asked him.
"No. I know nothing."
"Well, then, learn something," she said with what could have been a half-
smile. "I love you."
"And I love you." he replied, holding her against him. Doc blotted some
more of the conversation out, not believing his situation.
"Kiss me?" she asked.
Ben complied, until she slumped in his arms, his suit bloody. The rest
of the women carried her body to some kind of aircraft. Gryphon stayed behind.
Doc did, too. He needed somebody, even if that somebody was like a ghost.
"It's not your fault," he wanted to say. "There wasn't anything anyone
could do about her, Ben."
Gryphon put on his helmet, and the suit faded away. "I'll never use that
suit again," he muttered. "Never."
In a small apartment, Doc2 sat helplessly on his bed watching the clock.
11:00. By now, Priss would be dead. And there wasn't a damn thing he could
do about it, then or now. If he had interfered...
[Damn it all!] He'd had a chance to prevent his wife's death, to stop the
WDF breakup before it began. He'd had a chance to save Priss, armed as he was.
Why didn't he do anything about these events?!
A flash of white light was his answer.
"What do you want, Q?"
"Oh, nothing..." the omnipotent lied casually. "Just checking to see if
you're still here...and there." he completed, indicating the GENOM tower.
"Tell me something, Q."
"Like what?"
"Why is it that I leaped there, at that particular time?"
"I think you know."
"Q, don't play games with me."
"You're no fun, you know that?" he commented sardonically.
"Why?" Doc2 asked with a rapidly diminishing patience.
"Well, picture this," with a snap of his fingers, the whole apartment
seemed to shimmer into the scene that he had witnessed the first time around.
This time, though, the viewpoint was that of an outsider.
"Now, if you *had* materialized all the way, this is what would have
happened."
The image of Doc, in his green jacket, emerged from the blue-white
brightness of his leap. Nauseous and confused, he was no match for Largo or
his SuperBuma. He collapsed, wide-eyed, with a gaping hole where his
intestines should have been.
The image of him was quite dead. Along with Priss. The background
lingered long enough for that to sink in before shimmering back to his
apartment.
"You see," Q said in a condescending voice, "it was very fortunate that
you were phased. Of course, if you wanted to die, you wouldn't have been
reunited with your wife, now would you?"
That hit a nerve with Doc2, but he tried not to show it. "You still
haven't answered my question, Q," he said through gritted teeth. "Why was I
here?" He was unnerved by the omnipotent's silence. "You didn't direct me
here, did you?"
"The leaping process, while revolutionary at the time, could have been
easily manipulated by those who had the power and knowledge to do so. Perhaps
by those who were funding Lambert."
"GENOM." he completed, a glimmer of understanding emerging in his eyes.
"Or others." Q replied cryptically as he vanished.
[Others?] Doc2 wondered. [Like who?] He sighed. [Well, I'm not gonna
get any more answers out of him.]
He relaxed on his bed. His younger self was surely in this timeframe by
now. There were so many preparations to make, all in the name of continuity.
[Who says time-travelling is fun?]
OCTOBER 16, 2333
(2 days, L2)
Doc watched as Priss was laid to rest in a cave out in the Badlands. Af-
ter the funeral, he hitched a ride in Leon's car (he'd found that he could
stand and sit down, just nothing much else) to the wake. He watched as Ben
seemed intent on drinking himself to sleep, and as Nene and Linna cried their
eyes out.
It was hard for him to just stand there and watch someone cry. He tried
putting his arm around Nene just to have it phase through. This was getting
him absolutely nowhere except depressed.
[Sorry, ladies, but I need time to think all this through.] Doc got up
and phased through the wall.
OCTOBER 21, 2333
12:05 A.M.
(6 days, L2)
[Hmph. Nice place.] Doc thought as he wandered wearily through the
apartment building. Staying awake for almost a week was no small feat,
although fear of phasing through the floor was a great incentive for him.
He'd already had quite a few close calls, and the possibility of him phasing
through a window only to fall through the ground into the planet's crust was
certainly enough to keep him awake, if not alert.
He'd done quite a bit of wandering during that time, and when the mood
struck him, he just phased through a wall to see how Gryphon and his friends
were doing. There wasn't much else he could do.
[How long am I gonna stay like this?] It had almost been a week, and to
be honest, he was getting a bit hungry...and thirsty. The temporal
interaction field was obviously still working, but the question remained: How
long?
Turning, he found himself facing Nene's apartment. It hadn't been
anything intentional. He simply let his feet do the walking. Yawning
mightily, he idly checked his watch.
9:20:01 A.M.
The familiar leap effect surrounded him, turning everything blue-white,
then a blinding white. In the process, he could feel himself
becoming...whole, for lack of a better term. The blinding light faded, and he
collapsed face-first onto the door, making a solid thud.
[Gee, I'm solid. I think I'll snooze now.]
True to his word, he fell asleep on the spot.
In her apartment, Nene Romanova hadn't been sleeping very well. The last
few days had been hard on everyone. Being only about 19 years old, Priss's
death had hit her especially badly. At that age, you don't think much about
it, especialy not to someone you know.
So, it should be no surprise that she was semi-awake upon hearing Doc
fall asleep on her door. Groggy, she put on her slippers and, as a
precautionary measure, took her sidearm out. You couldn't be too careful
nowadays.
Peering through the peephole, she was more than a little surprised to
find Doc fast asleep on her door, leaning himself on what had to be an awkward
and uncomfortable position. Of course, with her moderately diminiutive
height, all she could clearly make out was something green with a zipper. She
could also hear someone softly snoring on the other side of the door.
[How'd he get here?] she wondered. Nene ran through several
explanations for his appearance. Could he be a Buma? No...GENOM wouldn't be
that subtle. A drifter? No, the last she heard, drifters usually carried
things other than the clothes on their back. Besides, the apartment complex
she was residing in was locked.
Curiosity overcame caution as she carefully unlocked the door to the
apartment and opened it, keeping the weapon handy.
She let out a small yelp as she dodged the unconscious doctor's
continuation of his interrupted fall. His face was quite abruptly introduced
to the carpet, and he let out a small grunt. Turning over, he resumed his
dozing.
Nene put away the gun as she realized that, in his current condition, he
was hardly a threat to anyone. Noticing that his wallet had fallen out of his
pocket, she picked it up and examined it. She would've felt better if she
knew who this guy was...although somehow, he seemed familiar. She couldn't
quite place him, though.
Inside was a train ticket, emblazoned with the words, "Metra November
Monthly, 1992," several *very* old Salusian credits, and about ten old Earth
dollars from about 1988. Unclasping the compartment where the various
identifications and/or credit cards were, she was further met with anomalies:
A driver's license from the old United States, specifically from the state of
Illinois, proclaiming his birthdate to be January of 1973. Another, more
contemporary ID, was right behind the license, and bore the words, "Wedge
Defense Force Identification" for Lt. Pearson "Doc" Mui.
She sighed as she put away the wallet. [Well, it couldn't hurt if he
just stayed for the night.]
Chapter 22---------------------------------------------------------------------
"You mean, there's no armada? One Gunstar, you, me, and that's it?"
--Alex Rogan
OCTOBER 21, 2333
6:00 P.M.
(1 week, L2)
Pearson slowly opened his eyes to find that the world had suddenly turned
quite a bit more blurry than he was used to. Fumbling around, he found his
glasses neatly folded beside him. He put them on.
[Ah. Much better.] he commented to himself. Slowly, he changed his
position from lying one to that of a more dignified sitting position. [Hmm.
Poor kid must've been a tad surprised by my entrance. Either that, or she's
at work...]
Righting himself (he'd been sleeping on a couch), he began to acquaint
himself with his surroundings. He noticed that he was in a comfortable
all-purpose living/dining room that most apartments had. In front of him was
a television, or at least one appropriate to the time he was in. To his left
was the exit and a shelf. Directly in back of him, he guessed, was the
kitchenette. To the right was where the bathroom and bedroom were.
Curious, he made his way over to where the shelf was. There were various
knicknacks, whatnot, and more than a few pictures. There was Nene in a high
school uniform posing with a few friends. Another one of her, somewhat older,
at her desk desperately trying to catch up on some paperwork. There were a
few more snapshots, but the last one was what caught his eye.
It was a group shot, and he recognized a few faces. [Hey, isn't that
Tom? Oh, and there's Danilia. Geez, she always was short. Oh, there's Dund
over there. Hey, I'm in this shot!] He peered a bit closer to the picture.
[Asrial was right. I *do* look better with wire-frames.] Also present in the
picture was a blonde girl with her hair done up in two long tails, and more
than a few faces that he didn't recognize. Although...that tall guy over
there, the one in purple...[Who's his tailor, Darkwing Duck? The guy looks
damn familiar.] Nene was perched on his shoulder, smiling happily, wearing
what appeared to be one of his fishing hats. She looked all of seven years
old, he guessed.
[If it weren't for the fact that he didn't take Omega-2, I could *swear*
that the guy looked just like Marty. Well, with more hair and without his
glasses, anyway.]
As if on cue, the doorknob rattled as the lock was being fitted. The
door opened, and Nene kicked off her boots, looking somewhat exasperated.
"Hi." he waved weakly.
"Well, I'm glad someone's awake," she said in a tone that wasn't quite
grousing. She crossed the room and sat next to him.
He yawned mightily. "What do you expect? I'd been on my feet for the
past week. Literally. BTW, what time is it?"
She seemed somewhat puzzled by the request, seeing as how he had a watch.
"6:00. Why?"
"Oh. I can live on six hours of sleep. Peachy."
"Um, it's 6 o'clock in the evening."
He eyed her dubiously, raising an eyebrow in the process. "The evening?"
She nodded.
"Oh. Well, I guess that explains why it's so dark out there." He sighed
heavily. "Fun, fun, fun."
"Can I ask what's going on here?"
"Fair enough. I'm a time-traveller from the 20th century, undergoing an
experimental leaping process which whisks me off further in the future every
20 years, and if I may say so, you seem pretty comfortable around me, a guy
whom you've never met before. Most people kinda freak out when they see
someone leaning on their door."
"We've met before. At least, that's the feeling that I get."
"Really? When?"
"I'm not sure..."
"Well, if you'll pardon me for looking around...I think that that picture
might help." He pointed to the group shot.
Somewhat puzzled, she peered at the old picture and recognized the green-
jacketed doctor. "Oh, right...you were with Thunder Force after PCHammer
visited. I should've remembered the jacket. I think I still have that fishing
hat you gave me...it's somewhere around."
"Wait a minute. PCHammer? Are we talking about the same PCHammer? Big
guy, conservative, pun master?"
Nene smiled. "That's him."
"Eeent. Nope, nope, nope. That can't be."
"Why not?"
"Martin Rose never took Omega-2. I don't think he could've survived
*this* long without some help."
"You don't know about..."
He waved his hands wildly. "I don't wanna know. I guess I'll find out
later."
[Hmm...make a note. Replicate some fishing hats when I get back.] he
told himself. This was somewhat comforting in that he used "when" instead of
"if."
"And besides," she continued, "I couldn't exactly let you stay out
there."
The corners of his mouth pulled up in a smile. "Thanks. I owe you one."
She shrugged. "That's okay."
"I'm gonna ask you a couple of questions. Now, you've gotta promise to
answer them, no matter how weird they sound."
"I promise. Go ahead."
"Well, first of all..." his stomach protested at having been sorely
deprived. "Y'know any good restaurants? I'm starving." he said with a smirk
on his face.
"You're kidding," he said as he cleaned up his plate. He had just set
his personal all-time record for devouring his food.
"No, really. This is October 21, 2333."
"Jee-zus quack. Y'mean to tell me that I've traveled 316 years into the
future? Okay, forget that last part. 315 years, 11 months, 14 days and
some-odd hours." He grinned. "Gotta be precise, y'know."
"You mean, you just came in from the 21st century?"
He pointed his index finger at her and made a "Ding!" sound. "You get a
cookie!" he said in his enthusiastic game show host voice. "And now," he
continued in the same voice, "for the grand prize of no monetary value except
my admiration, respect, and gratitude, please answer the following question as
fully as possible."
She leaned closer and smiled. His enthusiasm was a bit contagious.
"What's that?" she asked.
His voice returned to normal...no, actually it was a bit more solemn than
usual. His smile faded as he looked her dead-on.
"What happened to make Ben Hutchins leave the Wayward Son?" he asked,
his voice barely above that of a whisper.
Her mood suddenly became a lot heavier. "You don't know? It's been
about 45 years."
"Know what?"
"You really don't know?"
"Well, I'm bound to be a little out of date on some things," he realized
that something was very, very wrong. "Forty-five years since what?"
She looked around awkwardly, not sure how to break the news. "Umm...It's
been forty-five years since the Wedge Defense Force disbanded."
The silence that followed was tougher to cut than a foot-thick block of
tritanium. Doc leaned forward, his mouth open as if he were about to say
something, then closed it to swallow hard. He took a deep breath and tried to
form words.
"Disbanded?" he croaked.
She nodded silently.
"How? When? WHY?"
"I think there's something you should see." she said quietly.
Back at her apartment, Nene had dug up a few records, one of which was a
particularly grisly tape of a seemingly-maniacal Gryphon blowing away a
classroom full of kids. Another record had a mention of ReRob's battle with
Shasti. Then came MegaZone's rather pointed resignation, followed by the
Wayward Son's destruction at the hands of GENOM.
He sat back quietly, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
"I don't believe it." he said after a considerable amount of
deliberation. "I don't believe that a man like Ben Hutchins could even
conceive of killing kids like that, and I don't think that it was a
coincidence that GENOM came around when they did. Call me paranoid, but I
think that the WDF was set up."
"You think so, too, huh?"
"I know so." he sighed. "I noticed something very, very odd after
`Gryphon,'" he voiced the last part with considerable doubt, "blew away those
kids."
"The fact that he came back?"
"Bingo. And if you look at his face as he turns around, you'll notice
that his expression is one of confusion, not malice. He ran into something
weird, and I think it was that `other him.'"
"You noticed the facial expressions from this angle?"
"Not only that, but the body language as well. Nobody living, short of a
Buma, could shift emotional gears that fast."
"How do you notice these things?"
He cocked an eyebrow. "I'm a doctor. I get paid to be observant." He
sighed heavily at what he'd just seen. [Ookay, so there's no more WDF,
Gryphon's a wanted man, MegaZone has vanished, and the Lovely Angels are
busy.] There was still one last loose end that had to be tied. [Hell, she's
Salusian. She *should* still be around now.]
"Nene," he said finally, "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to impose on you for
one last thing."
"Which is...?"
He showed her the wedding band. "I have to know where my wife is."
Several minutes later, after some digging around in the old United
Galactica files (which were in a sorry state of disarray), Nene hit the
jackpot.
"Found her!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "Keriyn Ajlond-Mui, nee
Ajlond, born June 5, 1970. Rank, lieutenant, assigned as Assistant Engineer
onboard the Prometheus, attached to the SDF-17 Wayward Son. Married to
Lieutenant Pearson `Doc' Mui on June 17, 2005. Four children..."
"Wait a sec...I have children?"
"Looks like it. You've got twin girls, Mandy and Megan, and two boys,
Aaron and Peter David." She stopped reading aloud.
"What? What's...?" he skimmed the sections that she'd already read,
not including a single sentence at the end.
DIED EN ROUTE FROM BETA MYAMID AFTER HER SHUTTLE WAS ATTACKED BY KILRATHI
ON MARCH 9, 2250.
The words seemed to jump from the screen and brand themselves on his
brain. His face contorted, as his mouth attempted several times to form
words. It succeeded in only one word.
"No..."
It was a quiet whisper, barely even audible. He wasn't even sure how
long he stood there, perched over Nene's shoulder.
"Doc, I'm sorry..."
He didn't seem to be listening. His grip on her desk tightened, the
knuckles of his hand whitening. His face was a whirlwind of emotions, but it
barely represented what he was feeling. He was awash in grief, buffetted by
denial, and pummelled by despair. Then, in the midst of this storm, love
asserted itself like a beacon. In that moment, his resolve hardened to steel.
In that moment, he had one mission.
[I *WILL* see you again, Keriyn. No matter what.]
Nene could see it in his eyes, and the way he set his jaw. Something big
had just occurred before her, and she wasn't sure what it would lead to.
"Doc?" she asked quietly.
"I'm all right. Thanks." he said softly.
"I...have a few friends. One of them might help you find a place." she
offered.
"Oh, I guess you mean Sylia, right? I don't want to bother Linna, and
I'd *really* like to leave Gryphon with plenty of space to sort things out."
At her widened eyes, he guessed that she knew what he was talking about.
"Kid, I think I'd better explain a few things..."
"That would be nice..."
"You were phased? As in, you could go through walls?"
"Yup."
"And you didn't have anything else better to do than follow us around?"
"Nope."
"Is there anything else you want to tell me?"
"Well...there *was* that one time..." he hesitated, his cheeks coloring.
"What?" she demanded. "What did you see?"
"I...sorta phased through a wall to Mackie's room...and I can say that
he's definitely a healthy boy."
"You mean...?"
"Mm-hm."
Chapter 23---------------------------------------------------------------------
"I need a vacation." --T-800 Terminator
OCTOBER 23, 2333
(9 days, L2)
Gryphon went through the kata with equal amounts of ferocity and grace.
The ancient katana sliced through the air, weaving intricate patterns in the
empty space of the dojo. It was as if he were trying to exorcise the
invisible spirits from around him with the sword.
That wasn't too far off from the truth.
Sheathing the sword, he heard the faintest hint of a footfall, wary,
cautious, yet unsure. The rustle of cloth against cotton, as if someone was
jerking something down...perhaps a jacket.
The footsteps slowly stopped, then reversed direction. It was as if the
source had changed his or her mind.
Outside the dojo, Doc seated himself on the cool earth.
[What the hell am I doing?!] he asked himself. [Ben's got enough
problems staying sane, for Christ's sake! Besides, what'm I going to say to
him? "Hi, Ben, glad to see you, sorry about the mess you're in, and by the
way, I'm in my second leap and I just happened to see someone you love get the
shit kicked out of them and die?" I don't think so.]
The air seemed to explode around him, knocking him back against the door.
There were two more such explosions, and on the third sonic boom, a silvery-
grey car emerged, the exterior temporarily freezing the water vapor in the air.
DeLorean One screeched to a halt, not more than three feet in front of
him. Tentatively, he got up and opened the gull-wing door.
Inside was a message chip labeled "read me." Plugging it in, the player
activated the holoprojector in the dashboard.
The image recorded on the chip was of himself, something that Doc had
been expecting. After all, who else had this kind of access to the DeLorean?
"How's it going?" the holo-image of Doc2 asked, conversationally.
"To be honest, like hell." Doc muttered.
"Yeah, tell me about it." the image agreed, as if talking to his younger
self. "Well, you're probably wondering why I'm here. The fact of the matter
is, I'm you and you're me. The only difference is, I've been through a rather
unique bit of Hell, and you're about to go through it."
"Grreeaaat."
"Relax. You'll survive. After all, I'm here, aren't I? Anyway, I'm
digressing. We do that, don't we?" the image observed as it smiled.
"Yeah, we definitely do." Doc agreed. "Mind telling me why you're not
saying this in person?"
"You wanna cause a rip in the space-time continuum? I was kinda cutting
it close on Tarskon V, and on Salusia when Sweeney almost killed Ambassador
Feeple. There was also that time when the Prometheus had a laser-coolant
accident. Yeah, I was there, too, among other places. You'll find all the
details on this chip. Don't worry, I didn't miss anything. If you can't
trust yourself, who can you trust? Although, we're pretty hard to keep an eye
on. Having a photographic memory helps, though."
