Sometime in 2373
USS Bluefin
Commander Dale McBride stepped off the turbo-lift onto the bridge, grabbing the rail surrounding the lower level as the cutter shuddered under an assault of concentrated ions.
"How's it goin' Dee Dee?" he asked as he steadied himself and moved to the command chair.
"Better, I guess," replied the Centauran Second Officer. "The reports of fights and other weirdness have diminished markedly since Doc had the meds sent 'round. We're still holding steady at 113 mark 12 at one-quarter impulse, though I'm still wondering why the hell we're heading into an ion-storm that's frakked up the space-time continuum?"
"It's, uh, part of the inspection protocol to see how we handle extreme conditions."
"Huh. Personally, I hope it doesn't get any more extreme. Did you know that Ensign Hart was running around deck three wearing nothing but a towel around his neck and shouting, 'I'm the walrus! I'm the walrus!'"
McBride stifled a laugh at the thought of the normally reserved environmental officer running around buck naked. "Nope, didn't hear about that one, though I understand Crewman Heideger planted a wet, sloppy kiss on Corpsman Rice before she could give him the sedative."
"What about you, Dale? Did our XO go off the deep end?"
"Not me. I slept like a baby through the whole thing." He cocked a glance at Townsend. "Any strange behavior on the bridge?"
She cut her gaze away. "None worth mentioning," she replied brusquely.
McBride thought about pressing the matter when Lt. T'Ser stepped onto the bridge and over to Ops, relieving Bane.
"Okay Dee Dee, you're relieved. Get some rest - I think you've earned it."
"The bridge is yours she said," vacating the center chair with unusual haste. She followed Bane onto the turbo-lift and faced ahead as the doors closed.
"Deck four," she announced, sneaking a side-long glance at Bane who seemed very interested in the ceiling.
"Uh, Commander?"
She sighed. "Yes, Mr. Bane?"
"About that 'obnoxious, over-endowed, knicker-twisted sheila' remark? I apologize . . . I was out of line."
Townsend cleared her throat. "Not your fault, Nigel. We were all 'under the influence,' so to speak."
"Yes ma'am."
"Nigel?"
"Ma'am?"
"Sorry about the crack about you and sheep."
"No worries, Ma'am."
* * *
"Okay, let me see if I have this straight," said Akinola. "We continue into the heart of the ion storm until we reach the coordinates where the Bluefin will be in four years, according to the transporter trace?"
Lt. Barclay nodded. "Yes sir, that's correct."
"Doc, you will administer something to instill short-term memory loss for the crew members who know of Commander Strauss' identity and her trip into the past?"
"Yes, the effects are mild with no harmful side-effects. These days will not be a blank but more like a blur, sort of like waking up from a dream you can almost but not quite remember."
"It will have to do," remarked Akinola. "Then I will continue with the charade of an inspection with Mr. Barclay assuming the role of observer - our story is that we're testing the feasibility of using the transporter in an ion storm."
"Which, in fact, we are doing," pointed out Commander Strauss, wryly.
"True enough," conceded the Captain, "but not in a way I ever hope to repeat."
Barclay handed a PADD to Akinola. "Captain, in four years it will be imperative that you enter these precise coordinates into your transporter and boost the gain on circuit A. I cannot stress enough how important that will be. If you don't, well . . ."
Akinola smiled. "Perks of being the C.O., Lieutenant. If I want to operate the transporter, I can damn well do so."
"Yeah - but what if something happens to you between now and then?" interjected Gralt. "Four years is a long time and I know you well enough that you won't play it safe."
"He'll be there," replied Strauss, with confidence.
The Tellarite shook his craggy head. "He was when you left. But none of us know how your arrival in this time has already changed things in the future. Just a minor deviation in the time-line could have him somewhere else or even dead."
"Always the optimist, eh Gralt?" Dr. Baxter smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "I think we've done an admirable job containing knowledge of Ms. Strauss' appearance to a small group and, once I administer the appropriate dosage, our memories of her will fade like fog on a sunny day."
