Fan Fiction Contest - May 2010

Welcome to the Fleet's Fan Fiction Contest for May 2010.

This time there is no "intro" sentance and all stories posted or linked in this thread are automatically entered.

I'd like to wish all our members the best of luck, you will have to impress a jury of 5 randomly picked members to be chosen the winner.

The winning story will be published in this months Stonewall Times.

Sorry for the dumb question, but is the deadline the last day of May, or before then?

Don't be sorry for the question, just be sorry that I'm dumb enough to forget to include the closing date.

CLOSING DATE: Monday the 24th of May, 2010.

This will allow time for a judging panel to be randomly chosen and votes to be cast before the Times goes to press.

((here's my entry. Hope to see others submit theirs soon! As for the content...I have no excuse.))

“Captain’s Log: Stardate...uh...Stardate...dammit Line!” Eddie called out from the set.

“Stardate 3248.5,” called out the script-girl.

“Right...ok trying again...Captain’s Log: Stardate 3248.5: The enterprise has stumbled upon a planet surrounded by extreme time distortions. Dr. McCoy has accidentally shot up with an overdose and is running around the ship like a crazy person. Security is on full alert.”

“Spock to Kirk...”

“Kirk Here.”

“Captain, we have cornered--”

“CUT! Summer if you're on set don't smack your gum. AND PUT AWAY YOUR CELL PHONE!”

“Ugh. Yeah, no like, they're totally making me hang up...I KNOW I'm like, 'who do you think you are?'...Yeah...Oh We'll be done for lunch....Rodeo Drive? Yeah I'll have Desmond drive....I know he's so yummy, but hands off this one's mine. Ok see-ya girlfriend!” Summer gabbed into her bluetooth 'prop.'

“Let's try that again, Solek..and...don't try to put any emotion into it, just let it be dull and monotone.” the director said to Solek.

“Captain, we have cornered Dr. McCoy in the transporter room. Ensign--

“ohmygod I'm so sorry I'm late sir!” Desmond screamed as he scampered on set, tripping at the step and planting in front of Eddie.

“Oh bloody hell where have you been?” Quinn shouted at Desmond. The young man looked off into the distance and caught a wink from a tall set builder wearing a half-clasped pair of shredded dungarees.

“I was...uh...practicing lines...in my trailer and...lost track of time.” Desmond lied. Solek let out a burst of laughter from the transporter room set.

“Oh for chrissakes...Okay children listen up. If you can all stay focused and pay attention through the end of this act we can break for lunch. There's plenty of script to get through so I'd rather not revisit this crap so we can start filming tomorrow. Solek let's take it from your line...aand....ACTION!”

Captain, we have cornered Dr. McCoy in the transporter room. Ensign Ricky has him held at phaser point.”

Eddie forced his line through a slowly building fit of giggles,“Good. I’m on my way.”

“And Cut! Ok let’s move to the next part of the scene.” The director called out.

“Hey Quinn, was that good?”

“Yes Solek, you did fine.” Solek smiled stupidly at Quinn's dismissive remark. “Okay people let’s get set up for the next scene quickly; I have a 3 martini lunch I don’t want to miss.”

Eddie moved to the other set and stands outside the ‘door’ to the transporter. Turek was busy primping himself in a hand compact mirror, sitting on the steps to the transporter platform. “Tck. Ohmygod I have a pimple!”

“Here, sir, let me help...” an assistant offered, attempting to take the compact from his hands.

“STOP IT!” turek shouted, slapping the back of the assistant’s hand. “This is my compact!”

“Positions people, hurry up now!” Quinn called out on the set.” The assistant scurried off the set as Turek pocketed the makeup and stood. He tussled his hair a bit and tried to achieve a crazed look on his face. “aaand....action!”

“It’s OK, Doctor, we just want to help you...” the red-shirted actor, Akira Sulu said.

Turek went overdramatic as he lunged at the actor. “You’ll never take me alive!” The two wrestled for a moment before Turek stole the phaser from the young Sulu and fired. “Bang!”

“CUT! Turek, the script doesn’t require you to say bang, we’ll add that in later with the visual effects.”

“O-Oh ok.”

“Sir, why am I always dying in every episode?”

“Dramatic effect. I'm not paying you to ask questions so shut up and get on your back and play dead!” There was a small roar of laughter, even from Sulu at Quinn's comments. “Let’s just move on...places and action.”

Turek howled in madness before moving to the transporter controls and then standing on the platform. The door opened, showing Edgar standing there, phaser drawn. “Bones, snap out of it!”

“CUT! OK that was good enough, we can edit the bad parts out easily enough. Let’s break for lunch.”

Most of the cast sighed in relief. Turek stomped towards the buffet table, bickering about his pimple. Eddie and Solek smiled at the actor out of character. “You think he’ll ever get a makeup that doesn’t irritate his skin?”

“HA! I doubt it. How are my ears, do they look ok?”

“Sol, they’re your natural ears. They’re fine.”

“Tck, I know...I just hate this haircut...makes me look stupid, and it makes my ears look funny.”

“Ah stop your whining – we need to grab a bite of food before Turek eats it all.”

After lunch, everyone had gathered again around the set, with Eddie standing by a microphone ready to record the entry log for the next act. Turek seemed to be more subdued, having food in his stomach was helping. Solek was munching on a carrot off-set. The stench of whiskey was wafting through the studio now that the guest voice actor had arrived...drunk off his ass. Eddie began at the director's signal, “Captain’s Log...no Stardate. For us, time does not exist. A few moments after we beamed down, the Enterprise ceased to exist. Apparently, Dr. McCoy has changed the past and now it is up to Spock and me to fix it.”

Eddie and Solek moved forward towards a Styrofoam prop, shaped as a very giant circle of rock. Off-set, a rather large and bearish sized man sat in a chair near a microphone. Eddie looked around, trying to remember his line. “That’s a big rock.”

Solek stifled a burst of laughter. The line was close enough for rehearsal and the fat man off-set continued with his lines. The drawl made his speech almost gibberish. “I am the Guardian of Forever; I am my own beginning and my own end. I am not a big rock.”

Solek looked away from the camera and bit his lip, struggling more to refrain from laughter. Eddie also started to fight his own fit of giggles. “Can you tell me what happened to my ship?”

“The timeline has been altered, causing your ship and you to cease existence. You must go back and preserve the timeline. I have created a time portal that will send you back to the time where the divergence occurred.” The drawl was enough to make the whole speech sound as hokey as the structure that was supposed to be saying it. A few gaffers and assistants in the background couldn’t help but laugh. Eddie and Solek flushed a tint of green trying to hold back the laughter. Finally Eddie and Solek walked through the Styrofoam donut to end the scene.

“And CUT!” Quinn squealed. “Ok can you children please learn your lines by the end of the day? We’re filming tomorrow and I want only a single take for all of this! Where’s my vodka, I need a drink!”