"So, what do I do now?"
"Take that sabbatical. Clear your mind. Right now, you're no good as a
doctor. You've had a lot crammed at you, and you need to sort things out.
Above all, keep a low profile. The big `kill a Wedgie get a prize' rush is
pretty much over, but there're still some hotshot bounty hunters out there who
want some easy credits. Be careful, and you'll see her again." There was no
further elaboration as to "her" was. There was no need.
Doc sighed as the projection ended.
[Great. Well, I'm right about one thing. Right now, I'm no good to
anyone as far as being a doctor is concerned. I need to sort things out.]
The door to the apartment opened, the occupant distracted by the three
sonic booms that had occurred earlier. He wasn't sure what he was going to
find, but it sure wasn't the sight of the DeLorean.
"Doc?!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
"Well...I guess you could say that I get around. Tell your friends that
I'll be in touch, okay? In the meantime, I'll catch you later." Doc said as
he entered the car, closed the door, and started his vacation, leaving a very
puzzled Gryphon behind.
Chapter 24---------------------------------------------------------------------
"Physician...heal thyself." --James T. Kirk
DECEMBER 24, 2334
(1 year, 2 months, L2)
If nothing else, Vision and the Revengers could really pack in a crowd.
The atmosphere was jubliant as members of the band and their friends
celebrated the holiday season, contrasting the quiet snowfall outside.
Everyone present was feeling quite a bit of cheer.
Except, of course, for the brooding young man in the corner. He was
nursing a rapidly fizzling Pepsi, having refused anything stronger. Right
now, he was wondering how his friends had talked him into this. He wasn't
exactly trying to "find himself," per se. He'd done enough contemplation
during his "sabbatical."
[Why do I even bother?] he asked himself, gulping his drink. After the
Knight Sabers' encounter with Vision, he'd returned to Mega-Tokyo. He hadn't
been there at the time because of his wanderings around the planet.
He glanced over his shoulder to find said Vision having a few laughs with
the lead guitarist, Don Griffin, as he strummed a few chords. Doc marveled
briefly at how close the two had become in such a short time. He had the
distinct feeling that samurai lessons wasn't all that she was learning from
Mr. Griffin, aka Ben Hutchins. Then again, it wasn't really any of his
business, now was it?
[It's so odd seeing Gryphon laugh again. Odd, but not a Bad Thing (tm).
Hell, it's good to see anybody remotely happy after the past year.]
The corner of his mouth pulled up in a faint smile as he sipped more of
his drink. Maybe it was the festive mood. Maybe it was the season, but his
mood was definitely picking up.
"Doc?" He shifted his gaze to his right.
"Oh, hey Linna. What's up?" he asked as he offered her a seat.
"Nothing much," she replied, taking the chair. "You seem to have
brightened up a bit...what's the matter?" she asked jokingly.
"Ha ha ha. Very funny." he deadpanned. "I guess I'm just dealing with
everything that's been tossed my way. Anyway, what kind of slander did, uh,
`Don' tell you girls about me?"
"Well, he says that you both go way back..."
"I'm not much for football," he joked.
A grimace twisted her usually pretty face. "That's another thing. He
also says that you're almost as bad with puns as Martin Rose."
"Really? I'm...not quite sure how to take that." he Kirked.
She continued, "He also said that you were..." she hesitated.
"A widower, right?"
She nodded, her mood shifting. "I'm...sorry I brought that up. Excuse
me." she began to get up.
"Whoa, whoa. Sorry for what?"
"About your wife. I don't know, I just..."
"Linna," he began, one eyebrow raised. "Never apologize for something if
you know you're right. And another thing..." he was rudely interrupted by
the distinct sound of a body collapsing. Said body belonged to a petite
redhead who, again, hadn't taken into account her body weight when imbibing.
Translation: Nene was drunk again.
"Huwaaah..." he muttered, covering his face with his hand. "One of
these days, you'd think she'd know when to stop."
"She just gets a little carried away, that's all."
"Hmm...Well, I guess I'd better get her home, sobered up, the whole
deal."
"What, now?" Linna asked, somewhat dismayed. "It's snowing outside.
Traffic's bound to be..."
"I don't worry much about traffic since I got my car," he replied with
the first genuine smile she'd seen on him. "When you've got a clearance of
about a foot off the ground, traction isn't a problem."
The ride to Nene's apartment was pretty peaceful, interrupted by the
occasional snore of the redhead and Leon's grumbling (he'd volunteered to help
the kid back with Doc.).
"I can't believe that she doesn't know her limit, Doc."
Shrug. "Well, she's basically a happy-go-lucky girl. Besides, when you
were her age, did you have a lot of restraint?"
"Hell, no. I've done worse." Leon admitted.
"See what I mean? How's she doing, anyway?"
Leon glanced backwards. "Still snoozing away."
For a second, Pearson noticed that Leon regarded Nene with something other
than cool detachment. It was almost as if he was...fond of the kid. Quickly
remembering that he wasn't alone, the half-smile that had formed faded.
Pearson half-smirked. "She has that effect on everyone, Leon."
"What effect?" Leon deadpanned.
Pearson shook his head. "Never mind. Well, here we are. Y'know, if I
knew that I was going to carry around passengers, I would've made this thing a
four-door." Opening the doors, the two helped out the unconscious redhead out
of the car.
"I don't suppose you have a key to Nene's apartment?" it occurred for
Pearson to ask the taller man as they approached the door.
"I've never needed one before."
"Great. I am *not* digging around her pockets for her keys."
"What else can you do?"
"Hmm...." a devilish grin formed on his face.
"*What* are you going to do?" Leon demanded, not liking the expression
on Pearson.
"Nothing illegal, immoral, or anything that'll hurt her."
"What?"
"I can guarantee that it's going to be 100% effective."
"WHAT!?" Leon roared. Nene continued to quietly snore away.
"I'm going to put snow down her back." he stated simply.
Leon eyed him incredulously. "You are *not* going to..."
"If you've got a better suggestion, let's hear it."
"....."
"Uh huh. Hang on to her for a sec, will ya?"
He grabbed a generous amount of snow from the side and packed it into a
fair-sized snowball. Pulling back her collar, he dropped it down her back.
"YEEEE! COLD!" she squealed, jumping around to rid herself of the snow
pack. Succeeding, she fixed Doc with a semi-alert glare. "What was *that*
for?!" she hissed.
"The next best thing to coffee, which I didn't feel like making," he
said, smirking. "Now, would you mind opening up the door?"
One elevator ride and many grumblings later, the trio finally made it to
her apartment. Upon opening the door, Nene half-threw herself on the couch.
"Is there anything else you need?" Pearson asked, somewhat more gently
than earlier.
"Sleep would be nice," Nene stated while suppressing a groan. "Something
to get rid of this headache would be great."
"It's on its way," he said, backtracking to the DeLorean.
She sighed and rubbed her temples. "I really overdid it tonight, didn't
I?"
Leon shrugged. "Maybe a little."
"I didn't know you cared." she said, a ghost of a smile making its way
across her face.
"I didn't know you could get this carried away. At least you didn't
start dancing on the tabletops."
"How did you...?"
Leon merely smiled. "Oh, I have my sources."
Before she could ask who the guilty party was, Pearson re-entered the
apartment with a rather heavy-looking black bag. "Oookay, one hangover-killer
coming up. Say `ahh.'"
"I can take my medicine on my own, thanks," she eyed the small pill
dubiously. "This is it?"
"Well, it'll help clean up the night's work, not to mention that little
nuclear reaction that's exploding inside your head, yeah. I gotta warn ya,
though...it's not exactly the best thing you've ever tasted."
Shrugging, she gulped the pill.
Almost immediately afterwards, she grimaced, her face contorting to form
a mask of utter disgust. "Yeeccch! Augh! Ewwww...that is the most
disgusting, repulsive, repugnant thing I've *ever* tasted!" She continued her
rant, barely pausing to accept a bottle of orange juice to kill the taste.
Several minutes later, she began to slow down.
"How d'you feel now?" he asked, one of those infuriatingly impish
half-smiles on his face.
She blinked. "Umm...better." she admitted sheepishly.
"Good. Well, since I seem to have been appointed designated driver, I
guess I'd better head back to the party and see if anybody else is doing the
alcoholic crash and burn. But, before I go..." he rummaged around his bag
and produced a small gift-wrapped package. "Here y'are. Don't say that I
never got you anything. Coming, Leon?"
"Nah...I'll catch a cab."
"You're gonna need a big net." Pearson quipped as he retreated outside.
"Is there something you wanted to talk about, Leon?"
"...No, not really. Just...well, here," a small package found its way to
her coffee table. "Merry Christmas, Nene-chan." he mumbled as he exited.
Under ordinary circumstances, she would have been curious to see what the
two had given her. However, due to the night's activities, sleep mugged her
from an alley and dragged her in. She was snoring on the couch not thirty
seconds after he left.
Leon breathed out a frosty plume as the cold air hit him. [She is kind
of cute.] he admitted. [Now...where's a taxi when you nee---what the hell is
he still doing here?]
"Oi, Doc! How come you're still here?"
"Well, I was all ready to leave and everything when a thought just hit
me. Y'see, I didn't notice any cabs around, and I figured, what the heck.
Might as well wait for you to come out."
"Uh huh." Leon deadpanned as he opened the passenger's-side door.
"So, where to, mac? Personally, I prefer PC's, but that's another
story."
"Y'know where my place is? I'm partied out for tonight." Leon said as
he leaned back.
"Gotcha. I hope she likes the music box."
"Can I ask you how you knew about that?"
"You? Wait a sec...that's what *I* got...ah, nuts..." he groaned.
"Don't tell me. We *both* got her a music box. Isn't there such a thing as
an original idea?"
Pearson sighed. This was going to be a loooong ride.
Chapter 25---------------------------------------------------------------------
"Life's been good to me so far." --Joe Walsh
DECEMBER 24, 2343
(10 years, 2 months, L2)
(351 years, 1 month, A.L.)
Life was good.
It had been ten long years, but now, things were looking up for him. The
mess with GENOM had been settled, at least on this planet, and he had a
relatively thriving private practice.
Humming a little holiday tune to himself, he pulled out the keys to his
apartment. He inserted the key inside the lock and was about to open the door
when he saw a small handwritten note below the doorknob.
It read: Get out, NOW!
What was strange about the note was that it was in *his* handwriting,
sloppy as it was.
He yanked the key out of the door and turned around to run.
That was about as far as he got before his apartment exploded, knocking
the door off its hinges and slamming him against the wall.
"Oog." was all he had to say before slumping on the floor, unconscious.
When he came to two minutes later, he shoved the door off him and went to
check out the damage.
The apartment was a total wreck. Spraypainted on the wall were the
words, "Wedgie fuck off!!" and other such oh-so-original expletives. Sure, he
wanted southern exposure, but not a gaping hole in the wall. What to do now?
[First things first. Salvage what I can of this place.] Done. [Now, try
to find someplace to stay for the night.] He dialed up various hotels only to
find out that they were all booked. Which meant...calling up one of his
friends.
Sylia? No...she was nice enough, but kept herself distanced from most
people.
Reika was out. She'd left this year, in search of Gryphon. [I hope
she finds him...although, I think Ben'll be mildly surprised to find that
he's...] He put the thought out of his mind. Although he'd found that out
quite by accident, it wasn't really any of his business.
Which left Linna and Nene. Hmm...Linna was probably sleeping off the
night's celebration. Wouldn't be a good idea to bother her.
He sighed. [I hope she doesn't mind the last-minute call.] Doc dialed up
her number.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three. Click.
Nene's sleepy face appeared on the vidscreen. "Hello?"
"Hi, it's me."
Her eyes widened. "Doc?"
"Yeah. Listen, do you mind if I spent the night at your place?" [Argh.
Let me rephrase that.] "I mean, my apartment's just been bombed, so do you
mind if I..." He did one of those George Bush hand motions to try to get his
point across.
"What? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, fine. It's just that the place is a total loss. See?" He ges-
tured to what used to be the outer wall of his apartment. Now, it was just a
gaping hole. "So...is it okay if I...I mean, until I find another place."
"Sure."
[Oh. Well, that was easy.] "Great. Thanks, I owe you two."
"Two?"
"One for waking you up, and the other for imposing on you."
She flashed a mischievious smile. "How about calling it even with a hot
fudge sundae?"
"I don't think your diet would allow for it."
She sighed. "It was worth a try."
"I'll see you in a couple of minutes. Bye." The vidscreen flickered
off, and he hurriedly packed all his meager belongings into the DeLorean. On
his way to Nene's apartment building, he vaguely noticed someone trudging in
the snow wearing an overcoat and a fishing hat. The lapels of the overcoat
were drawn so that Doc couldn't get a good look at his face.
[Now there's a suspicious character,] he thought. [I wonder if I
should... nah, better leave him alone.] Doc converted the car for flight mode
and hovered over the snow.
The stranger let out a sigh. That was too close.
[Well,] he thought, [I guess that means I got my note. Otherwise, I'd
have been a lot worse than just unconscious for a few minutes.]
He made his way to a snow-covered car and raised a gull-wing door. Get-
ting in and closing the door, he took off his fishing hat and brushed his
vaguely-combed black hair away from his right eyebrow.
Doc2 turned on his lights and hovered away.
JANUARY 7, 2344
(10 years, 2 months, L2)
Doc packed up his belongings in the suitcase and hefted it into the
backseat of the DeLorean. Admittedly, there wasn't all that much, having left
most of his various collections on Earth in the past.
"Oi, Doc."
"Hey, Leon. What's up?" [Jeez, does he always wear those sunglasses?]
Doc wondered.
The taller man shrugged. "Nothing much. Where're you headed off to?"
"Oh, I dunno for sure. I hear the Vega sector's got some opportunities
for a doctor like me, no questions asked."
"Mind if I ask why?"
"Well...I'm going for the Gryphon explanation."
"You think you've stayed here too long?" The way Leon voiced it, Doc
wasn't sure whether or not it was really a question.
"Yeah," He took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be easy. "I can't
let others be hurt as a result of my presence. That bomb in my apartment just
reminded me of how dangerous things could be for me...and my friends."
Leon shook his head. "First Gryphon, then Vision, and now you. Is there
something wrong with the tourist attractions in this place?"
"Well, maybe if there was a Funland around..." the smile faded. Gryphon
had left in 2335, Vision sometime last year in search of him. Leon was right,
this was a disturbing trend.
"Y'know, Nene-chan's gonna miss you. When Linna found out, she couldn't
believe it either." Cool front or no, that was his way of saying that he would
miss Pearson.
"It's not like I'm gone forever, just that I can't stay. I'll visit."
"Right," Leon said, somewhat disbelievingly.
"I mean it. I'll be around, say...October."
"Any special reason?"
"Yeah. Just one..." The silence that followed spoke volumes between the
two men. It was Doc who broke it.
"Anyway, I'm just going to cruise around the galaxy, that sort of thing.
Who knows? Maybe I'll find a job around. After all, it's not like J. Random
Bounty Hunter is going to be after my head."
"You have a point."
"Just...just tell the girls that I'll be around, okay?"
"You've got it."
"Get clear, Leon. This thing makes a hell of a backwash when I take
off."
The policeman complied. Before him, the DeLorean steadily rose, its
tires rotating 90 degrees perpendicular to their formerly vertical position.
About 500 feet in the air, the car blasted off.
Chapter 26---------------------------------------------------------------------
"A gah, geh, gah...bweh?" --Doc, upon being promoted to Lieutenant
MAY 5, 2344
ALTAIR V
(10 years, 6 months, L2)
Doc had found a nice place to settle down for a while on Altair V. It
was a moderately populated world with a few cities, but not too much
pollution. The relaxed attitude found there was pretty contagious, which was
a welcome relief from the mild paranoia that he'd been forced to live with.
This, unfortunately, was the main reason that he'd been caught so utterly
unawares. On his way to the car, several tough guys oozed out of a nearby
alley and attacked him. Being a tad rusty, he managed to knock down two of
them before a phaser stunned him.
The toughs surrounded him, wondering what they were going to do with the
doctor and his car. Their ruminations (limited as they were) were cut short by
a barrage of green stun pellets. Unconscious, they slumped to the ground, and
Doc's savior made himself visible.
He was a tall, thin, young man, about 3 inches taller than he was. The
most striking feature about him that was noticeable, at least as much as the
dim lighting allowed it, was his set of pointed ears.
Peter David Ajlond-Mui put away his version of his father's keychain
stunner and knelt over Doc's prone form.
"Pop?"
No response. He was out like a light.
Pete sighed. [You'd think that at his age, he'd be more careful. Oh,
well. Might as well get him in the car.]
He hefted the unconscious man through the partially open door of the
DeLorean. [Funny, the car looks a lot newer than I remember.] Shelving that
thought for the moment, he (with the aid of the keys) started up the car and
headed for his place.
Blackness. Strange smells. Movement.
Doc's mind began reorganizing itself in light of the heavy stun he'd
received. He knew that he wasn't in the parking lot of the hospital, that was
for certain.
Opening up his eyes, the world resolved itself into focus, despite the
lack of his glasses. Omega-2 had written out his nearsightedness, but he
still kept wearing glasses. If nothing else, he was definitely a creature of
habit.
The place was small, but comfy. It was relatively well-lit, but was
somewhat lacking in personal touches. Noting a picture on the nightstand, he
examined it to find a young boy and himself the subjects. The boy had a
remarkable resemblance to himself...except for the pointed ears. His image in
the picture was one of unrestrained pride as the boy held up his catch
(apparently, it was a fishing trip), a five-pound bass.
[That place looks a lot like where Dad, Percy, and I used to go fishing.]
The door creaked open. Apparently, it wasn't one of the sliding door
jobs.
Pete looked in from the crack and, satisfied that his father was awake,
strode in with a tray of food. Doc was more than a little surprised at the
appearance of the youth...especially those ears, and the thin build.
"Hey, Pop. How're you feeling?"
Doc mouthed out "Pop?" Looking around, he found that he and Pete were
the only residents of the room. [Yeah, I guess he's talking to me.]
"Uhh...I'm okay, just a little dizzy."
"No wonder. You took a phaser stun almost point blank. Good thing it
wasn't near your brainstem, or I'd be an orphan."
"Orphan?"
"Yeah, you know..." Pete went on casually, then switched to patient tone
that Doc himself used when the younger Mui was being especially trying.
"You're my father, I'm your son...well, the youngest of the bunch anyway.
Remember? I'm the kid that always threatens to give you ulcers? The
no-goodnik of the bunch? The guy without a clue as to what he should do with
his life?"
"Aahhhh...son...Jee-zus quack, I don't even know your name." Doc
muttered.
"Peter David Ajlond-Mui. You named me after the author of one of your
favorite ST:TNG books," he explained. "You really don't remember me, do
you?"
"Uh, well...Did I ever tell you that I'm a time-traveller?"
Pete snorted. "Oh, yeah. What else would explain all those `one-hour
vacations?'" At Doc's confusion, he explained. "Well, we'd pack up
everything in the car, zoom out of the Wayward Son, have our vacation, then
when we were done, we'd go back to an hour after we left so that, to everyone
else, we'd just be gone for an hour. Nice way of having a two-week vacation
on your lunch hour." he grinned. "`Course, when we were pressed for time,
we'd have one-second vacations. *That* got a little confusing."
"I...take it we went fishing together."
"Oh, you mean the picture. Yeah, we had a fishing trip down to your old
stomping grounds on Earth, that forest preserve...what was it, Bussing, Bus?"
