A USS Bluefin Short-Story: "Right Place, Wrong Time"

[Admiral2]

Why sure, the stasis chamber is right next to the holode . . .

Oh, wait.

Yup. That's about like I figured.

For that matter, why put her in stasis? It's only a few years - she could welcome herself aboard when she finally joins the Bluefin in 2376.

Dude, that's been done. On Stargate Atlantis. Like, a bunch of times.

Now I'm getting a temporal headache. Might as well see if Reg Barclay can give it a shot. (And why did I think this would be a short-story?)

Your first mistake was making it a time travel story. I'm being completely serious. All you had to do was save her with the others. Two-post story. Look what you did. It's all on you.

But keep writing it anyway. Might as well.

 

[Nerys Ghemor]

Admiral2--Frankly I believe you lack the data to make that judgment. Until we see how this story works out, it is unfair to criticize as though it were a done deal. Just because you're stuck for a way to solve the puzzle doesn't mean TLR is.

 

[Admiral2]

Admiral2--Frankly I believe you lack the data to make that judgment.

Bullshit.

At the end of the second installment the survivors and the two Bluefin crew members were in the process of being rescued. It came down Strauss. At this point in the narrative you have two choices: end the narrative or extend it. Have her show up in the right transporter room in the right time and place and the story's over and therefore it is, by definition, short. (Two whole posts) Send her anywhere or anywhen else and you have to extend it to resolve that situation, and every installment you add to the narrative takes it further away from being a short story.

So far from having "no data" to support it, my judgment - that it's TLR's fault that his short story won't be short - is based on the fact that there was a turning point in an early installment where he could have ended the story and he chose instead to set up a situation that by its nature would require greater detail and therefore a much longer narrative.

Until we see how this story works out, it is unfair to criticize as though it were a done deal.

I'm not criticizing anything. I responded to TLR when he wondered aloud (so to speak) why the story wouldn't be as short as he thought it would. The reason is he's the author, and the story will be whatever length he eventually decides it will be. I also pointed out an area where he could have ended it, but didn't. Spotting such an ending point does not require reading the completed narrative as long as I've read up to that point.

Just because you're stuck for a way to solve the puzzle doesn't mean TLR is.

1. Absolutely right.

2. Also completely irrelevant, since I'm not trying to solve the puzzle and am perfectly content to wait and see what happens. I have every confidence in TLR's ability to come up with a resolution that makes sense. And thank you, Nerys for completely and utterly misinterpreting my banter with Gibraltar and TLR.

Frankly, I don't know what your problem with me is, Nerys, but try thinking about what I post before you jump all over it.

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

Sometime in 2373
USS Mercury
En route to the Molari Badlands, Warp 9.9

Lieutenant Reginald Barclay placed his PADD on the adjacent seat and sighed. For the past 18 hours, he had been traveling at maximum warp aboard the Mercury to rendezvous with a Border Service cutter near the Molari Badlands.

And he had no idea why.

Admiral Paris had seemed none too pleased to dispatch him on this mission. When Barclay had inquired as to its nature, Paris had brusquely replied, “You’ll find out when you get there. And whatever it is – get it done and get back here, ASAP.”

Barclay had wracked his brain for a reason. He could not think of anyone he knew personally in the Border Service, nor could he fathom why they might need his services.

He stood and made his way to the rear of the courier vessel – basically an over-sized, high-speed runabout usually reserved for admirals and VIPs – and stepped into the head.

He glanced in the mirror. Was his face flushed? He felt his head for any signs of a fever. His forehead did seem a bit warm. Pulling down the skin below each eye, he inspected his sclera for discoloring. There seemed to be a tiny bit of yellowing – nothing over which to be alarmed. Yet. But it could be a sign he was coming down with something.

Barclay splashed water on his face and washed his hands thoroughly (you never knew where some super-germ might lurk) and exited the head. He considered getting a snack from the galley, but his stomach was already in a knot. Best not to tempt fate (and his delicate digestive tract). Instead, he moved forward toward the flight deck.

Lt. Treleya Postinveko sat in the left-hand seat while Lt. (j.g.) Muhetz graced the right, her tail swishing languidly over the edge of the chair.

“Um, excuse me,” began Barclay. “I, uh, was just wondering . . . ?”