In the Captain’s Quarters of the U.S.S. Exobyte Lt. Edgar Calvin startled himself to wake, even rousing Solek from sleep next to him. “Ed, what is it?”

“Oh, nothing...I just...had a really weird dream. Good lord I hope nothing like this thing ever happens.”

“Good. Now come back to sleep. We’re meeting with the Ferengi tomorrow at 0800.” Eddie smiled as he crawled back under the sheets and proceeded to drift back to sleep.

((Here's my entry. I hope you all enjoy it!))

Beams of sunlight shone through the tree canopy overhead as two Starfleet officers made their way across the forest floor below. Save for the occasional chirping or mating call, the air was quiet and calm. The first officer, who wore red, was a tall Human male with an imposing build made all the more so by his thick black hair and beard. His eyes continuously scanned the area for signs of movement, while the tricorder in his hand made similar sweeps for signs for any possible threats. A shorter Human female, who had bobbed blond hair and sported science blue, kept pace a few steps behind, her eyes almost constantly on her own tricorder.

"Found anything yet, Ensign?" asked the front officer.

"Not yet, Commander. The plant that the San Francisco picked up isn't very common, even in this area. It's also small, so I have to limit my scans to a very small range to have any hope of picking up a sign of it."

Commander Mugen Tabashi did his best to restrain a sigh. They had been down on this planet for almost two hours and he was starting to wonder if this was a good use of his time. He looked over his shoulder at the younger officer, Ensign Jane Garnett. Ensign Garnett felt his eyes on her and looked up at him with some irritation, causing Mugen to look back ahead.

"Commander, if you don't mind me asking, why are you escorting me? I mean, finding this plant is important, but it also seems to be an... odd... use of a first officer's time."

That was an understatement if Mugen ever heard one. He thought this was a complete waste of his time, but Captain Sorenson had thought otherwise. However, Mugen once again was able to keep any sort of resentment or annoyance out of his voice. "As you know, this planet is home to a number of civilizations, most at the level of our Medieval period. This area is within walking distance of a several cities, and the captain thought it would be best if someone more experienced than a green security detail escorted you to minimize any possible cultural contamination risks."

Jane simply nodded and went back to her tricorder. Mugen took another glance at his, confirming once again that there were no Humanoid lifeforms in the vicinity. Mugen instinctively gave their surroundings another visiual sweep before continuing his effort to make small talk and break up the monotonous silence.

"This plant that we're looking for; Captain Sorenson mentioned it has important medicinal applications?"

"Possibly. The science team in charge of studying this planet's culture noticed that they make a salve from this plant to treat a variety of neurological ailments, and it actually seems to be effective. However, I'm just here to collect samples so that Dr. Xin can analyze them." She looked up from her tricorder and gave Mugen a smile. "So, sorry, this is pretty much guaranteed to be boring, Commander."

Mugen smirked, and was about to make a retort when Jane's tricorder began beeping. "Found something?"

"Yes... I think there may be some of what we need up ahead. And... hold on. Commander, are you reading any Humanoid life?"

Mugen quickly looked back at his tricorder. "No, not for at least 5 kilometers."

"Shrink the range and boost the power to check for weak signs. I'm picking up something very faint in the same area as the plants. It's right up ahead."

Mugen adjusted the tricorder's settings and promptly frowned. Sure enough, there was a very faint Humanoid lifesign straight ahead. He looked up and saw that there was a clearing in that direction.

"Commander, if the reading is Humanoid... it's dying."

"Stay behind me and low to the ground," commanded Mugen as he dropped into a crouch and began moving slowly through the brush. Jane followed suit, and the two moved up to the edge of the clearing, remaining behind the cover of the forest. The two slowly moved a bush to the side to get a better view.

In the middle of the clearing was a dense bed of small green plants. The plants moved every so often, and Mugen could just barely make out what sounded like wails. Jane looked back at her tricorder.

"That bed over there is made of the sample we're after. I just need a few sprigs."

"It's also where the Humanoid life sign is coming from. I don't see anyone though. Stay close, remain quiet, and move slowly."

Jane nodded and the two crept toward the bed, with Mugen keeping an alert eye on the edges of the clearing. He disliked being this exposed on someone else's doorstep. When the two were close to the herbal bed, however, their attention became riveted at what they saw. A small Humanoid infant lay naked in the middle of the bed, slowly and helplessly moving his arms and legs, which were chained loosely to pikes in the ground. It pointed ears like a Vulcan, but it also had a tuft of bright, naturally blue hair. Mugen now realized the weak wails he had heard at the clearing's edge were from this small baby. The two Starfleet officers stood horrified at the sight.

"Collect your samples," Mugen finally said in a stiff voice.

"...Sir?"

"Collect your samples. That's an order, Ensign!"

Jane gave her superior a small nod before kneeling to the ground and running her tricorder over the plants. Every once in a while she would stop at one that seemed more interesting than the others and pluck it its brothers to place it in a sterilized vial. She forced herself to completely focus on her task, if only to block out the sound of the tiny child's cries. It seemed like an eternity, though it was at most a couple of minutes before she stood back up. Commander Tabashi was still standing over the chained baby, his gaze fixed on him.

"Finished, Commander."

At first, Mugen said nothing. Jane was about to announce her status again when her superior suddenly knelt down, pulled out his phaser, and adjusted the settings.

"Commander!?"

Mugen aimed the weapon in the child's direction.

"Commander! NO!"

The phaser fired, striking one of the pikes and disintegrating it. Three more shots in quick succession and the child was free, the chains that bound it now hanging limply around him. Mugen gently scooped the child into his arms and stood. Jane looked at him in shock.

"Commander, what are you doing!? We can't take him with us!"

Mugen's voice was calm as he responded to her, though his eyes never left the whimpering baby. "So we should leave him here to die?"

"N-no... I mean... sir... we-we're violating the Prime Directive!"

Mugen was silent. Only the sound of the wind and the local animal life permeated the meadow. Jane looked at her superior with an uncertain fear; fear that he would force her to violate the sacred Prime Directive, and fear that he wouldn't.

"Are we contaminating their culture by taking the child? If someone comes and finds him missing, they'll likely assume it was one of their own people. These people probably have never even considered the possibility of aliens."

"Well, yes... but..."

"And we would be saving a life that needed medical attention, which is also the duty of a Starfleet officer, correct?"

Jane faltered and stammered. In the Academy, she'd been taught the Prime Directive was the first and foremost consideration of all Starfleet officers. She had followed it blindly without a thought. Finally, she forced herself to look at Mugen firmly.

"Sir, it would be interfering in the culture of this planet... even if it's a part of the culture we don't agree with, we can't do this. It's clearly against the Directive."

Mugen turned toward the young woman. She began to shrink under his piercing gaze before it suddenly softened.

