Braxton: In the Uvula of Madness.

[Guy Gardener]

1969.

Spock neck pinches an orderly.

Kirk punched another orderly in the chin.

Spock neck pinches a different orderly.

Kirk judo chops a new orderly in the neck.

Spock neck pinches an orderly.

Kirk kicks an older orderly in the face.

Spock neck pinches a fresh orderly.

Kirk drop kicks a random orderly in the chest.

Spock neck pinches the last orderly.

“Captain you appear to be winded.”

Standing victorious in the middle of a huge stack of horizontal professional healthcare workers fitted in starched white linen, Kirk rolls his eyes, then opens the cell to which the two star fleet officers had been “brawling” their way towards for the last few minutes, since they found out that there’s something in 1969 that has no sensible right to be there.

Inside this padded room, an unshaven, unkempt bean eyed crazy person in a straight jacket tied to the floor is beyond unhappy to see this odd couple coming to his rescue. “No!”

Kirk is worried about what exact bullshit he has walked in on. “No?”

“I said “No!” You quasi-Cardassian totalitarian. I don’t want your help, I don’t need your help Kirk! Scram!!”

“You know who we are?” They are in a position to save this strange man from captivity, but he’s just not into it.

“Get out! Get the hell out, or I’m going to tell the both of you how and when you die… BOTH TIMES!”

“Fascinating?” Spock ponders.

“OKaaaay…” Kirk has finally completely found his breath “Look I can tell when we are not welcome, so we’re just going to leave and call it a day, we’re quite busy trying to track down an errant airforce Captain, so catch you on the flip side?”

“SO HELP ME GOD! IF YOU SO MUCH AS THINK ABOUT TRANSPORTING ME OUT OF HERE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION, I’LL STICK MY FOOT SO FAR UP YOUR ASS, I’LL KNOCK YOUR DAMN TEETH OUT.”

Spock remarks “Vivid.”

Kirk takes his communicator from his utility belt, opens it and says “Beam me up Scotty.”

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Spock remarks “Vivid.”

In a word... fun! rbs

 

[Guy Gardener]

1975

Kira is scanning the shorn baldy man strapped to a table “It’s inside him. I think he swallowed it. A Federation transponder. Almost. But it’s not one of ours. Same frequency, but it’s almost another language, or possibly encrypted?”

“An encrypted distress signal. Maybe he’s an idiot?” O’Brien looks around the hospital dormitory for some evidence of Sisko, Jadzia or Bashir, but although this seems to be nowhere where they should have been going to go to find their friends who are lost in time, this might be a surprising opportunity if they have found another time traveller who might actually know what he’s doing, although this person bound to a table awaiting treatment from 20th century butchers can’t even seem to help himself right now, so how can he possibly help them find Sisko?

“You’re the idiot who married a Paugh Wraith.”

Mile’s Irish brogue whimpered a little “What?”

“500 years later, history does not remember you as the hardest working man in Starfleet, well it does, but what history really can’t help carping on about is how shrill your wife is. Seriously buddy, you can do so much better.”

O’Brien punched Braxton in the nuts, because that’s what you are supposed to do when some a$shole is shit-talking about your wife.

The pain is familiar so Braxton makes the exact awkward noises you expect to come from a lad with tenderized testicles “Smarts.”

“I’m Chief Petty Officer Miles O’Brien, this is Major Kira, we have lost our friends, can you help us?”

“I know who you are.” The time ship captain scoffs.

Major Kira joins the conversation “Then you have to help us. Earth’s history is falling apart. It’s all wrong.”

“You’re not thinking this through Nerys, who cares about Earth, with maybe ten torpedoes you could end all life on Cardassia, or if you’re squeamish, finish their space program, three entire centuries before the Occupation begins.”

“What? I could? O’Brien?” These thoughts are dizzying.

“Of course that would really piss off the Prophets. If the Cardassians don’t brutally murder 180 million Bajorans then they don’t get to anoint the Emissary who’s going to K.O. the Kosst Amojan. Cause and effect, A leads to B, leads to C.”

O’Brien punches this obnoxious guy’s dick again.

Its difficult to breath “Torture. Super ethical. You deserve a medal.”