“An hour less than the last time you asked, Lieutenant,” replied Postinveko with strained patience. “I promise you, you will be the first to know when we reach the Bluefin.”

“Yes . . . about that,” pressed Barclay, “based on our course, won’t we be dangerously close to the Molari Badlands?”

The two flight officers exchanged glances. Muhetz turned and fixed Barclay with emerald green, felinoid eyes. “Actually, we will be in the Badlands when we rrendevous with the cutterrr,” she purred.

Barclay blanched. “But . . . there are high levels of ionic radiation in there . . . isn’t that, ah, dangerous?”

Postinveko shrugged. “Meh - not particularly. You weren’t planning on fathering children any time soon, were you Mr. Barclay?”

Barclay coughed and mumbled something unintelligible before retreating to the passenger cabin.

“That was crrruel, Trreleya,” remarked Muhetz.

Postinveko smiled. “Yes it was.”

They both began to laugh.

* * *

Sometime in 2373
USS Bluefin
Molari Badlands

“We’re being hailed by the Mercury, Skipper. They’re requesting landing clearance.”

“Very good, Mr. Bane. Notify the hangar crew to prepare to receive the Mercury, then contact Dr. Baxter and ask him to meet me on the hangar deck.”

“Aye, sir.”

* * *

USS Mercury
Molari Badlands

Barclay hovered nervously behind Postinveko and Muhetz and peered through the forward viewscreen.

“That’s the Bluefin? It seems awfully small,” he noted.

“Those cutters are compact but tough, Mr. Barclay. That little ship can weather an ion storm that would leave Enterprise in space dock for a month.”

The jibe did not register with the skittish engineer. He was looking at the opening to the flight deck. The doors were open and a welcoming light spilled forth, surrounded by a faint blue halo from the atmospheric shields.

“Um. Can we fit in there?”

“Relax, Mr. Bane – we’ll have at least a meter of clearance to spare. Easy as pie.”

“Cake,” he mumbled absently, his mouth dry but his palms sweaty. As the Bluefin loomed before them, Barclay – possibly for the first time in his life – wished that he could just use the transporter.

* * *

USS Bluefin
Molari Badlands

Akinola and Baxter watched as Lt. Postenveko expertly guided the courier ship into the tight confines of the hangar bay. With a fading whine, the Mercury softly kissed the hangar deck as the impulse engines spooled down. Momentarily, the ship’s hatch opened.

A figure appeared and grasped the frame tightly. Akinola frowned at the sight of the pale, slender officer who seemed to be swaying slightly. The man looked to be in a state of shock.

“Is that Barclay?” whispered Akinola, a note of skepticism apparent in his voice.

“Yes. Don’t let appearances deceive you, Joseph. He’s a brilliant engineer,” assured Baxter.

“If you say so.” The Captain did not sound convinced.

* * *

Barclay tried to slow his breathing. It would not do well to hyper-ventilate just now. He suddenly realized that two officers were standing a few meters away, watching him.

He did not recognize the tall, dark-skinned captain, but the other face was quite familiar. The surprise made him forget about his anxiety.

“Admiral Baxter?”

The white-haired CMO smiled warmly and stepped forward, his hand extended in welcome. “Not anymore, Reginald. I retired from Starfleet and joined up with the Border Service as CMO of Bluefin.”

Barclay was aware that the Captain was observing him carefully. He turned and cleared his dry throat.

“Permission to come aboard?”

The C.O. nodded, his features softening. Akinola extended a hand. “Granted. Welcome aboard, Lieutenant – I’m Joseph Akinola, Captain of the Bluefin.”

“Lieutenant Reginald Barclay, reporting as ordered, Sir. Though I must admit, I have no idea why I’m here.”

“We have a ‘situation’ Mr. Barclay, a rather serious one. Dr. Baxter believes you can help us out. I hope to God you can.” He glanced toward the two flight officers stepping out of the courier ship. “Let me speak to the flight crew and thank them for bringing you our way. Doc? Why don’t you show the Lieutenant to guest quarters and then bring him to the ward room. We might as well get on with this.”

Barclay watched Akinola walk over to Postinveko and Muhetz before turning to Dr. Baxter.

“Adm . . . Dr. Baxter – does this have anything to do with the, um, problem we faced on the Enterprise a few years ago?”