"Your objection to my actions is noted, Ensign, and I will be sure that the captain knows so. You will bear no responsibility for this."

Jane looked at Mugen in surprise, then simply nodded. Mugen tapped his combadge. "Commander Tabashi to San Francisco. Three to beam directly to Medical." The trio instantly disappeared in a shimmer of blue light, leaving the meadow peaceful once more.

Several minutes later, Captain Sorenson strode into the Medical Bay with a very angry expression on his face. The streaks of gray hair on the sides of his head made him seem even more stern as he approached the bed that Commander Tabashi, Ensign Garnett, and Dr. Xin were circled around. Tabashi and Garnett immediately turned to face him while the Bolian doctor continued to tend to the infant that currently lay in front of him. Sorenson took one look at the patient, then glared at the two officers.

"What is the meaning of this!? You were ordered to bring back samples of a plant, not abduct the planet's children!"

The young ensign shrank as her captain raised his voice; something she had never experienced before. Mugen, however, looked at his captain firmly.

"We didn't abduct the boy. He was left in the meadow that we found the plant samples in, which Ensign Garnett succeeded in collecting. After she finished, I freed the child of the chains pinning him there and brought him back, as he was close to death. For the record, Ensign Garnett objected to my decision."

Sorenson's eyes widened. "As well she should! This is a blatant violation of the Prime Directive. I mean... do you have any idea of what you've done, Mugen!? Let alone the damage you might have just done to their culture, you've violated one of the most sacred principles of Starfleet!"

"No one was around!" Mugen responded, his voice raising to match the captain's. "Even if anyone even bothers to come looking for this boy, it's highly unlikely they'd think visitors from another planet were responsible!"

"You think that makes a difference?" At this point, Sorenson's frustration had caused him to start pacing. "We do not interfere with the cultures of developing worlds. That is rule one of Starfleet. Rule ONE. Cadets know this. I shouldn't be having to lecture my first officer about this."

Mugen scoffed. By this point, it was clear that this was no simple argument between the two highest-ranking officers on the ship. Jane's eyes were locked on the loud discussion, so she didn't notice Dr. Xin approach her until he placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned toward the Bolian, who instructed her to begin analyzing the samples she had brought back. She was only too happy for something to occupy herself, and wasted no time moving to the other end of the Medical Bay.

"So you would adhere blindly to it? Starfleet is a humanitarian fleet. We can't hide behind the Prime Directive when a situation makes us uncomfortable."

"Hiding!? Is that what you think I'm doing? The Prime Directive isn't to protect us, it's to protect them... from the consequences we can't foresee. What if this child were to have been rescued by someone on that planet, and became someone important to their history? You may have just radically altered the course of this planet's progress."

"That is highly unlikely. I believe Dr. Xin will agree with me that the child would have died within hours." Dr. Xin wisely didn't say a word and continued his efforts with the baby.

"That doesn't matter. Every planet has the right to develop without us interfering, no matter their actions. We can't be allowed to contaminate their cultures like this simply because we don't agree with them."

"So you're going to let this child die!?"

Captain Sorenson, despite himself, glanced at the baby on the bed. The silence was deafening as he looked at the child, took a breath, then returned his gaze to his first officer.

"No. I will not let the child die. If he lives, returning him to the planet now risks further contamination. No... what's done is done. The child will remain here, under Dr. Xin's care."

A smile crossed Dr. Xin's face. "Then it is my happy duty to announce that I believe the child will be fine. He is suffering from malnutrition, dehydration, and exposure, but thankfully he was brought here in time that I he should be fine in a few days." Captain Sorenson glared at Dr. Xin, and the Bolian immediately looked back down at the child. "I mean... regardless of the commander's wisdom to bring him here, I can save him."

The captain looked back at Mugen. "Are you prepared to accept the consequences for what you've done? I will be reporting this to Starfleet Command as soon as return to my ready room, and it's likely you'll be court-martialed. A career like yours... over in an instant over this child."

Mugen nodded. "I'd rather sacrifice my career than my Humanity, Captain."

Mugen's words struck Sorenson, who seemed speechless. It was at this moment that Ensign Garnett returned back to the side of Dr. Xin. "Doctor, can I see your analysis of the baby's blood?"

Dr. Xin looked at Jane with some surprise, but gave her his tricorder. Jane glanced over the readings. What she read caused her to take a deep breath and bite her lip. By this point, the other three were looking at her quizzically.

"Ensign? What is it?" asked the captain.

The young woman handed Dr. Xin his tricorder as well as her own. "The plants contained an elevated level of iron, as well as a number of compounds that are not normally found in chlorophyll-based flora. Some were chemicals that are typically only found in many of the Humanoid races of the galaxy. In fact... this plant contains a few chemical species that... are unique to the biochemistry of the Humanoid species on this planet, sir. One... one of them... is likely the reason why is hair is blue. It's the reason why these plants..." she held up a spring, "have a blue tint to them."

Mugen and Sorenson looked at the sprig. Sure enough, there was a slight blue tint to the plant. Dr. Xin looked over the readings on the tricorder and nodded, his face coming noticeably paler. "Ensign Garnett is correct. It's most likely that the plants acquired these chemical markers from the soil they grew in."

"Are you saying... this boy was part of a sacrifice... to grow these plants!?" Mugen asked in disbelief. Dr. Xin gave a small shake of his head.

"It's impossible to know for sure... but this does support that theory."

Jane looked at the small baby, who was now sleeping on the bed. His bright blue hair shone under the overhead lights of the Medical Bay. "They believed that, because of his hair color, sacrificing him to die would make those medicinal plants grow..."

Captain Sorenson looked at the child and let out a long sigh. "If that's true, they will likely return to find the child's remains missing. If they need these plants badly enough..." He turned to Commander Tabashi. "... they will probably sacrifice another child."

Commander Tabashi seemed to deflate right in front of Captain Sorenson's eyes. Sorenson looked back toward the child. "Our compassion is often our greatest asset, Commander. However... sometimes it is also our curse. The Prime Directive not only protects us from ourselves, but more importantly, it protects the developing races of the galaxy from us. It is one Starfleet's most cherished values... and it sometimes requires sacrifice from us to uphold it."

Mugen said nothing, and instead continued looking at the baby. Sorenson shook his head and walked toward the exit of the Medical Bay. As the doors opened, he looked back at his first officer.

"I'm sorry Mugen, but you are relieved of duty and confined to quarters for a gross and direct violation of the Prime Directive."

The doors shut behind Captain Sorenson. Dr. Xin motioned Jane to follow him to his office. Mugen Tabashi was left alone with his thoughts, save for a small blue-haired baby peacefully asleep on the bed in front of him.

"Captain's log, stardate 203305.20, Admiral Marshal Palen reporting.