“Stop the damn mind games, whoever you are, pure and simple, will you help us?” O’Brien demands.

“God no.” There’s laughter as Braxton turns them down.

“Really?”

“I am not going to help you, and I want you to leave me alone, so you can sort out your own petty, pathetic 24th century problems.”

“Time is dying.” Kira beseeches this stranger with not a lick of sympathy for any ounce of her Bajoran condition.

“Not my problem. F#ck off.” Braxton shuts his eyes and tries to go back to sleep.

Kira and O’Brien look at each other wistfully to confirm that they are talking to a crazy person who they want no bloody part of.

“My wife is a wonderful person! …O’Brien to Defiant, two to beam up.”

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Great story title - Thanks!! rbs

 

[Guy Gardener]

1986

It’s the same shaggy nutter chewing on his own finger tips looking up from his feast still not pleased to hear the whine of an old fashioned transporter signal asking a question “Whales?”

“Whales.” Admiral Kirk answers this fidgety sanatorium inmate who is obviously still from a more farther away future still, because none of this is a surprise to him.

“You got fat.”

Kirk responds calmly “Not really. I just stopped wearing my girdle. You’ve been locked in this room for 17 years, I thought it’d be fair to check in, while I’m in town. Offer a hand.”

“I’m still not going anywhere with you Jimmy. I need to be rescued by my own people, you may think that you are a seasoned time traveler by this point, even my equal, but you are freakishly young, so I can’t trust you not to be a selfish moron, if things get sticky.”

Hugging his gut “I haven’t felt “young” in a really long time.”

“In less than 10 years, local government and federal programs, are going to give up on mental health issues. I will be turned out on the street.”

“That’s your plan?” Kirk can’t believe how small this man is, now that he’s being just a little less mysterious.

“My plan is to make as little change to the timeline as possible, even as several iterations of James T. Kirk are thundering around time like rhinoceroses on top of each other without any concern for continuity, or whether the Solar System is on point to blow up in 900 years.”

“There’s an alien Probe in the 23rd century ripping the lid off this planet. Wherever you are from, the Federation is not going to make it half way there if you don’t tell me how to stop the probe. We have to deal with this first. You have to help me if you can. Please.”

“Be honest Jim. The Federation doesn’t need Earth. In your time there are 70 member worlds. Andor has been trying to replace Earth as the Federation Capitol World since 2162, as soon as they realized how much your climate sucked. That Probe could vaporize half the Federation, and the wheels of civilization would keep rolling. So just chill out.”

“Our plan to save Earth by liberating George and Gracie won’t work?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Kirk starts grinding his teeth “Then what are you saying?”

“As close to nothing as possible.”

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Kirk responds calmly “Not really. I just stopped wearing my girdle..."

You're fit to give Hawku a run for his money... Thanks!! rbs

 

[Guy Gardener]

1991.

“This hospital is done. You do not live here anymore. It will not feed you, wash you, or mainline the literal wheelbarrow of Drugs you need to consume per week to stay lucid. Your severance package for lack of a better word is four thousand dollars and a box of fresh underwear. Do you understand your rights and obligations as I have explained them?”

“You’re what? My Social worker?”

“I am your Supervisor. Roberta Lincoln. I will be responsible for your well being, for the foreseeable future.”

“I freaking loath social workers.”

 

[Guy Gardener]

1996

The Federation Time Ship Aeon is slick as piss, piloted by the young and sexy Captain Chakotay Montgomery Michael Jackson Braxton, the best the Federation has to offer, zipping out of a high orbit time crack, into the literalist shit, talking down to some barbarian idiot from the 24th century about how they can scan alternate timelines, and then (Young) Braxton prepares to embrace himself. In less than twenty minutes (young) Braxton’s going to inherit a quarter century of exile in the armpit of time, which might as well be a suicide, death of personality, but Michael Jackson swore an Oath to preserve time even if it was awful, so better a disgruntled doppelganger is trapped in his soul, rather than running about free in the real world generating obscene new ass backwards timelines.

As soon as the Aeon lands in spitting distance of his MUCH older lice ridden alternate self, worried that the fuzz is here and the jig is up, the cock pit door pops open, and a floral Talaxian/Vulcan hybrid falls from a low rise building’s open window, into the cockpit, double neck pinching (young) Braxton into absolute submission like a boss.