"Busse Woods?"
"Bingo! Had a great time, there, too."
"You ever get the feeling that your mother and I spoiled you?"
"Spoiled? Hah!" the younger man scoffed. "There was this one time I
wanted that grav-bike so bad, I could taste it. I was practically begging you
and Mom for the money, but you and Mom said, `No, half-Detian or not, there's
a good chance you'll break your neck.' So, anyway, there was this one time
you left your bankterm on, password entered and everything. All I had to do
was punch in the amount I needed, and I'd get my bike. Know what I did?"
"What?"
"I looked at it, I thought about it, and I turned it off. Later, I found
out that you and Mom were watching me, counting on my conscience to be my
guide or something like that. I hate it when you're right about me."
"Well, maybe you take more after me than you'd care to admit."
"Maybe...So, does all this sound familiar?"
"Not yet, but I have a feeling it will. Y'see, to me, none of this has
occurred yet. `Course, I just left 2017 a couple of years ago."
"Twenty--Oh, right! You're on your second leap, aren't you, Pop?"
"I told you about that?"
"Oh, sure! Everybody in the family knows. It's no big, dark, secret.
This is so weird. You're my father, and yet, you're younger than me."
"Leaping...." Doc began.
"Fun, fun, fun." the both of them finished.
"Damn. You did learn a lot from me, didn't you?"
"Not that much. Anyway, I take it you're feeling better if you're being
this verbose."
"Ehh...could be."
"Well, I got you something to eat. It's not much, but..."
Doc sniffed at the tray. "Spinach soup?"
"Yeah. I think it was grandma's recipe, I'm not sure. You taught...uh,
*will* teach it to me...when I headed off for college. You...ahh---I'll just
go in past tense now, it's easier---said to me, `Son, you've gotta learn how
to cook, because you can't just live on fast food alone.'"
"That, and the fact that you'll clog your arteries in no time."
"Weelll...that's not exactly true for Detians and people like me. We can
pretty much eat what we want."
"Yeah..." Doc's mood turned pensive. "So, could I ask what you're doing
right now?"
"Now?" Pete asked, surprised. "I guess I'm something of a journalist.
I dunno...I'd *love* to be on GNN, but I've been thinking about writing a few
things down."
"Part of your namesake, maybe?"
"Maybe. I just dunno if I can cut it, that's all, Pop."
"Son, if that's what you want, then *go* for it. Remember, `Nothing is
impossible'..."
"...`merely improbable, impractical, or unfeasible,' right?"
"I get the feeling I've said that more than a few times." Doc observed.
"Eehhh...just slightly less than two billion." Pete smirked.
Something occurred to him. "Just one last thing..."
"About?"
"Your brother, Aaron, and the twins. How're they doing?"
"Well, last I heard, Aaron's studying his doctorate on Tarskon V."
"Wait, wait, wait...Tarskon V? The planet that had a plague back in
2001?"
"Bingo. Some of the best doctors come out of there. Anyway, he's almost
got his third green stripe," At his father's confusion, he elaborated, "They
give you green stripes to show how advanced you are. Three green stripes shows
that you're a full-fledged doctor. Guess you made a pretty big impression back
there, huh?"
Doc shrugged. "It wasn't any big deal. What about the twins?"
"They're playing in an orchestra. Scratch that, Mandy's in an orchestra
and Megan's keeping an eye on her while reading technical journals. I don't
think there's any bit of information that she hasn't soaked up about starship
engines. 'Course, I could be wrong. Meggie-tron always did take more after
Mom than any of us."
Doc raised an eyebrow. "`Meggie-tron?'"
"Yeah. She *hates* that nickname."
"I can see why." His stomach protested at having been ignored up to this
point.
"Hmm...gee, d'you think you're hungry, Pop?" Pete quipped.
"Naaahhh..."
MAY 6, 2344
(10 years, 6 months, L2)
"Heading off so soon, Pop?"
"Yeah. Call me weird, but I prefer not to be a burden on my kids."
"Okay, `weird.'" Glare. "Okay, okay, sorry. Yeesh."
Pearson's gaze softened. "Lemme ask you something, Pete."
"Well, if it's about my apparent lack of a social life..."
"No, no, no...d'you think that Ben Hutchins is innocent or guilty?"
Pete wasted no time in replying. "Pop, I honestly think that, to coin a
phrase, the guy was framed like the Mona Lisa."
Pearson smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that." Knowing that one of his
kids had the same idea as he did on that subject was comforting. It meant
that he would bring them up well. Correction, he and Keriyn would bring the
kids up well. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
"Hey, no problem, Pop."
Chapter 27---------------------------------------------------------------------
"Have you ever had one of those lives?" --PCHammer
NOVEMBER 5, 2350
(358 years, 1 day A.L.)
[This is bad. Really, really bad.] Doc2 thought to himself as he tried
to rush people onto the various shuttles at the spaceport.
Normally, the mining colony on Beta Hercules was relatively peaceful.
The air was clean, there was plenty of sun, and the mineral and dilithium
deposits were almost on par with those on Janus.
These were far from normal circumstances.
Beta Hercules was about 100 light years away from Cardassia.
Nevertheless, the colonists never felt overly threatened by the Cardassians,
since the United Galactica had signed several treaties that clearly stated
that the mining colony was well within UG space. For several years afterward,
the colony prospered from the planet's rich resources.
Until an ambitious Cardassian by the name of Gul Ylar arrived with three
Galor class cruisers behind his own formidable ship. He issued an ultimatum:
Evacuate the colony, or be destroyed. Cardassia no longer recognized the
authority of the UG in that sector of space.
The United Galactica, bogged down in red tape, mired in bureaucratic
minutia, and thinly spread, was slow in determining a course of action. In the
end, there was nothing they could do. No action was forthcoming from the
once-mighty organization. It was barely keeping itself going, much less
maintaining order in its boundaries.
"Come on, let's move! Let's move!" he yelled, trying to keep the
evacuation as orderly (yeah, right) as possible. Throngs of people clutched
at their belongings. More than once, someone tripped at his feet, only to be
helped up by him.
There was another, more pressing incentive for evacuation.
Somehow, the Cardassians had obtained the override codes for the mining
Bumas. The mechanoids began running amuck, forcing people out of their homes,
and demolishing everything in their path.
Those same Bumas were herding the colonists to the spaceport.
To the layperson, it would appear that, given the Cardassians' cruel
reputation, Gul Ylar was being quite merciful and generous to the population.
That wasn't quite true. He merely utilized the most efficient means at his
disposal.
The crowd was beginning to thin out. There were only a few stragglers
left. Just as Doc2 was helping the last of them onto the shuttle, there was
a young boy, not much older than 10, rushing to that last ship out of the
colony.
He tripped, becoming easy prey for the Bumas.
"Harry!" a voice exclaimed from within the shuttle.
"Stay here! I'll get him!" Doc2 barked, and dashed towards the boy.
Whipping out his ion gun, he set it to supercharged mode and began firing
at the makeshift mechanical army. Blue-white bolts sizzled through the air as
the mechanoids stopped dead in their tracks, faint blue lightning playing
over their surface.
Sprinting towards Harry, Doc2 scooped him up and dashed towards the last
shuttle. Handing Harry off to who appeared to be his father (they shared the
same grey eyes), Doc2 ran to what appeared to be empty space.
"What're you doing?!" Ben Maxwell demanded.
"Take off without me! I've got my own ride!"
"But..."
"GO!!" Doc2 waved him off. Moments later, the DeLorean shimmered out of
thin air, and he boarded it.
Taking off, he strafed the Bumas with a barrage of phasers. Heading
towards the mines, he armed the micro-torpedoes.
[They may have the planet, but no way in Hell am I going to let them get
at the mines, at least not easily.]
The DeLorean spat out four torpedoes which impacted on the main entrance
of the dilithium mines (destroying the dilithium itself was a highly dangerous
proposition. It would've started a chain-reaction that would gut the entire
planet, and render it uninhabitable.). Tons of debris fell over the entrance,
sealing it.
Satisfied, Doc2 blasted well away from the colony, engaging his warp
drive when he was clear of the gravity well.
In the shuttle, Harry Maxwell watched his home recede from view as they
made their way. All things considered, the Cardassians had been very easy on
them, but it didn't feel that way to Harry. Beta Hercules was the only home
he had known, and now it was gone for reasons that he couldn't fathom.
"Harry?"
"'M right here, Dad."
"You okay, son?"
The boy shook his head in confusion. "Why? Why did they take our home?"
"..." Ben Maxwell had no answers to that.
Chapter 28---------------------------------------------------------------------
"One more time outta do it...one more for the road."
--who the heck sang this?
OCTOBER 14, 2353
9:55 P.M.
HOFFMAN ESTATES, ILLINOIS, EARTH
(19 years, 11 months, 30 days, 23 hours, 55 minutes, L2)
Doc sat idly in the recliner, pondering the events of the last few years.
After leaving Mega-Tokyo, he pretty much wandered around Federation space as a
missionary, going to various planets to help the population where he could.
After a few close encounters, he decided to buy a little bit of insurance,
namely, a British-Animetech beam saber. He had become proficient with the
blade in a short period of time. It simply felt...right, there in his hands.
[Kinda funny how things work out,] he mused, closing his favorite novel,
_The Time Machine_ by H.G. Wells. [Here I am, home...well, as close to home
as I'm going to get, anyway. Wonder where I'm gonna head off to in a couple
of minutes?]
Rising from the recliner, he paced the room. Before, he'd left in the
company of friends. Now, he was alone at this departure. He didn't like
being alone.
[Just one more leap...] he thought as the world turned blue, then white.
Chapter 29--------------------------------------------------------------------
"A change of venue is imminent." --found in a fortune cookie.
MARCH 9, 2360
OUTSIDE OF CHELTOPOLIS
SALUSIA
(367 years A.L.)
"I thought I might find you here, little brother." Percy commented.
"Yeah, well...I come here every year. Say hi to Keri, tell her what's
been going on. 'Course, she doesn't say much, but hey..."
"I've got a little proposition for ya..."
A rustle in the bushes alerted the brothers to an intruder. A
dark-furred, naturaform Cheltari Salusian emerged from his cover, looking
quite arrogant.
"Well, well, well...look who finally dragged himself over here. We have
something to discuss, you and I."
"We have nothing to discuss, Aric. This is hardly the place for you and
I to talk about your idiotic intolerance for other forms of life."
"This is the perfect place," Aric insisted, "You have been avoiding me
for over a century. You know, I always wondered *why* she married you. Was
it because you were a sorry excuse for a lower life form? That she felt sorry
for you? Or, was it one of those whims that women are so prone to have?
Perhaps it was part of a bet." he speculated.
"Listen, furry boy," Percy began, his stance becoming aggressive.
"Back off, Percy," Pearson waved him off. "He's right. This is
something we have to get out in the open," He turned his attention (a small
portion, mind you) to Aric. "You want to know why Keriyn married me? I'm not
sure I can explain it, because I'm not sure that you'll understand the answer.
She loved me. That's all there is...was...to it. Even here and now, a part
of me always will. That is what you don't understand.
"Have you taken a good look at yourself, lately? All alone in a large
house, scarcely anyone to talk to, no one to put up with you. You're
ignorant, fearful, angry, racist...like I said before, you're a pathetic
excuse for a sentient being. I can't understand how a family like yours, a
family with generations of builders, engineers, architects, doctors and
authors, including your father, Renar Ajlond...could end up with you. You are
a no-talent, closed-minded, stubborn, and in the end, pitiful, person. Your
ideas belong in the past, the long-dead and buried past. I wish I could hate
you...but you're more worthy of my sympathy."
"Save your sympathy. At least *I'm* not hunted by an upstanding
corporation like GENOM. Oh, yes, they know you're here," he leered.
"They'll be sending out so many Bumas for your hide, you'll have to hide in a
black hole. You'll be all alone...much worse off than I ever was."
"You sonova--!" Percy exclaimed.
"Ah, ah, ah...sticks and stones," he pulled out a disruptor, and checked
his watch. "I estimate that they'll be here in five minutes. Do be a good
monkey boy, and don't make me kill you. Lowers the bounty, you know.
Pathetic Wedgie." he sneered.
That was the last straw. Percy sprang into action, his nano-enhanced
reflexes helped him move faster, much faster, than Aric was prepared for.
With a spin kick, he knocked the disruptor out of Aric's hand. Barely half a
second later, he grabbed his keychain stunner from out of his pocket and hit
the Salusian with a red pellet, paralyzing him on the spot.
"Don't kill him."
"What, even now?"
"Yes, even now. I'm still a doctor, and I *won't* kill if it's
possible."
Percy raised an eyebrow. "All right. I'm not gonna kill him," he
leaned closer to the paralyzed Salusian. "Keep this in mind, asshole," he
muttered. "From now on, every move you make, I'm gonna know about it. If you
head off to GENOM again, if you go to the head, I'll know about it. I'm gonna
put you under a microscope, and you're gonna wish you'd never been born. And
maybe, just maybe, one of these days..." he snapped his fingers for emphasis,
"You won't have to worry about the grocery bill anymore, because it's kinda
tough to eat when your stomach has just been converted to free-floating
molecules. What's worse, you won't even know when it's coming. Got me?"
Aric tried to voice a reply, but his vocal cords were paralyzed as well.
The look in his eyes, however, was evidence enough that Percy had been quite
clear.
Taking off, Percy started up a conversation on a secure channel.
"Anyway, Pearson, about that offer?"
"Yeah? What about it?" he asked from his DeLorean, flying as a sort of
wingmate to his brother's Grand Prix.
"Right now, I'm at the Tachyon Detective Agency. Yeah, I know, I know,
corny name, but it's a good company. Anyway, my boss said I could open up a
branch office of my own, and staff it with whoever I want. Hint. Hint."
"I take it that you want me to be in on this," Pearson remarked dryly.
"Funny, though...I always imagined you as a tech rather than a detective."
"They call me a `consultant,' but we're actually the ones who do all the
grunt work. The only reason I'm opening up my own branch is because I keep
finding all these loopholes lying around." Pearson could see that his brother
was grinning.
"You always were the sneaky one of the bunch. Why me, though?"
"You learned to be observant when you became a doctor, right?"
"Right...so?" Pearson replied uneasily.
"I need a second pair of eyes. Also, that second pair has to be someone
I trust. Who better than my younger brother?"
"Percy, it's not the same thing. I mean, it's like trying to compare
Vegan choriomeningitis with a simple brain hemorrage. Both could be
considered things that're wrong with a person's nervous system, but the
differences between the two..." he shook his head.
"Well...all you have to do is keep an eye on things that I might miss."
"Hmmm...."
"So, are you in? I could use your help."
"Well...okay. Where're we going, anyway?"
"Earth, where else? In fact, oddly enough," Percy's tone of voice
indicated that what he was about to say wasn't a mere coincidence, "the office
is built on where our old house used to be. Strange, huh?"
"Gee, I wonder how you pulled that off?" Pearson asked with no small
amount of sarcasm.
"I know people." Percy Clint Eastwooded before grinning. "A loophole
is a very useful thing, little brother."
"Yeah, I'll bet."
Chapter 30---------------------------------------------------------------------
"Is it not amazing the places in which old friends meet?" --Largo
MAY 15, 2365
TACHYON DETECTIVE AGENCY
EARTH BRANCH, ILLINOIS, UNITED STATES
(372 years A.L.)
"Hey, Maggie. How's it going?" Pearson greeted the secretary in his
usual chipper voice.
"Not bad. Your brother's inside already."
He hmphed. "That figures. He was always the early riser of the bunch."
Hanging his raincoat and fishing hat on the coatrack, he noted the navy blue
trenchcoat and matching fedora that belonged to Percy. As a joke, the elder
Mui had ordered a particularly subtle bit of embroidery on the coat's left
shoulder, a Maltese cross designating the rank of Admiral of Starfleet. It
was subtle in that one had to look for it at a rather odd angle to make out
the design.
Maggie Simpson was a highly capable secretary in more than clerical work.
On more than one occasion she had to hold back several would-be assassins at
bay with the disruptor in her desk. Being Tenctenese also helped somewhat.
She was good at her job, and the two brothers were rather generous when
things came up.
"Hey, Pearson!" Percy greeted. "We've got a case!"
"Well, will wonders never cease?"
"Pinky!" Percy voiced in his Brain imitation as he whapped Pearson across
the top of his head.
"Sorry, Brain," Pearson replied in a fairly good Pinky voice. "I rather
lost my head for a moment there."
"Not that you ever needed it, Pinky."
"That's a good one, Brain. Okay, what's the case?" he finished in his
usual voice.
"It's a simple one. We just get this guy here," Percy's computer
displayed J. Random Scientist with a rather pronounced hawk nose, "and we get
him to our employers. The guy's name is..."
"Richard Lambert." Pearson said coldly, recognizing the picture.
"I guess you know him." Percy remarked.
"He's the guy who sent me flying through time."
"Oh. Well, anyway, our client wants Lambert `retrieved,' kicking and
screaming if necessary, but that's optional, and brought back here alive, with
as little property damage as we can manage."
"Hey, I'm not the one who called the Grand Prix on remote to lay waste to
the 23rd floor of an office building."
"It worked, didn't it? Besides, we couldn't get to our beam sabers, and
they had our stunners. What was I supposed to do?"
"Something less like what the Dirty Pair would do?" Pearson quipped.
"Mass destruction! Mass destruction!" Percy ranted. "Whoops. Sorry.
Mass can't be destroyed or created. It just changes form."
Pearson groaned. "What do they want Lambert for anyway? And how the
heck did he end up here in the 24th century?"
"Y'think maybe he leaped himself here? You told me that he disappeared
around 1993. 'Course, you thought that he'd committed suicide because of his
experiment's failure."
"A little wishful thinking on my part. After that first experiment blew
up in his face, he was pretty much disgraced from the scientific community.
Nobody would touch him or his theories."
"Anyway, I don't think they want Lambert for that. Nope, this has
something to do with dimensional harmonics. The secrets of the universe or
something like that. I guess he's given up on time travel."
"D'you know where he is now?"
"Well, the last time I checked, he was headed to Neo-Texas. The trail
disappears from there, though."
"Hmm..." Pearson mumbled as he ruminated. "I'm gonna dial up one of my
sources. Maybe she can help out."
"`She?'" Percy asked dubiously.
"Yup, `she.'" He dialed up a number from memory.
Drrt.
Drrt-<CLICK!>
"Stingray Institute of Technology." an operator answered.
"Ah, yes, could you please put me through to Professor Nene Romanova
please?"
"One moment..."
"Wait-wait-wait...Nene Romanova? Cute girl, yea big...?" Percy raised
his hand to about neck level (he and Pearson were the same height), "Red hair,
big green eyes? *That* Nene Romanova?"
"Yup."
At that moment, the connection opened back up, revealing an older Nene
Romanova, her hair beginning to turn grey, but the energetic twinkle still
remained in her green eyes. "Hello?"
"Hey, kid. What's up?" he greeted her with a smirk.
"Doc! I haven't heard from you since last October! How're you doing?"
"Not bad. Um, I was wondering if you could do me a favor."
"What do you need?"
"Well, my brother and I have a little investigations thing going..." Percy
waved hi in the background. "Anyway, I was just wondering if you could
check up on this guy. Where he is would be nice, but don't go into too much
detail. You feel up to it?" he asked after sending her the preliminary info.
"Are you implying that I'm not up to this?" she asked with
mock-indignation.
"Well, if you're busy, I could always call up somebody else. I mean,
you've got classes to teach, people to see, things to do..."
"I'll get back to you in five minutes." Bip.