Baxter took the engineer by the elbow and began to escort him from the hangar. “Not quite, Reginald. There are no 27th century Romulans involved this time. Let’s get you settled in and meet with the other officers. Best you hear this all at once.”

* * *

An hour later, Lt. Barclay sat in the wardroom, his face even paler than when he first came on board.

“And that’s how I came to be here – nearly four years in the past,” finished Commander Strauss.

Barclay glanced around at the expectant faces that sat around the table. He swallowed.

“I see . . . well . . . that’s a fascinating account, Commander, but I’m not sure how I can be of any help.”

Gralt snorted. “By the four drunken, leprous demi-whores! I knew this dunce would be a useless . . .”

“Hang on!” interrupted Baxter. He looked at Barclay. Reg looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. “Pay no mind to Gralt – he says that about all his friends.” He paused.

“Reginald, you’ve done this before,” he reminded him, gently. “Surely, you have some idea of how we can return Ms. Strauss to her proper time.”

Barclay shook his head. “That was different Doctor; w-we had the Rom . . . the person’s device to send him back.”

“Yes,” pressed Baxter, “but the device was damaged. As I recall, you figured out an alternative plan.”

“Th-that’s true. But I was able to salvage key components from his temporal accelerator that allowed us to send him back.” He shrugged helplessly. “I’m afraid I don’t have a spare.”

Strauss smiled bravely. “It’s alright, Mr. Barclay. I understand. It was a long shot at best.”

Bane suddenly stood. “What! That’s it? We’re just going to give up? Sorry, but that’s a load of dingo crap. Come on! We can’t quit now – bloody hell, we haven’t even made a half-assed effort on her behalf.”

“No one is giving up, Mr. Bane,” Akinola replied, mildly. “Please be seated.”

Bane retook his seat, his cheeks flushed. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“I happen to agree with Mr. Bane,” continued the Captain. “To be blunt, I’m a little tired of the no-can-do attitude I’m sensing. Mr. Gralt? I want you and Lt. Barclay to go over all the data provided by Commander Strauss. T’Ser, you will assist them. Go over everything, no matter how inconsequential it may seem. I want you to figure out how she got here. Maybe if you can do that, you can figure out how to send her home.”

He stood and his tone became icy. “I want a progress report by 1900 hours. Do – not – disappoint - me. . . Everyone else, return to your posts. Commander Strauss, you’re with me.”

Barclay ogled as Akinola and the others filed out of the ward room. He turned to Gralt and T’Ser, eyes still wide.

“Is he always like that?” he asked.

T’Ser lifted an eyebrow. “The Captain is in a good mood, Mr. Barclay. If he had been in a foul mood, he would have sent you back to Jupiter Station strapped to a torpedo.”

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED

 

[Nerys Ghemor]

Admiral--I have thought about it, and the problem I have is that I never see you offer anything remotely balanced in your comments. You have a track record of only speaking up to criticize something someone has done or out of displeasure because someone did not do it exactly your way. I have not seen in your critiques on this or any other work any attempt to recognize other people's work for what it is rather than what you think other people should be writing.

And in this particular instance, I stand by my comment that yes, you do need to read the entire narrative before you attempt to judge whether the "easy way out" or the shorter story really would have been superior to the tale that TLR is trying to tell here. Until you do that, you are simply stating an uninformed opinion as thought it were the final fact. Furthermore, story plans sometimes do change mid-course, and I think that acting like the change in plans (to go from a short story to a longer one) is a demerit is not something that can be judged in any way until we see the final result. And if your intent had been to be funny, I think staying away from terms like "it's your own FAULT" would have allowed for much clearer communication of humorous intent than what was actually said.

 

[Nerys Ghemor]

TLR--I have to say, you really nailed the characterization of Barclay, and even though you're in third person, the style of your narrative itself takes on the twitchy sort of rambling we hear from Barclay and makes it quite believable that we are now enjoying his unique perspective. It was also particularly telling--and Barclay-ish--is that even as an engineer (who are typically stereotyped to be attached to their ships almost like to a love interest), he completely missed the jab at the Enterprise, or at least its significance did not register. This is definitely the socially-inept behavior we would expect from someone like him (and in many ways I see Barclay as a far less arrogant version of Sheldon Cooper from Big Bang Theory--both sharing the same very literal understanding of language without much comprehension of the emotional nuances behind it).