Lt. Bane stood against the wardroom wall, arms crossed. I'm not sure I can ever forget that face, he thought.
"You mentioned one more thing, Mr. Barclay - please share it with the entire group," directed Akinola.
Reg nodded and cleared his throat. "The ion storm and the 'thin space' in this region provide two of the three main ingredients needed to complete the time transfer, not including Commander Strauss of course."
"So what else do we need?" asked Inga.
Barclay glanced at Akinola and Gralt before answering. "Your Stallion exploded just as you beamed out. We have to duplicate that as well."
Akinola frowned. "It's going to be tough explaining a missing Stallion to the squadron commander."
"You won't have to," interjected Gralt. "We can simulate the explosion with a photon warhead. I can adjust the yield to give us what we need."
The Captain nodded. "Very well." He glanced around the room. "Does anyone have any questions?"
"Yeah, I have one," replied Gralt, leaning forward over the table. "You plan on just carrying all of this around in your head for the next four years, pretending it never happened, even when you 'meet' Strauss for the first time in three years?"
Akinola stared calmly back at the Chief Engineer. "Yes, Gralt. That's exactly what I plan to do."
The Tellarite sat back, momentarily abashed. "Oh. Well, okay then."
Akinola's combadge chirped. "McBride to Captain."
He tapped his chest. "Go ahead, XO."
"Skipper, we've arrived at the designated coordinates and holding station, but it's not going to be easy. The pressure waves keep pushing us back. Fralk has us at ahead-slow just to keep us in place."
"Tell him it's imperative we remain at these coordinates. Do whatever it takes, but keep us on-station, understood?"
"Aye, sir, understood. Any other instructions?"
"Just have damage control parties standing by. Make it part of the drill. We'll have to open a window in the shields for a second when we make our attempt. I don't need to tell you what might happen when we do."
"I've got the picture, Skipper. Tell our guest 'good luck' for me."
Akinola glanced at Strauss who smiled. "She heard you, Dale. Akinola, out."
The Captain looked around the wardroom. "Let's get this done."
* * *
It was somewhat crowded in the small transporter room with Gralt and Barclay at the controls and Akinola, Strauss, Dr. Baxter and Lt. Bane standing by.
Strauss was once more wearing her normal uniform and rank insignia. "I don't know how to thank all of you . . ." she began.
"Just show up in four years," replied the Captain. "That will be thanks enough."
She stepped up on the dais and looked around. Akinola was the epitome of calm, his expression neutral. Gralt glowered, Baxter stroked his short beard thoughtfully, Lt. Barclay fiddled with the transporter controls . . .
. . . and Nigel winked.
It took all her poise not to giggle, but the gesture made her feel much better.
Her gaze moved back to Dr. Baxter and the ebullient mood faded, replaced with a sense of profound sorrow. Baxter must have seen something in her expression, because his brow knitted as they made eye contact.
She was vaguely aware of the conversation between Gralt and Barclay as she tried to will her thoughts to Dr. Baxter.
Don't do it, Doctor! Please, don't take your life.
"Phase sequence complete. Boost containment beam."
"Shields and tactical slaved to my station. Standing by to launch torpedo."
"Energizers at 110%. Ionic energy levels reading at 9.2 kilo-ergs."
"Standing by to open shield window for 2.7 microseconds."
Doc - please!
"Torpedo away!"
"Stand by to energize."
"Synchronizing shield controls to initiation sequence."
Please, Doc! Don't . . .
"Warhead has detonated!"
"Energize . . ."
* * *
The transporter room began to fade to gray as Inga was engulfed by the matter-transfer beam. She heard a high-pitched screech - a sound like rending metal and steam under high pressure.
Darkness.
For a time (it could have been a nano-second or a thousand years, she could not say) Inga felt like she was floating in a billion pieces. It was a tranquil feeling. She felt no fear or pain, only a sense of calm well-being. A light began to glow, faintly at first, then with increasing intensity until . . .