"She's gonna find Lambert for us?" Percy asked dubiously.
"Percy, not only is she going to find Lambert, she will probably also
open up loopholes so large, we could fit the old Wayward Son in them. And,
she'll do it in thirty seconds."
"Thirty seconds?"
"She's got cyberjacks. I don't hold that against her, though. Just
because I get the willies from them doesn't mean that they don't work for
other people."
"She said she'd be back in five minutes."
"I guess the other four and a half minutes are for a coffee break or
something."
Exactly four minutes and fifty-nine seconds later, Maggie patched in a
call from New Japan.
"Here you go," Nene said while she sent the info. "I would've had this
in sooner, but I needed some coffee." She smirked.
"Tough security?" Pearson inquired.
"Ha! Not for this little hacker!" she stated defiantly.
"Hey, wait a minute. How'd you get our phone number?" Percy wondered.
As an answer, she merely smiled.
"So, Nene, exactly how badly did you trash their system?"
"Remember when I got reeeeaaaally drunk?"
"Which time was that?" Pearson deadpanned.
She pouted, then brightened up. "The time you poured snow down my back.
I still haven't gotten back at you for that."
Pearson ignored the pseudo-threat. "Is it on par with the 3WA level of
quality?"
"Hmm...maybe."
Both brothers turned to face each other and stereo'd "Definitely."
Clearing his throat, Pearson continued, "Well, thanks a lot, kid. I owe
you *another* one." Bip.
MAY 18, 2365
NEO-TEXAS
CITY OF AUSTIN
(372 years A.L.)
Percy knew that he was in a particularly bad situation as the hulking
form of the security guard drew a shadow over him. A big shadow. A shadow
that would have made an elephant look puny.
Whipping out the keychain stunner from its concealed place, he began to
take aim...
...and almost immediately, the guard knocked it out of his hand. The
small device clattered noisily on the ground. Nursing his injured hand, he
considered his options. Run? Nope, this was a dead-end alley. Stun the guy?
Been there, done that. Tenderize him with rapid punches? Yeah, right, on a
guy that has to weigh at least 400 pounds? Not likely. Slice and dice?
Nope, he wanted to immobilize the guy, not kill him.
That left him with only one option.
Extending his hand and aiming it towards the guard, an ion gun
(Fahrvergnugen Industries, Mk II) jumped from its concealed place in his
sleeve, formerly nestled within a quick-release holster. Pulling the trigger,
he was rewarded with a particularly resonant ZRATCH! as the gun launched forth
a blue-white bolt of energy directly at the guard's head.
"YARGH!" the guard screamed, being the recipient of an instantly
excruciating headache. He clutched his head in obvious cerebral agony.
Percy scrambled to where the stunner lay and scooped it up. Sliding the
small panel back, he fired a green pellet followed by a red one in what his
brother called a "double whammy."
The guard collapsed like a fallen oak, unconscious and paralyzed.
Letting out a slow breath, he wiped his brow but kept the stunner ready, the
ion gun having already retreated into his sleeve.
[All this for a simple grab.] Percy mused. [This'll be extra on my
bill.]
"Goddathunda, this is Choir Boy," Pearson's voice filtered in from the
comlink in his collar. "How's it going on your end? Over."
"Choir Boy, this is Goddathunda. I'm circling around back. I had to
take care of a guard, but I don't think he sounded off any alarms."
"I've had a few problems of my own. Looks like they've got a few
force-field gen...HEL-lo."
"What?"
"Fields are off. Dunno if everything else is off, though." Pearson
hesitated for a moment as he considered his options. "I'm going for it."
"What's the word, Choir Boy?"
"Electronically, this place is dead as can be."
"Your friend's work?"
"I guess so. I didn't know that she could be this thorough." A tense
moment passed as Pearson made his own entrance. The door, being only three
inches of steel (Very good steel, actually. It'd taken him a bit longer than
usual to cut through it), found itself clanging noisily onto the floor. The
security systems didn't even go off.
"Choir Boy to Goddathunda. I'm in."
"I'm on my way."
The building was dark, which was perfectly normal if someone had directed
a localized power surge that fried your transformer. Making their way inside,
the two brothers could barely discern a man's deep voice coming from within.
They cautiously crept towards the source, keeping their stunners at the ready.
"Damn! Damn, damn, DAMN!!" the voice exclaimed.
Pearson furrowed an eyebrow as he recognized it.
Lambert.
They approached the scientist, and he turned to face them.
Time (and time travel) had not been particularly kind to the good
professor. Concealed within his ever-present white labcoat was an almost
painfully thin frame. His hawk-nose was present as well, and the dark circles
under his eyes indicated a distinct lack of sleep. The eyes themselves were
sharpened, as if their owner was perpetually impatient with the circumstances
that he had dealt with. His thinning brown hair had all but disappeared,
leaving nothing but a fringe of grey-brown near his temples and the back of
his head.
"Who--?"
"Professor Richard T. Lambert?" Percy inquired, removing the navy-blue
fedora.
"I am he. What do you want?"
"Tachyon Detective Agency. We're here to escort you back to Earth for our
employer."
"Well, could this wait a little?" Lambert asked impatiently. "I've
*almost* breached the dimensional barrier. I just need another generator and
a few more minutes..."
"We don't have time." Pearson said somewhat curtly.
"Odd that you should mention that," Lambert said warily. "Another
project that was under my direction could have given me all that I could have
desired." He sighed heavily.
"I *know*."
Lambert raised an eyebrow. "Step closer, young man." Something about
this raincoated stranger was damnably familiar.
Pearson doffed the fishing hat and did as the aging scientist requested.
Lambert's eyes went wide with shock as he beheld a prodigal son of sorts, if
things had turned out differently. As things were, however, the dark-brown
orbs behind the lenses of his glasses burned disgust and contempt.
"You..." It was barely a whisper.
"I've only one question, Lambert: WHY?"
"Wh-why what? Why did I send you? You volunteered, remember?"
"No...that's not what I'm asking." Pearson shot out a hand and grabbed
the scientist by the shirtfront.
Percy intervened by placing a hand on his brother's wrist. "Settle
down. We're here to retrieve him, not maul the guy."
Reluctantly, Pearson released his grip, but the fire in his eyes
remained. "Why did you send others into the future? You sent
mercenaries...cutthroats who would kill their own mothers! You shipped them
off, and it was only through a series of freak accidents that they never
returned! WHY?!"
"Th-the mercenaries weren't my idea. I *strongly* suggested more testing
with the leaping process, but..."
"But Chrono-tech Industries *insisted*, didn't they?"
"It was either that, or they would cut off my funding..."
"Funding? You *bribed* your way into UIC! That experiment wasn't
ethical in *any* way! `The psychological effects of temporal phenomenon,' my
ass!" he muttered, recalling the experiment name.
"Ethics are for the timid. There is no price too high to pay for the
advancement of knowledge and the scientific method." he said stiffly.
"Advancement of knowledge?! More like the advancement of Richard T.
Lambert, Crackpot at Large!"
"I don't have to take this. Please show yourselves out, and have a good
day, gentlemen."
"Uh, Professor Lambert?" Percy interjected. "I think we have a little
problem here. Y'see, I've got a *beautiful* wife at home, and I really want
to get back to Earth ASAP. The thing is, I can't go back without something
looming over my head unless you come along with us. Of course, there's also
the matter of me getting paid, but that's another story," he muttered the
last part. "Anyway, you wouldn't want to keep me from the missus, now would
you?"
"I wouldn't know what that's like. I never married." Lambert stated.
Pearson looked skyward. "Is it any wonder?"
"I have yet to find a woman who could appreciate my talents."
"Translation, no woman could put up with your single-mindedness."
"This is not about me. Leave me. Now."
Percy sighed and shrugged. "Okay. C'mon, Pearson, let's go."
"What?!" Pearson asked, wide-eyed. "We're just gonna LEAVE him here?!"
"Yeah. He doesn't wanna come along, and I'm not gonna force the issue.
Did you remember where we parked?" The older sibling asked as he turned away
from the aged scientist.
Pearson seemed to not react when he heard his brother say the last
phrase. It was a code phrase between them which meant, "get the stunners
ready."
"Just outside, I think." he replied, confirming what his brother said.
A few steps into their false retreat, Percy whipped out his stunner and
fired a green pellet at Lambert.
The pellet disintegrated a foot before it reached the scientist. Percy
mouthed out "nuts."
"Oh, and if you should choose to take me by force, I have constructed an
ultrasonic shield which vibrates your pellets into oblivion before it can
reach me. Of course, you wouldn't *dare* shoot me with one of those, now
would you?"
The two brothers eyed the scientist, then each other.
"He's prepared." Percy conceded.
"Very much so." Pearson agreed.
"Doesn't leave us much choice now, does it?"
"Nope, not really."
Sigh. "On three?"
"Uh huh."
"Three."
The two brothers rushed Lambert. Pearson held the scientist immobile
while Percy attached the handcuffs.
"Wha...how *dare* you--?" Lambert sputtered as he was forcibly dragged
across the floor like a trout. "What is the *meaning* of this?"
"Well, you didn't leave us much choice."
"So, sit back, relax, and shaddup. Unless, of course, you want me to
render you unconscious the old-fashioned way." Pearson cracked his knuckles
to underscore his point.
Lambert gulped as he lapsed into silence, his blase facade and bluster
fading. He had never felt such hatred coming from any individual. The worst
part of it was, it was justifiably directed at him.
Perhaps it was time to face some of his old ghosts.
The two brothers and their unwilling passenger made their way to two
vehicles, amazingly unnoticed by any bystanders. One was a red Pontiac Grand
Prix, the other a silvery-grey DeLorean. Percy opened up his car and aided
Lambert into the backseat. Pearson walked to his own car and got in.
The younger brother opened up a comm channel. "I tell ya, Percy, the
sooner we get this ass off our hands, the better I'll feel."
"Y'know, I've never seen you *hate* somebody this much. Usually, your
temper's like SHOOM! for a second," he made a hand motion which was a fair
representation of a spike, "and then, five minutes later, you've forgotten why
you were angry."
"I don't mean to sound presumptuous, bro, but you don't *know* what it's
like."
"Uh huh. Well, feel free to let me know. In the meantime, we've got our
pay to collect."
Both vehicles blasted off, headed for Earth.
"Excellent," their employer proclaimed. "Good job, you two. Some
people will be there in the morning to pick him up."
"May I ask something, sir?" Pearson queried.
"What is it?"
"Where exactly is Professor Lambert headed off to?"
"I'm afraid that I can't disclose that information at this time. You
will be happy to know, however, that he'll be in a safe place. Is that all?"
"Yes, sir." Bip.
"Something wrong?" Percy asked.
"I'm not sure...but somehow, I get the feeling that this isn't the last
we'll be seeing of Richard T. Lambert."
Chapter 31---------------------------------------------------------------------
"Guess who's coming to dinner?" --Pavel Andreivich Chekov
OCTOBER 20, 2370
(377 years A.L.)
The one thing that one could count on when running a branch of a
detective agency was that there would be times where work would be a bit lean.
It was a well-known, if not entirely welcome fact of any business.
Now was not one of the lean times.
Pearson and Percy had been working 14 hour days for the last two months.
While that meant that their bank accounts would be better off from the boom,
it also meant that they had precious little time for relaxation. Maggie had
helped a great deal, but she was pushing herself to the point where the two
brothers nearly *ordered* her to get some sleep.
Percy groaned at the number of cases piled up on his desk. [Elana's not
gonna like me coming home late again.] Peering over to his brother's desk, he
noted the cans of Pepsi that had piled up in the recycling bin. He suspected
that Pearson would most likely be more comfortable in a hospital making rounds,
but there was really no one else he could trust to be his partner in the field.
The phone rang, and he answered it, barely suppressing the urge to yawn.
"Hello, Tachyon Detective Agency."
"Hi, hon. How's it going over there?" It was his wife. In spite of the
fact that they had been married for over a century, he never got tired of
seeing her face. She was very pretty, her long, dark brown hair ended at the
middle of her back, framing a face with brown eyes, a pert nose, and a faint
band of freckles across her cheeks. She was cute in a way that made Pearson
turn into a babbling wreck for a few seconds, and that was something that
Percy never failed to remind him of.
He smiled in spite of himself. "Like hell, as usual. We're still
swamped back here."
Her face fell somewhat. "Oh. Coming home late, again?"
Percy shifted his gaze from his wife, to the pile of work on his desk,
then back. He exhaled a long breath through his nostrils.
"Percy? Is something wrong?" He hadn't responded for a while.
"Nah, nothing's wrong." he shook his head. [Screw it. I've been
concentrating more on my work than her. It's just not worth the aggravation.]
"Elana, I'm coming home now. And, um..." he eyed his younger brother on
the verge of taking a beam saber to the data pads. "...can you handle a
guest for dinner?"
"Is it your brother?"
"Mm-hm."
"No problem." she smiled. "Love you." she added quietly.
"I love you, too. I'll see you in a few." Bip.
Pearson gently thudded his head against his desk. [I. Hate.
Paperwork.] he thought silently.
"Hey, little brother! We're knocking off."
Pearson lifted his head to a level just above the mess on his desk.
"Gaaahh?" Coherent speech had been lost out of frustration with the
indecipherable forms about a half hour ago.
"Oh, don't give me that `gaaahh.' C'mon over to my place. Elana's
expecting you."
"Ah bweh?"
"What is it, you've turned into a Tasmanian devil?"
"Nooo...I just want to strangle whoever came up with these forms. No,
cancel that. I want to hunt him down. I want to make his life a living hell
and knock him off when he thinks it's getting better. When he's on his dying
gasp, I'm going to make him fill out a permission form in order for him to
die."
"Ew. Just don't let Elana hear that at the table. She has enough
trouble teaching whiz-kids at Starfleet Academy the basics of propulsion
theory. This one student always gives her a lot of aggravation."
"Who? Montgomery Scott?"
Percy frowned as he donned his coat and fedora. "Ah, no. I think his
name's...MacGregor, or something like that. Always questions everything.
He's got a good head on his shoulders, though. Understands almost everything
she teaches him."
"One of those cases, huh?" Pearson asked as he shut off the lights.
"Elana! Hi! It's been, what, a couple of months?"
"H'lo, Pearson. Hmm...about four months, I think. How're things going?"
"Other than some mild brain damage from trying to decipher some
paperwork...okay, actually." he joked.
"I'm worried about him," Percy admitted after Pearson had headed to his
apartment.
"Hmm?" Elana was currently leaning on his shoulder, the two of them on a
comfortable couch. "Worried about who?"
"Pearson. He's...well, it's not just the frustration of paperwork that's
bothering him. Maybe it's...naaahh." he shook his head as he dismissed the
thought.
"Maybe he didn't get over Keriyn's death after all? Is that what you
were thinking?"
"Are you sure you're not part Betazoid?"
"Pretty sure. You know...people react differently to loss."
"Well, maybe. I mean, it *seems* like he's over it and all, but..."
"But?" she prompted.
"I get the feeling that if it weren't for the fact that he has kids, us,
and his friends, he might've knocked himself off a long time ago. Right now,
he's not living. He's holding on, but he's not really living. It's almost as
if...he was waiting for something to occur."
"Waiting? For what?"
"I don't know. Maybe he's waiting for some event in the future to occur.
What he does after that, I have no idea. I'll tell you one thing, though."
"What?"
"I wouldn't want to be in his shoes for anything. I wouldn't really want
to know the future, then see it happen right before my eyes."
"We have enough on our hands with the present."
Percy sighed, then curled an arm around his wife. It had been, what,
almost 140 years ago that he had lifted his eyes from a navigational array to
see her in her dress uniform, utterly lost. He didn't think much of giving
her directions, but before he knew it, he couldn't stop thinking about her.
They started talking about the various engine components that they knew about,
and somehow, the conversation progressed to more abstract areas. Not too long
afterwards (at least in an immortal's lifespan), they were married. Though
the road was often rough, in general life was good to them.
Percy started wondering when life would resume being good to Pearson.
Chapter 32---------------------------------------------------------------------
"Even if your intentions are good, they can backfire drastically."
--Emmet Latharpe Brown
NOVEMBER 23, 2374
(382 years A.L.)
EARTH
PLANET-STATE OF OLYMPUS
THE REGION FORMERLY KNOWN AS NEW YORK CITY
"*When* is he coming?" the leader rumbled in the dim light of the
warehouse.
"Any minute now, boss..." the subordinate mumbled nervously. His
superior was not one that you could disappoint and live to tell about it.
"He had better. I dislike those who cannot be counted on to be
punctual...and I dislike those who associate with these people even more."
The short, weasel-eyed man gulped. His superior did not make idle
threats. When the threat came from a very tall and built Kilrathi by the name
of Pa'kath Karod'kh, one tended to take them rather seriously. Such was the
case of his employer.
Thankfully, the door opened, and three men entered. Two of them were
hefting an apparently heavy crate, lead by the third. The crate was carefully
lowered, and the apparent leader opened it to reveal a rather impressive cache
of weapons.
"Here y'are, cat. Exo-Salusia's finest. Untouchable, untraceable, and
it's all yours. D'ya have the money?"
"Pay the man, Nigel." the Kilrathi said, tapping his subordinate with
one of his claws.
Nigel hurried to comply, and offered them a case.
Behind several crates, Percy cocked an eyebrow at his brother. It was
time to make their move. Grinning, Pearson hit the switch on their little
surprise.
An eerie, soul-piercing laugh echoed through the warehouse. "Who knows
what evil lurks in the hearts of men?" the voice intoned. "The Shadow
knows!"
Murmurs of "what the hell" circulated among the smugglers as the figure
in black reared his head back and let loose the Laugh that chilled them to the
very depths of their soul. Two of the thugs managed to gain their nerve, and
unholstered their weapons, bringing them to bear on The Shadow. Particle
beams sizzled past the man, who seemed totally unfazed at their efforts. He
continued that maddening laugh.
Pa'kath Karod'kh knew that something was terribly wrong. For one thing,
he couldn't smell the intruder, and that lead to him to question whether or
not the black-clad man existed.
"Hold your fire, you mindless apes!" he roared. "It's a hologram!"
The hologram changed shape, its attire becoming that of a twentieth
century game show host. "And he gets it on the first try! Guys, tell our
contestants what they've won!"
A hail of red paralysis pellets took out three of them, leaving Nigel and
Pa'kath. "Well, you guys have won an all-expense paid trip to your local
prison, including food, transportation, housing, and a cellmate named Big
Bruno. You guys are BUS-ted, so don't make any trouble, 'kay?" Pearson
finished with a shit-eating grin on his face and the keychain stunner in his
hand.
"Well, I'm glad to see that you're enjoying yourself, bro." Percy
commented.
"I try."
A click from a switch was the only clue that Pearson had to dodge Nigel's
charge, as he had produced a vibroblade from his pocket. He ducked, then
backflipped out of harm's way.
Or, so he thought. It was barely a tenth of a second after he landed
that something fast and furry nearly knocked his head off. Dazed, he landed
hard against several crates, the stunner flying out of his hand.
Percy had his own problems, dodging swipes from the weasel. Deciding
that he had had enough exercise for the day, he caught the next knife thrust
and delivered a blow to the shoulder that neatly knocked the arm out of joint.
Nigel staggered back as Percy produced his own stunner. One red pellet later,
and Nigel was out of commission.
Turning, he saw Pearson take a nasty backhand from the cat, knocking him
into several crates. The cat grabbed him by the front of his raincoat and
hoisted him upwards.
"I will brook no more of your interference, ape!" Karod'kh snarled, and
prepared to dive his claws into Pearson's abdomen, which would result in a
very messy disembowelment.