I also enjoyed watching what happened when Akinola first reacted to Barclay. Being the no-nonsense sort of officer that he is--and furthermore, the fact that the Border Service in general requires a more rough-and-ready sort of officer, one more ready to react to crisis situations where clear thinking, not cutting-edge technology, is paramount, it absolutely makes sense that his first impulse would be to measure Barclay and find him wanting.

I have to think that Barclay having to work with Gralt for any extended length of time will prove to be an even more incendiary mix. And with no holodecks or other comforts to escape to, it seems to me like there's the very real possibility of Barclay cracking before he's able to reach a full solution. (Obviously we see him later on in the series in a slightly less dysfunctional state...so I would not be expecting a permanent breakdown, but it is still certainly possible to experience a nervous breakdown whose effects are not so permanent.) If that's the case, the Bluefin crew is really going to have to step up to the plate and I will be very interested to see how that happens.

 

[Gibraltar]

Way to go, Captain Akinola! I love how he lays down the law, sets clear expectations, and then instills the fear of mortal injury in his crew should those expectations not be met.

Barclay’s as erratic and anxiety-prone as ever, a veritable walking neurosis. Here’s hoping his skills will prove equal to the challenge when coupled with Gralt’s and T’Ser’s capable assistance.

 

[Admiral2]

Admiral--I have thought about it, and the problem I have is that I never see you offer anything remotely balanced in your comments. You have a track record of only speaking up to criticize something someone has done or out of displeasure because someone did not do it exactly your way.

Which only proves you've never seen the reviews I've left when praising someone's work, which is too bad but not really my problem.

I freely admit I think people should write more like me. Why? Because I include enough common sense in my stories so I don't write things like this:

-shootouts with aliens with no thumbs using weapons built for human hands

-medical sections only having 25cc (that's 25 milliliters) of a medicine that can't be replicated and a that patient has to take every day on a ship that will spend months away from any planet that might supply it.

-a spacecraft with the aerodynamics of a brick and no operational controls floating through the air like it's a magic carpet.

There are just things that are obviously wrong. If they are, I point them out. Get over it.

I have not seen in your critiques on this or any other work any attempt to recognize other people's work for what it is rather than what you think other people should be writing.

In other words, always say "good try"? Not the way I'm wired.

And in this particular instance, I stand by my comment that yes, you do need to read the entire narrative before you attempt to judge whether the "easy way out" or the shorter story really would have been superior to the tale that TLR is trying to tell here.

Feel free. You're still wrong.

TLR is the one that hinted he wanted to tell a short story. I told him how it could have been done and when it could have been done. Strauss gets beamed up the way her crewmates intended. End of story.

Until you do that, you are simply stating an uninformed opinion as thought it were the final fact.

Only in your uninformed opinion.

Furthermore, story plans sometimes do change mid-course, and I think that acting like the change in plans (to go from a short story to a longer one) is a demerit

which I never did...

is not something that can be judged in any way until we see the final result. And if your intent had been to be funny, I think staying away from terms like "it's your own FAULT" would have allowed for much clearer communication of humorous intent than what was actually said.

If it was so unclear, why isn't TLR the one bitching?

 

[CeJay]

Gotta agree with what has been said. Barclay was spot on and then some. Kudos to doing justice to a beloved character.

And now, as feared, he appears rather helpless faced with this unexpected situation. I wonder if there are any strange anomalies in the vicinity which would allow him to meld directly with the shipboard computer core ... oh wait, different story.

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

Thanks for the comments re: Barclay. He's a fun character to write - Dwight Schultz did a wonderful job portraying the neurotic engineer (though I always thought it would have been great if he'd played him like "Howling Mad" Murdoch from the "A-Team.")

And there is light at the end of the tunnel. Though it may stretch the boundaries of "short-story," our tale won't quite reach the level of novella.

Unless I change my mind.

 

[Mistral]

Just caught up. First-you give good Barclay!

Second-A mindwipe(see Strangers In the Sky) is outlawed in the Federation. Delicate ground there...

Third-DID you plan this all along? I'm curious...

Fourth-I'd like to read about that time-traveling Romulan...

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

Just caught up. First-you give good Barclay!

Second-A mindwipe(see Strangers In the Sky) is outlawed in the Federation. Delicate ground there...

Third-DID you plan this all along? I'm curious...

