I know this is late. If you want in include it fine, if not, fine. I was so close to finishing it the last day or two, that I couldn't let it go to waste.
Stardate 55052.24 (Jan 20th 2378, 0130)
USS Shepard, Transporter Room
Halfway through the beamup, Crewman Parker realized things weren’t going as smoothly as they should be. Wild energy spikes resonated through the transporter trace, and she quickly engaged the emergency signal dampener. To make matters worse, the comm circuit began beeping and flashing annoyingly. At least she could ignore that.
Someone wasn’t willing to wait, and opened the circuit from the other end. “Transporter room, this is Captain Ridgeway. Please tell me you have the landing party onboard.”
Not one to hedge bad news, and also not wanting to be distracted by a lengthy discussion, Parker answered a bit tersely, “No Sir, I’m working on it. They’re in the beam, but I encountered sudden signal interference and noise spikes.”
The Captain answered, trying to sound detached. “An ion storm hit us without warning. Keep that signal intact, help is on the way.”
Parker diverted only a small amount of attention to Captain Ridgeway, most of her effort was focused on deftly manipulating the controls to maintain signal integrity. Reassuringly, particle outlines started to coalesce above the circular transport pads, but then faded in and out several times while Parker continued to work.
The Iotian was so intent on the task at hand that it barely registered in her awareness when the door to the transporter room slid open and someone moved to stand beside her at the console.
Without speaking the other set of fingers began to race over the console, smoothly taking over part of the operation without intruding.
Inwardly relieved for the assistance, Parker allowed herself the luxury of reaching up and brushing an errant lock from her diagonally bobbed blonde hair safely behind one ear.
Whether it was the extra hands or just timing, at that instant the several forms on the transporter pad became solid.
Parker looked up at them, a smile forming briefly before turning to a frown. “Captain, you had better send security down here, we may have a problem.”
Same instant, another universe
Orion Conglomerate Vessel Shepa’ard
They said you weren’t supposed to experience time while in a transport beam, but LT Tara would have sworn that this transport took longer. Not only that, she had never before felt even the slightest bit of disorientation following a transport. This time she actually had to take a half step to catch her balance.
A step forward and she was off the transporter pad, but everything was wrong. First of all, instead of the Starfleet uniform and duty belt she had worn seconds prior, she looked down and saw that only a short, slit side skirt covered her legs. More disturbing was that her torso was bare save for a broad gem studded gold collar that lay across both shoulders. All in all, far more of her smooth green skin was showing than had been mere seconds before.
The room itself was dim but ornately decorated. Curtains hung from the walls, and artificial torches provided illumination from metal sconces. The transporter console itself looked more like a carved stone pillar with jewels inset onto one face than a piece of equipment. It was also warmer than it should be, but comfortably so.
The Green Orion male standing behind the console was a stranger to her, and was dressed similarly to her with the exception that he wore no shoulder collar and instead a band of metal circled his neck and was attached to somewhere on the transporter console by a cable.
Tara instinctively reached for her phaser, but instead her hand grasped the hilt of a curved knife at her waist. She pulled it out anyway, still in a bit of shock.
The transporter operator instantly dropped to his knees and held out his hands towards her in supplication, “Please Sub-Overseer, there was some sort of interference. If your beaming was uncomfortable I will gladly pay restitution, but please don’t kill me.”
Tara didn’t risk a glance over her shoulder as she asked “T’Noor, what do you make of this?” in a whisper she felt sure only the Vulcan Science officer would hear.”
“Fascinating,” came the reply.
Tara blinked as another figure walked around her from behind. It was Dulak, the Shepard’s Cardassian Engineer, but he was also dressed strangely. In another situation, Tara might have laughed. Dulak had clearly gotten an even worse exchange of clothing than she had.
He did have pants and a reinforced top of some kind, but they were obviously several sizes too small for him. The pants barely extended past his knees, which the vest-like shirt failed to close in front by several inches. He was lucky, if one could call it that, in that he was barefoot like Tara, and the being that should have been wearing those clothes was a bit stocky for its height.