"Wa-jah!" Percy exclaimed, as he ran and delivered a spin kick to the
Kirathi's head that would have snapped an ordinary man's neck. Stunned, the
felinoid dropped his prey. With a _snap-hiss_, the blue-white blade of his
beam saber emerged from the handle.
For Pearson, the world seemed to have become a lot less stable than he
last remembered. Stumbling back, he found support on a crate. The next thing
he heard was a tremendous, primal roar of pain. Something heavy thudded on
the floor next to him, but all he could make out in his dazed state was that
the object was furry, and had been neatly severed by a particle beam, judging
by the stench of cauterized flesh. A red flash of light, and a large,
immobile Kilrathi collapsed to the floor, still clutching at his right forearm
which now ended with a stump.
Grimacing, Pearson propped himself to a semi-standing position. A
_shhpt_ sound later, and the beam saber that Percy wielded had retreated into
the handle, which was promptly hooked onto his belt.
"You all right, bro?"
"Oh, yeah, great. That guy doesn't need to work on his backhand at all."
Pearson replied while fighting off the last vestiges of vertigo.
"And now, let's give our contestants a big hand!"
Pearson glared at his brother, who seemed totally unfazed.
"Y'think ESWAT can handle it from here?"
"I think so. But, we'd better stick around. They're not going anywhere,
but we're not getting our commission unless they're arrested," Percy peered
down at the fallen Kilrathi. "Besides, I don't think that cat's gonna bother
us anymore."
If Pa'kath Karod'kh had control of his vocal cords, he would have voiced
his displeasure at having had one of his limbs cut off. He did, however, have
control of his mental faculties.
[Think again, ape. I shall make you pay for this...atrocity!]
Chapter 33---------------------------------------------------------------------
"There are three stages of knowledge: The stage where you want to know
everything, the stage where you think you know everything, and then
there's the point where you realize that you don't know anything."
--Anonymous
MARCH 9, 2380
(387 years A.L.)
OUTSIDE OF CHELTOPOLIS
SALUSIA
Pearson cautiously eyed his surroundings. He hadn't been back in a while,
for good reason. Aric had raised a big stink back then, and he'd hoped that
things had cooled down a bit by now.
Placing the red rose on top of the grave, he stood there timidly, the
fingers of his hands interlaced as his hands rested on his belt. He sighed as
he prepared himself for the one-sided conversation.
"Hi, it's me again. Sorry I haven't been around lately; Aric kinda
mucked things up for me awhile back. Yeah, I know...excuses, excuses.
Sigh. "Anyway...a lot's happened in the last 15 years. Percy and I
started our own branch of a detective agency only to have it `appropriated' by
GENOM 5 years back. We didn't leave anything for them, though. I like to
think that we did a lot of good. 'Course, we also caused a bit of
destruction, but not nearly as bad as Kei and Yuri would do. But, anyway, I
guess the point is, it's gone. Percy didn't take that very well.
"The kids are doing okay. Megan's just had some of her papers on
propulsion theory published. In fact, she's gonna be on a design team at
Utopia Planitia. Somehow," he remarked with a slight smile, "I knew that
she had a little of you in her. Mandy's doing great. She and some of her
friends are touring Earth right now. I had no idea what I was in for when I
showed her one of my old violins. Aaron is an instructor at Starfleet
Medical when he's not working shifts at San Francisco general. I think we've
put some workaholic genes in him, because even *I* winced when I saw his
schedule. But, he's happy, and I guess that's what counts. Pete? You're not
gonna believe this, but he's become a reporter/author. I've got a couple of
copies of his first novel...it's about the Good Old Days. It was slow when it
started selling, but after the recent events, it's become a best-seller. Go
figure, huh?
"I guess that's what I *really* wanted to tell you. Just a few days ago,
everyone found out what I've known for a long time, that business with the
replicant of Gryphon. The WDF is coming back. It's coming back, love, and
I'm going along for the ride. This time, we're gonna kick Largo's ass.
Shrug. "I guess that's really what I wanted to say. I just wish you
were here to see all that's going on. I'll see you around. Love you."
Without even turning his head, Pearson called into the nearby bushes,
"Come on out, Aric. Your turn."
The dark-furred Salusian complied. In contrast to the last time he'd
been seen, Aric had become considerably thinner, more gaunt, and his eyes held
quite a bit less arrogance in them. His gait was tired, almost humble.
"How did you know?" Aric asked.
"I know people. I know things." Shrug. "I'm funny that way." He
gestured to the grave. "Well, go ahead. Put the flower on the grave and talk
to her. I'm finished."
Aric eyed him curiously. "You're being very kind to someone who's done
nothing but hate you."
"If you wanted to turn me in, you'd have done it immediately, and at
disrupter-point. You didn't do either, so I guess you're here for the same
reason as I am. Go ahead, talk to her. It'll make you feel better. If you
need me, I'll be over there."
The Salusian looked unusually solemn as he placed a native flower on top of
the grave. Doc2 didn't listen to the conversation. He may not have liked the
man, but he still respected his privacy.
When Aric was finished, he made his way to the bushes where Pearson was.
"I heard about your aerospace company." he said by way of opening up a
conversation.
"Strange, isn't it?" Aric commented, seemingly to himself. "While I was
rooted to this place, the rest of my family reached for the stars. While I
despised the change that contact with other cultures brought, my sister
benefitted greatly from her contact with you. While I admired GENOM for the
way they took charge of things, I had yet to realize what else they were
capable of. All this, too little, too late for the family legacy. I have
nothing."
If Pearson was amazed at the humility that Aric was displaying, he tried
not to let it show. This was a marked change from the swaggering ass of less
than two decades ago.
"You must hate me." Aric stated simply.
"Hate is...a rather strong word." Pearson said at length. This was
hardly the time for his usual levity. "Disliked, certainly, especially...no,
make that *mostly* because of your attitudes towards outworlders." This was
not voiced as an accusation; it was stated as a fact.
"Tell me something, Aric. How is it that the son of a renowned engineer,
who is part of an open-minded culture, closed himself off to embracing other
cultures?"
Aric shrugged. "I suppose that I cling to the familiar. I despised
change. I simply wished to have everything as they were. A child-like fancy,
if you will."
"So you equated contact with other races as harmful?" Pearson queried.
"Yes."
Pearson ever so slightly raised an eyebrow. "I can see where you're
coming from. I don't condone it, but I do see where you're coming from."
"Have you never wondered why I did not come to your wedding?"
"I've given it some thought."
"Oddly enough, it was for her sake. I didn't wish to spoil the
celebration."
"You would have been given the opportunity to voice your objection to
me."
"That's the point. Believe it or not, she was still my sister, and I
wanted her to be happy. Outworlder or not, I could tell that she was truly in
love with you. A testament to her odd taste, perhaps." There was the hint of
a smile in his face.
Pearson cocked an eyebrow as he eyed the Salusian. "I can see that your
sense of humor has improved."
"Ten years of therapy at an institution will do that to you."
"Hmm...well, I'd better go."
"Where to?"
"Back to where I belong. Back to the Wedge Defense Force."
MARCH 12, 2380
(387 years A.L.)
Outside of the Utopia Planitia shipyards, three distinctive subspace
distortions appeared, and out of the third distortion streaked a silvery-grey
car with gull-wing doors.
"Unidentified craft, this is UP control. Please identify yourself."
"UP control, this is DeLorean One. Request permission to dock."
"Standby, DeLorean One."
Inside the old craft, Doc2 looked at the news article currently on his
screen and smiled.
BUTCHER APPREHENDED!
Benjamin Hutchins, Wedge Defense Force Cleared!
It had taken him several days to take care of his personal affairs, and
then he was off to rejoin the WDF (although, technically, he had never quit in
the first place.). Life was beginning to pick up again.
And if they could deal with Largo and GENOM, so much the better.
The controller shook him out of his reverie. "DeLorean One, this is UP
control. You are cleared for landing in docking bay 9. Welcome back, Lt.
Mui."
He winced a little at the mention of his old rank. "Roger that. And
control? Call me Doc."
JUNE 25, 2385
ZETA CYGNI DYSON SPHERE
14:00 HOURS
(392 years A.L.)
Striding absently in the halls of UP, Doc2 was so absorbed in the
computer pad that he almost ran into Gryphon.
"Whoops! Sorry about that..." he did a double take. "Gryphon?"
"Doc! You're still around?" he joked.
"Ayeahp yeap, yeap. Three leaps and some dimension-hopping later, and I'm
still here."
"Dimension-hopping? Where'd you end up?"
Doc2 grimaced at the memories. "You don't want to know. Listen, can I
talk to you about something?"
"Well, I dunno. I've got a meeting in a few minutes."
"It's important."
Gryphon thought it over. "My office is over there," he gestured, and
he entered, Doc2 close behind. "All right, what's this all about?"
"Hi, Chief." a very familiar voice said.
"Reika?" Doc2 looked around, confused. [What was she doing here?]
"No, VISION. She...well, it's sort of complicated, but I engineered her."
Ben said with a hint of pride.
"More like sprung out of his head." Vision corrected.
"Details, details, hurry up and find Dr. Nogood." Doc2 pseudo-groused.
"Huh? Oh! Been a while since I heard *that*." Ben mentally chided
himself for missing that quote.
"Geez..." Doc2 muttered as he examined Vision. "If I knew that you were
around, I mmmmight even consider cyberjacks. Nope, nope, nope," he quickly
amended, "I've never been one for sticking cyberware into myself. Nanotech,
maybe, but actual cyberware...IIIII don't think so." A cursory glance of a
nearby shelf revealed an eclectic collection of souvenirs, including (but not
limited to) several Transformer toys, various scale models of ships on or off
the drawing board, and a model of the Wayward Son. There were also a variety
of books, mostly dealing with engineering and propulsion theories, but there
was one that stood out, mainly because it didn't deal with either of the
former.
"HEL-lo, what's this?" he murmured.
The spine of the book read, _Musashi: A Tragic Conspiracy_, by Peter
David Ajlond-Mui. It was a rather hefty book, even for a hardcover edition.
He noted idly that it was the second edition, having been printed about a year
after Gryphon's triumphant return. Sales for the first edition weren't very
brisk, and some systems where GENOM was firmly in charge had subtly diverted
the shipments of it. Banning it outright would simply not do for an
upstanding company.
"You bought this?" he asked Gryphon, after he abruptly realized that the
latter was undoubtedly waiting for some semblance of a conversation.
"I got it a couple of years back. Pete hit some ideas right on the head,
y'know."
"Y'know what the critics said about this when it came out?"
"Not really."
Pearson cleared his throat as he began a spiel in a Snooty Critic (tm)
voice. "`A heavy-handed review of material that few people outside of history
buffs would find even remotely interesting. The theories are overly technical
and complicated, resulting in what comes off as little more than the unfounded
rantings of an opportunistic author. I find it hard to believe that a fine
company like GENOM would involve itself in such plots. As it stands, this
book has only one use: As a paperweight.'"
"Ouch."
"That was back in '78. This is what the same critic said in '82. `This
is a fine example of non-fiction at its best. The theories are in-depth and
thorough, and the material is suprisingly up-to-date. The author, the son of
a WDF officer, has injected personal insight without personal bias. This book
will make a fine addition to any library.'"
"Amazing what a difference a few years makes." Ben quipped.
"You know what the kicker is? The books are almost *exactly* the same,
other than a three-page addendum, a revised epilogue, and a different cover.
Ah, the fickleness of the critics, hm?"
"You want it?" he asked, indicating the book.
Pearson arched an eyebrow. "Are you kidding? This is my son's novel, so
of *course* I have a couple of copies. Ten copies of each edition, actually."
"Hmm...so, was there something other than kibbitzing you wanted?" Gryphon
asked.
"Oh, well," Doc2 said, "It's about this promotion to lieutenant
commander. What's the deal with this?"
"Well, the ship assignment's right there," Gryphon said, indicating the
data pad. "You're to report to the Invulnerable tomorrow."
"No, no, no...I mean, why the promotion to CMO?"
"You really want to stay a lieutenant forever? Besides, I think you
deserve it."
"Aahhhhhh...." That part was true. All the time he'd been on the
Wayward Son, he'd never accepted a promotion above that of Lieutenant. It was
his way of making sure that he stayed on the SDF-17, and not be transferred to
another ship. Also, truth be told, he was somewhat afraid of "replacing"
Jenna, since she held the rank of lieutant commander. Too many cooks, or
something like that.
NEW AVALON
18:00 HOURS
108 MORGAN LANE
The silvery-grey car flew easily above the roads of New Avalon, past the
bustling city into the relatively quiet areas of the suburbs. It soft-landed
on a driveway next to the city's creator, the tires rotating to where they
belonged. Satisfied that he had landed in a slightly eccentric, but not
overly obvious manner, Doc2 exited the vehicle clad in his old green jacket
combo and carried a small box. Striding towards the door, he jerked down the
front of his jacket and prepared to ring the doorbell.
"Haaaalll-e-lujah!"
He jerked his head back, eyebrow cocked. [This is something new.]
The door opened to reveal a moderately short (about 5'5) woman with long
red hair and blue eyes.
"Yes? Can I--?" Her eyes widened as she realized who it was.
Instantly assuming his Travelling Salesman (tm) voice, he began, "Pardon
me, ma'am. I was simply wondering if you might wish to sample gags, jokes, and
whatnot from Acme, for over 440 years, the leader in creative mayhem."
"Doc! Come in, come in! Mitra, I haven't seen you since...well, since
the wedding!" she semi-babbled as he was practically herded in.
"Yeah, well, I've been keeping busy. They say that paperwork's dead,
though I personally think that it never died. It just piles up when you're
not looking. Believe it or not, I'm STILL trying to work out the medical
records of the Colonial refugees. Well, actually, no, I'm not, but it sure
feels like it. But, enough shop talk. You look just as lovely as ever, BTW.
How DO you do it? Exercise? A good diet? An incredibly fast metabolism which
few people are blessed with and I happen to be one of them so people who are
dieting hate my guts?" he babbled.
"Flattery will get you nowhere. But keep trying." she smiled.
"Anyway, is Marty around?"
"Lemme check," she called up the stairway, "Diggy!"
"Yeeessss, Eiko?" a maniacal voice called from above, punctuated with
equally maniacal laughter.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Doc2 mock-protested. "That's MY Hunchback
Imitation (tm)! You, sir, are this close to copyright infringement!"
The seven-foot giant that was Martin Rose descended the stairs, clad in
his purple Gizmonics jumpsuit. A lone Autobot/WDF logo was on his shoulder.
"Doc! How's it going?"
"Great Scott, Marty!" he Emmet Browned.
"Mediocre Fred, Doc!" Martin smirked as he held out his hand. Doc2 put
the box he was carrying down and shook Martin's hand vigorously. "What've you
been up to?" He asked as he gestured to a sofa.
Doc2 sat down. "About 5'10. Sorry, but I just didn't have any more
growth spurts in the last couple of centuries." BAP! "Thanks, I needed that.
I see you've kept a couple of Dani's Nerf bricks around."
"We've got a couple of crates in back; a little housewarming gift on her
part. So, what brings you here?"
"A Ryouga-like sense of direction? No, no, no," he backed off as Martin
*and* Eiko prepared their Nerf bricks. "Actually, I wanted to see how you
guys were doing before I shipped off."
"Shipped off?" Eiko inquired. "You've been reassigned?"
"Dingdingdingding! You get a cookie!" Doc2 said enthusiastically.
Reaching into his box, he grabbed a largish chocolate chip cookie and handed
it to her. "You guys are looking at the new Chief Medical Officer of the WDF
Invulnerable, NCC 2001."
"That means you've been..." Eiko began.
"Promoted! I'm a lieutenant commander now!" Doc2 was practically
brimming with excitement.
"Took you this long, hm?" Martin quipped.
"Some things take...time, grasshopper," he Kwai Chang Caine'd. "Others
take...parsley, sage, and...rosemary." BAPBAP! "Oyy...stereo."
Doc2 fully opened the box to reveal several chocolate chip cookies and a
fairly large key lime pie with extra whipped cream.
Martin raised an eyebrow. "Doc, you're not going to start *that* up
again, are you?"
"Moi? Marty, please," he replied, sounding somewhat shocked that Martin
had even brought that up. "You know I can't hold a grudge *this* long."
"Papa?"
Doc2 turned to the source of the voice, a pretty woman with short,
auburn hair as she descended the stairs. She looked to be in her early 20's,
although she acted much younger, as if she weren't older than seven. [Noriko.]
"Who's this?" she asked.
"This is an old friend of mine, Little Angel. This is Doc Mui."
"Hi, Mr. Mui." she waved, smiling.
Pearson winced. "Hi, Noriko. Just call me `Doc,' okay? It's easier."
"Okay...Doc."
Almost immediately, Pearson went into showoff-for-the-kid(s) mode. "Hey,
you want to see some magic?"
Her face brightened as she smiled. "Sure!"
"Aaalll-righty," With a flamboyant wave of his hands, he produced a deck
of cards from seemingly nowhere. He fanned out the deck. "Pick a card. Any
card. Don't let me see it, and show it to your Mama and Papa."
Noriko picked out a two of hearts and did as he told her. Putting it
back, he shuffled the deck so fast that his hands blurred. Fanning the deck
yet again, the two of hearts was face up. "Is this your card?"
"Yeah! How did you do that?"
"MMmmmm...remind me to show you when you're older. Do we have enough
time for one last trick?" Doc2 directed a glance at Eiko for her approval.
She nodded.
"Okay, here're my hands. Nothing in them, right?"
"Uh huh."
"Now, watch this..." he clapped his hands together and rubbed them for a
few seconds. When his hands parted, there was a white fishing hat much like
his own between them. With a flourish, he planted it on her head. "Here you
go, one genuine Doc Mui fishing hat."
"Wow! Thanks, Doc!" She took off the hat and admired her new treasure.
"Noriko, do you want to help me in the kitchen?" Eiko asked.
"Sure, Mama!" She bounded off.
"Pearson Mui," Martin began in a Rod Serling voice, "a man blessed with
the singular talent of producing fishing hats out of thin air," he resumed
his normal voice, "How *do* you do that, anyway? You started that trick a few
years back, and I *still* haven't figured it out."
"The hand...is quicker than...the eye. Especially if it's my hand." he
smirked. "Anyway, you wanna take a look at old D One? She's sitting on the
driveway. No, I didn't block your cars. At least, I don't think so. I was
thinking about talking a few things over with you there, also." he added
quietly, trying to give Martin an excuse to get out of the house.
After telling Eiko where he'd be, and hanging a giggling Noriko from her
ankles (Eiko and Martin had insisted that she not wear shirts with loose
middles), the two men exited the front door to where the old, no, *ancient*,
time machine rested. They were an odd pair, both thin, Martin over a foot
taller than Pearson. If one could describe their friendship over the years, it
would most likely resemble an Abbot and Costello skit, with Pearson's Costello
usually enjoying a good-natured ribbing from Martin's quick-witted Abbot.
However, he was a Costello who gave *almost* as good as he got.
"You've gotta admit," Pearson began, opening up the gull-wing door,
"she's held up pretty well over the years. Even through all the changes
that've been thrown our way."
"Y'ever think about putting an AI in there?"
"Nahh...well, occasionally," he admitted. "The onboard's capable and
all, but it's not much of a talker. Speaking of talking, 's nice to see that
Noriko's up and about and everything." The last part was an `I'm sorry about
what happened' concealed in idle chatter.
"Yeah," Marty agreed. "She's getting there. You know, you're taking
this awfully well. A lot better than Ben did, anyway."