* * *
Sometime in mid-2377
USS Bluefin
"Pulse is thready and irregular!"
"10 cc of Cordrazyne, then get him to sickbay, stat!"
Dr. Castille glanced up from the prone form of Chief Deryx at Captain Akinola who continued to work frantically at the transporter controls. Sparks flew from one of the transporter pads as an energy surge fried a coalescer diode.
"Do you have her?" It was probably a stupid question, but Castille asked anyway. It was obvious that things were not going well.
"Sir - if you'll cross-circuit . . ." urged an agitated Ensign Li.
"Back off, Mr. Li! Go help Doc and the Corpsman with Chief Deryx."
The Asian ensign glanced helplessly at the Doctor. For his part, Castille wondered if Akinola had lost his mind.
"Captain, maybe you should . . ."
Before he could finish, a column of energy appeared on the transporter pad. It swirled and shifted before slowly taking on a human form. For what seemed like minutes (but in fact was only a few seconds) the shimmering column became solid.
Inga Strauss tumbled forward onto the deck.
Akinola reached her before Castille. The XO was pale and apparently unconscious. Akinola cradled her, his expression tight with worry.
"Inga? Can you hear me?"
"Captain, let me . . ." Castille gently extricated Strauss from Akinola's arms and placed her gently on the deck. The cutter shuddered slightly, then steadied, reminding the CMO that they were hardly safe.
Akinola seemed to realize the same thing. He tapped his combadge. "Captain to bridge - Delta, get us out of here - best possible speed!"
"Aye, sir. Skipper, did you get . . ."
"Yes Commander, we got them. Just. Akinola, out."
He glanced down at the prone woman, her blond hair splayed out on the deck, her face pale as death.
Castille ran his bio-scanner over her quickly before muttering something in Spanish. He pulled a hypo-spray from his pouch and pressed it against her neck.
For a moment, nothing happened, and Akinola's heart sank. All of this, all the effort, all the years . . . for naught?
Inga's eyes flew open and she arched her back, drawing in a long, deep breath. She quickly settled back on the deck, her eyes blinking until they focused on Captain Akinola, then Dr. Castille. Upon spying Castille, an odd expression flickered across her face. The CMO was too busy looking at the medical scanner to notice, but Akinola caught the look.
It was an expression of sorrow.
* * *
Two hours later.
"I'm fine, Doctor, really! Please, just let me go to my quarters and get some rest . . . I promise to behave!"
Dr. Castille regarded Commander Strauss with a look of suspicion. Captain Akinola stood by, obviously relieved, but maintaining his poker face.
"Captain, maybe you can convince Commander Strauss that she nearly died two hours ago. She doesn't seem to believe me!"
"I feel fine," protested Inga. "Look - I'll go right to bed, I promise, but let me sleep in my own bunk. I can't rest with all of this . . . stuff around!" she gestured at the diagnostic equipment that surrounded her bed.
"She looks okay to me, Doc," remarked the Nigerian C.O.
"Well thank you, Dr. Akinola," groused an irritated Castille. He sighed. "Oh, hell, go on - get out of here. But you get back here on the double if you have blurred vision, dizziness or anything else out of the ordinary, understood?"
Inga nodded. "Count on it!" She swung her legs off the bed, like the gymnast she had once been, landing lightly on the deck. She smiled and spread her arms. "See? Good as new."
Castille snorted. "Why are command officers the worst patients? Look, at least stop by tomorrow so I can check your vitals. Your initial reading when you beamed in were off the scales . . . I've never seen anything quite like it."
"I will, I promise. Thank you, Doctor."
"Yeah, yeah, sure. At least Chief Deryx knew enough to stay put for 24 hours. He's got more sense than the two of you put together!"
* * *
Akinola accompanied Strauss to her quarters. In the quiet corridors she spoke softly.
"Thank you," she said, softly.
"You're welcome."
She stopped and turned to him. "Dr. Baxter, he's . . ."
A pained expression crossed Akinola's face. "Dead. Yes, about a year ago. Is that what you remember from this timeline?"