”Oi You! F#cko! Get the hell off me, you itinerant Gorn botherer!” Old man shit caked beardo Braxton complains loudly, looking for a phaser he lost 30 years ago. “You got like 10 whole seconds to give that ship to me, or I am going to rip your ears off Tuvix!”

Half justification, half apology Tuvix is looking for sympathy from the same persons who both hate him “Time was shattered on Voyager, I found my way to the 20th century, and I need this ship to be free. You can’t make me go back to that woman. She is unhinged. It’s like she’s leading a cult.”

“Good god you are ugly. No wonder Kes wouldn’t boff you.” (old) Braxton picks up a garbage tin lid to use as a weapon, as Tuvix is trying to switch places with the (young) time ship Captain he’s sitting on, which is gymnastically difficult, to say the least. “When they eventually murder you, no one cries, no one cares, you are the worst, you are a transportor malfunction abomination too inconsiderate and selfish to make way for… Oh. You have to go back to where you came from STAT or I will never be born, and if I am never born, I am going to kick your striped ass so hard, you mutant ####. F#ck it, just on principle I am going to beat you half to death!”

Tuvix becomes the very uncomfortable meat in a young Braxton/Old Braxton Sandwich, as old Braxton who has not bathed in 15 days leaps into the Aeon’s marginal and cramped cockpit too, laying into his great great great great great great great grandfather, who is unsuccessfully trying to wrestle by the tits his much younger much more fragrant great great great great great great great grandson out of the timeship he’s trying to jack, so no one achieves anything, and every one quickly gets very tired of very almost nearly doing some particularly racy incest.

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

“God god you are ugly. No wonder Kes wouldn’t boff you.”

Interesting that we're both up to time travel nonsense... Thanks!! rbs

 

[Guy Gardener]

1996 (Again).

Chronos, god of time, not the planet, seems to be a massive fan of 3 ring circus clown cars, one could easily conclude as two more Braxtons and a younger Seven of Nine, materialize into the past, tumbling, ass over tea kettle in every direction, right into the mighty USS Aeon’s single serving control cabin. That’s 4 Braxtons, a man covered completely in tiger print toilet brush bristle, and a lady with a 150 pounds of metal stuffed into her bones, trying to make lodgement in a hope chest, so whichever poor S.O.B. is stuck towards the deepest underneath of this malign of time “cops and robbers” scrum, is probably already half smothered choking on moobs and backsides.

“Stop It! Stop it! Stop panicking! Is anyone dead?”

They all keep punching and pulling and kicking each other, because co-operation is for losers. Seven of Nine considers that her only possible avenue of escape from this entanglement of old white men and Tuvix… Holy shit that’s Tuvix! Focus. Where was I? Seven of Nine considers that her only possible avenue of escape from this entanglement of old white men and Tuvix, is to assimilate everyone, otherwise this fandangle could last a solar week at this rate. “Whoever is digging their elbow into my breast, please desist!”

Bum Braxton squeals “No one’s going to integrate me, gahd nabbit!”

The former Captain of the Relativity responds from the human pool “I am “you” after integration and I still can’t scrub that smell off! No one wants you!”

“What’s integration?” Tuvix the father of integration asks ironically.

In less than three minutes, they have all extracted themselves from the shuttle, so I was perhaps probably exaggerating about how stuck they all were. Theses 6 mostly Starfleet Officers are squared off into a circle not sure what to make of each other, which is sad, since four of them are the same person.

“Tuvix?” Seven of Nine checks “You are “The” Tuvix?”

“You’re from Voyager? That isn’t possible. I have no idea who you are.”

“The entire crew all the way down to the Captain’s Assistant has been ordered to forward you a message from Captain Janeway if something temporal happens where it looks like you might cheat fate.”

“And?”

“I’m coming for you fuzzball.”

“You can’t be serious?” His Talaxian eyebrow does a Vulcan arch.

Advanced Temporal Psychosis Braxton welcomes the opportunity to be sexist about the woman he hates most in the universe “That b!tch is the worst, hands up who wants to kick the living crap out of her?”