"Well, don't let me fool you. Inside, I'm screaming."
"You sure didn't look it a couple of minutes ago."
"Yeah...I heard about that mess back in '79. I've read the medical
reports by Amman and Korren. That helped a little, but Jee-zus quack..." he
shook his head. "I keep wondering if there wasn't anything more I could've
done if I..."
"..If you stayed on Thunder Force? Doc, I was *there* and *I* couldn't
do anything. Don't go blaming yourself for what you had to do."
"I'm beginning to sound like Zoner, aren't I?"
"You're not *quite* that bad."
"Yeah..." a shortish paused ensued. "Y'know, when I look at her, the
one thing I remember, I mean, *really* remember, was her in the RI's Sickbay."
Martin smiled. "Oh, yeah...I remember that. You were yelling at HER, a
COMMANDER, to stay in Sickbay until she recovered. Then again, we didn't pay
much attention to rank in those days, did we?"
"Nope. But, I remember that she gave me this little pout, and I thought
that'd break my heart right then and there. But, I held firm. For all the
good it did me."
"Yeah. The day after, she snuck out on you, as I recall."
"A testament to my bedside manner, eh?" Pearson joked.
The two had a good laugh at this.
"So...how're *you* doing?" the shorter man asked, genuinely concerned.
"Me? Well..." Martin looked considerably uneasy. The subject of
Pearson's query obviously still disturbed him, but at least he didn't break
down crying at the mention of Noriko anymore. "You wouldn't have wanted to see
me those first few months. I was practically a basket case when she first woke
up. I think Eiko had a helluva time dealing with me. But...we're getting
along. How 'bout you?"
Shrug. "I'm okay, I guess. I'm pretty much over Keri's death, if that's
what you meant. Although..." he shook his head, as if what he was about to
say had been ever-present, but not organized. "I dunno why I never remarried.
To be honest, I probably never will. But somehow...there's this little part
of me that keeps saying `Never give up hope.' It's crazy, I know, but that
little part of me keeps hoping that Keriyn'll come back to me. I guess that's
why I need this assignment."
"I don't quite follow you."
"To take my mind off her, Marty. I need action, I need adventure.
*Anything* to keep me from thinking about the `what-ifs.' When that starts
happening, I'm no good to anybody."
"I can relate to that." Martin agreed.
Pearson eyed the view of New Avalon appreciatively. There was still
plenty of sunlight from Zeta Cygni, and on the street next to them, children
were playing hopscotch. He allowed himself a small smile as he took in this
scene of suburbia. It reminded him of Hoffman Estates back on Earth.
[Maybe I'll move here when my tour's up.] he considered, then put the
key into the ignition.
"Well, I'd better be going. Gotta pack my things, y'know."
"You wanna stay for supper?" Martin offered.
"Mmmm...nah, that's okay," he made himself more comfortable in the seat
and produced his own fishing hat in the same manner as Noriko's. Plopping it
on his head, he said, "I've gotta take care of a few things. Do me a favor,
though."
"What?"
"When she graduates high school...heck, when she graduates junior high,
let me know. I'll be there, even if I have to take the 4th dimensional
shortcut."
"You got it. Don't be a stranger, Doc."
"Too late. I'm already strange. But, then again, are there any *truly*
normal people in this universe?" Almost immediately, he raised an eyebrow and
held up his index finger. "Don't answer that."
Martin snapped his fingers. "Darn."
"I'll be in touch. And, if not in touch, in sight. See ya, Marty."
"Later, Doc."
Motioning for Marty to get clear of the backwash, Doc2 closed the
gull-wing door, started the car, and blasted off at a (relatively) sane speed.
JUNE 26, 2385
(392 years A.L.)
The DeLorean glided into the shuttlebay of the Excelsior-class ship,
making a soft landing. The bay doors closed, and the area repressurized.
Doc2 opened the gull-wing door and headed for the bridge, his new rank shiny
on his shoulder strap and a WDF Invulnerable combadge on his uniform, the one
used for the tactical fleet. Of course, the inside turtleneck was a
greenish shade, a holdover from his usual taste in clothes. Doc2 simply
wouldn't have picked any other color. Hefting his admittedly meager belongings
along, he headed out of the shuttlebay and to the nearest turbolift.
He could've just transported up and left others to deal with the DeLorean,
he supposed. Seeing as how it was with him for 400+ years however, he trusted
few people to not go poking around and even fewer that wouldn't take joyrides
in the space-time continuum. Not that anyone other than him could access the
time circuits, but still...better safe than sorry.
The turbolift doors slid open and he got in.
"Bridge." he commanded, then changed his mind. "Cancel that. Sickbay."
If he was going to do surgery there, he might as well check out the facilities.
He looked around at the enclosed surroundings of the lift and smiled to
himself.
[Not bad, Pearson. Not bad.] he commented to himself. ['Course, I kinda
wish I got assigned on the SDF-23, but then again, an Excelsior-class
battleship is nothing to sneeze at, either.]
The lift stopped, and the doors opened.
Entering Sickbay, he found someone at a terminal, presumably scanning
through some journals.
"Uh...excuse me..."
The man held up his index finger, not even bothering to look around.
"I'll be done in a minute, hold your horses."
Hold your horses? Doc2 mouthed out. There was something seriously wrong
here.
Exactly 30 seconds later, the man swiveled his chair to face Pearson.
He was in his mid-forties, moderately built, and had just a touch of grey
showing at his temples. He looked like your stereotypical family doctor.
"So, what can I do for you?" He peered at Doc2. "Say, I haven't seen
you around here. You just transferred or something?"
"Uh...yeah. Who're you?"
"Ah! He gets straight to the point. Well," he said with a flourish,
"I'm the CMO of this ship, Leonard Boyce. Let me correct that, I'm CMO until
some hotshot named 'Moo-we' takes over my job."
"It's pronounced 'Moy.'" Doc2 automatically corrected him.
"You know him, do you?"
"Yeah, I'd say so."
"With my luck, he's probably some stupid know-it-all kid who wants to
change the world." Boyce muttered.
"I take it you don't like him very much." Doc2 commented.
"Listen, kid. When you reach my age, you've seen it all and done it all.
I don't think he can do the job quite like I have."
"So, uh, why're you leaving?"
Boyce assumed a more thoughtful pose. "After twenty years of serving in
Starfleet, I think I deserve a little vacation." He turned to Pearson. "I
just hope he takes care of this crew like I have."
"Why don't you look up his record and find out?" Doc2 suggested.
Boyce sighed. "Why not? What've I got to lose?" He punched up Doc2's
service record and gaped at the amount of information that scrolled up the
screen. "Jesus! This guy's been everywhere! Helped stop a plague on Tarskon
V, decorated various times for bravery under fire, written several books on
possible treatments for cyberpsychosis...what is this, he's over 400 years
old? I'd like to meet this old geezer!"
"I think you'll meet him sooner than you think."
"Y'think so, huh, kid? By the way, I never did get your name."
Pearson smiled broadly as he answered. "Lt. Commander Pearson 'Doc' Mui,
at your service."
"You mean I--you..." Boyce sputtered, after finally settling down.
"That was a dirty trick."
Doc2 feigned a hurt look. "Moi? *You're* the one who didn't ask who I
was!"
Well, that was true. He'd been going on like some senile old man, and
didn't even bother with a common courtesy like that. [I *am* getting old,]
Boyce thought to himself. [Unlike Doctor Detian here, I don't have all the
time in the universe.] He gave Doc2 a long, hard look and (almost) smiled.
He would never admit it, but he hoped that this guy could fill his shoes.
"Well, kid. Lots of luck." He went to grab his bag.
THAT was it? "Wai-wait! Isn't there anything else you want to tell me?"
"Why? Half the fun is getting to know the crew."
[Fun, fun, fun.] Sighing, he examined Sickbay. He activated the screen
that Boyce had recently vacated. "Computer, show me the list of medical
personnel onboard this ship."
Three pictures were displayed on the screen as the computer recited the
statistics. "Incoming Chief Medical Officer Dr. Pearson `Doc' Mui. Rank: Lt.
Commander. Date of birth.."
"Skip profile," he commanded. "Any others?"
"Lieutenant Roger Thomas Murtaugh, medical technician. Date of birth,
12/09/2360. Specialty: Xenobiology. Graduated with honors from Tarskon V
medical academy on June 18, 2383." The picture displayed was that of a
somewhat long-faced, thin, yet jovial young man, with blond hair and blue eyes
The computer continued to rattle statistics off until the next profile
appeared.
"Lieutenant Michael Brian Rouse, medical technician. Date of birth,
8/15/2360. Specialty: Internal medicine. Graduated from Utopia Planitia
medical academy on June 12, 2383." Again, the computer contined to rattle off
statistics while the picture displayed Lt. Rouse's picture, that of a somewhat
shorter, stockier man. Pearson got the distinct feeling that the extra bulk
was from workouts, not from excess weight.
Pearson sat back as he digested the info. The names sounded awfully
familiar...almost as if he'd known people like them. He snorted as his mind
arrived at an almost impossible conclusion. [Naahh...What're the odds that
they're actually related to my old friends? Then again, stranger things have
happened.]
"You called for me, sir?"
Captain Harrison Maxwell deactivated the screen he was reading off of.
He was tall, about 6'2, with greying temples marring his otherwise neatly-
combed brown hair. His eyes, which matched his temples, were sharp and alert,
constantly glancing at Doc2, never seeming to be comfortable in one place.
Pearson had the distinct impression that this man was one hell of a
captain to be reckoned with.
"Yes. I was just wondering...have you ever been to Beta Hercules mining
colony? Before it was `annexed' by the Cardassians, I mean."
"Well, I was there for a couple of years. Why?"
"I just wanted to make sure of something. I wanted to make certain that
I was thanking the right person for saving my life all those years ago."
"Wait, wait, wait...you're Harry Maxwell?"
Maxwell smiled. "The very same."
"Then...this isn't some kind of cosmic coincidence. You wanted me
assigned here."
"I can think of no one else better to replace Leonard Boyce than the man
who helped bring me into this world."
"Uh...thank you, sir." Doc2 replied somewhat unsteadily.
"C'mon," he gestured, almost conspiratorily. "We've got a ship to
launch. I assume you're settled in?"
"Uhh...yes, sir."
"Well, then..." The two strode to the bridge.
<<Enterprise Clears Moorings--_Star Trek II_, James Horner>>
"Open a channel to UP control," Maxwell commanded. The comm officer did
so. "Utopia Planitia control, this is WDF Invulnerable. Request permission
to depart."
"Permission granted, Invulnerable."
"Thank you, control. Clear all moorings," Maxwell ordered briskly.
"Aye, sir," the helm officer, a young man by the name of Ditillio,
complied.
"Aft thrusters ahead."
"Aft thrusters, aye," Ditillio's fingers danced over his controls, and
the great battleship jetted towards the still-opening doors of the Dyson
Sphere. Another few seconds, and they were clear of the Sphere. "We are
clear and free to maneuver, sir." he reported.
Maxwell tabbed the comm on his chair. "Engineering."
"Aye, sir?" Lt. Commander Patrick "Mac" MacGregor answered. Contrary to
his name, his brogue was virtually nonexistent. That, however, didn't stop
people from making "Scotty" jokes. That aside, he was a more than competent
engineer.
"We'll be using warp drive shortly. Are the engines ready for a little
romp?"
"Sir," MacGregor sounded mollified. "These babies are *always* ready
for a 'little romp.'"
Maxwell allowed a small smile to creep into his face. "Very good, Mac,"
he said as he tabbed off the comm. "Mr. Ditillio. Set course for bearing 125
mark 37, warp 6."
"Aye, sir, warp 6."
The Invulnerable sped off to her destination, the Cardassian Border.
JUNE 2388
(395 years A.L.)
It'd been a while since Doc2 had shore leave. Most of the time, he'd
just relax with a medical journal (the latest had been an article on celluar
regeneration in non-Detians by Joe Moore). This time, things were different.
Captain Maxwell had been more than a little surprised to find that he didn't
have to strongarm his Chief Medical Officer into taking a rest.
However, he didn't come to Musashi for the climate (dark and rainy in the
domes, desert otherwise) or the tourist attractions (which were virtually
nonexistent). The reason for his visit could be summed up in two words:
Basic Nastiness. He had, amazingly, gotten a ticket to, arguably, one of the
most popular concerts in the Federation. It was one of the advantages of
having worked as a private investigator. You never ran out of sources, and
this one had given him a pretty good seat.
He'd tried to keep up with the members of the WDF, and he did a pretty
good job, considering the circumstances. During those years, Doc2 lost track
of Gryphon until '80, and MegaZone...well, for all intents and purposes, he
vanished back in 2288, covering his tracks rather thoroughly. ReRob, on the
other hand, was the only one (other than Ben in MegaTokyo) he'd actually
gotten in contact with during those long years, and even then, it was by
accident.
He'd been on that line of thought when he heard someone struggling.
Warily, he took out his stunner and slid the cover back, revealing a red and
green button.
Peering into a darkened alley, he could just make out several shapes.
One form was lying on the ground, fiercely fighting despite the awkward
position they were obviously in. There were three more shapes crowding the
one on the ground. He could barely hear what was going on. Slowly, he
creeped closer to the alley.
What he heard made his heart sink into his stomach.
"C'mon, bitch! You really expect to walk around like that and not get
noticed?"
"Hold 'er! Hold 'er, goddammit!"
"Let go of me, you filthy..." SMACK! One of the hoods hit her hard
across the face.
"Don't give us any backtalk if you wanna live, girlie."
[Oh, my God, they're going to...] Without any more prompting, he stepped
into the alley and got off two green pellets. They hit home, but didn't seem
to affect the human trash.
[Damn. They must be neural amped. Green pellets are useless on them.]
In realizing this, he switched to firing red pellets. One of the hoods
dodged, shining blades emerging from their fleshy prison, while his companion
was frozen in mid-charge.
[Too close for pellets.] he decided, then pocketed the stunner in favor
of his beam saber. With a _snap-hiss_, the green-white blade emerged from its
grip and was barely fully-extended when it met the alloy of the hood's
cyberblades.
From a tactical standpoint, it would have been much easier if Doc2 had
simply killed the hood dueling with him. However, he nixed that option. His
personal code against killing was well reflected in the weapons he chose; ion
gun for disabling rogue mechanoids and computers gone amuck, pellets from his
keychain stunner for organics, and his old friend, the British-Animetech model
52-B focused particle beam saber with Vari-length (tm), for when all hell
broke loose.
Said beam saber was optimized at a frequency that proved able to slice
through most metals. Say, for example, his current adversary's cyber-blades.
Needless to say, the punk was a bit surprised to find that, after a
second or two of sparking, he was suddenly bladeless. Rearing back his hand
for a punch, Doc2 beat him to it with a few dozen punches of his own.
Staggering back, Pearson put him out of his misery with a hop and a double
kick, paralyzing him with a red pellet for good measure.
[Well, that was a workout I didn't need.] Turning, he fired a green
pellet at a wall near the would-be rapist, getting his attention. Before he
knew it, the guy was being slammed against a wall, his pants still down. Two
hard punches to the chest left him wheezing for breath.
"Ahem. Last time I looked, attempted rape is immoral and illegal. Now,
normally, I'd let you off with a warning, say, if you were just littering.
But, in this case, I don't think so. Now, what am I going to do?" A devilish
smile creeped into his face. "Hold that thought." he said as he hit the
would-be rapist with a red pellet.
Now, Pearson was normally the kind of person who was tolerant of most
ideas. After all, having an open mind goes a long way. However, what he had
just witnessed had touched off something that he had long since believed: Rap-
ists were assholes who didn't deserve any pity.
Right now, he was fighting the urge to start slicing and dicing the guy.
However, he simply *couldn't*, in all good conscience, leave him like that.
At least, not without a little discouragement from pursuing this venue any
further.
Rearing his right fist back, he proceeded to pummel the thug. 100
punches later, the thug collapsed stiffly on the brick wall. There wasn't
anything broken, but it would be some time before pain decided to part company
with him.
Turning his back on the thug, he kneeled and extended a hand to the girl,
who had been watching the whole spectacle with uncertainty. Nervously, she
placed one of her hands in his, the other trying to hold up what she was
wearing.
"You all right?" he asked gently as he helped her up. It was a
suprising contrast to the venom which he had unleashed to her tormentors.
She mutely nodded her head, the shock of the situation having caught up
to her. In the back of her mind, a small voice urged her to continue to be
cautious, in case he just wanted her himself.
She needn't have worried. Whipping out a medical tricorder from his
jacket, he detached the scanner and ran a few readings.
[Hmm...a few cuts and bruises, but nothing that any decent hospital can't
take care of.] Pearson commented to himself. "What's your name?"
"A-ashley. Ashley Stevens." she stammered.
"That's a nice name," he murmured while he double-checked his readings.
"Umm...I don't suppose you happen to know the number for the police or
anything? I, uh...I'm not from around here." he understated, drawing a
chuckle from the girl. From within his jacket, he produced a small telephone
and dialed the number that she told him.
"Hello? Ah, yes, I'd like to report an attempted rape. Where? Well,
I'm in an alley near the southeast corner of 15th street and Corwin Way. You
don't get many calls about this, do you? Oh. Yeah, well, I think that might
be a bit of a problem. The girl? Oh, she's fine. Yeah, I'm going to grab a
taxi and send her to a hospital. She's got some nasty cuts and bruises. The
suspects? I don't think they're going anywhere, at least, not for another 11
hours or so. No, they're not dead, they're just paralyzed," he cupped the
receiver. "The operator wants to know if you want to press charges."
Ashley nodded. "Yeah," he said, returning to the phone. "yeah, she
does. Hmm? I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that? You normally don't condone
vigilante actions? What the hell was I supposed to do, watch and let 'em gang
up on her, then let this turn into a rape case, or maybe murder? Like hell am
I gonna let that happen if I'm around! Oh. A lot of Vesperites don't feel
the same way, do they? Look, just skip the sarcasm and send someone to the
alley I just described. And while you're at it, if you have any further
questions, Miss Stevens and I will be at Vesper Community Hospital. Yes, that
is all. A formal complaint? That depends. Would it actually get through
that convoluted bureaucracy sometime this century? Uh huh. I thought so.
Who am I? Commander Pearson "Doc" Mui, CMO onboard the WDF Invulnerable. I
personally don't care *what* you think of the WDF when you put it that way,
sir. Look, I'd *love* to stay on the phone and discuss what all we Wedgies do
with our spare time, but I've got a girl bleeding here. Goodbye." Hanging up
the phone, he grunted disgustedly. [The bureaucratic mentality is the only
constant in the universe.]
"Take care of yourself, okay?" he told Ashley as she was being admitted
to the hospital. Snagging a doctor by the elbow, he told him, "Any costs of
her recovery are to be made out to me. My card." he whipped out a small
business card with his phone number, fax number, and Internet address.
[I'mnotgoingtomakeitI'mnotgoingtomakeit...] he thought as he rushed to
the entrance of Dry Park. [YES! I made it! And with only...] he checked
his watch, [ten minutes to spare! Let's hear it for the gentleman in the
rumpled raincoat! Haaaahhhhh...]
(Under ordinary circumstances, a train of thought like the one he had just
had would have been cause for concern. However, considering the extraordinary
circumstances, that could be forgiven.)
Finding his seat, he went limp and prepared himself for the spectacle
that was about to begin. Above the stage, a huge digital clock counted down
the time until the century of the Wayward Son's crash.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
The stagelights flared on, and four voices wove their tapestry of sound.
Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't'cha cry no more
[This...is living.] Doc2 thought to himself, a very satisfied smile on
his face.
Chapter 34---------------------------------------------------------------------
"The actions that we take in the next few hours could determine whether
we live to explore new galaxies or disappear into obscurity like the
Samkonian fruit fly with its lifespan of approximately 10.8 nanoseconds."
--Lt. Commander Dacron, _Star Wreck III_
AUGUST 2388
(395 years A.L.)
Doc2 stood on the bridge of the Invulnerable with mixed feelings. On one
hand, he took some solace in the fact that this battle was going to occur as
it should. On the other hand, he always hated the inevitable casualties that
made their way to Sickbay.
Captain Maxwell sat forward in his seat, a strange mixture of antici-
pation and dread masked under his professional exterior. His grey eyes were
anxious, constantly jumping around from station to station. Two months ago,
the Invulnerable was the closest ship to Wolf 359 when GENOM flattened the
Federation Starfleet. The ship arrived at the site, but it was too late.
That region of space had been turned into a graveyard, and there was nothing
that could be done except follow the order to regroup at Utopia Planitia. The
memory of that distress signal still haunted the crew.
Doc2 alone knew that it wouldn't be repeated at Zeta Cygni.
"Worried, Captain?" Doc2 asked.
"Understandably, yes." his bass voice responded. "I just hope we don't
overflow Sickbay."
The Invulnerable herself was paired with the class ship Excelsior, who
was ably commanded by Captain Sulu. The fleet stationed themselves in a
defensive perimeter about 40 kilometers away from the Dyson Sphere.
<<"The Battle for Peace", _Star Trek VI_>>
"Sir, I'm picking up multiple targets." the weapons officer stated.
"Visual." Maxwell commanded.
"Aye, sir."
The screen flickered into an image of the GENOM fleet.
"Magnification factor 3."
Doc2 gaped. The size of the armada was...intimidating, to say the least.
There were huge, hourglass-shaped Basestars, Ikazuchi battle carriers, and
the gigantic Star Destroyers. In front of them was a ship that dwarfed them,
a Dreadnaught.
"Huwaaah..."
Captain Maxwell concurred. "I think that about says it, Doc."
"Sir, Concordia reports all fighters away. All decks ready for combat."
"Red alert, shields up, all power to weapons." Maxwell said with prac-
ticed ease. The bridge pulsed red as the klaxon screamed into the decks. The
easy tone with which he voiced the commands was betrayed by the tensing of his
neck muscles.
"Admiral Kirk on audio, sir."
"Pipe it through."
"This is Admiral Kirk, commanding WDF Enterprise. All ships, set course
for 243 mark 17 and engage the enemy of your choice," he paused a bit before
continuing. "Good luck everyone." He signed off.
"Full impulse power. Target the lead Star Destroyer and see if we can't
knock out those shield generators." Maxwell ordered, perched forward on the
center seat.
"Aye, sir."
Invulnerable and several other ships, mostly Excelsior and Constitution
class, sped forward. The massed group let loose a fierce volley of photon
torpedoes, more than what the Destroyer could handle. The shields flared red,
then ceased altogether, one of the generators going in a flaming ball. Another
volley, this from Invulnerable, gutted the bridge.
For the first time that he'd known him, Doc2 noticed a faint gleam in his
eyes. Harrison Maxwell was not what one would call overly emotional.
However, he seemed rather...satisfied at having helped strike the first blow.
His satisfaction didn't last long. The Invulnerable received a jolt to
the starboard section, rocking everyone on the bridge. Maxwell gripped the
arms of his command chair in order to maintain his balance.
"Evasive maneuver, Maxwell Beta three. Damage report, Mr. Ditillio." he
said calmly, in direct opposition to what he was feeling.
"Direct hit on secondary hull. Shields at 85 percent and holding."
WHUMP! "Seventy-five percent."
"Avoid the turbolaser fire from the Star Destroyers," he instructed.
"Head for bearing 159 mark 23 and let's see if we can't help out Admiral Kirk
with that Ikazuchi."
"Aye, sir."
A Constitution-class ship, the WDF Hood, was caught in the turbolaser
crossfire being sprayed from the Star Destroyer. The impulse engines flared
valiantly as she tried to escape, but the green-yellow bolts hammered her
relentlessly. She listed, her shields spent, gashes being torn in her hull
from missiles and energy blasts of almost every imaginable weapon. The ship's
portside warp nacelle exploded, and she spiralled into the Destroyer, slamming
against the larger ship's hull as the matter/anti-matter containment fields
flickered, then gave, loosing Armageddon in the form of wholesale destruction.
"My...God." Maxwell whispered. He was no stranger to battle; in fact,
he was a recipient of the Robert April medal for critical thinking and an
experienced strategist.
However, this...this was not a simple campaign. This was a frenzied
free-for-all. It suddenly became very easy to imagine the various ships
reduced to growling, snarling animals. Around them, the larger ships seemed
to emulate their fighter counterparts in swerving, diving, maneuvering for
one-on-one battles.
Maxwell was shocked, for a moment; but only a moment. He had a ship to
run, and a fleet to help defeat.
"Captain, I believe I'll be of better use in Sickbay." Doc2 said.
Maxwell gave him a curt nod, and Pearson was off to the turbolift, just
managing to avoid hitting his head against a bulkhead as the Invulnerable
received another hit.
"Murtaugh! Rouse!" he called as he entered what was nicknamed, "Doc's
domain." "What've we got so far?"
"Minor injuries, mostly from deck 6." Murtaugh reported.
"It's gonna get worse..." Rouse commented.
"I hope not..." Doc2 murmured. "All medical teams on full standby,
especially in Engineering." he ordered. "This is gonna be a hell of a fight."
Calling up an exterior view on his screen, Doc2 found himself still
astonished at the sheer immensity of the armada that GENOM had assembled. The
view changed as the Invulnerable wove through openings with remarkable
nimbleness for its size.
Suddenly, every screen on both sides of the battle changed to a
split-screen of Gryphon and his Buma counterpart, who currently looked like he
was running for a Kano impersonation with a cybernetic cowl covering a quarter
of his face.
"Huwaaah..." Pearson whispered.
Everyone on both sides watched as Gryphon, in spite of the hell that the
replicant had put him through, offered him one last chance to surrender.
Naturally, the replicant refused. Being evil and insane does that to a
person.
[Author's note: This should coincide with the music at about 6 minutes, 12
seconds into the soundtrack. If you've seen ST VI, you'll know why. :-)]
"Last chance," Gryphon called.
"I'll see you in hell!" the replicant shrieked back.
Doc2 wondered what was going on. He knew that, like its predecessor,
Dreadnaught II had phase shields. No conventional weapon could get to the
star destroyer as long as those shields could whisk it away to another
dimension. However, he knew that Gryphon and all the key members of the WDF
*would* survive today. The question was...how? Being a mere commander
hardly gave him the clearance for the more hush-hush of the WDF's secrets.
He could almost imagine Gryphon giving the order to fire as he saw the
Concordia spit out an expanding white capsule of unimaginable power. It
crashed through the phase shields of Dreadnaught II, carving its path through
hardened alloy like the proverbial hot knife through butter.
Dreadnaught II was nearly split in half by that single shot when it
exploded into a godzillion flinders, the debris bouncing off of the shields of
the Concordia and any ships that happened to be nearby.
He didn't see this part, however, as he was assaulted by what felt like
an ice pick through his brain.
"Agh..." he groaned softly as he began to massage his temples. He
hadn't had a headache in decades, but this was a doozy. The throbbing quickly
subsided, but not before Roger Murtaugh noticed his discomfort.
"You all right, Doc?"
"Y-yeah," he nearly grunted, "Wh-what just happened?"
"Admiral Hutchins' ship just wiped the floor with that Star Destroyer. I
mean, he just took it out with one shot! Went right through their shields,
and BOOM! No more Star Destroyer."
"The same one that managed to divert our fire to Never-Never land?"
"Yup, that's the one. Or, I should say, *was* the one."
Pearson stared at the screen, lost in thoughts that had suddenly
surfaced. [Percy once theorized that phase shields aren't based upon a single
frequency, but are dependent on multiply redundant dimensional phase-shift
resonances. That means, it could access any given dimension at any given time
to divert any projectile aimed at it. However, if Ben's weapon just smashed
through the shields...and if I just *happened* to have a headache at the exact
same moment that that happened...] Pearson's eyes lit up with his conclusion.
"GREAT SCOTT!" he exclaimed.
"Uh, Doc, are you feeling okay?" Roger asked.
"Okay? OKAY?!" he cried out as he rose from his chair and gripped
Murtaugh's shoulders. "Roger, I've just figured out something that's been
plaguing me for the last FOUR CENTURIES!"
"That's nice, Doc. Could you let go of my shoulders, now?"
"Oh, sorry. Anyway, I've just figured all of it out!"
"Why hot dogs are in packs of eight and hot dog buns are in packs of
ten?" Roger asked in as calm a voice as he could manage.
"No," Pearson said with just a touch of distaste. He felt somewhat
giddy, as if he'd just discovered the secrets of the universe. "I've figured
out why my past self leaped here a few weeks later, and not further into the
future."
"Uh...yeah, great. I'll just be checking on the patients. Over there.
Okay? Okay, good." Murtaugh backed off, fearing that Doc2 had just blown a
mental fuse.
Switching a section his terminal to record a log, he began. "Personal
log. Eureka. Somehow, the main weapon on board the Concordia has managed to
punch a hole into what Edison Bell once termed `leapspace,' the area in which
all subjects of Richard Lambert's leaping process must travel. I experienced
some discomfort as that dimensional barrier was breached, and I suspect that I
am, somehow, still attuned to leapspace. Make a note: If and when Edison
Bell shows up, have him expect my younger self on the thirtieth of this month,
on the bridge of the SDF-23 Wandering Child," he paused to briefly see what
appeared to be a glowing blue dot on the same course as the GENOM fleet. The
dot grew, and suddenly space seemed to burst open, looking not so much as a
crater emitting intense white light. Something emerged from the rift,
blocking the light from within. Within moments, the rift was gone, and the
object it had disgorged remained.
The object was approximately the size of an M-class planet, but metallic,
with a circular depression just above the equator, which was represented with
a trench.
On the bridge, the sight was enough to make Captain Maxwell rise from his
seat, his eyes wide with astonishment and more than a little fear. No one on
the bridge noticed his reaction. They were far too amazed.
"Damn..." Maxwell whispered.
"Oh...boy." Doc2 Becketted, then shook off a mild headache that was
beginning to make itself known in the back of his head. [First that weapon
Gryphon used on the Dreadnaught, now the fold. I wonder...] he considered an
idea, tapping his index finger. [Could it be possible that each successive
dimensional breach causes...]
His train of thought was rudely derailed by the new addition to the Zeta
Cygni system, which voiced its displeasure of the Dyson Sphere by firing an
incredibly powerful green laser, smashing through tons of carbon-neutronium
alloy. The impact of the beam had nearly destroyed the WDF Arizona, slamming
the hapless vessel nearly halfway to the star within the Sphere.
For an agonizing moment, there was silence on both sides. Then, viewers
in the immediate area switched themselves on, each with the same view of
Largo's glowering face.
"Is it not amazing," he said, "the places in which old friends meet?"
Out of Doc2's immediate view, Rob Mandeville's ship, the Phoenix, was
caught in a web of firepower in an attempt to draw fire from the Kansas. It
worked, perhaps too well. Almost all gun batteries of a nearby Ikazuchi
turned and concentrated their fury on the brave, but doomed ship. The
Concordia moved closer to the Phoenix, her shields flaring red from hits that
would have most certainly destroyed a lesser vessel. Moving off, the Phoenix
exploded, her warp containment field breached. Moments later, the Concordia
sent the primary tormentor of the Phoenix to its final reward with another
blast from the phase-transit cannon.
Almost immediately afterwards, the successor to the legendary Wayward
Son, the SDF-23 Wandering Child, jetted out of the Sphere. In his command
chair, MegaZone smacked the fleet comm control. "All vessels, this is SDF-23!
Break off, scatter formations!" he bellowed. "Don't give that monstrosity
massed targets! Evasive maneuvers--try to get behind it--" Any attention
that may have been paid to the Admiral was quickly diverted by the destruction
of the WDF Hornet, a carrier. It had been destroyed by the planetoid as
easily as one might smack a fly.
Harrison Maxwell knew that he was seriously outclassed. He also knew
that, in the melee that this battle was, the actions of one ship could make
all the difference. He was suddenly aware that the entire bridge had turned
to him. They were waiting for his order.
[They're a good crew.] he mused, then set his mind to other things.
"Mr. Ditillio."
"Aye, sir?"
"Break formation with Excelsior. Initiate maneuver Maxwell Omega 3, your
discretion."
"Aye, sir."
"I have an incoming message from--"
Bip. "Greetings, Wedge Rats," Largo said formally, addressing the
massed armada. "I, for those of you who do not know me, am Largo."
"Turn the thing off! I'm sick of his face..." Maxwell muttered.
"Sorry, sir, I can't. It's on all channels."
"Allow me to present to you my greatest invention: the GENOM Armored
Tyranny and Terror," Largo continued. "This is the prototype of the
battlestation which will someday soon hover over every inhabited world in
space, enforcing my rule. I hope you consider it a worthy foe; I'd hate to
think you had died an unworthy death." The connection closed, replacing the
view of Largo's leering face with something almost as bad: the WDF Sulu, a
ship of the same class as the Invulnerable and Excelsior, was blasted and
destroyed by the AT&T in short order.
MegaZone tabbed the fleetcom once more. "All WDF vessels, this is
MegaZone. Clear our firezone--SDF-23 is powering up main gun to fire. Clear
firezone."
"You have got to be kidding me," Markus Ditillio said after steering the
ship out of the way. "No way in hell can they shoot through all *those*
ships."
"This is not the old Reflex Cannon, Mr. Ditillio," Maxwell replied
enigmatically. He flicked on the comm switch for Sickbay. "Doc, are all your
patients stable?"
"Yup, they're all sleeping peacefully. We were lucky; no fatalities."
"May I suggest that you hurry to the bridge? The SDF-23 is about to
deploy her main gun, and I'd hate for you to miss the fireworks."
"On my way." The grin and eagerness was evident in his voice as he
rushed to the nearest turbolift, leaving Murtaugh in charge.
He made it just in time to see the Wandering Child repeatedly annihilate
the GENOM fleet in front of her, leaving a 30 degree cone of free-floating
particles where there had once been ships of all types.
The goliath battlestation voiced its displeasure by leveling its main gun
at the fortress. The former fired a green beam--
--which was splintered well before impact, the once coherent beam
scattering out like a thousand thin green javelins.
"BWAH?" The entire bridge crew exclaimed, including Maxwell.
Obviously not at all pleased, the battlestation fired again, the green
death streaking towards the bridge of the fortress. The incoming beam seemed
to loom over the bridge, the glow becoming all the more intense before--
--everything seemed to stop for a second.
Puzzled, Doc2 glanced at his surroundings. No doubt about it.
Everything had literally stopped dead in its tracks, from fighters, to the
heavy ships, to even energy bolts and missiles.
[What in the world?] He had the feeling that something was approaching
him. Looking over his shoulder at where Turbolift B should have been, there
was only a strange blankness.
He didn't even have time to think before it swept through him, leaving
behind nothing.
It remained that way for a brief time, the only pocket of the reality
that had formerly existed centered on the bridge of the SDF-23. Moments
later, everything returned. Doc2 shook his head, not sure of exactly what had
just occurred. He didn't have the luxury of pondering his brief touch with
nonexistence as he watched the green bolt of energy streaked towards the
bridge of the SDF-23. It seemed that the Wandering Child was going to be
destroyed as the beam loomed closer and closer--
--until a yellowish bolt of energy splintered it.
[We've been flirting with death for the past couple of minutes, haven't
we?] Doc2 idly thought to himself.
"Sir, GENOM fleet appears to be retreating. Shall we pursue?" Ditillio
asked.
"Not unless Admiral MegaZone gives the order to do so." [Better to not
take the risk, just in case it's a feint.] Maxwell thought.
Minutes later, after witnessing every fighter being launched towards the
AT&T, Doc2 couldn't help but smile.
"Something amusing, Doc?"
He nodded. "Somehow, Captain, I think that Largo's gonna get his at
Gryphon's hands."
"I wouldn't be surprised, Doc," Maxwell replied, smiling thoughtfully.
The battle was *finally* over. A Buma by the name of Kwei-Chang Caine
had supplied the WDF with command codes of the entire GENOM fleet, after
a WDF strike team had captured the AT&T. Of course, there was also the space
duel between Iczer-1 and Iczer-2 (the science officer, Mr. Parkens, had
decided on a lark to videotape the entire duel.), which Vaughn had intervened
in. Eventually, on behalf of the combined GENOM fleet, Iczer-2 surrendered
before MegaZone, shortly before falling asleep on the deck of the SDF-23. That
settled, the cleanup operations began.
Doc2 trudged to his quarters after ordering Rouse and Murtaugh to not
disturb him for the next day or so. Entering his quarters, he flopped onto
his bed, barely taking the time to take off his glasses.
[What now?] was his only thought before sleep overtook him.
AUGUST 30, 2388
1000 HOURS
SDF-23 WANDERING CHILD (CURRENTLY DOCKED AT UTOPIA PLANITIA, ZETA CYGNI)
(L3)
For Doc, the time between leaps was virtually nil. The surroundings
merely turned blue-white, then blinding white, then faded to the new time era.
The whole time, this would be accompanied by a "pulling" sensation, as if he
were being led to his next destination.
This time, however, things would prove to be different.
For one thing, he materialized about a meter off of the floor. Of
course, not being immune to gravity (artificial as it was), his 130 lb. frame
accelerated at 9.8 meters per second squared, and the resulting force from the
impact was focused mainly to the facial area.
Translation: he fell flat on his face. (I hate physics!)
"Yeow!" FWUMP! "Uhhh...yeah, that was fun..." Pushing himself off of
the floor, he fought back the usual wave of nausea that threatened the current-
ly clean deck. Getting on his knees, he tried to get his bearings.
He was obviously on the bridge of a ship, that much was for sure. Which
ship, though?
"You okay, Doc?" a voice behind him asked.
"Yeah, I'm all right." Waitaminute. I *know* that voice. He looked up
(and up) to find MegaZone (in some kind of uniform he didn't recognize. The
rank pin on his shoulder strap, however, looked suspiciously like an admiral's
cross from Star Trek II and up.) offering him a hand. Doc took it, and was
hoisted to a standing position, gaping at the layout.
"Ummm....hi." he said sheepishly.
"In for another twenty years, huh, Doc?" Yuri asked.
"Uh, yeah, I guess..." out of pure habit, he checked his watch---and did
a double take, whispering, "Jee-zus quack."
"What? What's the matter?" Zoner asked.
Silently, Doc held out his watch for all to see.
9:42:20. 21...22...23...
While everyone was trying to comprehend what this meant, the door to the
bridge slid open to admit Edison Bell.
"Edison!" Doc exclaimed.
"Hello, Doc." He replied calmly, taking out a complicated looking instru-
ment and began to scan Doc with it.
"Why do I get the feeling that you were expecting me?" Doc asked.
"Very perceptive." Edison said off-handedly, suppressing a smile. Just
hours ago, Doc's older self had contacted him with the vague knowledge that
something of interest was going to happen. He finished his scan.
"So, what's the verdict? Am I going to live?"
"Not only are you going to live, you're going home in..." he checked the
watch, then the reading on his scanner, "16 minutes and 25 seconds."