"We have began the maiden voyage of the USS Paladin 2, and I must admit that my initial scepticism about taking command of a Star Cruiser is slowly fading. The original Paladin has been deemed 'un-repairable' and Starfleet has decided to salvage what systems they could and recycle the rest. I must admit that the decision has hit my crew as well as myself harder than expected. She had been our shield, our sword, and our home for some time. Recycling doesn't seem a fitting end to a ship of her caliber. Computer pause"

The counsol beeped it's confirmation, as Marshal glanced over to the golden model of the Atlas class assault cruiser, his former command, which adorned his ready room wall shelf. She had been a fine ship, and he and his chief engineer had argued commands decision to scrap her. But the decision had been sound. Starfleet was pressed for able commanders and crews with the klingon war, and the borg encroachment. The amount of structural damage she had taken, had made more than one of the repair engineers shake thier head in disbelief that she had not only flown home under her own power, but had made warp 1.2 doing it. Several decks were uninhabitable, and every ounce of power not going to life support or the engines was routed to the dtructural integrity field just to hold her together. The stress fractures on the hull, when displayed on the diagnostic screen, looked like a roadmap for a major city on earth. One of her nacelles had taken a debris hit from an exploding cube and was dark, lifeless, and more than a few degrees off center. The support pylon twisted and barely holding on. Her main bridge was exposed to space, and it was a miracle that we didn't lose more lives than we did. Not casualties. 'DEATHS'. Marshal would not let the lives of the brave men and women be reduced to a statistic.

"Resume recording. The crew is adapting well to the new command, and I do have to admit that the new Nomad class Star Cruisers are impressive. Starfleet Command, gave me the honor of naming her upon her commission. It was a awkward moment when the decision was made to name her the Paladin II. Let's hope she lives up to her name. We are meeting the USS Imbrium in the Aldebaran system to test her combat capabilities. Admiral Beaston is a fine commander, and this should prove quite a challenge. End recording"

Marshals combadge beeped and his first officers voice sounded off, "Captain, we are approaching the designated coordinates, and the Imbrium is hailing us, sir"

"Very well, I am on my way."

---------------------------

The door hissed open and Marshal stepped onto the bridge. The forward view screen showed his old friend and academy class mate Admiral Michael Beaston, and his first officer aboard the U.S.S. Imbrium, a Maelstrom class fleet escort, conversing quietly. Marshal approached his seat and greeted his old friend.

"Hello Michael, good to see you again. I take it the repairs to your ship went well?"

Michael turned and smiled, "Repairs would be understating the work done to her. Both nacelles, and the upper pylons had to be replaced. If you and your crew hadn't been there, I don't think we would have made it. I am sorry it cost you your ship Marshal. I know what it's like to lose a command like that. You all have the gratitude and respec of my crew, and myself"

Marshal let out a small laugh, hiding a small twinge of pain at the mention of his old ship. "You always were a bit over dramtic. So, shall we begin? I would like to see what this hunk of techno junk is capable of before we head out into hostile territory again. Need to get over that new ship smell."

"Absolutely, and shall we say, a bottle of brandy to the winner." Michael's eyebrow raised as he asked the question. The standing bet between the two men carried more stakes than a bottle of alcohol, but that was a private matter that did not need to be voiced in front of the crews.

Marshal laughed out loud a moment, "Done! As soon as the computers are synched we can begin. We will be starting at ease, as though on patrol and not expecting trouble. I want to gauge the crew reaction time with the new ship as well. You may attack at your liesure. Good luck Captain."

"Very well, and to you as well old friend." Michael saluted and the screen changed to an image of the starfield ahead, and the Imbrium turning and engaging her warp drive, speeding off into the distance.

Commander Erick Graefen looked around the bridge at the junior bridge crew, "Conditions are set and not a word of warning to the crew about them, understood?"

The officers around the bridge responded the affirmative as Erick called for shipwide coms. "This is the XO. We are about to begin a scan of the Aldebaran system to calabrate sensors and evaluate computer functionality. senior officers to station." The anouncement ended and Erick checked the display on his seats armrest. "Computer reports synch is complete, and the tac officer should not notice the lower power settings on the weapons. We are ready, sir"

Marshal took his seat, and smiled. "This should be fun."

The turbolift doors opened and the senoir crew took their stations about the room. Each officers doing a brief check of their individual systems and reporting their readiness.

The ship approached one of the sevral energy anomolies common in the region and began it's scan when the Tactical officer notice a contact on his screen. "Vessel approachng Captain, at high warp. Unable to identify as they are scrambling there IFF codes. Recommend Yellow alert"

"Yellow alert! Energize defensive fields and place weapons on standby!" Erick galnced at his display as the crew reports began coming in.

Marshal galnced at Erick and smiled. His first officer was a lousy poker player, and his call for the alert had been a little too excitable. But given recent events, the crew would more than likely overlook it. "Helm steer us into a perpendicular course with the incoming ship, bring us to half impulse. Ops, let's have a look at the incoming ship shall we. Bring it up on the main viewer as soon as they are in range. Com, open hailing frequencies."

"No, response captain."

The main viewer flickered as the angle changed, and and streak of light came to an abrupt halt revieling a sleek escort ship at close range.

"Sir, their weapons are charged and locking on!" Commander Thomas, the tactical officer, let his fingers fly over his control panel, raising shields and preparing to pour power to the weapons systems at his captains command.

"Red alert! Full power to weapons, all crew to battle stations!"

-------------------------------

(going to pause it here and continue on in the next episode)

I desperately wanted to enter the contest, but didn't start writing anything until yesterday. Then it kind of got away from me. I hope this makes it in before the deadline, and I hope at least one person gets as much enjoyment out of this as I did writing it. And I apologize in advance for the implied sexism. Consider it written in the spirit of TOS. I promise my next story will include cool lesbians, too. :-)


Rear Admiral Lessa Tiberius Archer-Janeway sat at a tiny table outside a sidewalk café, which was itself outside Star Fleet Academy. As she sipped her double Raktajino delicately, she caught up on the latest fleet comms on her PADD. Cool spring breezes carried the fresh salt air from the bay across the city of San Francisco and into her lungs. Lessa breathed deeply, relishing the natural air after a long stint on her starship, the newly commissioned heavy cruiser U.S.S. Rainbow Unicorn.
To say that Lessa was beautiful was like saying space was big. From her flawless alabaster skin to her luxurious raven hair, from her emerald green eyes to her rose petal lips, she was the very pinnacle of beauty in at least 93% of cultures in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. In spite of her physical perfection, Lessa remained completely clueless about the effect her looks had on the men, women and aliens around her. Lessa's greatest asset was her empathetic heart. And her humility. And the fact that she was a whiz with warp theory, the likes of which the galaxy hadn't seen since Wesley Crusher. She was also fluent in 500 languages, an expert on alien cultures, and a crack shot with a phaser rifle.
On this particular Thursday, nearly two-and-a-half millennia after one man got himself stapled to a tree for being Dr. Phil before his time, Rear Admiral Archer-Janeway had a revelation. She looked up from her PADD with a startled, yet still beautiful, expression of surprise. It was so simple! Her years of studiousness and experience had given her a unique insight into what exactly had been going wrong with the cosmos. She knew what it would take to make the universe a truly good and happy place, and this time no one would have to be stapled to anything.
Sadly, before she could reach for her comm badge to share her insight, a 20-meter wide chunk of blue ice ejected from a passing Pakled freighter obliterated her, the sidewalk café, and the android laundromat next door, and her revelation was lost forever.
This is not her story. (With apologies and thanks to Douglas Adams.)