3 Braxtons and Tuvix raise their hands.

 

[Guy Gardener]

2267.

“Whooooo are you!?” Khan’s hand went for the neck, but the grease, snot, food, filth, scum, detritus, dead skin, maggots and squirrel shit caught in Braxton’s brush was an elegant deterrent to even this colossal psychopath. “You are not a superman. Far, faaaaar from it. Who? Are? You?”

Khan’s insurrection is underway. Take the Enterprise, take a Star Base, take a colony planet, gene-mod those who admire his superior Destiny, and then with an army of Supermen TAKE EARTH, take the Federation, take the Galaxy, and then resting on a Golgotha of his enemies, sleep justly before he triumphantly moves onward to Andromeda. The universe will bow to Khan, but first, this stringent stowaway will explain himself to the indomitable ruler of Man and Superman, because this is a bizarre anomaly which must be cut down to the nub.

“Speak. Speeeaaak.” Khan presses his thumbs into Braxton’s eyes, which is still going to give this 20th century tyrant a rash he will need atopic anointment to remove above and beyond what his genetically modified superior immune system can fight. Khan lets him go. “You are filthy! You defiiiiiile me. A friend, one of my lovers was supposed to be in this hibernation canister. I have neeeed of her. What did you do with my mate?”

“You want sex?”

“I want nothing. The future demands I present heirs. If I do not have thousands of children, to cement my destiny, I am lost, and our species is lost.”

Braxton sits up and tries to wring the crook out his neck. “Wow. Sorry, this is not part of the historical record, half way through a mutiny, you’re sniffing around for some strange… You are fricking such a cartoon Noon.”

“Impertinence!” Khan bashes old tramp Braxton unconscious. His rage does get in the way of accomplishing the simplest tasks. One sleep canister over, where Brenda should be waiting pert and moist ready to make another powerful son for the greatest human being who has ever lived, golly, there’s another man there who Khan does not know…. No… It’s the same man. Younger, cleaner, groomed, and without a bushman’s beard, but clearly the same man, maybe a clone, what the devil is going on?!

(Khan opens the next canister where Young Braxton has been napping for centuries, who is just some poor bastard trying to make his way home.)

“Riiiiiiiise! Supplicate yourself to your Khan.”

“Mom, I don’t want to go to school today. I need another half hour…”

“Get up or I will break your spine.”

“You could try old man but I’m at least three times stronger than you are.”

“Lies!”

“I am Superior!” Braxton insists.

“I am Superior!” Khan insists.

“I am Superior!” Braxton insists.

“I am Superior!” Khan insists.

“I am Superior!” Braxton insists.

“I am Superior!” Khan insists.

“I am Superior!” Braxton insists.

Khan tries to punch through young Braxton’s face and pull out his brain, but the genetically engineered alien hybrid time traveller super soldier catches Khan’s fist, sits up and assumes control of the situation. “My Genetics are superior. I am stronger, smarter and faster than you are. By your own law, I own you and you will submit to me, or I will grind you to paste.”

“Never! I am Khan!”

Braxton bends Khan’s wrist back and it snaps.

“No, you are an asshole.”

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Yeah... We've all been waiting for someone to out Khan Khan... Thanks!! rbs

 

[Guy Gardener]

2267.
The glowering pumice guardian of time, an immense portal to everywhere projecting a voice like your dad after you dinged the family car screams “Time has resumed its shape. All is as it was before. Many such journeys are possible. Let me be your gateway.”

A young woman in a hot little red dress that might as well belong to a tweenager says “Captain, the Enterprise is up there. They're asking if we want to beam up.“

The Captain acknowledges his subordinate with all the vim of a dead man “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Like the changing of the guard in Old Britain, as Kirk’s landing party returns to their home base in orbit, Braxton and Braxton, completely related, they’re actually the same person, in Science Blue, take the Enterprise’s command crew’s place on the Guardians world. Of course these blokes are hardly the same men you saw 3 months ago awakening into the 23rd century prisoners of a superman. They’ve had the run of the original 1701, hiding in plain sight, as crew building towards this final step home, through the event horizon of the Guardian of Forever. Yes, they could have stayed in stasis on Earth throughout a Nuclear War where the power grid blinked out for 2 decades, and archaeologist tomb raiders harvested centuries of garbage to make the hardest years on Earth a convolution of mismatched modcons holding back a return to cowboy times… So that scheme would not have worked. Flint and Gary 7 have time travel but they are unco-operative and dangerous. So very dangerous, when they put their minds to it.