Fourth-I'd like to read about that time-traveling Romulan...

1. Thank you!?
2. I don't consider Strangers in the Sky canon, so . . . Besides, Doc is only suggesting a partial memory deletion, not formatting the entire hard drive.
3. The general plot, yes. Details tend to come along as I write. Yes, Barclay was always part of the plan.
4. No promises - I only have a very rough story idea. Besides, all this time-travel is giving me a headache.

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

Sometime in 2373
USS Bluefin

Strauss accompanied Captain Akinola through the cutter’s narrow corridors. She was now clad in an era-appropriate uniform with two pips of a lieutenant on the collar. It had been her suggestion to do so – the idea being that if they encountered someone outside the need-to-know group they could explain her presence as a part of a visiting inspection team. A lieutenant would be far less memorable than a full commander.

As they approached the turbo-lift, the doors slid open and Senior Chief Solly Brin stepped off.

Inga forced a neutral expression on her face and she lowered her head slightly. For his part, Solly barely glanced at her before shifting his attention to Akinla.

“Senior,” said Akinola in greeting. He began to enter the turbo-lift.

“Skipper.” Solly was about to continue, when he suddenly turned. “Hey Skipper, what about tonight?”

Akinola turned, a slight frown on his face. “Tonight?”

“Yeah – the weekly card game down in the armory. Remember – you said you’d try to join us?”

“Right, right . . . sorry, Solly, it must have slipped my mind. Maybe next week?”

“Yeah, sure, no problem,” replied Brin with good humor. His gaze had reacquired Strauss and she could sense his curiosity.

Akinola spoke. “This is Lt. Smith. She’s on TDY with us for a few days as part of an inspection team.”

Brin frowned. “Inspection? First I heard of it.”

“Well . . . what kind of damned inspection would it be if they announced it in advance?” Akinola replied gruffly.

Solly considered that. “Since you put it that way . . .”

“Speaking of which,” continued the Captain, now on a roll, “you best light a fire under those miscreants on the lower decks. I expect them to get things ship-shape. God help you if the inspectors find a mess down there.”

“Sure, Skipper – I’ll get right on it.”

“See that you do!” The lift doors slid shut, leaving a somewhat perplexed Solly Brin standing in the corridor.

“Smith?” asked Strauss, eyebrow askance.

“Best I could do on the spur of the moment,” Akinola grumbled.

* * *

Akinola and Strauss stepped off the turbolift onto the bridge and moved to the ready room. Inga kept her face turned slightly away from the center of the bridge as she followed the Captain.

Lt. Commander Deedee Townsend, Bluefin’s Second Officer, turned in the command chair. She was about to speak but Akinola and Strauss disappeared into the ready room.

The buxom Centauran turned back to face the viewscreen wearing a slight frown of puzzlement. “Why is everyone in such a flipping big hurry today?” she muttered.

Bane lifted his gaze from the sensor hood. His sharp ears picked up Townsend’s question. “I hear that we’ve got an inspection team on-board. Bit of a surprise, I gather.”

“Lovely,” replied Townsend, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Bunch of PADD-pushing bureaucrats poking about, just looking for things to write-up.”

Bane smiled to himself, relieved that the Second Officer had accepted the explanation so readily. His smile faded as he gazed back into the sensor hood.

“I’m picking up a gravimetric vortex, Commander. Looks like an ion storm brewing.”

Townsend straightened. “Where away, Mr. Bane?”

“Twelve degrees to starboard, ranging from plus 20 to minus 48 degrees. Point oh-six A.U.s in size and expanding.”

She let out a soft whistle. “That’s going to be one bodacious storm. Range and intensity?”

“Still a good ways off – leading edge at 14 A.U.s, intensity force 3 but likely to increase in strength.”

“Log it and broadcast a general warning bulletin to ships in the vicinity. Let me know if the intensity begins to spike.”

“Aye, ma’am, you can count on it,” replied Bane.

“Very good, Lieutenant. Helm – adjust course ten degrees to port. Let’s give ourselves some maneuvering room around that storm.”

* * *

It was vaguely surreal for Strauss to sit in Akinola’s ready room. It was virtually identical in her own time, yet with subtle differences. She recognized most of the hand-carved ship models that the Captain had so skillfully crafted, but there were a few present that she did not recognize and some absent that existed in her time.