Six pulled at the collar of his tunic. He did not like these new “casual” clothes his bridge crew had insisted he acquire on their most recent visit to Starbase One. “I feel ridiculous,” he said, looking at the reflection in his cabin mirror. He swiped his hand over the cowlick where his orange hair met the single Borg attachment the Federation medical experts had been unable to remove.
“Your appearance is … adequate.” Six glanced at Lieutenant Sabin, his Vulcan first officer and the one person in the universe he considered a friend, for the simple reason that the two officers could tolerate each other's company more readily than any of their crew mates'. Somehow, even in his voluminous robes, Sabin managed to look like he was still in uniform. The formless cloth took on the aspect of tightly tailored livery when draped over the Vulcan's erect frame.
Six turned back to his reflection, attempted to adjust his collar again, then gave up with a sigh. “Let's just get this over with,” he said, turning on his heel. The two men walked side-by-side in the comfortable silence of comrades who abhor small talk. The door to Transporter Room 3 swished open, revealing the rest of the bridge officers of the science ship U.S.S. Brittanic.
“We were starting to think you weren't coming,” said Thoros brusquely. The Andorian chief engineer climbed the steps to the transporter platform.
Six shot a quick, hopeful look at his first officer. “Doctor Martinson's orders did not allow for that option,” Sabin replied steadily, and Six's expression faded.
“You heard the man,” Six said to the rest of his officers. “Let's go.” The remaining crewmen shuffled onto the platform with all the enthusiasm of condemned prisoners on their way to the firing squad. Six noted that they all looked more comfortable in their civvies than he felt. His eyes lingered for only a second on the unusual features of Ensign Solep, the latest addition to his bridge crew. When Six looked at his first officer again, the Vulcan raised a single pointed eyebrow, almost imperceptibly; nothing got past him.

As the tingling of the transporter retreated from his extremities, Six found his human eye squinting against the bright sunlight, made brighter by white sand and a rolling ocean. His other eye automatically adjusted its biomechanical aperture to account for the change in intensity. He had to concede there were some advantages to the artificial parts the human doctors had given him after removing his Borg implants. Although if he could have seen his twisted, half-squinting face at that moment, he might not have been so smug.

“Let's find cover,” he barked to his team. “Fan out. We need shelter from the elements.”

“There's a bar right over there,” Ensign Sandusky suggested helpfully, pointing. The other bridge officers shrugged and made generally agreeable noises. Six gave a curt nod, and the away team advanced on the simple structure.

As they approached the primitive hut, an indigenous life form stepped forward. “Welcome to Risa,” the scantily clad female said, with just a hint of an exotic accent. “Can I offer you a beverage?”

The junior officers shuffled their feet nervously and looked at each other, unsure if this was some sort of test. Tactical officer Cornell “Corny” Sandusky, a beefy, bearded, boisterous bear of a man from Minnesota, finally spoke up. “Beer?” he said. It was more of a question than a drink order. Everyone looked toward their captain for his reaction. He, in turn, looked to Sabin, who gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Six nodded to the scantily clad server and attempted a smile. “Beer all around,” he said, trying to project a social comfort he did not feel. The group sat down at a round table as the waitress shimmied off to the bar.

Surveying his crew, Six guessed they were as uncomfortable as he was. Engineer Thoros was splayed across his chair, taking up the maximum amount of space possible, and scowling. His blue antennae twitched and probed at the humid air, somehow expressing his boredom more eloquently than if he had let out a huge yawn. Next to him, Corny was pounding out a beat with his palms on the tabletop. He examined the structural support beams of the bar's thatch roof as if they were the most fascinating beams he had ever seen. Blond Bajoran tactical officer Fet sat next to him, his apparent serenity betrayed only by the rapid, anxious bouncing of his left leg leg.

And then there was the kid. The new guy. Solep. There was something about the young half-Vulcan, half-human science officer that bothered Six. Maybe it was the fact that, unlike every other Vulcan Six had met, Solep had blond hair, obviously inherited from his human father's side of the genome. Or it could have been the young man's choice to buck the traditional Star Fleet short haircut for males. Solep's ponytail swung from side to side as he scanned his surroundings, like a child at an amusement park, trying to decide what ride to go on next.

It was this enthusiasm that Six found most surprising in the young ensign. Having worked with Sabin and other Vulcans since joining Star Fleet, Six was having a hard time getting used to an emotionally expressive person with pointed ears. Not that Solep was overly emotional by most standards. His classmates at the Academy were more likely to describe him as “laid back,” or “cool as a Cardassian cucumber.” But when he smiled, as he often did after running a successful scan or disabling an enemy's shields with a quick tachyon pulse, his joy was contagious. That smile could light up the bridge.

The waitress arrived with the drinks. The men each grabbed onto a square glass, grateful for something to do with their hands. Corny downed his quickly. Thoros expressed distaste for the weak earth beverage, then finished his off in three gulps. Sabin took small sips of his. Solep rotated the glass on the table, but seemed uninterested in actually tasting it. And Six, trying to emulate the social standard, finished third. His junior officers looked away, trying to keep from laughing out loud.

“Captain,” Sabin said. Six looked over at him. The Vulcan pointed to his own upper lip. Six examined the Vulcan's upper lip, but finding nothing strange about it, said, “What?”

“You have something on your lip,” Sabin said, as tactfully as possible. Six swiped a finger across his lip. It came back coated in foam. The three junior officers, unable to hold back any longer, burst out in laughter. Six flushed with embarrassment.

“No, no!” Corny said, barely able to catch his breath. “Leave it. You look good with a mustache!”

Anger, shame and indignation flashed through Six's mind like a Klingon d'k tahg blade. Six rose quickly, his face red. The laughter ceased abruptly. But before Six could speak, Sabin piped up again. “Your beer mustache was indeed aesthetically pleasing,” he said, gently signaling his captain and friend that their subordinates' teasing was not meant to be disrespectful. “Perhaps another round is in order, to allow you to replenish it.”