"What? How?" Doc was beginning to slip into Arthur Dent mode. "Did
something big happen?"
At this point, everyone began regaling his or her version of what happened
in the last month. It was a bit much to take in, seeing as how they alternated
between themselves, barely pausing to take a breath.
Needless to say, Doc was a little overwhelmed by what he heard. There
were also quite a few theories about his current situation being thrown around,
but the gist of it was that something *big* had torn open a hole in the space-
time continuum, big enough to reach wherever he went between leaps. (Edison
called it "leap space," for lack of a better term.)
Everyone except Doc looked slowly out the viewport towards the orbiting
GENOM AT&T.
"You're kidding, right?" he asked incredulously. "A fold the size of a
planet whipped me down here?"
("BTW," he mumbled, "That looks suspiciously like the Death Star."
"That's the GENOM AT&T," Zoner corrected him.
"Hmph. I'd hate to cheat on phone bills from *those* guys." he quipped.
Everyone, understandably, groaned.)
"That appears to be the case."
"Cool. Just, uh, two more things before I'm off..." Doc said, almost
slipping into his Columbo voice.
"One?" Zoner prompted.
"Am I still...around? Alive? Not six feet under? I don't want to know
where I end up. Just tell me if I'm still around now." [Geez, I'm babbling
here. Ah, hell. I'm entitled.]
"Doc," Edison began, "You *are* still alive, and..." Doc held up his
finger, clearing his throat meaningfully. "Doing quite well where you are."
he finished. "What's your second question?"
"Just in case what I have in mind doesn't work out...exactly how did you
guys (meaning the WDF) get back together?" If, as he suspected, he couldn't
change history, he would at least be able to content himself with the fact
that everything turned out okay in the end.
They told him and he smiled an old, old, "boy, I've been through some
kind of Hell" smile.
"Well, it's been fun," he said, looking at his watch, which read 9:59:50.
"See you in the future," he Doc Browned, then reverted to his usual (I hesi-
tate to say normal :-)) voice. "And the past, not to mention the present."
Doc gave them a thumbs-up, then vanished.
<< "Rocket Man" --Elton John >>
GALLIFREY
TIME: UNKNOWN
As soon as the leap effect vanished, Pearson knew that something was
wrong. He was surrounded by several people in what appeared to be scholars'
robes.
This was definitely NOT the basement of BSB.
"What in the world?" he muttered.
"Forgive us for the rather...abrupt manner in which we brought you here,
but we wished to clarify certain points." the apparent leader said
apologetically.
"Forgive me for asking, but who're you? And, if I may press further,"
Doc stated in a somewhat irritated voice, "Why am I not home?"
"All will be answered in due course. To your first question, we are the
Time Lords of Gallifrey. We have summoned you here because you are in a truly
unique position. You have knowledge of events to come."
"You're afraid that I'm going to change history." Pearson deduced.
"Precisely," The leader continued. "You must understand that we
*cannot* allow this to happen. Normally, we prefer not to intervene in such
events, but to observe. In several situations like this, we
have...selectively induced amnesia so as to allow the proper timeline to
assert itself. However, in your case, with you being such a passionate young
man dedicated to life, and also due to the fact that you are now a Detian,
that option is closed to us. We therefore have no choice but to enlist the
aid of outside forces in maintaining your timeline."
"So, that's it? I'm tried, convicted, and sentenced for crimes against
my timeline that I haven't even conceived of doing?"
"You have no idea of the potential damage you could do!" another member
exclaimed. "He is another random element, much like the Doctor and Bell! The
only sure way of dealing with him is to..."
"I have no intention of nullifying his existence. You," the leader said
while glaring at the discrepant member, "are out of order."
The member bit back a scathing reply, muttering, "My apologies."
"We have decided. You will not attempt to alter the natural course of
your native timeline. Any attempt to do so will be met with severe
consequences. Furthermore, contact with the Detian known as Edison Bell on
this subject is restricted, and any attempt to enlist aid from him in this
particular matter will also result in severe consequences. This tribunal
stands adjourned."
Pearson, still in shock over what had just occurred, glanced at his
watch.
10:00:00 A.M. Time hadn't passed at all. He was trying to puzzle this
out when the familiar leap effect enveloped him.
"Was that wise, stipulating that he could not alter only his own
timeframe? Could that not, in fact, be interpreted as being given freedom
over intervention in other dimensions? Would that not be fundamentally
chaotic?"
"His intervention in those dimensions has proved quite useful in the
past. I see no reason why we should restrict his actions on other
dimensions. Besides, the results from those interactions has proven to be
most...interesting, don't you think?"
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 1992, THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT CHICAGO
BEHAVIORAL SCIENCES BUILDING
10:00 A.M.
Doc materialized in the chamber, big-time p.o.'ed. [What the hell was
going on?!] he fumed. [I just finished leaping, and on my way home, I get
waylaid by the Time Lords of Gallifrey!]
[Let it go for now,] he told himself. [I'm getting too old (HA!) and
tired to put up with all the crap that's been thrown my way.]
Stepping out of the chamber, Professor Lambert rushed towards him, note-
pad and pen ready. Doc dutifully answered his questions. When asked for a
comment, he had none, although he was sorely tempted to tell the professor to
go to hell. Of the people present in the room, only he knew the fate of the
project.
He sort of muddled his way through the rest of the day. It was odd,
having to reacquaint oneself with a life lived forty years ago. When he got
off the train, he found, as always, that his brother's red Grand Prix was
waiting for him.
Doc threw his backpack on the car floor and flopped into the passenger's
seat, letting out a long sigh as he closed the door behind him.
"You okay?" Percy asked.
"Yeah, I'm all right." He idly examined the wedding band on his left
hand. Twenty five years to go...
"Hey, what's with the ring?"
Doc smiled tiredly. "Step on it, Percy. It's a looong story."
When they got home, Percy left the car idling outside the garage. He'd
been digesting what his younger (although that appeared only relative) brother
had told him. Needless to say, it was a bit much.
Any doubts he had about his brother's veracity were quickly laid to rest
by the three sonic booms on the street facing their house. The DeLorean
emerged, and pulled into the spot next to them, sans occupants.
Percy faced Pearson and said slowly, "This'll be a little tough to ex-
plain to Mom and Dad. Mom, especially."
"Ah, no big deal. I've been through worse." And I'll be throwgh worse,
he added silently. For now, though, he could afford to relax a little.
"Hey, are those ion cannons?" Doc nodded. "Coo-wool! Can't wait to
try 'em out." he said with a wicked grin on his face.
Then he froze.
"Percy?"
A starburst of light flared behind him, blinding Doc for a second. It
faded, and in its place was a blond-haired man in a WDF uniform.
"He can't hear you." the man replied.
"Who're you?"
"I am Q, or, at least, that's the best that your primitive language can
do. I am here at the...request of the Time Lords." he uttered the last part
with a great deal of sarcasm.
"Uh, 'scuse me, but I thought Q was a guy that looked a lot like John de
Lancie."
Q frowned. "Oh, him. He was...occupied. Frankly, I have no idea what
he sees in that bald-pated twit."
"Jean-Luc Picard? He actually exists?"
"Of course he exists. Everything is possible in the multiverse."
"So...what do you want?"
"You actually don't know? Ah, well, your meeting on Gallifrey was a bit
abrupt. To put it in terms your mind can understand, I am something akin to
a `parole officer.' I am here to make sure that you do not interfere with
the natural history of events."
Huwaah.
AUGUST 30, 2388
HOFFMAN ESTATES, ILLINOIS, EARTH.
10:30 A.M.
(395 years A.L.)
Doc2 smiled as the modified DeLorean vanished along the road, leaving a
pair of fire trails behind. It wasn't as if he was losing anything, as he had
the other, older DeLorean back in the shuttlebay of the Invulnerable. He was
merely returning it to himself.
[Well, that's it,] he thought to himself with a faint smile on his face.
[I've done my part for king, country, and the space-time continuum.]
He was free.
"Invulnerable, this is Doc. One to beam up."
=0C
Chapter 35---------------------------------------------------------------------
"And strangest of all is it to hold my wife's hand again, and to think
that I have counted her, as she has counted me, among the dead."
--Narrator, H.G. Wells' _The War of the Worlds_
WDF INVULNERABLE, NCC-2001
SICKBAY
11:00 A.M.
Doc2 picked up the holophoto, one of him and his wife on one of their
rare vacations. The picture had Keriyn looking amusedly at him while he wrung
his clothes out. Boating was definitely not his forte.
[I just wish that...I mean, I wish I could've told her everything. I al-
ways did feel like slime when I had to hold back on her.]
He sighed. This was something that had been haunting him for the last
138 years. Doc2 put the photo down and sat in quiet contemplation of his life,
and what he'd done with it so far.
His rumination was interrupted by the appearance of a small, pulsing blue-
white dot, seemingly floating in the space in front of his desk. As he
watched, the dot grew into a vaguely humanoid shape.
[My God,] he thought. [It's a leaper. But who--?]
The form began to take on some detail, the features of the face becoming
clear as the blue aura of the leap effect faded away.
It was Keriyn.
She collapsed face first, and would have hit her head if he hadn't caught
her. Doc2 held her for a second when he realized that something was wrong.
She wasn't breathing. Pulse was steady, but she just wasn't getting any
air.
He laid her on the desk and immediately began mouth-to-mouth. [I lost you
twice, love,] he thought grimly. [I'm *not* going to lose you again.]
"Murtaugh! Rouse!" he barked into the comm. "Medical emergency in Sick-
bay!" That said and done, he continued his ministrations.
She coughed violently, then sat up and vomited on the carpet. Wiping the
corner of her mouth, she took deep breaths to steady herself.
"It's all right, Ker. Everything's going to be okay." he said in a
hushed voice.
Keriyn looked confusedly at her surroundings, then at her savior. "Pear-
son?" she croaked.
He nodded. "Yeah, it's me."
She eyed him suspiciously for a moment. My God, she thought to herself.
It *is* him. But, what happened? Where am I?
[It couldn't hurt to give him a hug,] she berated herself. [After all, he
*did* just save my life. Again.]
She did so so fiercely that she threatened to crack his ribs, the stench
of burnt wiring and smoke evident on her uniform.
"I thought I'd never see you again," she whispered. "I thought I was
going to die...I..."
"Shhh..." he whispered as the medtechs arrived. There'd be time to talk
about that later. They had all the time in the world for explanations. For
now, though, he just wanted to hold her and never let go.
[Author's note: Okay, so maybe I'm overdoing it a little bit. Let's see
*you* be separated for that long, and not react similar to this. :-)]
<<Baby Hold On--Eddie Money>>
SEVERAL HOURS LATER
Doc2 sat in Sickbay. He'd run every scan he could think of on her, and
verified that she wasn't a Buma, clone, or dimensional counterpart. It was
Keriyn, all right. But how?
A familiar starburst of light appeared.
"Hello, Q. What brings you here?" he said without even looking.
"I have what you would consider good news," Q replied while idly
examining his fingernails. "After today, you have no need to fear changing
history."
"Well, yippee. I knew that." Doc2 replied sarcastically.
The omnipotent being glared at him. "You don't get it, do you? From now
on, you're just another being who lives in the present. You're no longer a
threat to the space-time continuum. Besides, you've got your wife back."
"Yeah, how *did* that happen? My TI field should've been exhausted
centuries ago. There shouldn't have been anything left to transfer to her,
much less cause her to leap."
"Your field, instead of dissipating, eventually regenerated. Over the
years, you slowly transferred the field to your wife, which adapted to her."
"Meaning, I could be induced to leap again."
"You don't have to worry about that. The last vestige of your field was
used up by your wife."
He continued. "Lambert's research proved to be a bit more...disruptive
than was originally anticipated. Certain measures had to be taken."
"Measures like making sure that no one else survive their leaps, right?
That seems a bit extreme."
"Well, I didn't have much choice, now did I? Any other questions before
I depart from your life?"
"Yeah, just one. Was it really necessary for me to believe that Keriyn
was dead all those years?"
"Hmm...no, not really. But, it was part of the plan. And besides, there
was some...small bit of entertainment as I watched you attempt to deal with
that," Q smirked maliciously.
Doc2 quietly rose from the chair, seething with anger. "It...wasn't...
necessary?!" he asked slowly.
"Not at all, come to think of it." Q replied smugly. "Aw...are you
angry? Go ahead, hit me. Come on, plant one right on my jaw." He stuck out
his chin for emphasis.
Doc2 gave him a vicious right cross to the jaw, followed by a good old-
fashioned punch to the gut. A hop kick then threw the omnipotent being into
the wall, where he collapsed into a heap.
[Damn, that felt good.]
"You...hit...me. You have the temerity to strike a member of the Q
continuum!" Q rose slowly, rage burning from his eyes. "For that, I will..."
A moment of wide-eyed confusion, and he disappeared.
Somehow, he had the distinct feeling that Q wouldn't be back for a while.
[Fine with me.]
ELSEWHERE...
-Why did you take me away from him like that?- Q asked his fellow member
of the continuum.
-He may prove useful in the future. He has...an immunity to disruptions
in the fabric of space and time, even moreso than other Detians. We may need
him again.- Q2 said in a manner only vaguely like speech. -Yes,- he said as
he observed the events in several dimensions, -he could prove very useful.-
EPILOGUE-----------------------------------------------------------------------
"But then again, all good things must come to an end."--Q (John de Lancie)
OCTOBER 31, 2388
UTOPIA PLANITIA SHIPYARDS, ZETA CYGNI
(396 years A.L.)
Doc (not Doc2 anymore. There's only one of him from now on.) hitched the
beam saber on his belt, the handle gleaming from its recent polishing. For the
first time in centuries, the holoprojector was turned off. For him, there were
no more secrets to keep.
When Keriyn had recovered, he sent a full confession of his activities to
the captain of the Invulnerable, and to Admirals Kirk, Hutchins, and MegaZone.
Mysteriously, though, the communiques either hadn't been received at all, or
were hopelessly scrambled. At least, that's what the intended recipients
claimed.
His wife's mellow voice brought him out of his reverie. "Honey?" she
called out from across the room. "What do you think?"
He turned to find her in a gorgeous sky-blue evening gown, slit high up
her left leg, with several tastefully chosen accessories. Looking at her, one
would have never guessed that she had had four kids.
"Wow." was all he could manage
"Wow what?" she asked, amused at his reaction.
"Wow as in, `wow, you look great.'"
"Thanks," she beamed a smile at him as she grabbed her purse. "Come on,
or we're going to be late."
"Okay, okay..." he said, barely pausing to tug onto the green turtleneck
of his dress uniform. He came up beside her and put an arm around her slim
waist, and she returned the favor for his shoulder.
"Y'know, it's about time that Gryphon and Kei tied the knot." she said.
"Yeah, tell me about it..."
As expected, the wedding was HUGE. They milled around (although Doc was
better at it than Keriyn was, being used to crowded spaces at UIC) and said hi
to a couple of old friends. Marty's wedding antic with the chorus did not go
unnoticed (is it possible for that kind of prank to be inconspicuous? I didn't
think so. But I digress...), and he congratulated him for the scheme. The
message was a blunt, but appropriate, one for the groom.
After that, they kind of wove their way to Gryphon, who was sipping what
appeared to be a glass of mineral water. After about 30 seconds of chitchat,
Doc got to the real reason of the conversation.
"Y'know," he began, "Funny thing about that transmission I sent you."
"What transmission?" Gryphon asked semi-innocently.
"Exactly. I don't suppose there was a faulty relay satellite that day?"
"Now that you mention it, Doc, there was. I wouldn't worry about it."
The smile on Ben's face was evident through his neatly-trimmed beard.
"Thanks, Ben." Doc said earnestly.
"No problem."
"Congratulations, Admiral," Keriyn said. "You're lucky you got her
back."
"Same thing goes for you two. Excuse me." With a slight nod, he was off.
They watched him disappear into the throng. Doc took this opportunity to
give his wife a peck on the cheek.
"You know what?" he asked her in a Droopy voice.
"What?"
"I'm happy. Hooray."
------------------------------------THE END------------------------------------
<<Famous Last Words--Billy Joel, _The River of Dreams_>>
---------------------------WARNING! AUTHOR BABBLE!----------------------------
Jee-zus quack. What have I gotten myself into?
Ahem. Let me try that again.
Well, here I am at the keyboard of my computer which my brother built for
me (don't ask how much it cost) thinking, "Oh, my god, I've created a monster."
To be honest, this and Leap Years Part 1 was *supposed* to have been a
one-shot deal. One big story, here it is, share and enjoy (tm). It was
supposed to be a simple story...Midwestern boy gets transported in time,
becomes a doctor, gains some unusual friends, and then goes back to his own
time. Said boy then goes through previously-seen events a second time
around...and gets back his wife, whom he never really lost. No big deal.
Then it grew.
And grew.
I think I have a *small* inkling of what Zoner, Gryphon, and ReRob
experienced when they just couldn't let UF stand at just one story. The
characters sort of grow on you...there are no perfect, flawless heroes in this
universe. Oh, sure, it'd certainly be easy to just write them as
one-dimensional, black and white, either/or. But then, it wouldn't be UF,
would it? Let's face it, who *really* wants to see these characters reduced
to archetypes, little more than cyphers? No one in their right mind, that's
for sure. This is why, I suspect, the big three (Z, G, ReR) chose to close
off this universe from other writers. Fortunately, I managed to get in *just*
before they did so. Many e-mail messages, and later, hours on #Eyrie, and
here we are.
Hmm...I've definitely embarked upon a tangent.
This is been quite an experience for me. I have to say (well, I don't
*have* to, but I'd like to) that Zoner, et. al. have been pretty darn patient
with a hack writer like me. They could have easily flamed the hell out of me
for the slightest inconsistency with their universe, but they were cool.
Patience is often considered a Good Thing (tm).
The main inside joke took the form of a character, namely, Keriyn Ajlond.
Now, Keriyn sounds like "Darien," the protagonist of Time Trax, and Ajlond
rhymes with "Azland," as in Peter Azland, a time-traveller in Ninja High
School. Of course, there were the obvious time travel jokes.
Who's Keriyn based on? Nobody. You heard me, nobody. Seeing as how I
don't have a girlfriend, I had to resort to...(gasp!) my imagination. One of
these days, I would like to meet someone like her. She doesn't necessarily
have to be Salusian, though. :-)
Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. Here's the playlist for both Leap Years Part 1 and
2. Okay, so I have generic taste in music. So bleah. :-)
Leap Years, Part 1:
The Future isn't Written--Back to the Future Part III
You're in my Soul--Rod Stewart
Dust in the Wind--Kansas
Show Me the Way--Styx
Leap Years, Part 2:
Back to the Future, Part III--Main Theme, Alan Silvestri
Enterprise Clears Moorings--Star Trek II, James Horner
The Battle for Peace--Star Trek VI, Cliff Eidelman
Rocket Man--Elton John
Baby Hold On--Eddie Money
Famous Last Words--Billy Joel
Any constructive comments, etc. (no flames, please) are welcome. My
address is U59...@UICVM.UIC.EDU.
Well, that's about it. Until next time (after I've recovered from this),
see you in the future!
(Copyright 1994-1995 by The Strange Medium Guy with a Bad Haircut. Insert
legalese here. Insert disclaimer here. 8-))
+----------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Pearson Mui (say it like "boy") |My personal philosophy- |
|U59...@UICVM.UIC.EDU |Nothing is impossible, merely improbable,|
|Self-proclaimed strange medium guy|impractical, or unfeasible. |
|with a bad haircut. ^_^ |BGC-UF-RANMA1/2 (Not in any order :-) ) |
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