The furnishings were identical, however, as was the penetrating look on Akinola’s face she recalled from their first meeting, when she joined the crew in 2376.

I guess this is the new first-meeting, she mused. Time travel could be very confusing.

“Commander, we have a couple of issues to deal with in addition to the problem of getting you back to your correct time,” said Akinola.

“Just a couple?” she smiled weakly.

He chuckled. “Well . . . I'm sure we'll think of more. One we can deal with fairly easily – Dr. Baxter can provide those of us who have met you with a drug to provide short-term memory loss. It won’t totally erase our memories of these days, but he tells me that details will become blurred – hopefully enough to prevent any problems.”

Inga nodded. “Yes sir, that makes sense. What is the other issue?”

Akinola’s expression became somber. “One of us will need to keep our memories of your presence here in this time. Your odds of getting back to your proper time will be greatly improved if someone is expecting the situation and is ready to carry out what needs to be done on that end.”

“I see.” Strauss became pensive. “That has its own set of problems, you know.”

The Captain nodded. “It certainly does. But fewer problems than if we fail in this.”

“I suppose not.” She looked past him out the viewport. The colorful energy traces of the Badlands swirled past the cutter, providing a dream-like quality to an already bizarre scenario.

“Inga . . . I need to know who will be available to help you. . . who will still be on Bluefin in four years – out of the group that’s aware of your predicament.”

She kept her eyes fixed past Akinola and swallowed. No point saying more than necessary.

“You will be there, sir.”

Akinola nodded ever so slightly. She knew he wanted to ask more but he wisely kept those questions to himself. “Very well, Commander. That’s all I needed to know.”

* * *

For nearly two hours, Lt. Barclay absorbed the various bits of arcane data and circumstances surrounding Inga Strauss’ trip from the future. As the eccentric engineer immersed himself with the problem, his nervousness waned, replaced with barely restrained excitement.

He stood at the end of the ward room – the large viewscreen now serving as an oversize data PADD. Complicated formulae crowded the screen – most well beyond the expertise of either Gralt or T’Ser.

“Gragnar’s mangy pelt!” exclaimed Gralt, “How can you fit a Subzerian fractal in an inverse wave constant?”

Now in his element, Barclay responded like a veteran school master. He tapped the viewscreen for emphasis. “Look – just take the coefficient of the Hyjornian Thorem, factor in the flow of anti-chroniton particles, and the fractal replaces the cosine of the flux signal.” He stepped back, grinning as he clasped his hands together.

“It’s beautiful, actually,” he said in a voice tinged with emotion.

T’Ser felt like a preschooler in a quantum physics class. “Uh, Mr. Barclay – beauty aside, what does it all actually mean? Can we send Commander Strauss back to 2377 or not?”

He blinked, coming out of his reverie. “Well, um, yes – of course we can. Don’t you see it?”

Both Gralt and T’Ser shook their heads.

“Oh.” He sounded slightly dejected. He cleared his throat. “Sorry – I sometimes get carried away.”

He resumed his seat at the table, his lips tight as he considered how to answer. He threw his hands forward, and grabbed the salt and pepper shakers. Holding up the salt shaker for emphasis he said, “This represents Commander Strauss.” He placed the salt shaker on the table with a firm “thwok.”

Holding up the pepper shaker, he said, “This is the Bluefin in our current year of 2373.” He likewise placed it on the table. Once again picking up the salt shaker, he poured a sizeable pile of salt on the table.

“This represents Commander Strauss in her quantum state – much as any of us exist in a transporter stream.” He then poured a generous amount of pepper around the pile of salt.

“The pepper represents the sudden release of anti-chroniton particles that resulted when the ion surge disrupted the transporter beam.”

Without warning, Barclay blew the salt and pepper off the table in a black and white cloud.

“And that represents the combined energy surge that sent the Commander back in time. Understand?”

Gralt sneezed violently.

T’Ser calmy brushed salt and pepper from her tunic. “An interesting demonstration, Mr. Barclay. Now how do we get Ms. Strauss back to 2377?”

He beamed. “Simple! We merely have to reverse the procedure and replace all the grains of salt and pepper into their proper containers in the precise manner in which they were emptied.”

T’Ser turned to Gralt. “We’re screwed.”