Six wiped the remains of the foam from his lip and examined it. The junior officers held their breath, not knowing whether they were in for more beer, or a trip to the brig. “I think I would like a darker ale this time,” he said. “An amber would go better with my complexion.”

A relieved cheer went up from the table, and Corny ran off to the bar to order pitchers of “the orangest beer you've got.”

A couple rounds later, Thoros' perpetual scowl had disappeared, replaced by a quiet grin. Corny's voice kept getting louder and louder with every beer. And Fet had loosened his Bajoran ceremonial robe, his bare feet propped up on the chair that had been occupied by Solep. After the mustache incident, the young Vulcan had asked to be excused to go swimming. Corny teased him for not drinking, and accused him of being one of those “my body is my temple” types, but Solep replied with a serene, “I choose to find my pleasure in physical, rather than chemical, activities.” For some reason this remark made the Captain blush, but only Sabin seemed to notice.

Six stood up. “I need to evacuate my bladder,” he said in his inimitable manner. Corny and Fet laughed. “What?” Six said, with a puzzled smile. He was already growing more comfortable with their good-natured teasing.

“Cap, you don't 'evacuate your bladder' after drinking beer!” Corny said, loudly enough for the entire bar and some people on the nearby beach to hear.

Looking down, Six considered this for a moment. “I don't believe holding it is an option,” he said plainly.

The junior officers howled again. Even Sabin barely suppressed a smile. “No, no!” Corny said. “I mean when you're drinking beer, you don't 'evacuate your bladder,' you don't 'pee,' you don't even 'take a wizz.'” He paused for effect. “You go take a piss!” he shouted, then added, as a quick afterthought, “Sir!”

Six gave Corny a casual salute, and said, “I stand corrected. I'm going to take a piss.” Then he turned with military efficiency and marched off to the restroom. Sabin rose and followed him silently.

Thoros gestured after the Vulcan and whispered, “What, he's gotta go everywhere with the Cap? He protectin' him from Klingon urinals?” The other two laughed, but Fet ducked down closer to the table, ssh-ing his companions. “Watch it!” he said, “or old mule-ears will hear you.”

Corny was too drunk for discretion. “Maybe that is in the first officer job description. 'Must shake the last drops from captain's dick.'” Fet tried to shush him, but the loud man just shushed him back. “Hey, I just got it!” he said, as if he had a revelation. “That's why they call him 'Number One!'”

“Mind you,” Corny said when the laughter died down again, “you ever wonder what cappy's tool looks like?” Thoros and Fet gaped at their buddy, hardly believing what he had said. He looked at their reaction, and blustered, “No, no, I just mean, like, do you think it's a Borg implant?”

There was a pause as his words sunk in, then another burst of laughter, followed by lewd comments about “having three speeds” and “rotating frequencies” and “you will be ass-imilated.”

Fet looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do you think the Captain goes, you know, 'that way?'”

Corny paused for a moment before answering. “I guess I always figured he was asexual.” The others nodded. “Then again, I'm sure you've noticed we don't have any female bridge officers. Not that it bothers me,” he said with a meaningful glance at the other two, “but it's kind of unusual in Star Fleet.”

“True,” Thoros chimed in. “There seems to be an unwritten enforced-diversity rule. I have often wondered if I was brought on because of the color of my skin.”

“It is a very nice shade of blue,” Corny said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Thank you,” the Andorian replied, completely missing his friend's tease. “I moisturize.”

“Oh, it shows,” Corny said, and stroked the back of his fingers along the engineer's light blue jawline. Thoros' antennae stretched and twitched happily.

“Get a cabin, you two!” Fet snapped, taking another swig of beer.

“What about you, my Bajoran friend?” Corny said, turning his attention to the blond.

“What about me?”

“Well, we know Andorians are sexually open-minded,” Corny said, glancing back at Thoros. The engineer shrugged and nodded. “So which way do you swing?” Fet blushed a bright crimson. Corny jeered. “Come onnnn! We've all laid out our preferences. Now it's your turn.” He turned and gestured to the open hut around them. “So if you could have any of the life forms within visual scanning range, who would it be?”

Fet blushed some more, then took a cursory look around, before returning his gaze to his fellow tactical officer. Their eyes met, and held for a beat. Understanding dawned on the boisterous Minnesotan's face. The moment was interrupted by the squishy splash of a large pile of seaweed impacting on the table top.


In the restroom, Six and Sabin were washing their hands.

“I believe your junior officers are, if I may employ a colloquialism, 'wasted,'” Sabin observed. Six nodded, and even smiled a litte. “Yet you, Captain, seem to be unaffected by the 5.4 glasses of beer you have consumed.”

Six held up his hand, displaying the palm and then the back. “Borg nanites,” he said. “They regulate my system, removing toxins and supplementing my central nervous system to compensate for the adverse effects of alcohol.”

“I see.” Sabin seemed thoughtful.

“What about you, Sabin? You've had at least 3 beers.”
“Four-point-seven-five, approximately,” the Vulcan corrected him. “I am, to employ an old earth nautical euphemism, 'three sheets to the wind.'”

“Sabin!” Six said with feigned shock. “You're drunk?”

“I am, as your ancestors would say, 'snookered.'” Anyone who had not spent much time with Sabin would have missed the tiny grin that flashed across his face.

Sabin continued, “I am finding the experience most interesting. It has confirmed my hypothesis concerning why the Doctor would order us to take shore leave, rather than perform the necessary system improvements we had planned to do.”

“And what is this hypothesis, Mr. Sabin?”

“I believe the act of becoming inebriated together is often seen as a bonding experience. It is my theory that the good Doctor wished us to undergo some team building, or 'bonding,' away from the traditional command structure of the bridge.” Six nodded, thinking about their current situation. “Sadly,” Sabin continued, “I will be required to report to the Doctor that the exercise was a failure.”

“Why is that?”

Sabin lifted one eyebrow, as if the answer were self-evident. “Because you, Captain, are not drunk.”

Six thought about this for a few seconds. “I do have some control over my nanites.”

“Oh?” Sabin replied, innocently.

“I suppose I could put them into a sleep cycle.”

“Could you?”

Six closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he stumbled a bit. “I think the floor just shifted,” he said, grabbing the wall for support.

Sabin took his arm and guided him back toward the bar. “Indeed,” he said simply.

When they got back to the table, Solep was showing off his treasure. “I was free-diving with some dudes from the beach, and found this box half-buried in the sand under the bay,” he said excitedly. “There could be anything in it! Who knows how long it has been down there!”

Sabin whipped a tricorder from under the folds of his robe. It whirred and beeped for a few seconds. “The box itself was constructed approximately 50 to 55 years ago, of a wood indigenous to this planet. Judging from the rate of bacterial and plant growth, it has been underwater for approximately 42 years.”

Solep's smile faded to disappointment for a second, then it returned. “Let's open it!” he said with a gleam in his eye.