“Guradian!” Old Braxton who has been showering for 3 months, and taking his meds from Dr McCoy yells at the glittering stone edifice.

“You are the same man.” The Guardian bellows.

“Gotcha. We want to go home, to the 29th century.” Old Braxton continues as the lead in this conversation.

“Many such Journeys are possible, but only for one of you. One of you has a grand destiny and the other is from a garbage timeline who will be shredded by time storms the moment he enters inside me.”

“One of us? Which one of us lives, and which one of us dies?” Braxton the younger joins the fray with the time doughnut.

“Enter me and find out.”

“ … ?”

“Was that a dick joke?”

“Is this #### for real?”

The younger Brtaxton levels his side arm, clocks the setting up to kill, and unloads a duranium melting endless stream of destruction on the ancient sentient time computer. The other Braxton joins in, ramping up the gigawats, trying to shatter the ancient monolith, or at least make it cry uncle.

“Speak plainly. Speak Federation Standard or die you conceited stuck up bohemian disco reject!”

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

a voice like your dad after you dinged the family car s

Sweet metaphor!

“Speak plainly. Speak Federation Standard or die you conceited stuck up bohemian disco reject!”

 

[Guy Gardener]

2268.

The last three months had been epic. As much as they knew how everything was supposed to happen, it’s not like exactly “everything“ was a matter of public record and really the Braxtons where drawing from their own memories on history than anything they’d written down before they lost access to the true future. But here’s a short account of their adventures on the Enterprise after Guardian waited them out, and they got nothing.

Horny Spock threw Young Braxton into a bulkhead. They primed the ships Phasers that bared down a sky scraping Greek God. Old Braxton beamed aboard a lost Probe. Young Braxton was sexually assaulted by Mirror Mirror McCoy. Old Braxton lost a finger to exploding boulders. They hacked the Doomsday machine so nothing got out of hand. Old Braxton got Heat Stroke in a tiny Enterprise. Old Braxton did not get along with Mudd at all. Old Braxton got Sarek’s autograph. Young Braxton got the flutters when he met Commissioner Nancy Hedford. They played tag with a Klingon Warbird. Young Braxton and Old Braxton had to be cautious not be confused for the crew being aged up by a radiation illness. They couldn’t quite figure out how to use a space vampire cloud out of sync with time to get home. Redjack recognized Old Braxton from when they tried to kill each other in the 19th century, which brings us up to date, hovering over Deep Space Station K-7 stuffed to the gills with tribbles, taunting Koloth the Unmitigated, waiting for the USS Defiant NX-74205 to fall through time and grease their journey up river.

 

[Guy Gardener]

2373.

Quark’s Bar and Family Eatery.

Before the War, the moron twins disjoin the timeline again, sidling up to a set of empty bar-stools next to where the CMO is drinking.

“Doctor Bashir, I presume?” Old Braxton puts his hand out to shake the very handsome young boy’s petite appendage “We have it on good authority that your brain is compartmentalized. It’s not your fault. We’re here to help. There’s the “you” who we are talking to, and then there’s another “you” who is very much like Garak.”

“Homosexual?”

“A skeevy black ops bastard who would sell his own mother for a bucket of loose change.”

“That’s a little harsh.”

“We think if we suggest the right terms and scenarios that it will trigger your alternate personality, who by the way is inside you watching, considering how best to kill us, to preserve his cover... But I suppose your inny could also be homosexual as well as an assassin and a spymaster.”

Bashir’s eyes roll. “Are you finished?”

“Oh, no. Or we could also blackmail you into submission, since no one knows that you are genetically engineered yet. Your dad gets into a world of trouble over that.”

“What?”

”You had a microscopic nip tuck as a child and walked away from it a superman.”

“Rubbish and slander!”

“That sounded really sincere. Does your altered state working for Section 31 not know about your genetic enhancements?”

“It’s not him.”