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED

 

[Admiral2]

Yep. Just for fun, the notation "1.21 Gigawatts" should appear somewhere in Barclay's calculations.

But that's up to you. Story's still good either way.

 

[CeJay]

I love those great, supposedly simple demonstrations which usually help to explain nothing. Scientists just love that kind of stuff. But unless Barclay has something more thant salt and pepper shakers, T'Ser is right, they're screwed.

Something tells me things will work out alright. Must be the optimist in me.

 

[Mistral]

I liked the way you handled Akinola's dilemma. And Barclay's "explanation" was great-i could see him doing that.

 

[Nerys Ghemor]

Hah...I KNEW Akinola would be the one to remember--once I saw this, it was pretty clear that's why Akinola reacted to Strauss' presence the way he did in the first story. Nice!

And I'm amazed Gralt didn't kill Barclay!

 

[mirandafave]

Just getting stuck in to this.Wow. Great opening sequence with the rescue. From an everyday to a quickly chaotic and perilous mess. It was gripping and convincing in and of itself but all it was a preamble before you went and launched into the story proper.

Into the past she has been beamed. Oh dear. And what a mess she finds herself in. Tongue tied about revealing the future but worse still is the very lives of those around her have drastically changed in those four years. Yipes. She is on a bit of a pickle. What to reveal in order to help herself get back to her time and of course what not to reveal. Some obvious concerns for the crew concerning her rank and the fact she knows them. SO how will they fare with that?

Great little adventure going on here. As usual fantastic.

 

[mirandafave]

So the concerns grow. Baxter has dubious past links or certainly knowledge of the likes of S31. Yes they could in fact glean a lot of information from someone like Strauss. It would make things rather difficult for her but good for them! It also adds to the hush hush nature of keeping Inga's presence aboard quiet.

A rather neat and tidy means of getting around the remembering the whole thing - but a valid concern. And it probably did have to be Akinola - though how hard must it be for Baxter to know that he cannot be the one who cannot remember as he won't be about for it. Maybe the reading of her reaction to seeing him puts in train some of the thoughts in his head down the line. Of course, this whole story bit has raised the ugly spectre that someone killed Baxter for the knowledge or secrets he had. Or indeed as someone has speculated, maybe he isn't really dead! Anyway, yes this tale is throwing up a few things about the Tales of the Bluefin. From Baxter's death to Akinola accepting Inga so quickly and unreservedly despite her many reservations. Hmmm ... fun, interesting speculation.

Then we add the one and only Murdoch I mean Barclay into the mix. Ha! What a great realisation of the character. Good job. I also like the reaction from T'Ser: We're screwed! That sums things up neatly. Even more neat than Barclay's explanation which was a riot. Hee hee. Talk about making it simple - and makes it clear that they are indeed in a bind!

The angst and agony of certain scenes knowing what lays in store for T'Ser/Dale especially and as mentioned already concerning Baxter. Really quite sad and of course perfectly pitched and rendered. Super job.

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

USS Bluefin
Sometime in 2373

As the Bluefin plunged through the Molari Badlands, the ion storm picked up speed and intensity, sending out powerful gravimetric waves at the speed of light. One of these energy waves flowed over the cutter like a rogue ocean wave, buffeting the cutter with hellish radiation. For a moment, the Bluefin was engulfed in blue fire as her shields absorbed the sudden bombardment of concentrated ions before shedding the energy through heat sinks in the warp nacelles.

Her shields protected the crew from the onslaught of lethal radiation, but the sheer pressure of the wave rolled the cutter along her centerline, briefly over-stressing her structural integrity fields.

On the bridge, Lt. Commander Dee Dee Townsend instinctively grabbed the armrests of the command chair as the deck seemed to slide away. The PADD that had been lying beside her in the chair floated briefly in mid-air before clattering to the deck.

"Commander?" Lt. Bane was speaking while focusing on numerous warning alarms, "that energy spike you were waiting for? It just hit us!"

"You think?" she replied with barely concealed sarcasm. "I thought you were going to give just a little bit of a head's up, Nigel."

"Sorry! It blossomed out of nowhere, Commander. Now reading force six."

Townsend grimaced. The storm had doubled in intensity in less than an hour.

"Damage?"

"Nothing too serious. Power surges shut down primary transporter circuits, but I've rerouted power and they're back up. Structural integrity fields were maxed out for a second before secondary power kicked in. I'm working on augmenting the shields and structural integrity fields now."