It took the combined efforts of the entire, mostly toasted, bridge team about 10 minutes to clear away the seaweed and open the box. The inside was surprisingly well-preserved. It contained some very old and very soggy papers, an old-style flip tricorder, and a few other items that nobody could immediately identify.

“We should report this find to the local authorities,” Sabin said. But Solep was too busy rooting through the contents of the box to pay attention. He briefly examined a primitive carved wooden statue, then set it aside when he saw a beaded necklace with a serpent's tooth. Meanwhile Thoros had found a semi-circular metal strip with electronic attachments at either end, and Fet was holding up a brightly colored swatch of fabric that, once he figured out was a very small swimsuit, made him blush.

“Can I get you more beer?” the waitress said, approaching the table and fingering the wooden figurine. “Oh! I see you are seeking jamaharon?” She looked at each of the officers in turn for any sign that they were the owner of the Horga'hn statue, the traditional Risan sign that one is … available.

“Is that anything like nachos?” Solep asked. “I've been hungry ever since they lit up that really smoky bonfire down on the beach.”

Thoros eyed the waitress, his antennae erect. “Yeah, that would be mine,” he said smoothly. She took his hand and he followed her out of the bar, leaving his crew mates standing around the box with their jaws open.

“Guess we gotta get our own beer now,” Corny remarked, draining his glass. The remaining officers gathered around the box again.

“So, no nachos then?” Solep asked, rubbing his stomach.


A few pitchers later, the remaining officers were even more relaxed. Six was trying to balance the Horga'hn statue on his head. Sabin was attempting to play a top-40 hit on his tricorder. And Corny and Fet were playing footsie under the table.

“Cap'n!” Corny said suddenly. Everyone turned to him. The wooden statue tumbled across the table and fell on the floor, splitting in half. The Captain and the tactical officers laughed, Sabin raised his eyebrow. “Cap'n,” Corny repeated. “How did you get your name?” Fet kicked him under the table. “Ow! What? It's a simple question.”

Sabin spoke, slightly slower than normal. “That question could be construed as improper. Or, as you humans would say, um, something.” He rubbed his temples.

“No, it's fine,” Six said.

“Like, I know Borgs are called, like, Seven of Triple-D, and shit like that. But your name doesn't make any sense.” Corny's speech was becoming more slurred.

“That's 'cause I wasn't named by the Borg.”

The junior officers looked at their captain. “You mean your parents named you Six?” Fet said. “What, do you have five older siblings or something?”

“No,” Six said, frowning slightly. “My parents named me Robert. After my father, I guess. I never knew them, my parents. They were killed by the Borg when I was a baby.” All eyes at the table were transfixed on the Captain. He in turn was staring out at the beach at a young couple wearing some sort of pleasure-enhancing head gear. He often wondered about his parents. What they were like. How different his life might have been.

“Little known fact,” Six continued, trying to lift the tone. “I was at the Battle of Wolf 359. Of course, I was on the other side. In the Borg cube. The CMO from the U.S.S. Grissom-C found me during a raid on the cube, and managed to beam me back to their ship. She put me in stasis. And when Grissom's core went critical, she put my stasis unit in an escape pod.” Six flashed through the holographic images still stored in his local memory. Scenes he would never be able to recall but for the optical implant the Borg had installed. “Doctor Larue didn't make it out,” he said, as he called up the image of her kindly, concerned face as she lifted him from the incubator that had been his home since assimilation.

“But Wolf 359 was, what, 43 years ago,” Fet said. “You're not that old. Is that because of your Borg implants or something?”

“I actually spent many years in stasis, floating in the starship graveyard at Wolf 359. At some point, years later, scavengers found my escape pod, quite by accident, as they constantly reminded me. They were searching for scrap metal, but they ended up with a bouncing baby Borg.”

“Fascinating,” Sabin said. “I would expect them to put you out the nearest airlock.” The others turned to him, startled at his blunt comment. Sabin noticed their looks, and added a respectful, “Sir.”

“Yeah, well, they told me later they flipped a coin,” Six said, his voice wavering only a little. “Their leader ordered that I be fed, and kept out of his way until I was old enough to be useful. I got passed around from person to person, generally the newest recruit got stuck with either K.P. or Six duty.”

“So, the, uh, scavengers named you?” Corny asked, confused.

“It's okay, you can call them pirates. That's what they were. Yeah, they had heard how Borg designations worked, so one of them thought it would be funny to call me Six of One, also known as Half Dozen of Another.” The junior officers tried to suppress their giggles. “Yeah, I know. They called me by many variations. Doz. Halfie. Seis. When I was about eight years old, the pirate captain decided I earn my keep by becoming his cabin boy. Mostly that entailed cleaning up after him and staying the hell out of his way.” The fear and pain of those abusive years came welling up inside his memory. Six forced them back down with a hard gulp.

“Eventually our tribe got caught dealing in questionably attained materials, and I was turned over to Star Fleet Medical. I was about twelve then. I don't know for sure. I mean, later they were able to trace my family through DNA, and I know when I was born, but I don't know how long I spent in stasis, so I'm not really sure how old I am.”

“So how did you end up here?” Fet asked. He seemed to be sitting very close to Corny now.

“Do you not know about the trial?” Sabin answered, with the closest he could come to surprise. Six silently thanked his friend for saving him from telling that uncomfortable chapter of his life. For someone who hated to be the center of attention, the trial of the century was a horrifying place to be. The tactical officers shook their heads. “The trial that expanded the definition of life form, and extended Federation citizenship and rights to separated Borg? Your captain,” Sabin said, with a nod toward Six, “was a hypermedia celebrity.”

The junior officers looked suitably impressed, but Six looked annoyed. “I don't--” he started. “I'm not--” he stopped again. “I just wanted to join Star Fleet,” he concluded quietly.

“What's going on?” Solep had returned, looking bored.

“Oh,” Six said, surprised to see the young Vulcan wearing only knee-length loose shorts. Sweat or salt water glistened on the young man's smooth chest. “Ah,” Six said, trying unsuccessfully to compose himself.

“The Cap is a media hero!” Fet said, and proceeded to repeat the highlights of the story.

Solep looked at his captain and gave one of those smiles. “Awesome!” he said. “Anybody want to play zero-g volleyball?” An eager expression began to form on Six's face, but he caught Sabin's eye. The Vulcan gave the briefest of head shakes. Six knew his first officer was right, they were in no condition to attempt athletics—especially athletics he had never heard of before this moment. But he found himself wanting to be near the young ensign.

“We should settle our bar bill,” Sabin said, giving them all an out. “Why don't you go ahead and and start without us, and we will join you later.”

“But nobody's around,” Solep whined, showing his age. “They're all off playing that stupid--”

“Come to think of it,” Corny said, looking at the rows of empty pitchers and glasses on their table, “where did the bartender go?” Looking around, the group saw that the bar was empty except for them.