"Unfortunately, yes." She sighed. "Captain . . . I should have warned him . . . "
He placed a paternal hand on her arm. "No, Inga, you couldn't. Don't blame yourself. I guess Calvin couldn't bear the thought of being used by the Romulans that way."
She shook her head. "But he . . ." She stopped, not wishing to reveal her own near-brush with suicide.
"What?"
"Nothing." They stopped in front of the door to her quarters. "But what if I had warned him, Captain? He might still be alive today. I'll always wonder . . ."
Akinola pressed the hypo-spray against her neck. Her hand shot up to the site of the injection, a look of surprise on her face before she sagged and the Captain caught her.
"No, Inga," he said, gently as he carried her into her quarters and placed her on her bunk. "You won't. That will be my burden."
* * *
EPILOGUE
Sometime in mid-2377
Hy'Aegal City by the Omidan Sea, Rigel IV
A warm breeze flowed through the open store front of the small coffee, tea and herb shop. Randall Frieze savored the salty tang of the ocean air as he bagged k'leeton leaves for an elderly Vulcan woman. She nodded to him in thanks before shuffling out of the store on her cane. Frieze had owned the ship for half a year and the old woman was a regular, every quarter-week at 1430 hours.
He walked behind the counter where Paul Ruiz was checking inventory on a PADD. The young man licked the end of his stylus, his brow creased in thought.
Frieze smiled. "Paul, why don't you take a break? The inventory doesn't have to be completed today - why don't you head to the beach for a while?"
Ruiz shook his head. "Can't. I'm on until closing, remember?"
Randall sighed and picked up his coffee mug. How could he forget? Neither Ruiz or Selan or J'Yanter ever left him completely alone. He sat at one of the small, round tables and watched people walk by on the pale, gray stone street.
A group of Hintaran monks entered the store. Ruiz paused to fill their order for herbs. Frieze sipped his coffee and observed the three robed figures. Two were human males, one advanced in years, quite a bit older than Frieze. The female was a Rigellian of avian descent, her head covered with a plume of thin, brown feathers.
Receiving their bags of assorted herbs and teas, the three left the shop. The woman nodded at Frieze who lifted his mug in greeting.
He sighed. In some ways, this was an idyllic setting - a beautful little sea-side town with a wonderful climate, settled against purple hills and a clear, azure sea.
So different from his old life. Yet, he would give almost anything to reclaim . . .
A commotion outside and a sudden shout for help brought him out of his reverie.
The Rigellian woman hurried back in. "Help us, please! Brother Nik has collapsed. I think it's his heart!"
Frieze was on his feet in an instant, but he felt a strong restraining hand on his arm. He turned to stare into the dark eyes of Paul Ruiz.
"No," Ruiz said, simply. "You can't take the risk."
"I have to!" Frieze protested.
"I'll call the med-center. They can beam him over . . ."
"Paul! He's a Hintaran monk - it's against their beliefs to use a transporter."
"Then we'll get medics to come here. Go in the back. Now."
"Or what? Do you plan on stunning me? That would be real subtle, wouldn't it?"
Ruiz removed his hand from behind his back, a look of uncertainty on his face. "Dammit, you can't just . . ."
"Watch me." Frieze brushed past Paul Ruiz and quickly trotted after the woman to the monk who lay motionless on the sidewalk. A small crowd of on-lookers had gathered, but no one had offered any help.
In a year, much had changed in the life of Randall Frieze, his name being the least of these. His once white mane of hair was shaved, leaving a tanned, bald pate. His short beard was now full and dark. Genetic modifications had altered his eye color, blood type and his finger prints. Even his bio-signature was different. Starfleet Intelligence had gone to great lengths to protect Randall Frieze from the reprisals of the Tal'Shiar, faking his death and relocating him many light-years from his home on Earth. Even his wife and children did not know the truth.
But one thing Starfleet Intelligence could not do was change the nature of a man. Randall Frieze, once and always a physician, hurried to render aid to the sick old man.
END