"Good." She tapped the inter-ship comm stud on the arm of her chair.

"All hands, go to yellow alert - we are tracking an approaching force 6 ion storm. Damage and fire control parties report to your stations. Repeat, all hands go to yellow alert."

As soon as the inter-ship message ended, her own combadge chirped.

"Akinola to bridge - status report!"

Townsend tapped her communicator. "We got rolled by a gravimetric wave, but no damage to speak of. That storm is surging - do you want us to try and outrun it?"

"Too late for that. Just batten down the hatches and we'll ride it out. I'm heading to the wardroom for a meeting. Keep me posted about the storm. Akinola, out"

As the channel closed, Townsend frowned. Damned odd time for a meeting, she thought.

* * *

In the wardroom, Gralt, T'Ser and Lt. Barclay picked up over-turned chairs and tried to clean up spilled coffee. Barclay's face was noticeably pale.

"What caused that?" he asked, tightly. The nervous hitch had returned to his voice.

"Gravimetric wave, most likely," repled T'Ser. "The ion storm must be getting stronger."

"Brilliant deduction," wheezed Gralt, his eyes still brimming with tears after catching a face full of pepper. "As frakking obvious as the ears on your head."

T'Ser shrugged, not in the mood for banter. "Perhaps. But our more immediate concern is providing the Captain with a plan. We have only a few minutes before he arrives and I strongly suggest, Lieutenant," she fixed Barclay with a sharp stare, "that we provide him something more than table condiments sprayed in his face."

"Yes. Right. Sorry." The slender engineer ran a shaking hand through thinning hair. "It's just that I tend to work better alone. My counselor says my people skills are somewhat lacking, though she says I'm making progress."

T'Ser silently counted to ten. "I hadn't noticed," she lied, grateful that Gralt was too busy sneezing at the moment to reply. "However, we don't have the luxury to grant you sabbatical leave for research purposes. Believe me when I say, Captain Akinola expects results, not theories. He is not a patient man."

Barclay bobbed his head in acknowledgment. "Yes. Well . . ." He rubbed his hands together and looked around as if searching for something. "I, ah, actually do have a plan. Of sorts."

"Care to let us in on it?" Inquired T'Ser with heroic patience.

"Yes, right. Um, it's somewhat technical."

Gralt blew his snout loudly on the sleeve of his uniform, leaving gray, sticky tendrils of snot hanging from his nostrils. His blood-shot eyes blazed with indignation.

"Pustulent dung-hurling, baby eating, ill-tempered hordes of the 4th level pantheon!" roared Gralt. "BERKLEY!"

"Barclay."

"Don't interrupt me boy! I've been a by-the-gods engineer for nearly 40 years. I eat 'technical' for breakfast and shit instruction manuals before lunch! Now quit trying to impress us with your frakkin' high-brow, esoteric, wiz-kid, know-it-all attitude. If you weren't a guest on my ship, I'd use your liver to collect hydrogen, mop the deck with your pelt and mount your misbegotten ugly head on the bow for a frakking hood ornament!"

Reg stepped back wide-eyed and stunned under the thunderous assault. T'Ser took advantage of another sneezing jag to gently but firmly push Gralt into a chair. She forced a smile that was a bit too wide onto her face before speaking calmly to Barclay.

"What Commander Gralt means to say," she continued sweetly, "is that we are sensing a bit of condescension from you. We would greatly appreciate it if you would simply Get. To. The. Point." She was unaware that her fingers had left indentations in the metal chair she tightly gripped.

Before Barclay could stutter out a reply, the door to the wardroom slid open, allowing Captain Akinola and Commander Strauss to enter. Akinola stopped in the middle of the room, arms crossed. He was not in a good mood.

"Report!" He barked.

Barclay turned to see Akinola glowering at him. He turned back toward T'Ser who had nearly succeeded in pushing her fingers through a steel chair and then to Gralt, who managed to stare daggers at him between sneezes.

A primitive part of Barclay's brain took in these images and assessed the situation before providing a solution.

Barclay fainted.

Strauss knelt quickly down and checked the now unconscious engineer before directing a puzzled gaze toward T'Ser.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked.

"You'd have to ask his counselor," T'Ser replied. "I don't think I'm qualified to answer."

* * *