To top off his look, he held an absurdly small halberd in one hand. It was barely three feet long, and while it would have fit a being appropriately sized for the clothing, in Dulak’s hand it looked like a toy.
In a tone that managed to sound both detached and sarcastic at the same time, Dulak added “I am not sure if ‘fascinating’ does our situation justice.”
In place of his tricorder, Dulak pulled from his belt a device that while it did contain a small viewscreen, was also partly a mechanical adding device with sliding beads on several parallel rows similar to an earthy abacus. “What am I supposed to do with this?” He held up the device in illustration.
The door to the transporter room slid into the wall with an grating sound, causing the away team to pause, looking towards it. A man entered. He wore clothing in the same pattern as what Dulak wore, although better fitting. The halberd he held in his hands was also to scale and a bit more menacing.
He was also identical to Commander Ridgeway of the USS Shepard, where they were supposed to be, but were clearly not.
Looking over the landing party, he nodded his head at Tara in a slight bow before speaking, “Sub-Overseer, where is Negotiator Prak, and who is that wearing his uniform?”
Before Tara could think of an answer another figure entered the room. The new arrival was a Crewman Parker look-alike, but she was dressed in a slit skirt and broad collar like Tara was. The collar was not only a bit larger and contained more gems than Tara’s, it also looked like it was made from Latinum. The other difference was that her blonde hair was long enough to be pulled back and tied in a pony-tail behind her head. A broad, crimson scar ran down the side of her face and halfway down her neck.
“Is there a problem?” Parker asked as she strode confidently into the room.
Instantly, Ridgeway dropped to one knee briefly then stood, bowing his head deeper than he had to Tara as he did so. “I am not sure Overseer, Negotiator Prak did not beam up with the delegation, instead that being was in his place.” Ridgeway pointed his halberd towards Dulak.
Parker approached Dulak, who had the presence of mind to not only drop to one knee, but also guessed that staying there might be appropriate and remained kneeling, bowing his head as he had seen Ridgeway do.
“Cardassian? I thought the Bajoran Hegemony wiped you out decades ago.” Parker spoke slowly, as if contemplating the situation even as she discussed it. “But that is not the issue here is it? Why are you here and my negotiator gone?”
Her head turned towards Tara, who had just completed carefully re-sheathing her knife. “Tara, do you know anything about this?”
Tara’s thoughts had been racing ever since Ridgeway had noticed Dulak and found him out of place. Clearly, they had taken the place of some sort of counterparts in this universe, and things were different.
Based on the primitive looking weaponry and obeisance shown by the transporter operator at his perceived mistake, the idea that things might be dangerous here began formulating in Tara’s head.
She briefly thought of simply telling the truth, but balked for some reason when Parker addressed her. She needed more time to think, and confer with T’Noor.
Neither making her voice sound a bit more confused than she was, nor wobbling a bit on her feet were difficult as they were only slight exaggerations. “It was a rough transport Overseer. I was about to take reparations from the operator for his sub-standard performance when you arrived, but there may be more to it than that. It might have been an equipment malfunction or interference from the planet perhaps?”
Parker’s expression changed to one of concern as she listened. Nodding affirmatively she interjected, “I will have it looked into. In the meantime, get some rest. You both look like you could use it. Meet me in Medical in one hour; we can discuss what happened to bring this Cardassian here in place of Prak.”
The Overseer looked towards the still kneeling transporter operator and frowned, “Oh and do not worry about reparations, I will deal with that personally.”
Ridgeway stood over Dulak with his halberd pointed at the Cardassian’s neck. Tara chafed at seeing her friend in such danger, but as if to reassure her he only met her gaze and nodded slightly. She fought her instincts and walked unsteadily out of the transporter room with T’Noor close behind.
She wanted nothing better than to wipe the surly grin from this duplicate of her captain and win Dulak’s freedom, and she had little doubt that with only hand weapons and help from her companions she could prevail against those in the room.
A more thoughtful approach was warranted, and she took it reluctantly.