“Perhaps we drank their entire stock?” Sabin suggested.

Solep stomped off toward the beach. Six watched him go, sighed, then struggled to his feet. Sabin stood up next to him, and almost teetered over. Corny and Fet fought a valiant battle against gravity, leaning on each other for support, but eventually sat down again. Fet reached down and picked up the pieces of the broken statue, then handed them to Corny.

“We should look for the bartender,” Six stated emphatically. Sabin followed him. “What was his name? Sumu? Bubu? Lulu? Something like that.” They came upon a group of people in native dress, sitting in a circle. Every once in a while, one of them would gasp or moan. “Pardon us,” Six said, attempting to act sober. “Could you tell us where Lulu went?”

There was no reply. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Where is Sumu?”

“Captain, they appear to be preoccupied,” Sabin said. Then his eyebrow shot up in what Six recognized as a Vulcan laugh. Six looked at his friend quizzically. “Have you noticed the devices they are wearing on their heads?” the Vulcan said. Six took a closer look at the group of people. Every one of them was wearing a familiar looking metal strap over the top of their head. Attached to the ends of the straps were tiny electronic devices that protruded to the front, pointing into the wearer's eyes.

“Oh!” Six said, realization dawning upon him. “I get it!”

Sabin nodded, but found that only made it harder to stand up.

“Yes, very clever, my Vulcan friend. 'Pre' as in before, and 'occupied'--substituting the 'occular' derivation, you get 'before the eyes.' Good one!” The two officers stumbled on in search of someone else who might know the whereabouts of Bulu. They only made it as far as the first pair of empty beach chairs, where they promptly fell asleep.

Six woke up, and immediately tried to remember why he would have gone to sleep tied to a hard wooden board. Looking to the side, he saw Sabin similarly restrained on a picnic table next to him. He strained against the bonds, testing their strength. They passed.

A familiar blue face appeared upside-down above him. “Thoros!” Six said. “Cut me free. We need to rescue Sabin and get out of here.” He didn't know what was going on, but figured not being tied down would be a good start.

His Andorian engineer did not reply. Instead Thoros reached to the side, and grabbed one of the familiar metal headbands. He leaned over the captain and put the device in place. Two bright lights flashed into Six's eyes, and he suddenly felt very relaxed.

At the other picnic table, the waitress from the bar was placing a similar device on Sabin's still-unconscious head. Six watched as a spinning disc appeared, floating in the air in front of him. A tube them appeared next to the disc. He felt a curious urge to move the disc closer to the tube. As soon as the thought entered his brain, the disc moved and was sucked up by the tube. A jolt of pleasure shot through his neocortex.

Part of Six's brain went on red alert. But his frontal lobe was entirely focused on the game hovering before his eyes. With an herculean effort, he exerted the only bodily control he could muster. He closed his eyes. Only for a second.

On the neighboring table, Sabin stirred. His eyes flickered open. While his face registered no surprise at his situation, his Vulcan mind worked to clear away the cobwebs. Then a strange disc and tube appeared in his vision.

The crowd gathered around the picnic tables watched as the Star Fleet officers were indoctrinated into the game. Sabin's eyebrow twitched upward in what, for him, was an embarrassing display of orgasmic ecstasy.

As suddenly as the game had started, it stopped.

The lights in Sabin's eyes went out, and he turned his head from side to side, trying to figure out what had happened. The crowd standing around the tables had collapsed into unconsciousness. The only other movement was his captain, struggling against the bonds on the next table.

“Captain?” Sabin said.

“I'm all right,” Six replied. “But there was a flaw in the game program. It contained an infinite loop, and pseudo-viral qualities. I reactivated my nanites, and they reprogrammed the headsets, employing a retroviral algorithm.”

“Logical.” Six smiled inwardly. That was almost embarrassingly high praise from his friend. After a pause, the Vulcan asked, “Have you applied your logic to how we will escape from these tables?”

After an hour of straining against the ropes unsuccessfully, they heard a familiar voice. “Dudes! I mean, Sirs!” It took another several minutes to convince Solep that they were not partaking in the local bondage club, and that he should, indeed, untie them.


Back on board Brittanic the next morning, the bridge crew came stumbling in for their shift. Embarrassed greetings were muttered. Furtive glances were exchanged. Everyone took their stations. Six strolled onto the bridge a few minutes later, feeling much more at home in his uniform, with a ceiling and walls around him, and good old-fashioned artificial light.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said, perhaps a little louder than necessary. Thoros, Corny and Fet cringed at the noise. Even Sabin blinked hard. “I trust you are all rested and ready to return to duty?”

Sabin handed the captain a PADD. “Sick bay reports all personnel approved for duty. Some minor injuries were reported, mostly bumps and bruises.” Corny and Fet exchanged a quick glance. “One treatable STI.” Thoros frowned at his display panel. “And a case of sunburn over,” Sabin pretended to double check the readout, “ninety-seven percent of a crewman's body.” Solep flushed an attractive green hue, which in turn caused Captain Six's skin temperature to rise several degrees.

“And the game devices?”

“Deactivated,” Thoros reported. “Captain, I must apologize for my actions. If I had not tinkered with the device from Ensign Solep's box, none of this would have happened.”

“At ease, Ensign,” Captain Six said, smiling to himself. “We all did things we aren't proud of. That's what shore leave is for.”

“Aye, sir,” Thoros returned to his station. Corny and Fet exchanged another look. And Sabin strolled over to Solep's science station.

“You performed admirably, Ensign,” he said quietly.

Solep's surprise showed on his face. “Thank you, sir.” He hesitated, then spoke quickly. “I just can't figure out why the Captain doesn't like me.”

Sabin's expression was inscrutable, even for him. Then he spoke, measuring his words carefully. “The Captain does not dislike you. Remember that, being in command, he must maintain an appropriate distance from his subordinates.”

“Even you, sir?” Solep asked, innocently.

Sabin turned to look at Six in the Captain's chair. “Even me,” he said. And one eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly.

THE END

(Congratulations if you made it this far!)

chemkarate wrote:

The doors shut behind Captain Sorenson. Dr. Xin motioned Jane to follow him to his office. Mugen Tabashi was left alone with his thoughts, save for a small blue-haired baby peacefully asleep on the bed in front of him.

Great story! Very "Star Trek." Does the baby grow up to be one of your in-game characters?

It's definitely crossed my mind to have at least one of the characters from this story not only become a playable character, but to pop up in Star Trek: Pandora. In fact, one will be having a pretty major role in the season finale I'm currently posting on the boards.

Hi Everyone, Thankyou for your brilliant entries. The competition is now closed and a judging panel has been randomly selected to vote. The winning story will be published in this months Stonewall Times.