“What do you mean "it’s not him"?”

“It’s the Changeling.”

“The Changeling?”

“Yes, you remember, the Changeling.”

“Hot damn, I thought that was later, surely this is too early for that? Yes, yes, I can see it now, this is totally %100 not the genuine article.”

“It is really quite clever how you do that, even if your eyes are too close together.”

“My eyes are exactly where they are supposed to be!”

“Sure they are buddy.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, you got your evil schemes and we got our evil schemes, there’s no reason we both can’t come out of this smelling minty fresh. We just need one thing from you.”

“WORFFFFFFFFFF!”

“Send him away or we kill him and your mission fails, you radical Dominon pervert”.

A mountain side of Klingon beef stomps up into this conversation “What do you want Dr. Bashir?”

“What’s 53 + 23?”

Worf grumbles under his breath like he’s too good for all of these people “Seventy-Six.”

“Thanks. That’s all.”

Worf moves along.

“He would be a lot easier to talk to if you didn’t make it so obvious that you want to #uck his wife.”

“They are not married yet.”

“Girlfriend, fiance, whatever. Point stands.”

“You’re obviously time travellers, and my participation in future events is so important that “right now” I get a free pass?”

“Yippers.”

“The Dominon outlawed time travel 10 thousand years ago.”

“That ain’t going to last”

“I still think I can get Worf to kill you before you two tell him what I am.”

“Before we get into that, why don’t you ask us what we want?”

“What do you want?”

“Long story short, we want to defect.”

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

There’s the “you” who we are talking to, and then there’s another “you” who is very much like Garak.”

“Homosexual?”

Thanks!! rbs

 

[Guy Gardener]

2374

“You say you don't want me to sacrifice my life? Well, fine, neither do I. You want to be gods, then be gods. I need a miracle. Bajor needs a miracle. Stop those ships.”

The ships, a Dominion assault fleet, 2000 Capital Ships, 1000 mid range cruisers, 5000 fighters, 3000 support vessels and freighters, 750,000 Jem’Ha’dar, 20 thousand Vorta, 90 Founders and 2 human beings vanished, not to be seen again by recorded history for another 200 years.

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

^^^ winner of the brevity award.

 

[Guy Gardener]

2551.

The Battle of Procyon Five.

Admiral Kira Odo, husband to a dead woman, and commanding officer of the USS Enterprise 1701J, kicked through a door that could hold back an elephant straight into a visage of intensive horrorporn. “Stop it!”

The Braxtons had Captain Daniels from the 31st century suspend upside down from the ceiling. Their boots were painted thick with mauve blood from kicking him in the face over and over again. Most of his shattered front teeth had been splintered hurly burly across the suite into linen, under furniture and secreted into a bowl of fruit. Getting the hardest man to talk, doesn’t take skill, just time, and usually not a lot of time.

“Get out Odo, this has nothing to do with you. We turned the tide of your battle, which this asshole was willing to let you lose. You owe us.”

Odo never panics “10 thousand Dominion ships from the past, turned loose on the Alpha Quadrant is probably as dangerous as millions of trillions of gigatons of transphasic space ripping thousands of Solar systems in half. You just made an impossible situation twice as complicated you imbecile. I owe you nothing.”

“You’re a founder, just tell them to behave. No big.”

In desperation the upside down man leaking on the lavish carpet of one of the Enterprises more garish staterooms eeks out two words “Help. Me.”

Odo can barely suppress his rage “You are Federation Officers! This behaviour is unacceptable!”

The younger Braxton kicks Daniels in the back of the Skull again hard enough to chip concrete.

“Look Admiral, we are from the future, he is from the future, we outrank you, we just want his time machine, and then you can nurse him back to health, and we’ll go back in time and clean all this up so that no one has to do anything this messy to reach Utopia. Another 5 minutes and we’ll have broken him. This is all perfectly normal and nothing to worry about. Go fight your silly star wars, and we will fight the real battle, though time and for the future! Tempus Fugit!”

Odo kneels down, feels for Daniels’ pulse, and addresses the two time-pshycopaths with the deepest sincerity “Idiots. He’s dead. You killed him. You are not going anywhere except my brig. SECURITY!”