Once in the corridor she slowed to allow the Shepard’s Vulcan science officer to walk beside her. The layout of the ship seemed the same, at least in the general angle and direction of the passageway, so Tara walked towards what would have been, on the USS Shepard, her quarters.
On the Shepard, she shared a room with T’Noor as the two had done since their previous posting together. Tara hoped that was the case on this alternate version of the Oberth science vessel.
T’Noor echoed her thoughts, speaking quietly just above a whisper, “It would be logical that we share quarters in this universe as well. It may be the best place to discuss what has happened, in private.”
Tara nodded, partly in answer to T’Noor, and partly in response to the several crewmembers, most of them Orions of both sexes, who bowed their heads as they passed Tara.
As they reached the turbolift shaft a lone figure exited, Tara lost her composure briefly as she recognized Master Chief Arthrun, the Shepard’s Andorian chief engineer. What made her nearly call out to him was that he was wearing the closest thing to a Starfleet uniform she had seen since the transporter had brought them here.
He was wearing dark pants and a lighter colored tunic with a collar. The insignia on the overlapping breast of the shirt was unfamiliar to her, but looked vaguely like some ancient Orion carvings she had seen as a child.
Upon closer inspection, the shirt and presumably the pants as well contained some sort of narrow tubules connected to the first piece of obviously “technology” looking technology she had seen, a small black box attached to his waistband. It was a cooling suit, and as she thought about it, it made sense considering the higher ambient temperature onboard.
Rexar nodded at the two, although Tara noticed that it stopped short of the full head dip the other crewmembers had rendered and his eyes never averted.
A gong sounded once from speakers located throughout the hallway, followed by a stentorian male voice. “Arbiter Arthrun, report to Medical. Arbiter Arthrun, report to medical.” The gong repeated once and went silent.
The Andorian walked to a wall panel and spoke into it. “Arthrun on the way.” Tara walked onto the turbolift alongside T’Noor. As the doors grated shut, Tara tried voice command. “Deck three.” The turbolift remained motionless.
Hearing a clicking noise behind her, she turned to see T’Noor grasping one of several cylindrical handgrips sticking out from the wall in several places, angled downward, and twist it. “Deck three,” the Vulcan said in a flat tone, but her eyebrow rose slightly and Tara could have sworn she saw the faintest hint of an upward curl at the edge of T’Noor’s mouth.
The turbolift began to move smoothly towards its destination. Tara noticed that even the sound of the mag-lev motors was enhanced by several layers of harmonic baffling. The noise was quieter overall, but more melodic. “Whoever these people are, they definitely have a sense of show.”
Unconsciously, Tara’s gaze dropped for a second to her roommate’s cleavage. Neither of the two Starfleet officers was disturbed by their nakedness, T’Noor because of her Vulcan practicality, Tara because public nudity was not uncommon in the Orion culture. It just was so out of place on even this variant of the Shepard’s turbolift that suddenly the whole situation struck her as so absurd that she laughed.
“What do you find amusing about our situation Sub-Overseer?” T’Noor, deadpan as ever, raised one eyebrow as she looked back at Tara. On the verge of answering, Tara realized that she had no idea what T’Noor’s position in this universe was. Hopefully someone would reveal that to her before she showed her ignorance.
The tubolift stopped a deck short of its destination and the door ground open revealing a well muscled Orion wearing nothing but a loin cloth. He was covered with a sheen of sweat and had apparently been exercising. Upon noticing the two women, his face lit up in a broad smile, “I knew you were looking forward to my visit, but you could have waited until I had a chance to clean up first.” He stepped onto the tubolift just as the doors shut.
“But I’m sure we can take care of that later.” He put one hand on each of their shoulders and leaned in, kissing T’Noor full on the mouth. Tara was on the verge of disabling the man when he suddenly reached down and caressed a more sensitive part of her anatomy, surprising her. Just as suddenly, he went quite limp and fell to the floor.
T’Noor kept her hand squeezing the series of nerves running along his neck until he was leaned against the wall of the turbolift. Completely bypassing reference to the unwanted physical contact she merely commented, “I have always wondered if that would work on an overly muscled individual.”
Stardate 55052.24 (Jan 20th 2378, 0130)
USS Shepard, Transporter Room
Halfway through the beamup, Crewman Parker realized things weren’t going as smoothly as they should be. Wild energy spikes resonated through the transporter trace, and she quickly engaged the emergency signal dampener. To make matters worse, the comm circuit began beeping and flashing annoyingly. At least she could ignore that.
Someone wasn’t willing to wait, and opened the circuit from the other end. “Transporter room, this is Captain Ridgeway. Please tell me you have the landing party onboard.”
Not one to hedge bad news, and also not wanting to be distracted by a lengthy discussion, Parker answered a bit tersely, “No Sir, I’m working on it. They’re in the beam, but I encountered sudden signal interference and noise spikes.”
The Captain answered, trying to sound detached. “An ion storm hit us without warning. Keep that signal intact, help is on the way.”
Parker diverted only a small amount of attention to Captain Ridgeway, most of her effort was focused on deftly manipulating the controls to maintain signal integrity. Reassuringly, particle outlines started to coalesce above the circular transport pads, but then faded in and out several times while Parker continued to work.
The Iotian was so intent on the task at hand that it barely registered in her awareness when the door to the transporter room slid open and someone moved to stand beside her at the console.
Without speaking the other set of fingers began to race over the console, smoothly taking over part of the operation without intruding.
Inwardly relieved for the assistance, Parker allowed herself the luxury of reaching up and brushing an errant lock from her diagonally bobbed blonde hair safely behind one ear.
Whether it was the extra hands or just timing, at that instant the several forms on the transporter pad became solid.
Parker looked up at them, a smile forming briefly before turning to a frown. “Captain, you had better send security down here, we may have a problem.”
Same instant, another universe
Orion Conglomerate Vessel Shepa’ard
They said you weren’t supposed to experience time while in a transport beam, but LT Tara would have sworn that this transport took longer. Not only that, she had never before felt even the slightest bit of disorientation following a transport. This time she actually had to take a half step to catch her balance.
A step forward and she was off the transporter pad, but everything was wrong. First of all, instead of the Starfleet uniform and duty belt she had worn seconds prior, she looked down and saw that only a short, slit side skirt covered her legs. More disturbing was that her torso was bare save for a broad gem studded gold collar that lay across both shoulders. All in all, far more of her smooth green skin was showing than had been mere seconds before.
The room itself was dim but ornately decorated. Curtains hung from the walls, and artificial torches provided illumination from metal sconces. The transporter console itself looked more like a carved stone pillar with jewels inset onto one face than a piece of equipment. It was also warmer than it should be, but comfortably so.
The Green Orion male standing behind the console was a stranger to her, and was dressed similarly to her with the exception that he wore no shoulder collar and instead a band of metal circled his neck and was attached to somewhere on the transporter console by a cable.
Tara instinctively reached for her phaser, but instead her hand grasped the hilt of a curved knife at her waist. She pulled it out anyway, still in a bit of shock.
The transporter operator instantly dropped to his knees and held out his hands towards her in supplication, “Please Sub-Overseer, there was some sort of interference. If your beaming was uncomfortable I will gladly pay restitution, but please don’t kill me.”
Tara didn’t risk a glance over her shoulder as she asked “T’Noor, what do you make of this?” in a whisper she felt sure only the Vulcan Science officer would hear.”
“Fascinating,” came the reply.
Tara blinked as another figure walked around her from behind. It was Dulak, the Shepard’s Cardassian Engineer, but he was also dressed strangely. In another situation, Tara might have laughed. Dulak had clearly gotten an even worse exchange of clothing than she had.
He did have pants and a reinforced top of some kind, but they were obviously several sizes too small for him. The pants barely extended past his knees, which the vest-like shirt failed to close in front by several inches. He was lucky, if one could call it that, in that he was barefoot like Tara, and the being that should have been wearing those clothes was a bit stocky for its height.
To top off his look, he held an absurdly small halberd in one hand. It was barely three feet long, and while it would have fit a being appropriately sized for the clothing, in Dulak’s hand it looked like a toy.
In a tone that managed to sound both detached and sarcastic at the same time, Dulak added “I am not sure if ‘fascinating’ does our situation justice.”
In place of his tricorder, Dulak pulled from his belt a device that while it did contain a small viewscreen, was also partly a mechanical adding device with sliding beads on several parallel rows similar to an earthy abacus. “What am I supposed to do with this?” He held up the device in illustration.
The door to the transporter room slid into the wall with an grating sound, causing the away team to pause, looking towards it. A man entered. He wore clothing in the same pattern as what Dulak wore, although better fitting. The halberd he held in his hands was also to scale and a bit more menacing.
He was also identical to Commander Ridgeway of the USS Shepard, where they were supposed to be, but were clearly not.
Looking over the landing party, he nodded his head at Tara in a slight bow before speaking, “Sub-Overseer, where is Negotiator Prak, and who is that wearing his uniform?”
Before Tara could think of an answer another figure entered the room. The new arrival was a Crewman Parker look-alike, but she was dressed in a slit skirt and broad collar like Tara was. The collar was not only a bit larger and contained more gems than Tara’s, it also looked like it was made from Latinum. The other difference was that her blonde hair was long enough to be pulled back and tied in a pony-tail behind her head. A broad, crimson scar ran down the side of her face and halfway down her neck.
“Is there a problem?” Parker asked as she strode confidently into the room.
Instantly, Ridgeway dropped to one knee briefly then stood, bowing his head deeper than he had to Tara as he did so. “I am not sure Overseer, Negotiator Prak did not beam up with the delegation, instead that being was in his place.” Ridgeway pointed his halberd towards Dulak.
Parker approached Dulak, who had the presence of mind to not only drop to one knee, but also guessed that staying there might be appropriate and remained kneeling, bowing his head as he had seen Ridgeway do.
“Cardassian? I thought the Bajoran Hegemony wiped you out decades ago.” Parker spoke slowly, as if contemplating the situation even as she discussed it. “But that is not the issue here is it? Why are you here and my negotiator gone?”
Her head turned towards Tara, who had just completed carefully re-sheathing her knife. “Tara, do you know anything about this?”
Tara’s thoughts had been racing ever since Ridgeway had noticed Dulak and found him out of place. Clearly, they had taken the place of some sort of counterparts in this universe, and things were different.
Based on the primitive looking weaponry and obeisance shown by the transporter operator at his perceived mistake, the idea that things might be dangerous here began formulating in Tara’s head.
She briefly thought of simply telling the truth, but balked for some reason when Parker addressed her. She needed more time to think, and confer with T’Noor.
Neither making her voice sound a bit more confused than she was, nor wobbling a bit on her feet were difficult as they were only slight exaggerations. “It was a rough transport Overseer. I was about to take reparations from the operator for his sub-standard performance when you arrived, but there may be more to it than that. It might have been an equipment malfunction or interference from the planet perhaps?”
Parker’s expression changed to one of concern as she listened. Nodding affirmatively she interjected, “I will have it looked into. In the meantime, get some rest. You both look like you could use it. Meet me in Medical in one hour; we can discuss what happened to bring this Cardassian here in place of Prak.”
The Overseer looked towards the still kneeling transporter operator and frowned, “Oh and do not worry about reparations, I will deal with that personally.”
Ridgeway stood over Dulak with his halberd pointed at the Cardassian’s neck. Tara chafed at seeing her friend in such danger, but as if to reassure her he only met her gaze and nodded slightly. She fought her instincts and walked unsteadily out of the transporter room with T’Noor close behind.
She wanted nothing better than to wipe the surly grin from this duplicate of her captain and win Dulak’s freedom, and she had little doubt that with only hand weapons and help from her companions she could prevail against those in the room.
A more thoughtful approach was warranted, and she took it reluctantly.
Once in the corridor she slowed to allow the Shepard’s Vulcan science officer to walk beside her. The layout of the ship seemed the same, at least in the general angle and direction of the passageway, so Tara walked towards what would have been, on the USS Shepard, her quarters.
On the Shepard, she shared a room with T’Noor as the two had done since their previous posting together. Tara hoped that was the case on this alternate version of the Oberth science vessel.
T’Noor echoed her thoughts, speaking quietly just above a whisper, “It would be logical that we share quarters in this universe as well. It may be the best place to discuss what has happened, in private.”
Tara nodded, partly in answer to T’Noor, and partly in response to the several crewmembers, most of them Orions of both sexes, who bowed their heads as they passed Tara.
As they reached the turbolift shaft a lone figure exited, Tara lost her composure briefly as she recognized Master Chief Arthrun, the Shepard’s Andorian chief engineer. What made her nearly call out to him was that he was wearing the closest thing to a Starfleet uniform she had seen since the transporter had brought them here.
He was wearing dark pants and a lighter colored tunic with a collar. The insignia on the overlapping breast of the shirt was unfamiliar to her, but looked vaguely like some ancient Orion carvings she had seen as a child.
Upon closer inspection, the shirt and presumably the pants as well contained some sort of narrow tubules connected to the first piece of obviously “technology” looking technology she had seen, a small black box attached to his waistband. It was a cooling suit, and as she thought about it, it made sense considering the higher ambient temperature onboard.
Rexar nodded at the two, although Tara noticed that it stopped short of the full head dip the other crewmembers had rendered and his eyes never averted.
A gong sounded once from speakers located throughout the hallway, followed by a stentorian male voice. “Arbiter Arthrun, report to Medical. Arbiter Arthrun, report to medical.” The gong repeated once and went silent.
The Andorian walked to a wall panel and spoke into it. “Arthrun on the way.” Tara walked onto the turbolift alongside T’Noor. As the doors grated shut, Tara tried voice command. “Deck three.” The turbolift remained motionless.
Hearing a clicking noise behind her, she turned to see T’Noor grasping one of several cylindrical handgrips sticking out from the wall in several places, angled downward, and twist it. “Deck three,” the Vulcan said in a flat tone, but her eyebrow rose slightly and Tara could have sworn she saw the faintest hint of an upward curl at the edge of T’Noor’s mouth.
The turbolift began to move smoothly towards its destination. Tara noticed that even the sound of the mag-lev motors was enhanced by several layers of harmonic baffling. The noise was quieter overall, but more melodic. “Whoever these people are, they definitely have a sense of show.”
Unconsciously, Tara’s gaze dropped for a second to her roommate’s cleavage. Neither of the two Starfleet officers was disturbed by their nakedness, T’Noor because of her Vulcan practicality, Tara because public nudity was not uncommon in the Orion culture. It just was so out of place on even this variant of the Shepard’s turbolift that suddenly the whole situation struck her as so absurd that she laughed.
“What do you find amusing about our situation Sub-Overseer?” T’Noor, deadpan as ever, raised one eyebrow as she looked back at Tara. On the verge of answering, Tara realized that she had no idea what T’Noor’s position in this universe was. Hopefully someone would reveal that to her before she showed her ignorance.
The tubolift stopped a deck short of its destination and the door ground open revealing a well muscled Orion wearing nothing but a loin cloth. He was covered with a sheen of sweat and had apparently been exercising. Upon noticing the two women, his face lit up in a broad smile, “I knew you were looking forward to my visit, but you could have waited until I had a chance to clean up first.” He stepped onto the tubolift just as the doors shut.
“But I’m sure we can take care of that later.” He put one hand on each of their shoulders and leaned in, kissing T’Noor full on the mouth. Tara was on the verge of disabling the man when he suddenly reached down and caressed a more sensitive part of her anatomy, surprising her. Just as suddenly, he went quite limp and fell to the floor.
T’Noor kept her hand squeezing the series of nerves running along his neck until he was leaned against the wall of the turbolift. Completely bypassing reference to the unwanted physical contact she merely commented, “I have always wondered if that would work on an overly muscled individual.”
